"Promises"
“Are you okay, Hana?”
“Fine thanks, Claire.” Hana pushed the calculator and checkbook away, standing up. “How are you?”
Claire, leaning against the refrigerator, shrugged one shoulder. She smiled slightly. “Focusing on your problems so I can forget mine.”
Hana tore her gaze away from the grinning portrait on the wall. She crossed the kitchen and pulled Claire into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Claire hugged her back. “I miss him, I miss him a lot.”
Hana reached up to stroke her hair. “Your brother loved you.”
Claire remained silent for a moment before pulling back. She dabbed at her eyes. “Sorry to break down like this.”
“It’s all right. I’m focusing on your weepy moment so I don’t have mine,” Hana confessed.
Both girls gave watery laughs.
With a deep breath, Claire scooped up her purse. “I’ve gotta get to work, okay?”
Hana nodded, walking to the door with her. “I’ll see you.”
“Yeah...later...” Claire waved half-heartedly and slipped out into the hallway.
For a few moments Hana watched her go, then pushed the door shut and sank against it with a sigh. I won’t dwell on it. I will be happy. I will not let it get me down.
She dozed for a couple of minutes, but was startled awake by a knock.
“Coming,” she called out, too loudly. She yanked open the door and stopped short, inches away from a pair of blue eyes.
Darrel...
“Hey.” He half-smiled. Hands clasped behind his back, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, like a guilty child. The action made him younger than his twenty-four years, and for a moment he was fifteen again, like when they first met.
Why are you here? Hana’s mind cried.
“Was that Claire I saw leaving?” he asked.
Hana crossed her arms over her chest. “What of it?”
“How is she?”
“She misses her brother.”
“Oh...”
The silence hung heavily.
He raised a brow. “Do I need an engraved invitation?”
Hana stepped aside automatically so he could enter, and immediately regretted it.
“Why are you here?” She didn’t care that her tone was unnecessarily hostile.
He followed her across the apartment and into the kitchen. “What, no hug? No joyful squeal?”
“You still haven’t told me why you’re here, Darrel.” She sat down at the dining table and gestured to the other chair.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he remained standing.
Hana arched an eyebrow at him. “Well?”
He gazed down at her. “Hana, I...”
She looked away, muttering, “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating the last of your freedom or whatever?”
He ducked his head.
Her head whipped around. “That’s what you’re here for, is it?” She shoved her chair back and stood up, placing herself firmly in his space. “Is that what you want from me?”
“I’ve always loved you, Hana.” He placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “I just wanted one last time to show you.”
Hana yanked herself back. “No. Just go. Leave now – tomorrow you’ll go to the church and do what you have to do.”
“Why am I suddenly a Saracen to your Templar?” he asked softly.
“Don’t you mean that the other way around?” she bit out.
He looked away. “Hana, I’m not your enemy.”
“Right now you’re not my friend either.” Suddenly aware of how they stood too close to each other, she stepped back.
“I made a promise a long time ago,” he said, and his eyes turned distant. “You know I keep my promises.”
Hana considered her reply. “That’s right.” She tilted her head up at him, searching pained eyes. “But then you never promised me anything.”
He flinched.
“Hana, I – ” He cut himself off, sucked in a breath. “Will you come to the ceremony?”
“What time?”
“Noon.” He chuckled softly, despite the tension thrumming between them, and said as an afterthought, “I even convinced Meghan to wear a dress.”
Hana nodded. “I’ll be there.”
She had no time to react when he leaned down to her. Warm breath rolled across her jaw and then his mouth was on hers, briefly, softly.
He pressed something into her hand. “Good-bye.” He turned and walked away.
Hana sank back against the counter, dazed.
He’s leaving me.
He still loves me. But he’s leaving me.
She straightened up, hands clenching into fists.
Light pain flashed across her palm, and she gasped.
She saw her own blood, and she let the rose fall. Thorn-pricks dotted her skin and she rushed to put her hand under the faucet.
Glancing over her shoulder at the bloom lying alone on the white tiled floor, she wondered if she should let it live.
With a resigned sigh, she leaned over to scoop it up, and dropped it into the wastebasket.
“Thanks for coming with me.” Hana twisted the edge of her blouse and stared through the giant stained-glass panel, searching for a particular shade of blue.
Claire slipped a hand over hers. “You came with me to face my demons. Brothers at arms, right?” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, sisters, anyway.”
“All for one and one for all,” Hana muttered.
“You know what they say.” Claire peered out at the dying grass and shrugged.
“Uh, no, I don’t.”
Claire chuckled. “When you love someone, you have to let him go. If he doesn’t come back, he was never meant to stay. That’s not a direct quote, by the way.”
“Even if he was meant to come back, he can’t.” Hana clenched her fists again and winced. The thorns still stung. “Those people will never let him come back to me. The moment he walks out of that church, life itself will keep him from me.”
“Melodramatic,” Claire muttered, “but true.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Hana stared down at her hands.
“Things happen in life that we can’t control,” Claire said. Her eyes darkened. “At least he’s still alive.”
Hana winced. “I’m sorry. I’m so insensitive, I – ”
Claire cut her off. “Let’s just get this over with, okay?”
“Okay.”
Both girls took deep breaths, then slid out of the car. With determined strides, the pair headed into the church.
Hana sat down beside Claire in one of the back pews, and slid her gaze to the front of the chapel.
Darrel, boyish and bright-eyed in black, chatted happily with Meghan, who was actually in a dress.
Hana would see him in his new life, in the middle of the sidewalk while she’d be walking home from work. He’d be surrounded by a bundle of children who’d gaze up at him with unadulterated adoration, chorusing in piping voices, “Father!” “Hey, Father!” He would smile down at them, ruffling hair and offering three little words she’d ache to hear. She’d stare from the shadows, telling herself he wasn’t hers to watch, or hers to love.
She flinched when the robed man read the final admonition, and proudly introduced the newly-ordained priests.
Darrel – no, Father Maxwell now, smiled at Meghan and his other friends as he accepted his appointment as head of the Hope Memorial Orphanage.
“Isn’t that where he was raised before the fire?” Claire whispered.
“Yes,” Hana said.
Darrel turned, offering a slight respectful bow, and his gaze met hers. Hana held his gaze for a moment before sweeping a glance over the black clothes, the stark white collar. Those, and every other who wore them, suddenly formed a wall between her and Darrel.
Yes, it’s Father Maxwell now.
“Let’s go,” Hana said, standing up.
She stood in her kitchen for a few hours afterward, just staring at one tile on the floor. With a last sigh, she fished the dying rose out of the wastebasket and placed it in a vase with water.
BACK
©2004 Carlotta