7. The Promise

Dancing at The Orange Peel - Episode 7

Welcome to Episode 7 of DANCING AT THE ORANGE PEEL, a 1960-70s serialized historical novel. Just getting started? Episode 1 | Full Episode Guide | Extra related goodies in THE MAILBAG

Previously: Episode 6, “The Knight Alone.” Saturday, April 6, 1968. When Grant arrives for supper without his date, Libby is delighted to get all his attention. Gwen, on the other hand, wonders what this loss of yet another girlfriend in a long line of women will mean for the relationship she and Libby have with Grant.

In this episode: Gwen grapples with her emotions as the evening unfolds in a night of revelations. She finds herself in a complex dance with Grant, who is bound by a promise to her late husband that has blurred their boundaries of friendship and love.

Episode 7: THE PROMISE

On the couch, Gwen curled her right leg under her, trying to get comfortable. She was too full from the root beer float Libby had insisted she order at Howard Johnson’s. Even with Sue’s Sweet Shop within walking distance, HoJo’s off the Old Fort Highway was Libby’s favorite. So, of course, Grant had driven them there. Libby tried a different one of their 28 flavors each time. That girl wasn’t afraid to try new things.

As Grant settled on the other end of the couch, Libby thanked him for the ice cream, then skipped off to her bedroom, leaving her alone with Grant. He leaned back, sighed, and closed his eyes.

“Tired?” she asked, searching for anything to chitchat about.

“A bit.” He opened his eyes and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “Pulled doubles the last few days in a row. Frank’s wife thought she was going into labor.”

“Thought?” This is good. Grant’s co-worker and new baby were safe topics.

“False alarm.” He gazed past her to the rose in the bud vase June had put on the end table. She leaned forward to draw his attention away from it.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s frustrating for her.” She hoped her words sounded more concerned than she felt.

“Yes. Frank, too.” He raised and moved beside her.

She unfolded her leg, forcing him to give her space. “What was her actual due date? Do you kn—?”

“We need to talk.”

Her mind raced. “Why don’t we see what’s on the boob tube?” She stood to turn on the television. He grabbed her arm and gently pulled her back to the couch, then didn’t let go when she sat. She looked sideways at the floor. “Like I said, Brenda will come back.”

“No.” He squeezed her wrist, let go, leaned back, stretched. “Not this time.” He’d never seemed so certain.

Her throat tightened. “Why is this time different?”

He stared at her, finally took in a breath, then released it. “For once, I told a girl the truth.”

“All these times you fooled around on girlfriends, you’d think you would know to keep quiet.” She meant to lighten his mood. “Never kiss and tell.” Immediately, she regretted the jab about his infidelities.

“I know you believe I’m some kind of playboy, Gwen, but I wasn’t fooling around on Brenda.” His glance away told her otherwise. “At least I didn’t think I was.”

“You aren’t making sense.” She adjusted the pillow behind her.

“Brenda told me I might as well be cheating on her.” He paused. “She said I was never ‘present,’ whatever that means.”

“Then where were you?”

His hunched shoulders and hanging head made him look like a child in trouble. “Here.”

She furrowed her brow, hoping this wasn’t leading where she thought. “What do you mean?”

“Not literally. But still, with you. And Libby.” He shifted to face her. “Brenda told me I’m obsessed.”

That wasn’t so hard to believe. Examining her pink fingernails, she scraped one thumbnail with the other. “We cut our dinners to just twice a month so you could have more time with her,” she reminded him. A fleck of polish flipped onto the couch beside her.

He sighed heavily. “Didn’t make a difference.”

“I wish I’d have known.” She pinched the fleck off the cushion and moved it to the coffee table. “We could have skipped a few times.” The idea of extra distance between them made her feel lighter for a flash of a second.

He dismissed the idea with a wave of a hand in front of his face. “It wouldn’t have mattered.” He leaned closer. “It doesn’t matter. Even when I’m not here, Gwen, I’m with you. And you’re with me. Everywhere. All the time.”

She stared at that fleck, silent. In all their other conversations just like this one, she had used up all she had to say about it.

He reclined against the couch cushion, turned his face upward, and stared at the ceiling. “I thought Brenda could be the one.”

This was a surprise. Maybe there was still hope for those two. “Me, too,” she agreed, perhaps too eagerly.

Keeping his eyes on the ceiling, he added, “The one who could break me of you.”

That, yes that. Brenda would be her hero then. Quickly looking to the clock over the stereo, she called to her daughter, “Libby, it’s nine-thirty. Do you have your pajamas on yet?” She pushed away the recognition—and shame—that she was using her child to avoid this talk with Grant.

“It’s the weekend, Mama,” Libby called back.

Grant straightened, glanced first at Gwen, and then toward the hallway. He knew what she was doing. She forced a chuckle and rolled her eyes, then sang out to Libby, “Doesn’t matter. There’s church tomorrow.”

Libby came into the living room, still in her green shorts and t-shirt with HoJo’s butterscotch ice cream on the front. “But it’s not late.”

“It’s late enough. Now go.”

“I want to wait up.” Libby scanned the room. “Where’s my giraffe report?”

Gwen’s stomach tightened. After Nate had left, Libby had dug that dang report out of the box in the closet. Still on the end table by the rose, Gwen grabbed it. “Right where you left it.” She stood, and with an arm around Libby’s shoulder, marched her toward her bedroom. “Put your pajamas on. Then you can read. You still have My Side of the Mountain to finish, don’t you?”

Clearly puzzled, Libby replied, “I only have one more chapter.”

After putting the report on Libby’s dresser, Gwen pulled pajamas from the middle drawer. “Okay then. Just stay in your room.” Fearing her words sounded too much like punishment, she added, “So you can read quietly.”

“I’ll be quiet, Mama.”

Thankfully, her girl was always eager to obey. Libby pulled the ice cream-stained shirt over her head and dropped it on the end of her bed. “Is Uncle Grant staying till Nate comes?”

Gwen glanced toward the hallway. “No, honey.” She whispered, “They don’t know each other. Enough about that.” She went to the door, then turned. “Goodnight now. Get to reading.”

Smoothing down her pajama top, Libby rushed toward her. “I gotta tell Uncle Grant goodnight.”

Gwen bit her lip. “Then do it quick.”

They rushed to the living room together. Libby leaned her tiny body against Grant, putting her hands on his cheeks. “G’night.”

He sat up to pull her close. “Goodnight, princess.” As she squeezed him in return, he pushed her hair out of her face.

Their affection for one another usually felt so right to Gwen. Was it simply a comfortable familiarity from years of repetition? No. It had always felt true and honest, even when Carter had been alive. Tonight, though, it had Gwen confused, uneasy. She clapped her hands once. “Off to sleep now.”

Libby whirled around. “You said I could stay up unt—”

“I know, I know. Read, not sleep! Either way, get on in there.”

“Night, Mama.” Libby gave her a quick hug around the hips as she rushed by.

Following, Gwen reminded her, “Church tomorrow. So not too long.” She closed the bedroom door partway.

From the hall, she could see Grant perched on the couch’s edge, elbows on knees, staring at his shoes. She didn’t have the energy for another ‘talk.’ Not tonight. He’d say the same things as last time. And the time before. He would insist they should be together. It was meant to be. There was no one else for him but her. He would promise to be different with her.

Just once, she had let herself believe it could be true. He had gone a long time with no other women—a long time for him. So right before her last birthday, she had come close to letting down her guard. To opening her heart to him. But then he’d taken up with the owner of the new ladies’ boutique downtown. Things never changed with him.

She meandered into the living room, frustrated that she was out of diversions. He patted the couch, inviting her to sit. When she matched her elbows on knees to his, he leaned into her shoulder smirking. With his face just inches from hers, he asked, “Why do we keep doing this?”

She locked eyes with him and measured her words. “Because you gave Carter your word.” Despite his other shortcomings, Grant Harrison’s word was his honor, and she did respect him for that. “But you’ve taken it to the extreme, Grant. That promise has kept you from moving on.” What she really meant was it had kept them both from moving on, locked together in a way no longer good for either of them. But Grant was easier to talk to when the focus was on him.

“I don’t want to move on.” His voice was almost a whisper. “This is where I need to be.”

She leaned back and rubbed the tops of her legs. “Libby and I are okay. You don’t have to be with us all the time anymore.”

“But I want to.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Why else would I keep coming back?”

She patted him twice on the knee. “I’ll tell you what.” Standing, she added, “Let’s not do this again.” Then she crossed to the other side of the coffee table.

“We can’t help it, Gwen.” He threw his hands up. “Don’t you see?” Dropping them as he stood, they clapped loudly on his thighs. “We keep resisting, but we keep coming back to this. It’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

Pacing, she rubbed her forehead. “I can’t.”

He followed her to the center of the room. “It’ll be different this time. No backsliding. Just us.”

“Different?” She faced him. “You know it won’t be. Two or three weeks from now, two or three days even, there’ll be somebody. If Brenda doesn’t come back, there will be someone else.”

“The only reason I was with any of them is because you wouldn’t have me. You have this idea I want any woman I can get. Well, you’re wrong.” He stepped toward her. “I only want you.” When she turned away, he raised his voice. “No one else.”

She clenched her teeth. “Be quiet. Libby’ll hear you.”

“I mean it, Gwen.” This time, he almost whispered as he approached her.

She shirked from him and realized her hands were shaking. He had to know it was too late. How could he not know? “Let it go, Grant. Libby and I are fine. We have a good life now.” Her own words bolstered her, and she spun to face him again. “Carter didn’t want you to stop your life to look after us.”

He gently took her hands and pulled her close. “Carter didn’t know I’d fall madly head over heels for you.” They stood silent, holding hands, until he added, “Or maybe he did.”

“Oh?” Where was he going with this new line of thinking? “Now you believe that was his plan all along?”

“No, of course not.” He paused. “Frankly, it’s always been this way for me.” He sounded desperate now. “Why do you resist? I can make you and Libby happy. I do make you happy. I see it.”

She dropped his hands. “We’re happy as we are.” That didn’t sound convincing. Over his shoulder, the clock above the stereo ticked off another minute. “Why don’t we both get some sleep and we’ll talk about this some other time?”

“Please, don’t put me off. Again.” Begging didn’t suit him. She bit her bottom lip and wanted him gone all the more. Why had Brenda picked now to leave him? Just when she’d met Nate and needed space. Space and time she could have if Grant was still with her, or any girl.

She checked the clock again. Enough of this. “Brenda will come back. You’ll see.” She stepped toward the door. “Go get some rest. Everything will work out tomorrow.” As she reached for the doorknob, she said a quick, silent prayer: please let him leave without more . . . pleading.

“You’re throwing me out?” He pushed out his bottom lip.

Good. She couldn’t handle his true anger, but his play-anger she could deal with. She smiled. “It isn’t the first time.”

He sighed, ambled toward her until his face was only inches from hers. Raising one brow, he said, “I’d sure like it to be the last.”

Before she could answer, he kissed her. She lingered, but then pulled away, surprised at herself. And mad for not reacting more quickly. She glared at him.

He closed his eyes and tossed back his head. “I’m sorry. I blew it. I just . . .” Shaking his head, he swooped his arm around her waist. “I can’t help it, Gwen.”

Her hand went to his chest. “Stop. Go home. Get some rest.”

A silence that seemed to last minutes settled on them.

Finally, she added, “I’m really tired. And so are you.”

“I . . . ” He dropped his arm and reached for the doorknob, but then turned and fixed his eyes on the yellow rose. “I love you, Gwen.” He opened the door, and then was gone.

She stood motionless in the middle of the room, staring at the closed door. Grant had insisted they were right for each other and teased her about marriage again and again. But never these words. Tears stung her eyes.

He had always given her—and Libby—a sense of security and safety they had never known, not even with Carter. His loyalty to Carter, his promise, had been the declared reason for every single thing he did for them. But Gwen saw it clearly now—all the years before, since high school even. His feelings had been there all along. Wrapping arms around herself, she dropped into the chair by the door. All the years, all the memories of Grant’s special attention cascaded upon her.

Thanks for reading! Each episode is a work-in-progress, which means you’re a vital part of my creation process, and the story may expand or contract as I write. I encourage and value your comments.

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