Promise Me

I have found that the most significant experiences of our lives rarely come when we’re expecting them and oftentimes when we’re not even paying attention.

Beth Cardall’s Diary

The first time I saw him was on Christmas Day, 1989. As the Bing Crosby song had it, it was a white Christmas. Actually, more of a white-out Christmas. Nearly thirty inches of heavy snow had fallen during the night, and it was still falling, with brisk winds sculpting the snow along the roadsides into four-foot-high curled drifts that looked like frozen ocean waves. The radio said that more than five thousand homes in the city had lost electricity. Charlotte and I were among the fortunate who still had power and a cozy fire in our wood-burning stove.

Our Christmas tree looked like I felt inside: small, sparse and dry, with too few lights. Truthfully, I felt ugly, inside and out. I had been pretty once, or at least that seemed to be the general consensus, but not so much lately. I felt worn-out and broken, like an old running shoe. Through the ringer, my mother used to say. It sounds silly to me now, but I was only twenty-eight and I already felt old. I was much too young to feel that old.

Had I been alone I probably would have just ignored the season, but Charlotte really needed the holiday and Roxanne wouldn’t have let me off that easy. We celebrated Thanksgiving Day with Roxanne and her family. The next Saturday, in a quest to capture the spirit, Charlotte and I made Christmas tree ornaments. We dipped walnuts in Elmer’s glue and glitter and tied them with yarn. We also cut snowflakes from paper.

Money was tight, but I stretched to get Charlotte what she wanted, a Skip-It, a set of Baby-sitters Club books and her big present, an American Girl doll. She squealed when she opened the package with the doll.

“Look, Mom, what Santa brought!”

“She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

“Molly.”

“She wears glasses.”

“Uh-huh. Like me. And a locket.” She opened the doll’s tiny locket around its neck. “Can we put a picture inside?”

I smiled. “How did you know to put a picture in there?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“Sorry. Should we put a picture of you in there?”

“No, Daddy’s.”

She had been playing with her doll for a half-hour or so when she asked, “Mom, why didn’t Santa bring you anything?”

“Well,” I said, “I really didn’t need anything so I asked Santa to give my presents to a good little girl who did.”

“Doesn’t Santa have enough for everyone?”

When did she get so smart? “Not this year. I guess there was a toy shortage at the North Pole.”

I could see her puzzling over the dilemma. After a moment she said, “Then I’ll ask Jesus to bring you something.”

I smiled. “What are you going to ask Him to bring me?”

“Someone to take care of you.”

Out of the mouths of babes, they say. I didn’t know how to respond to that so I just changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded. “Are we going to have muffins?”

“Yes we are. Just like I promised.”

A week earlier I had asked Charlotte what she wanted for Christmas breakfast. She didn’t hesitate: blueberry-buttermilk muffins. Blueberry-buttermilk muffins were our own creation. One Sunday morning I’d been in the middle of making muffins when I discovered we were out of milk. I didn’t have time to run to the store so I substituted buttermilk. The results were unexpectedly delicious and a new favorite.

I went into the kitchen and began putting the ingredients together when I realized I’d forgotten the buttermilk. I could have just used regular milk or even just poured her some Cheerios—with the weather being the way it was, that would have been the prudent thing to do—but after what she’d been through that year, I didn’t want to deny her anything that was within my grasp to deliver.

“We need to go to the store,” I said. I put on my overcoat, bundled up Charlotte, then drove to the only place open Christmas morning—a 7-Eleven about a mile from my home.

Maybe it was chance, or perhaps it was in answer to Charlotte’s prayer, but that’s where I first saw him.

When we arrived at the 7-Eleven, I said to Charlotte, “Honey, just wait in the car. I’m only going to be a minute.”

“Can I have some gum?”

I smiled. “Sure.”

I was stomping the snow from my boots as I entered the store, so I didn’t see him at first. He was standing near the back sipping coffee from a foam cup, staring at me intently.

We had brief eye contact. I tried not to stare, but he really was gorgeous. Soap opera gorgeous, Roxanne would say. Gorgeous and exotic looking. He had slightly curly, cappuccino-hued hair and bright blue eyes, which were radiant against his olive skin. I wondered what such a beautiful man was doing alone at a 7-Eleven on Christmas morning. Call it sour grapes, but the self-preservation part of my mind kicked in and I immediately concluded that there must be something wrong with him—like the time Charlotte made Kool-Aid and used salt instead of sugar. It looked good, but after one sip I poured the pitcher down the sink.

I stopped to pick up a few things besides my buttermilk—an apple, a half-gallon of milk and a package of Doublemint gum—then I walked to the cash register, my purchases balanced precariously in my arms.

He walked up to the counter at the same time, his eyes never leaving me. His gaze made me feel awkward, but, frankly, it was nice to be noticed.

“Merry Christmas,” he said. His voice was warm and rich.

I had pretended that I hadn’t noticed him staring at me and I turned and flashed a furtive smile. “Good morning,” I said, then turned back to the clerk, doing my best to look uninterested.

As I was setting my things on the counter, the gum fell to the ground. I bent over to get it. Apparently soap opera guy had the same idea and we bumped heads hard. I stood up rubbing the top of my head. “Ow.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, grimacing with embarrassment. He handed me the package of Doublemint. “I’m Matthew.”

I took the gum, still rubbing my head with the other hand. “Hi, Matthew.”

“Have we met?”

I shook my head, wondering if this was a pickup line. “I don’t think so.”

The store clerk, who seemed oblivious to everything but his wish to be elsewhere, said, “Is this everything?”

“And this,” I said. I handed him the gum, then fished a ten-dollar bill from my wallet.

“Six seventy-three out of ten.” He handed me my change. “Would you like your things in a sack?”

“Yes, please.”

I glanced back at Matthew and he smiled at me. I nervously brushed the hair back from my face. The clerk stacked everything in the sack and handed it to me. “Merry Christmas,” he said dully.

I took the sack. “Thank you. You too.”

I had turned to go when Matthew asked, “Do you work at a dry cleaner?”

I looked back at him. “Yes.”

“Over on Highland Drive,” he said. “I’ve seen you there.”

I wondered how that was possible. I knew that I had never seen him. I definitely would have remembered, especially since Roxanne would have done something embarrassing like telling him I was single or taken his picture. “Then I’m sure I’ll see you around,” I said. “Merry Christmas.” I walked back outside, where the snow had already begun to cover my windshield, and climbed into my car.

“Here’s your gum, Char.”

“Thanks, Mommy.”

I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror. No makeup, and my hair was a mess pulled back with a scarf. Why would someone that gorgeous be hitting on me?