Robyn Carr - The Promise

Peyton frowned. The man was in his fifties. Stranger things had happened for older men. But helped? “I have to ask, helped how? Is he into infertility studies or something?”

Al laughed heartily at that. “I know I have a dumb look about me, but I’m not that dumb. No—those three down there. The kid on the board with Sarah’s brother is Justin, he’s seventeen. The two with the Frisbee are Kevin and Danny. They’re my foster kids. I was all worried about being approved, and Scott said, let’s get Sally, their mother, to appoint you as guardian—that should speed things up. Now I’m a foster father, final approval due any second.”

Peyton was stunned. “You must know them quite well to sign up for that. Or you’re gifted with teens?”

“Neither,” he said. “I’ve only known them for a little while, but they’re pretty amazing boys. They took care of their disabled mother at home all by themselves until she was put in a nursing home.” He jutted a chin toward the bay. “We’re having paddleboard lessons today. They’re pricy, those boards. I’m not investing until two things are established—one, they like it a lot and two, they’re not likely to drown!” He chuckled. “Kevin and Danny have been at the water’s edge a dozen times, begging Justin to come in so they can have a turn. Even though the boys can swim, sort of, I only want them out there one at a time. If one of them falls off the board, Landon is a certified lifeguard. I think this idea is going to cost me.”

“Just out of curiosity, how long have you been at this foster parent thing?” Peyton asked.

“Couple of weeks,” Al said. “These boys haven’t had much time off. You know, kid time, because of their mother’s health. I work full-time, but I don’t intend to waste a day of the rest of summer—I want them to be boys for a change. They still pile in the car and go see their mom in the nursing home at least twice a week, more if they can. But I think it’s important they play ball, get in the water, have some fun.”

“How long did they take care of their mother?” she asked.

“Near as I can figure, about four years. And according to Scott, they did a damn fine job of it.”

And I couldn’t get Ted’s kids to carry a dirty plate to the kitchen, Peyton thought.

Al wandered off as she was introduced to Cooper when he came on to the deck wearing a tool belt. “Aren’t you due for a little rest to try to achieve ankles?” he said to his wife.

“I’m much more interested in achieving labor,” she said. But she let him pull her to her feet.

“Don’t be in too big a hurry,” Peyton said. “You want that baby nice and plump.”

“Do I?”

“Well, you want her lungs and heart nice and plump,” Peyton said with a smile.

“Stay awhile, Peyton,” Sarah said. “Enjoy the view. I hope I see you around.”

Peyton was happy to stay awhile. This spot was calming. The group from the bay moved to the beach, erected a net and got the volleyball going. Al’s three foster sons played with Sarah’s brother and his friends. She met an older gentleman named Rawley who had two youngsters in tow with buckets and poles—a boy and girl. He nodded at her. “How do,” he said. The kids raced off ahead of him, down the stairs.

She smiled. “Grandfather duty?”

“Sorta. That there’s Cooper’s boy, Austin. And my friend Devon’s girl, Mercy.”

“Ah, yes, I met Devon. But I thought Austin was her fiancé’s son?”

And the old boy nodded. “Yep,” was all he said, taking the kids down to the dock to fish.

“Well, that was clear as mud,” Peyton muttered to herself.

She was almost to the bottom of her tea when another guy in a tool belt came on to the deck, followed by Al. This guy had a beer and was pretty sweaty. Al had himself a Coke and a bowl of chips and salsa. Al said, “Spencer, that’s Peyton. Peyton’s thinking of working in the clinic...”

“You know Devon?” he asked with a smile.

“I met her,” she said. “I talked with her awhile and left my résumé.”

“We’re engaged.” He brushed his hands off on his jeans and reached across the space between the tables to shake her hand. “I’ve been working on the house. We’re getting married pretty soon, and there might still be some work to do, but we’re going to move in the second it’s livable. How do you like our town so far?”

“Quaint,” she said.

He laughed. “Only on the surface. It’s a tough little town.”

“How is that?”

He thought for a second. “These people don’t have a lot of advantages. The cost of living here is low, but there’s one doctor, one lawyer, no dentists—it’s a working-class town, and a large percentage of the population holds second jobs. Our teenagers carry as many credits as the teens in upscale city schools, yet most of them also work part-time. And they do well in school. We get a fair number into college.”

And that would explain why Scott Grant ran on a tight budget. “Yet you like it here?”

“This was a good decision for me, coming here,” Spencer said. “My last high school had a lot. It was flush with money—supplies, equipment, tutors, special programs, you name it. If the school needed it, they found a way. It was a well-heeled district. Not very many of my students had to work to get by. There were plenty of kids who held jobs, but there were more who didn’t. The student parking lot was always full, and the cars weren’t wrecks.” He grinned again. “The Thunder Point High School lot looks very different. These people work hard to stay above water. I find it’s kind of inspiring to be around a bunch of kids who don’t have it that easy.”

This was something Peyton had devoted a great deal of time to thinking about lately. She’d grown up on a farm, and it was a very successful farm. But they’d never been spoiled; the kids each had tons of responsibility. Everyone had worked hard, and because Paco was always worried about next year’s growing season, which could be bad, no one had spent money frivolously. One early freeze could mean disaster for the pears; a terrible winter could stunt the sheep. If hand-me-downs worked, why buy new? And although her dad had hired hands on the farm, every last one of his children had had farm chores. “Work is good for the soul,” he’d said. “What are you gonna learn from sleeping late? You pick pears for a few weeks, you have time to think and you have a chance to learn.”

At the time, Peyton had not given her farmer father much credit for wisdom, but when she was in college she’d had classmates who’d gone out a lot or played cards in the student lounge all the time while she’d been at the library studying because she learned that you work first, then you play. She was not a recluse by any means—she had a great social life, just not a frivolous one. That beer with her friends had tasted a lot better after she’d gotten an A on a test rather than after a D. Hard training on the Lacoumette farm had served her well.

Ted’s kids were overindulged, there was no question. Peyton had taken the Ramsdales back to the farm where twenty or more people would squish around a long oak table and that wasn’t even the whole family. They’d yell and laugh and fight for space to say a word. It was a place where all those staying in the house would bang on the bathroom door to oust someone who seemed to be homesteading in there, where breakfast was at five in the morning. The Ramsdale kids had not been impressed. Nor had been Ted, for that matter. His oldest, fifteen-year-old Krissy, had said, “Smells kinda like shit, doesn’t it?” Peyton’s mother had gasped, and her father had scowled.

“That’s manure,” Peyton had snapped. “It’s cultivating time!” Her father always said, That smell? That’s the smell of money.