Promise Me by Richard Paul Evans Read Free Book Online

“We were worried when Marc didn’t show up today. Yesterday he was acting rather peculiar. He left work at noon to go to an appointment and missed an important meeting later in the day. No one has seen or heard from him since. We assumed he was at home.”
    â€œNo, I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning,” I said. “What do you mean by peculiar?”
    â€œHe offered another salesman his two biggest accounts.”
    â€œWhy would he do that?”
    â€œIt makes no sense,” Dean said. “Gloria also said she overheard him on the phone earlier in the day. She thought he was . . . crying.”
    I thanked him and hung up. I was frightened.
Had I been too harsh
? That night, after Charlotte was in bed, Roxanne came over to the house and sat with me while I made calls to whoever I could think of who might have seen him. I called the area hospitals and police stations to see if he’d been in an accident. It was around nine when the headlights of Marc’s car flashed through our picture window on our living room wall. Roxanne looked at me. “I’ll go, babe. Good luck.”
    â€œThanks.”
    Roxanne went out the side door to avoid bumping into him. I heard the door unlock, then Marc opened the front door and walked in. I walked into the foyer to meet him. He reeked of alcohol.
    â€œWhere have you been?”
    â€œGone,” he said, avoiding eye contact.
    â€œYou’ve been drinking.”
    â€œAren’t you sharp.”
    â€œMarc, where have you been?”
    â€œI don’t have to answer to you.”
    â€œYou’re still my husband.”
    â€œNot for long.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œI’ve been drinking,” he said. “That’s what it means. That’s where I’ve been. That’s all you need to know.”
    â€œYou’re on a real winning streak here. First cheating, now drinking.”
    He waved a clumsy hand to brush me off. “Don’t talk to me. I’m through talking. I’m getting my things and leaving.”
    â€œYou’ve been begging me to stay and now you’re leaving?”
    â€œPretty much.”
    â€œWhat about Charlotte?”
    â€œShe’s going to have to get used to it anyway.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? Get used to what?”
    â€œBeing fatherless.” He stopped to look me in the eyes. “Not that you care, but I found out why I’m not feeling well. I have pancreatic cancer. The doctor’s given me two to six months to live. How do you like them apples?” He walked to our bedroom, knelt down at the dresser and began pulling out clothes.
    I followed him, dumbstruck. When I could speak, I said, “Marc, I didn’t even know you weren’t feeling well.”
    â€œYou weren’t doing much thinking about how I was doing.”
    I crouched down next to him. “Marc, please stop. I do care. I was so afraid that something had happened to you. Thursday night I made us a candlelit dinner. I want you back.”
    He stopped what he was doing. “It’s too late for that.”
    â€œNo, it’s not. Where will you go?”
    He looked at me sadly. “If I’m lucky, I have maybe thirtyto forty days left of any kind of quality. I’m not going to waste a single one of them being abused by you. I told you I’m sorry for what happened. But I’m done now. I’m not going to spend my last days on earth beating myself over what I can’t change. Or let you do it.” He stood, his arms full of clothing. “Where’d you put my suitcase?”
    â€œMarc, what happened, the other woman, it broke my heart, because I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I forgive you for what happened.”
    He looked at me in disbelief.
    â€œI forgive you, Marc. Completely. I want you back. I want things to be the way they were.”
    â€œThey can’t be the way they