Promise Me

Some relationships need to be pounded into place with a sledge hammer, while others effortlessly fall into place as if made to fit. Matthew fits as comfortably as a pair of Hush Puppy loafers.

(Rox once told me that the brand name Hush Puppies came when the shoe company’s president was eating a southern dinner of fried corn “hush puppies” and asked the waitress why they were so called. She replied, “Because farmers throw them to the hounds to quiet their barking dogs.” Barking dogs was, back then, an idiom for sore feet, and a star was born.

Or maybe Rox was just making that up. With Rox one never quite knows where truth ends and imagination begins.)

Beth Cardall’s Diary

I called Roxanne as soon as Matthew left to see if Jan could babysit. As I expected, she was relieved to hear of his return. “I knew he’d be back,” she said. “I told you, didn’t I?”

“Right as usual,” I said.

“Well, come hell or high water you’re going out with that man. Jan’s out with her friends right now, but if she can’t sit, you can just bring Charlotte on by the house. Ray and I aren’t doing anything.”

“Thanks, Rox.”

“My pleasure, baby. I just love a new romance. My candle may be flickering, but I can still warm myself by your flame.”

Jan wasn’t busy Friday night, and in spite of her previous experience with Charlotte, she was happy to babysit. As usual, she came a little early. I hugged her at the door. “I never thanked you for your help last time.”

“I was glad to help. Sure scared me, though.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Where’s our girl?”

“She’s in her bedroom.”

“Not anymore,” Jan said as Charlotte came running toward her.

“Jan!”

“Hi, sweetie. Wow, you look as bubbly as a shaken soda. Where’d you get all that energy?”

“I’m celiac,” she said.

“You’re what?”

“She’s allergic to wheat,” I said. “I’ve made a list for you of things she can eat. Will it be a problem if we’re out late?”

“No worries, Mrs. C. I’ve got an essay I need to write.”

“Wanna play with Molly?” Charlotte asked.

Jan grabbed her hand. “You know I do.”

The two of them ran off. I went and checked myself in the mirror again, and a few minutes later Matthew’s car pulled into the driveway. He came to the door holding a small bouquet of flowers that he surrendered to me.

“Gerbera daisies,” I said. “I love Gerbera daisies. Thank you. Let me put them in some water. Come in.”

While he was waiting for me, Charlotte walked back out to the door dragging Jan behind her. “This is my Mom’s new friend. Hi, Mr. Matthew.”

“Hello, Miss Charlotte,” Matthew said.

“I’m Jan,” Jan said. “Charlotte’s babysitter.”

“So you’re Jan,” he said with a slight lilt. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Really? From whom?”

There was an awkward pause, then he said to Charlotte, “I brought you something. Do you like peanut butter cups?”

“Yes.”

“It’s all yours. Gluten-free.”

“Thank you, Mr. Matthew.”

“You two have a good night. It’s nice to meet you, Jan.”

I put the flowers in a vase, then walked back out. “Jan, we’ll be leaving now. Bedtime is nine.”

“Have fun,” she said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Are you taking my mommy to dinner?” Charlotte asked Matthew.

He crouched down to her height. “Yes, I am. Is that okay?”

“Don’t make her cry.”

“Okay,” I said, “that’s enough of that.”

Matthew winked at her. “I promise I’ll try not to.”

“Good night, honey,” I said, and kissed her. “Go to bed when Jan tells you.”

Matthew and I walked out to his car. “Sorry about that,” I said when the door shut. “She’s a little protective.”

“I wonder where she gets that,” he said.

“So bribing the child with candy. Trying to make her like you?”

“Whatever works.”

“Oh, by the way,” I said. “Don’t make me cry.”

He grinned. “I’ll do my best.” He opened my door, then walked around and climbed in. “I hope you’re hungry. I made reservations at a little place called the Five Alls.”

I looked at him with surprise. “That’s my favorite restaurant.”

“Good,” he said. “Then if my company stinks, at least you’ll enjoy the food.”

The Five Alls is a charming English-themed restaurant off Foothill Drive on the east bench of the Salt Lake Valley. It was the backdrop to some of my fondest memories: my first prom, Marc and my engagement, our first anniversary, and Charlotte’s first day of school.

The hostess sat us at a small table for two in a secluded back room near a fireplace.

“In all the years I’ve been coming here, I’ve never sat back here,” I said.

“It’s a bit more private,” he said. “Perfect for talking.”

A few moments later a waitress walked back to our table. She was immediately attracted to Matthew. “My name is Samantha, I’ll be taking care of you tonight,” she said, looking only at him.

You wish, I thought.

“Hello, Samantha,” Matthew said. “So what’s good tonight?”

“It’s all good,” she said. “Here are your menus. We have a few specials tonight. The Halibut Oscar, with crab and Hollandaise sauce, is one of my personal favorites, and the filet Roquefort, which is a six-ounce filet mignon topped with bacon, blue cheese and a burgundy wine sauce. And for dessert we have our seasonal English trifle and raisin-bread pudding.”

“Sounds delicious,” I said, letting her know I was there. “Thank you.”

She furtively glanced at me. “I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu. May I bring you something to drink?”

“I’ll have a glass of Merlot,” I said.

“The same,” Matthew said.

“Very good. I’ll be right back.” She smiled again at Matthew and walked away.

When she left the room I said, “That was awkward.”

“What was?”

“The way she was fawning over you.”

“You’re just imagining things. So what are you going to have?”

I lifted the menu to look it over, even though I always ordered the same thing.

Suddenly, Matthew said, “Wait, may I order for you?”

I looked up at him. “You want to order for me?”

“Sure. I’m kind of an expert at this.”

I closed the menu. “Okay. Let’s see how you do.”

A few moments later the waitress returned with our drinks. She turned to me. “Are you ready to order?”

“Ask him,” I said. “He’s in charge.”

“Yes, we are ready. My friend would like the filet Roquefort, medium rare, the baked potato with sour cream and chives, the melon prosciutto appetizer and the house salad with blue cheese, wait, Thousand Island?” He looked at me. “No, blue cheese dressing.”

The waitress looked back at me for confirmation. He was dead-on, right down to the salad dressing. “That’s what I’ll have.”

“And you, sir?”

“I would like the king crab legs, baked potato with Norshire garnish and the cream of mushroom soup. And blue cheese dressing with my salad.”

“Very well,” she said. She took our menus and walked away.

“Sounds like you’ve been here before,” I said.

“A few times. So how did I do?”

“It was a gutsy move ordering red meat for a woman.”

He smiled. “You look like a woman who can handle red meat.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment. Yes, you did well. That’s what I always order. So, are you psychic?”

“It’s kind of a party trick,” he said. “Speaking of which, tell me about yourself.”

I laughed. “I can’t believe you just used that as a segue. So your psychic powers haven’t told you everything about me. What do you want to know?”

“What is it like working at a dry cleaner?”

“Really? That’s what you want to know?”

“Why not?”

“Okay. It’s a job. Not a lot of excitement, but it almost pays the bills, and I get my dry cleaning done for free. And if I actually wore something nice enough to need dry cleaning, that would be a real perk.”

“I can see why you work there,” he said.

“Now you’re just being mean. So what do you do?”

“Stalk, mostly. And diagnose enigmatic diseases.”

“I believe you.”

“Actually, I’m kind of between jobs right now.”

“And you just bought a new BMW?”

“I’m financially stable.”

“That’s good,” I said. “So, what did you do when you were employed?”

“I was a financial advisor. I help high-income clientele with their investment portfolios. People like you.”

“That’s me, all right. So I have a question. The first time we met . . .”

“The head butt,” he said.

“Right. The head butt. I wondered what a man like you was doing alone at a 7-Eleven on Christmas morning.”

“A man like what?”

“Just a very handsome, well-put-together man.”

“I could ask you the same thing—except for the man part.”

“I just needed buttermilk.”

“Well, other than looking for someone to head butt, the answer is not that exciting. I had just moved to Utah and I hadn’t done any serious grocery shopping yet, so I ran out of coffee. Being Christmas Day, I went to the only place I could think of that was open. And then, voilà, this angel walks in and transforms me into a bumbling, head-butting fool.”

“Oh, I looked like an angel all right.”

“More than you know.”

“Do you have family?”

“My parents live in Toledo, Ohio. I have a younger brother who lives in Maryland. He’s very smart. He speaks seven languages and works for the NSA.” He lifted his glass and smiled at me. “I’m pretty sure that he’s a spy, but he won’t admit it. Actually, I was hoping to spend Christmas with my parents, but this year it just seemed a little too . . .” He seemed like he was searching for the right word. “Far.”

The waitress came over with a pitcher of water and topped off our glasses. She smiled at Matthew. “I’ll be right back with your first course.”

“Thank you,” he said.

I leaned forward. “Don’t take this wrong, but it’s hard for me to believe that a man as handsome and persistent as you isn’t married.”

The playfulness in his countenance suddenly vanished. “I was,” he said simply.

“Was?”

His expression changed. “I lost her. She died of cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Me too,” he said sadly. “She was everything to me. Sweet, smart, beautiful.” He stopped, overcome with emotion.

“I’m really sorry, that must have been painful.”

When he could speak, he said, “It was like having my heart amputated and still having to live.” He breathed in deeply, then exhaled. “But you understand, don’t you? You lost your husband to cancer.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It wasn’t quite the same.”

“Why is that?”

I frowned. “I don’t know how much I want to share.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

I looked into Matthew’s eyes and all I saw was sympathy. “I caught him cheating on me. It was just a few weeks after that that he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. So I stuck with him. I even forgave him. Things between us were good until a few weeks before he died, when he confessed to having multiple affairs. Nearly a dozen.”

Matthew groaned. “A serial cheater. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said, surprised I had opened up so much. “The thing is, I didn’t have a clue about any of it. I was living in this fantasyland where life was good and family was enough. I guess I was wrong.”

Matthew shook his head. “You weren’t wrong. Family is enough.” He looked into my eyes. “So how are you doing?”

I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “The thing is, broken vows are like broken mirrors. They leave those who held to them bleeding and staring at fractured images of themselves.”

“That’s very poetic.”

“A broken heart will do that.”

Just then the waitress arrived carrying a large platter. “Here’s your first course. Swedish meatballs, our dill, sourdough breadsticks with homemade clam dip and a banana “shrub” to cleanse your palate. I’ll be back in a moment with your salads.”

When she walked away, I took a sip of wine, then speared a meatball from the pewter dish with a tiny fork.

“I love those,” Matthew said, watching me.

“How could you not?” I replied. “I love coming here.” I finished chewing, then said, “So, I’m not really sure how old you are. What year did you graduate?”

He looked down for a moment. “Uh, class of . . . eighty.”

I smiled. “That sounded like a guess. Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“So I’m older than you.”

“How much older?” he asked.

“Two years.”

He rubbed his chin. “You are old.”

“It’s not too late to back out,” I said.

“I’m afraid it is. We’ve already ordered.”

I grinned. “So, do you know what I miss most about the old days?”

“We’re still too young to say the old days,” he said.

“Okay, then the seventies. I miss the music from back then. It was fun. None of this rap, kill-cops stuff.”

“I like rap,” he said. “Some of it at least. But you’re right, music was more innocent back then.”

“What was your favorite band?”

He dipped a breadstick into the clam dip. “I don’t know if I had a favorite. I’m pretty eclectic. How about you?”

“Let’s see. Queen, Supertramp, Peaches and Herb.”

“Peaches and Herb?” he said laughing. “There’s a name for you.”

“They were one-hit wonders. You remember them, don’t you?” I started singing, “Reunited and it feels so good . . .”

He laughed. “I guess I missed that.”

“You really missed out. Of course, like everyone else, I was madly in love with the Bee Gees. How about you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not familiar with them.”

I looked at him incredulously. “With the Bee Gees?”

He shrugged.

“The Bee Gees,” I said again as if he hadn’t heard me. “You know, the brothers Gibb. Saturday Night Fever?”

He still gazed at me blankly.

“Come on, ‘Staying Alive,’ ‘Night Fever,’ ‘Too Much Heaven.’ None of that rings a bell?”

“Nada.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. How could you have missed the Bee Gees? ‘Night Fever’ was the biggest song of the year.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t much into heavy metal.”

I burst out laughing. “Heavy metal? They’re disco. How could you have been alive and missed the whole disco era?”

He thought about it for a moment, then said, “Lucky?”

I laughed again. “Wow. Where are you from? Outer Mongolia?”

“Actually, Capri.”

“Capri?”

He nodded. “It’s an island off the coast of southern Italy. We didn’t have much of a disco thing going on up there. I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a mirror ball on the whole island.”

I took a drink of wine. “You’re Italian, then.”

“I have dual citizenship. My father is from southern Italy. My mother was a southern belle from Atlanta. So I’m a southerner on both sides. Actually, I was born in Capri but lived in Sorrento until I was thirteen when we came to the States with my father’s job.”

I realized that I didn’t even know his last name. “What is your last name?”

“Principato.”

“Definitely sounds Italian. Do you still speak Italian?”

“Ma certo, bella.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but it was very pretty.”

“La bella lingua,” he said. “It’s the only language in the world that was invented by a poet.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Dante.”

“Italian,” I said again. “That explains your beautiful eyes.”

He smiled shyly.

“Tell me more about yourself,” I said.

“Well, something strange happened to me the other day. Actually it was about a month ago. I heard this scratching at my front door, so I opened the door, but there was no one there. However, I noticed a snail on the doorstep, so I picked it up and threw it across the street.

“Then, a week ago I heard that same scratching sound at the door again. I got up and opened the door. Again, no one was there. But there was that snail again. He looked up at me and said, ‘What was that about?’ ”

I burst out laughing. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know. It’s great, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I conceded.

The night was different than I thought it would be. Matthew was different than I thought he would be. He was funnier, smarter, simpler. We laughed and joked and I hadn’t had that much fun since I could remember.

We finished eating around ten and then just drank coffee and talked until eleven. Then he paid the bill and drove me home. He turned off his car in the driveway and turned to me. “So, how did I do? Passing grade?”

“I’d give you a C+.”

“C+? That’s not good. But it’s still a passing grade?”

“Barely. The snail story was a little sketchy, but the meal was great and I’m feeling generous, so I will allow a makeup.”

“Thank you. When can I try again?”

“Soon,” I said. “Hopefully.”

He smiled. “How about I come over Sunday and make dinner. I will make you my soon-to-be-famous fried rice.”

“Chinese, not Italian?”

“The only Italian dishes I make are pasta dishes.”

“What’s wrong with pasta?”

“Charlotte can’t eat it.”

“Oh.” I was impressed that he had thought of that and felt foolish that I hadn’t. “Chinese sounds terrific. What do you need from me?”

“You’re in charge of drinks.”

“It’s a deal.”

He came around and opened my door, then walked me to the front porch. We stopped in front of the door. “Thank you for going out with me,” he said. “It was fun. You’re a very interesting woman.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I like that. It was my pleasure.” I looked into his eyes. “May I tell you something personal?”

“Of course.”

“That was the best night I’ve had in the last two years.” His eyes shone when I said that and he looked even more attractive to me than when I first met him.

“I’m glad.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Good night, Beth.”

“Good night, Matthew.”

He walked back to his car. I leaned back against the door as he drove away. Then I went inside. Jan was at the kitchen table doing her homework.

“Hi, Mrs. C. How was your evening?”

“Perfect,” I said, a broad smile crossing my face. “Just perfect.”