Promise Me Anthology Read Free

“It’s
Susan.”
    “Hi,” I said as friendly as I could for not
knowing who Susan was. “Can I help you?”
    “There’s been an accident.”
    “There wasn’t a boat,” I replied foggily. I
flushed, realizing how dumb I sounded. There had been a dream last
night about a boat accident. I was standing at the edge of the
water, looking down at the lapping waves.
    “You need to come out here,” Susan said.
“I’ve called the airport, and they’re holding a ticket for you to
Wyoming—”
    “What happened?” I asked. “Did Brennan get
hurt?”
    “It’s your duty to be out here,” she said,
then hung up.
    My shock at her abruptness cut through the
last of my cobwebs. Angrily, I pushed *69, then 1. After a few
rings, a woman answered.
    “I’m not flying anywhere until I know what
happened,” I said angrily. “Do you hear me, Susan? Now who in the
hell are you and what is going on?”
    “Your husband died along with my soon to be
ex,” Susan said grimly. “They fell off a cliff on Mount Foraker.
Brennan’s family is holding a funeral as soon as possible. If you
want to be part of it, get the hell out here!”
    My tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof
of my mouth. “Why did you get me a ticket?”
    “Andy asked me to,” Susan said. “He was found
alive, and he asked that I get you a ticket. He said you’d never
come out otherwise and that Brennan would have wanted you
here.”
    I put the phone down, hearing it click. But
the sound had lost meaning.
    In my dream, there had been a boat. Brennan
had sailed off in it. And I had come down to the water’s edge to
greet him and found only wooden shards floating on the water.
    I would have stayed there for days, if the
phone hadn’t rung again. This time it was the Alaskan police,
calling to advise me that my husband of exactly one year and a few
days was dead, victim of a broken neck.
    * * * *
    I arrived in Wyoming hot, jet-lagged, and
exhausted. After renting a car, I found my way to my in-laws home.
The place was packed. I rang the doorbell. A woman answered. It
took me a moment to identify her as Brennan’s mother. She looked so
worn.
    “You made it,” she said politely. “Please
come in.”
    “Where is he?” I asked, coming inside.
    “Coming in a few hours,” she said, guiding me
to the couch. I sat, looking around at all the people chatting.
“That’s my knitting club, my bridge club, and the local Lionesses
club,” she said, her tone containing a note of pride. “I’m very
active in my community.”
    My eyes narrowed. “Where is Brennan? I want
to collect him and take him home. I have to make arrangements.”
    “You don’t have to do anything of the sort,”
she assured me. “We’re his family, Sar. We’ve got it under
control.”
    I looked at her with hostility. “He’s not
staying out here with you.”
    She stared right back. “He wanted to be
cremated and scattered out here in the mountains. With all your
death arrangements, I thought you both went over your last
wishes.”
    I had never hated anyone more than in that
moment. “He’s coming home with me.”
    “No, he’s not,” she said coolly, handing me a
paper. “This is his will. In it he stipulated what I just told you
quite clearly.”
    I snatched the paper out of her hand and read
it. Yes, it was Brennan’s will, the one we’d signed a year ago.
He’d left his worldly possessions to me, along with his SUV.
Written on the bottom in longhand was a paragraph long notation in
his handwriting, asking to be cremated, and “cast to the winds.” It
was his handwriting, no question. But that didn’t mean I was going
to roll over for her. I stood up. Holding the will, I walked to the
nearest phone and called the police.
    * * * *
    All told, it took me a week to do the
necessary paperwork, get death certificates, collect Brennan’s
things, and board a plane for my home. My now-estranged in-laws got
their way, in the end. I was there on the helicopter they