Promises to Keep Read Free

in its death throes, until finally it was suspended in space, disappearing over the brink of the precipice to fall smoothly away into nothingness.
    When she heard the final agonizing crash—mindless of pain, stumbling and sliding, sometimes clawing for handholds—she worked her way down to the edge of the cliff. She had seen the bright flames blossom until they enveloped the silver metal and when at last the fire had consumed itself, there was no sign of life about the charred, twisted hulk that was all that remained of the bus.
    For a long time she'd stared down at the wreckage, praying that there were other survivors, praying for the impossible. Unable to encompass the loss of over thirty lives, her grief had centered on the girl who'd been seated across the aisle from her. She'd overheard enough of her conversation to know she was on her way to Laramie to enroll in classes at the University of Wyoming. How old was she? Julie had wondered. Seventeen, perhaps. Eighteen at the most.
    Julie wished she'd been more receptive to the girl's overtures toward conversation. She wished she'd known the girl's name. Her face, beautiful in its youthful intensity, glowing with hope and promise, had floated before Julie's eyes, and it was more than she could bear: to think of that hope going unrewarded, the promise denied, the girl dying before she'd ever had a chance to live.
    Anguishing because she was alive when so many were dead, she had questioned why she should have been the one to survive.
    "Why?" she whispered. She'd turned away from the still-smoking ruin at the bottom of the gorge to look up at the implacable heights that had spawned the boulder. Near hysteria, she screamed, "
Why
?"
    A starburst of pain had exploded inside her head and, for a time, there had been blessed oblivion.

    "Are you all right?" Garth Falconer asked, calling her back to the present.
    She stared at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. His brows were drawn and the bones of his face seemed more prominent, as if they were carved from granite. It was some time before she realized he'd taken her hand in order to slip the ring on her finger. She was still holding his hand, gripping it so tightly that her fingers felt numb and bloodless.
    Still shivering slightly from the awful images he'd revived, she nodded and made a conscious effort to relax her grip on him. The ring, fit perfectly, but its dull gold luster looked out of place against her pale skin, and it was so heavy, it seemed to weigh her down. She jammed her left hand into the pocket of the robe and still she was painfully aware of the ring.
    As if he'd read her mind, Garth explained, "We haven't been married very long."
    "Did we have some kind of disagreement?"
    "No," he replied tersely.
    Her eyes were clouded with perplexity when they met his. "Then why did I leave?"
    "I'm not sure." His expression was shuttered, giving her not the least indication of his emotions.
    "And it took you until now to find me?"
    He nodded. "Nearly four weeks," he said tonelessly.
    And did you care at all? she wondered. Aloud she asked, "Have I other relatives?"
    "Only an uncle, Rupert Hastings, and his wife and daughter. Your parents died when you were a child and after that you lived with your maternal grandmother. She died a little over a year ago."
    Julie was silent as she assimilated this information. After a time Garth observed in a dry voice, "I gather none of these vital statistics spark any memories."
    "No," she said dully. "I'm sorry, but they don't."
    He glanced about them as though calculating whether the few patients remaining in the solarium at this twilight hour could overhear their conversation.
    "I should have thought of it sooner," she reluctantly offered, "but perhaps you'd like to continue this in my room. We'd have more privacy there."
    "This is fine," he replied curtly. "We'll have all the privacy we need tomorrow. Your doctors tell me you're well enough to be discharged, and I'll be