Promise Me

Matthew met Charlotte today. There was a discernible energy between them. I don’t know if this should please or concern me.

Beth Cardall’s Diary

Matthew didn’t come back that week, and by the end of the next week I began to worry that he might not return at all. Roxanne kept assuring me he’d be back, but I think that secretly she was also worried. After all I had done to push him away, I was surprised at how disappointed I was.

On the bright side, Charlotte just kept doing better. She was back in school, and her teacher, Miss Rossi, stopped me one day after school in the parking lot to tell me how miraculous the change had been. “She’s like a new girl,” she said. “I just wish she could share some of that energy.”

Thursday afternoon I was in the living room reading when a navy blue BMW with dealer plates pulled into my driveway. Other than the family who owned the cleaners, I didn’t know anyone with that nice of a car, and my first thought was that it had just pulled into my driveway to turn around, but it stopped. The driver’s door opened and Matthew stepped out. He was dressed in tan corduroy jeans and a thick, leather bomber jacket with Wayfarer sunglasses. He looked like something out of a men’s fashion magazine. Seeing him made me happy.

I set down my book and met him at the door before he rang the bell. He had removed his sunglasses.

“What happened to your VW?” I asked.

“I traded up,” he said. “The bug kept breaking down.”

“It’s good to see you,” I said.

He smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. So how is everyone? How’s Charlotte?”

I put my hands on my hips. “She’s doing well. Actually, she’s doing amazingly well. But I think you already knew she’d be better.”

“Knew? No. But I hoped.”

“Hope,” I repeated. “I’ve been in short supply of that lately. I don’t know how to thank you. My friend Rox said it better be something good.”

He grinned. “You should listen to her. So let me think about this. What’s the best way to thank a man who potentially saved your daughter’s life? The mind reels.”

I cocked my head. “Within reason.”

“Well, considering the recent change in circumstances, if your moratorium on dating has been lifted, a simple date will suffice.”

“Gladly. When would you like to go out?”

“You said weekends are good. How about tomorrow night?”

“I’ll need to find a babysitter.”

“Charlotte can come,” he said.

“No, I’d rather keep her out of my dating life. I think it would be confusing to her.”

He nodded. “Wise.”

“So, what do you want to do?” I asked.

“I don’t care. Just spend time with you. Dinner and talking sounds good.”

“That sounds good to me too. You should probably give me your phone number, just in case something happens again.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have a phone. But I can call you, if you’ll give me your number.”

“I’ll write it down. Can you come inside for a moment?”

“Of course.” He followed me inside the foyer.

“You can wait here. My kitchen’s a little messy.”

“No problem.”

I found a pen in the kitchen, but it didn’t work, so I rooted through drawers for some other writing implement, ending up with one of Charlotte’s crayons. I found a note pad in the pantry and scrawled down my phone number. As I walked back to the foyer, I saw Charlotte standing close to Matthew. He was crouched down and moving away from her, as if he had touched or hugged her. I wasn’t sure what I was seeing.

“Charlotte,” I said. “I thought you were in bed, honey.”

“I heard the door open,” she said, “I came to see who was here.”

I looked back and forth between them. I couldn’t explain it, but there was a strange energy. I wasn’t sure in the dim lighting, but Matthew’s eyes seemed wet. “Matthew, this is my daughter Charlotte.”

He extended his hand to her. “Nice to meet you, Charlotte. I’m Matthew.”

“Nice to meet you, Matthew.”

“Mr. Matthew,” I said. “Now go back to bed.”

“Okay.” She waved at him. “Bye, Mr. Matthew.”

“Good night, Charlotte.”

She ran back to the bedroom.

“She’s a very sweet girl,” he said to me. “She looks well.”

“Thanks to you.”

“She’s going to be a very beautiful woman someday. I guarantee it.” Then he looked at me. “Like her mother.”

“Thank you.” I handed him the paper. “Here you are. The top number is my phone number at the house and the bottom number is the cleaners.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Well, good night.” He turned to go.

As he walked out the front door I said, “Matthew.”

“Yes.”

“How did you know? About Charlotte?”

He shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

“But you weren’t guessing. You told me to trust you.”

He just looked at me for a moment. “I recognized the symptoms from what you told me.” He saluted. “Good night, Beth.”

“Good night, Matthew.”

When he was in his car, I shut the door and leaned against it. There was something mysterious about this man. Something sweet but mysterious. What was I missing?