Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [95]
The memory faded. “Daddy?”
“Yes, honey?”
“You love Mom, right?”
He took a deep breath, let it out. “Oh, darling,” he said quietly, “more than life itself.”
And then he kissed the top of my head and disappeared.
chapter
40
I soon began to wonder. Not about Daddy, but about Lyle Monroe. He started hopping on the city bus and coming over for supper two or three times a week, supposedly to see Tillie, but more often than not he ended up talking long hours with Mom. The two of them drank coffee in the living room while Tillie and I washed the dishes and put Valerie to bed.
I didn’t like it. Not one bit. I figured I was going to have to put Mara to work again, playing it up about the snoring and the cooking and maybe even dropping Valerie into Lyle Monroe’s lap. But I couldn’t deny the fact that, after Lyle began coming around, Mom started looking happy. And for the first time in a long time, she looked rested. Even younger, somehow. And then there was that undeniable sparkle in her eye the night Lyle surprised her with a sketch pad and a collection of charcoal pencils. You’d think he’d handed her the keys to a mansion, a Rolls Royce, and a prosperous future, the way she carried on about those art supplies.
“I don’t know what to say,” she exclaimed repeatedly, her hands on her cheeks, her eyes wide, till Lyle finally hushed her by saying, “You don’t have to say anything at all. You just have to sketch.”
Until that night I didn’t have a clue that my mother liked to draw. I didn’t know she had any interest in art at all, as I’d never seen her so much as doodle while talking on the telephone. But in just a short time that sketch pad was filled with amazingly good drawings – flowerpots, fruit bowls, land and seascapes, portraits of Valerie and me.
Eventually I cornered Lyle Monroe in the living room and asked, “How did you know my mom likes to draw?”
“I asked her,” he said simply. He was sitting in the easy chair listening to classical music on the radio, but he turned the volume down so we could talk.
“Why did you ask her?”
“Because I wanted to know about her. I wanted to know what she likes.”
“How come?”
He cocked his head. “That’s how you get to know a person, I suppose. You find out what they like, what interests them.” He smiled, waved a finger briefly to the notes drifting from the radio.
“You like music?” I asked.
“I appreciate certain composers, though I’m not a musician myself. But your mother, she’s a wonderful artist, don’t you think?”
I nodded. “But I’ve never seen her draw before. I didn’t even know she could.”
“Yes, well, that’s what happens. You get married, have children, and little by little some of these things fall by the wayside.”
“You mean she stopped drawing because of me?”
“Well, not because of you per se. But . . . I’m not sure that came out right. You see, once a person becomes a parent, the child becomes the most important thing in the world, more important than hobbies or . . . you know, other interests. A parent is glad to give her time over to her children.”
“How do you know? You don’t have kids, do you?”
He sighed behind his smile. “No, I don’t. But I’ve talked with plenty of parents over the years. I know what’s important to them.”
I thought of Daddy, wondering whether I was important to him. I decided I was. The necklace was tucked safely away in my jewelry box, along with my Sugar Daddy wrappers. I looked at it every morning and every night.
“Mr. Monroe?”
“Yes, Roz?”
“Do you know a guy who lives where you live called Nelson Knutson?”
“Nelson . . . sure, I’ve met him. Why?”
“I was just wondering. Do you like him?”
He looked thoughtful a moment. “I don’t know much about him, but he seems like a nice enough fellow. How do you know him?”
“Oh, I’ve seen him at the library a couple of times. You know, that big library downtown. He’s helped me find some books.” It wasn’t a lie. At least not completely.
Nevertheless, Lyle Monroe didn’t look happy. He leaned forward, made a V of his index fingers, and tapped at his