The Promise

by:  Megan Posner

The tires of Hannah Bentley’s old ford ranger forge across the small rock beds, used as a parking lot for the nearby cottages along the beach. The sound always reminded her of the palm of a young girl’s hand brushing across sandpaper, a feeling that made her cringe yet smile with the familiarity.

Not bothering to lock the doors or roll the drivers window all the way up, Hannah leaves behind her car, walking barefooted across the warm rocks and to the front porch of her family cottage. The touch of the wooden railing threatening to hand out splinters sends her to that first day she saw this place.

“Do you see the way the wind dances with the waves…taunting the ocean because the wind can go anywhere but the water is landlocked”

Hannah, nearly 5 years old, perches herself onto the wooden railing of the porch trying to see the beauty her grandmother sees. But the waves seem menacing and the wind bites at her already red nose.

“I don’t see it grandma”

“Someday dear, someday”

No longer lingering on the porch, Hannah pushes the front door which immediately gives way.  Every summer, her grandmother Dianna Bentley, would tear her only granddaughter away from the workaholic ethics of her parents, to spend a week at the cottage. Memories surrounded Hannah as she stood just inside the house. The counter top that was once covered with ants when Hannah left homemade cookies unwrapped all night. The couch near the picture window facing the ocean where her grandmother told the best stories about the princess with her melodic voice. Then, where she stands now in the entry hall is where she got her first kiss. To the boy named George, with the much too big ears and crooked smile.

“I will meet you by the hot dog stand tomorrow”

“Alright”

Hannah smiles and mumbles a good bye, yet George doesn’t move any closer to the front door held by a rock.

“Can I ask you a question Hannah?”

She nods, her breathing slower then usual, the awareness of his green eyes staring directly into hers making her fingertips tingle.

“Can I kiss you?”

Her cheeks burn red and she wishes for a split second to hide behind her long brown hair, pleated into a braid down her back. But instead she twirls her fingers together and whispers “yes”.

George leans forward and kisses her once, quickly, before turning to leave. He nearly sprints to the edge of the porch, stopping only to look back and smile his shy yet crooked smile.

Hannah was 13 then, and now she is 18, a grown woman, who has had her share of kisses and boys much bolder then George, who don’t even ask. Running her fingertips across the aged wallpaper, Hannah turns into the first bedroom, the one that belonged to her grandmother. She spent many nights curled underneath the lavender colored comforter, listening to her grandmother’s heart beat until she fell into a deep sleep. Sitting at the edge of the bed she closes her eyes, a more painful memory sending goose bumps, despite the heat, up her arms.

The sound of a painful cough awoke Hannah from her sleep. Walking down the dark hall she used the wall as her guide. The coughing was coming from the bathroom set in between Hannah’s room and Dianna’s. Peering quietly around the door frame, Hannah’s eyes widened. 

Her grandmother, someone always strong, was bent over the sink, coughing, and her skin was a sickening pale color. For a second Hannah wondered if she was dying. The childish part of her, at the age of 16, told her that her grandmother could never die. She was like the princess in the stories she told, the one that never aged.

Opening her eyes, Hannah remembers how minor that night was compared to the days that followed. Her grandmother, only grew weaker.  Everything and anything bringing her to her knees. Hannah was alarmed when her father explained that her grandmother had been fighting Leukemia. She was ashamed of the woman she looked up to for not telling her sooner.  They were never supposed to keep secrets.

The sound of the door opening doesn’t frighten Hannah.  She knows who it is. Lifting herself from the bed she walks back into the entry hall where a man looking odd in his business suit in contrast to the bright wallpaper and dirtied carpet, greets her with an over friendly handshake.

“Hello Ms. Bentley”

As Hannah’s hand recoils, she toys with the end of her long brown hair, not trusting this man already by the greedy look upon his face as he surveys the cottage’s interior. 

“So this is the place…how about I have a look around and then I can give you an estimate on how much it’s worth?”

Hannah feels her knees weaken as she nods and moves out of his way. Running to the bathroom, she can feel the sour taste of blood on her tongue. She makes it to the toilet just in time, her body weak and empty when she’s finished.  She leans back against the porcelain bathtub.

“Know what I miss the most Hannah”

“What?”

“The view from our picture window. Those waves!  They are just like a painting never seen before. I have tried to capture the sky touching the water in a photograph before, but it’s too beautiful to be kept anywhere else but the heart.”  Hannah looks down at her grandmother in the hospital bed, tucked in beneath the crisp white sheets. 

“You must always visit there for me dear, always.”

“I promise!”

Hannah hasn’t returned to the cottage for a whole year.  She feared her legs would not be able to support her as she dug her feet into the sand alone.

A tear trails its way down her red cheek and she pushes herself slowly off of the bathroom floor. When she reaches the living room, the realtor, whose name continues to escape her, has his back to her.  His attention is on the beach outside the window. Standing not too far behind him, she tilts her head to the side mindlessly. Though she can’t truly hear the waves, she can imagine the crashing sound. She can taste the salt and breathe in the cold mist that always hovers above the water. Then for the first time, Hannah can see it. The beauty her grandmother always saw. Closing her eyes she can still see the picture, the one that passed away with her grandmother, set in her heart.

“I can’t do it”

“Excuse me”

The man turns around, surprised at Hannah’s presence.

“I take back my offer to sell the cottage…I can’t do it…”

“Believe me not selling it would be a bad choice. Anyone would kill to have this view”

Shaking her head violently, Hannah twists her fingers together.

“Those people don’t have our memories, they don’t know my grandmothers stories. I am sorry sir, but I made a promise.”