Promise Me

Life is a house of cards, balanced on a teeter-totter, precariously perched on a roller coaster. The only thing that should surprise us about our surprises is that we are surprised by them.

Beth Cardall’s Diary

Roxanne called the house several times that night, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer the phone, so she took it on herself to come by around seven. She let herself in the front door and walked right into my bedroom. Charlotte was in the living room watching television. I was lying in my bed with the night-table lamp still on. I’m certain that my face was as puffy as a bag of marshmallows.

“Oh, baby,” she said when she saw me. She sat on the bed next to me, her legs dangling from the side. “Are you okay?”

“I made him leave,” I said hoarsely.

“Of course you did.”

“Charlotte was so upset.”

“You did the right thing.”

“Charlotte’s still sick.”

Roxanne shook her head. “Baby, when it rains it pours. That’s why you got me. I’m your umbrella and your galoshes.” She gently ran her hand over my cheek. “I called Ray and told him I wouldn’t be home tonight. What have you got for dinner?”

“I’m not hungry. Charlotte . . .”

“Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll make Charlotte a grilled cheese, she loves those. Then I’ll give her a bath and get her ready for bed. You just rest.” She slid from the bed.

“Rox.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Thank you.”

“Whatever I can do, baby. That’s what I do, whatever I can do.”