Promises to Keep, Nan Rossiter [feel good fiction books .txt] 📗

to have red hair, just like her. And when your mom gently laid you in her arms, she looked at you for such a long time with tears streaming down her cheeks, and then she looked up at your mom and said, ‘Can you take my picture with him so he can have it someday?’ And your mom agreed and quickly took a picture with the camera we kept in the nursery.

“By then, your mom was misty, too, and the young woman tearfully thanked her, and seeing how tenderhearted your mom was, she asked her if there was any way she could be the one to adopt you. Your mom didn’t know what to say. It was such an unexpected request. Your mom loved babies, but she wasn’t married and didn’t think she’d ever have children. She had devoted her life to taking care of her parents, and she’d just lost both of them within days of each other. She was so brokenhearted, and then out of the blue, this happened—and to her, it felt too timely to be a coincidence. It was as if it was all happening for a reason . . . and she wondered if you were a gift from God to fill the empty void her parents had left. So, without knowing how in the world she would do it, she said yes.”

Mason bit his lip, his eyes glistening. “How come she never told me this?”

“I don’t know why she never told you, but I do know, as you grew up and started asking questions—some of which she didn’t have answers to—she sensed you were struggling to understand why your real mom gave you up, and because you stopped wanting to talk about it, she prayed that, one day, you’d find it in your heart to forgive her. She believed if you met her, your questions would be answered and you might understand what happened—what was going on in her life back then. Your mom thought it would heal the sadness in your heart, and she was very thankful, several years ago, when the young woman sent a note, thanking her for taking care of you, and including her address—just in case you ever wanted to find her.”

Mason shook his head. “So much time has passed . . .” He looked out the window and saw Ali hurrying across the parking lot, her blond hair streaked with highlights from lifeguarding, and her golden suntanned skin looking even darker against her new snow-white Emory University T-shirt.

He looked back at Sue. “You know I’m going to keep my promise,” he said with a half smile.

Sue smiled back and nodded. “I know you will, and I hope you end up being glad you did. And before I forget, are you coming to the NICU tomorrow?”

“I am,” he said, wiping his eyes with his palms and mustering a smile for Ali.

Ali gave them each a hug and sat down next to Mason. “Well? How’d it go?” she asked, picking up her menu.

“It went,” Mason said.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

She glanced at the three iced teas on the table. “Is one of these for me?”

“It is,” Mason confirmed.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip. “I’m parched! So, do you guys already know what you’re having?” she asked, glancing at the menu and seeing two of Mason’s favorites.

Sue nodded. “I’m having chicken salad.”

“And I’m having . . .” Mason began, dramatically closing his menu.

Ali eyed him suspiciously. “Please tell me you’re not . . .”

“Yep . . . but in my defense, the tomato soup has basil and the grilled cheese is made with American, cheddar, and Swiss—not just American.”

30

AS MAEVE DROVE BACK HOME AFTER DROPPING OFF THE BABY FOX, SHE turned on the radio in Gage’s truck and heard George Strait’s familiar voice drift from the speakers, singing the much-loved song “I Cross my Heart,” and as she listened to the tender lyrics, her thoughts drifted back to Gage working in the hot sun, digging a grave for the mama fox. And then she remembered the jewelry box she’d seen on his table—the box she’d somehow managed to resist opening. It had to be earrings, she surmised now, because she couldn’t imagine Gage going into a jewelry store and picking out an engagement ring all on his own! She tried to picture him standing in front of the glass case in his jeans and T-shirt . . . or maybe he’d dressed up . . . which, to him, meant putting on a button-down. She smiled, her heart swelling with love for his casual, down-to-earth ways, and then she pictured him in his blue button-down—the one that matched his eyes—talking to a jeweler and choosing a diamond, a setting, and a band. Did he even know what the four Cs—carrot, clarity, cut, and color—were? Because if he was seriously thinking about proposing, and if he’d already purchased a ring, then she needed to seriously think about telling him what had happened in her past. It wasn’t fair to let him venture down this road when she was holding back something that had always cast such a long shadow over her life.

As she turned onto their road, she started to rehearse the words she’d rehearsed so many times before—describing how . . . and explaining why—but that she’d never let spill from her lips because she worried what he would think . . . and how he would react. Damn, she thought miserably, tears stinging her eyes. I may as well just move out. How could I have not told him before now?

She pulled into the driveway and looked in the rearview mirror to make sure she didn’t look like Sam’s pet raccoon. Then she bit her lip and gathered her courage—if she didn’t put this behind them once and for all . . . she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

“Mmm, you smell good,” she said when she walked into the kitchen.

“You told me to shower before you got back . . . and I always listen.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, sounding skeptical. “I don’t know about always.”

“Did you have lunch?” he asked. “I just had a sandwich, and I can make one for you.”

She