Pocket Full of Promises

This story is by Sharon Hetherington and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Sam squatted on his haunches, eye to eye with his four-year-old son. “Eli, be a good little man and go to bed when your gram tells you. I’ll be back before you wake up.”

 

Peeking out from behind his Gram’s apron, Eli’s nutmeg eyes searched his daddy’s face. “Promise?” Barely a whisper, the word hit Sam like a thunderclap. He hugged Eli tightly, whispering back, “Promise.” Sam kissed the boy’s palm and closed his tiny fingers around it.

 

“Now, you put that promise in your pocket for safekeeping.” These were words he repeated often. Eli nodded solemnly. Scrunching his nose and pursing his lips, he squeezed his tiny fist into the pocket of his jeans. “There,” he said. “Now my pocket is full of promises, Daddy.”

 

Sam stood, choking back emotion as he watched Eli wander off to find a toy. Too often, Eli had endured broken promises. Thankfully, Gram’s love helped make everything better. She had raised Sam after his parents died when he was about Eli’s age and embraced Eli with the same quiet grace when Sam’s girlfriend Maisie left them to ‘get her life back’.

 

Sam reflected how a humid August night steeped in sweat and blackberry wine turned to passion and promises on the football field. He and Maisie consummated their teenage love under the stars. When Eli was born, Sam gave up school and begged Mr. Chan for a job at his liquor store. Mr. Chan understood hardship but the best he could offer was part-time hours. Sam took it, grateful. The young parents tried to make it work. Then Maisie left, hurtling Sam into survival mode. Two years later, all Sam had left of Maisie, was a jagged scarred memory.

 

Over the past months, Gram’s rent increased while her government pension remained static. The landlord, Ed Harley was greasing his pocket, but Sam could do little about it. Harley called it ‘hush’ money. Sam and Eli were not on Gram’s lease, and Harley constantly threatened eviction. This month, they were short on their rent; last Sunday they woke to a pounding on their door. Harley had nailed a ‘Final Notice, Failure to Pay Rent’ sign to it. Sam had one week to pay, and now Harley wanted an advance on next month’s rent.

 

Monday night, as Sam carried the store’s trash into the back alley, a trio of thugs known as the Walker boys stepped out from the shadows and cornered him.

 

They’d heard Mr. Chan hated banks and kept a safe full of cash hidden in his store. They offered Sam a deal and promised easy money. Sam needed only to disable the store alarm Friday night, and the Walker boys would take care of the rest. Sam would get a cut of the take, and the old man could claim the loss through insurance.

 

They had often badgered him, and Sam always responded with a flat ‘No.’ Until this time. Until he had become desperate. Promising himself that it would be just this once and that he would find a way to make it right with Mr. Chan, Sam said, ‘Yes.’

 

Today was Friday. Kissing his gran on the cheek, Sam exited the tiny apartment. Glaring at the notice on the door brought forth anger that it had come to this. Sam ripped the notice off, crushed it into a ball, and threw it down the hallway.

 

He stepped into the chill night air and flipped up the collar of his jacket. He walked fast to stave off the cold. His thin frame sliced through frosty breath clouds as fast as he exhaled. Worry and guilt crowded his thoughts. He shook it off. There was no time for shame. That would come later. Tonight, he would cross the line into the world of crime. He forced himself to concentrate on the Walker’s plan.

 

Sam steeled his nerve as he entered the liquor store. Mr. Chan looked up from his bookwork and greeted him with a fatherly smile and faltering English.

 

“Ahh, Mr. Sam. I am as always, happy to see you. And I am just as always, happy to leave you in charge. My wife Ya Li has freshly steamed dumplings waiting. Tomorrow she will send some for your family. They are Master Eli’s favorite, yes?”

 

Sam winced imperceptibly as he hung up his coat. Guilt fed his growing nausea. “They sure are Eli’s favorite, Mr. Chan. Thank you so much.”

 

Mr. Chan nodded in satisfaction as he put his ledger into his satchel. Uncomfortable, Eli busied himself with tidying the shelves. Mr. Chan gathered his coat and hat from the small closet behind the cash counter. Sam willed him to hurry. He would breathe easier once they were both out of the store tonight. His gut churned.

 

Sam navigated the aisles toward the cash counter, as the entrance door chimed, jarring his senses. He turned to greet the customer and froze. The Walker boys stood in the doorway, hands lumping out their pockets, menacing smiles curling their lips. Seeing Sam’s confusion, the oldest brother, Joe stepped closer.

 

“Surprise,” he said flatly. “Did you think we’d take a chance on you screwing up your end of the deal, Sammy boy?” Panicking, Sam glanced at Mr. Chan, who stared at the men, confused.

 

“Sam, please explain.” Mr. Chan stepped forward with authority. Joe Walker moved toward him, glaring threateningly. Joe’s brothers locked the door and pulled the window blinds.

 

“Well, old man, the thing is, your boy Sam is in on our little project. Now tell us where the safe is, and we’ll be on our way.” Mr. Chan raised his chin, defiance narrowing his eyes. Cold sweat trickled down the back of Sam’s neck.

 

“You are mistaken. No safe here. Leave or I will call the police.” Mr. Chan turned toward the cash counter and reached for the phone. Joe pulled a gun from his pocket and pistol-whipped the back of his head. Mr. Chan turned toward him, stunned. His legs buckled and he crumpled to the floor, blood soaking the back of his coat.

 

Fury replaced fear and Sam rushed at Joe, tackling him. The Walker brothers grappled with him, but Sam fought back, adrenalin fueling strength. Bottles tumbled from the shelves, bursting on impact with the floor.

 

The brothers wrestled him down, punching and kicking his head. Sam grabbed a broken bottle by its neck, slashing it wildly into the tangle of men. Screams and profanity cut the air around him, and blood infused the spilled alcohol.

 

Suddenly, a gunshot blasted through the chaos. Sam froze, ears ringing. He looked around through swollen eyes, afraid for Mr. Chan. The old man was slumped against the cash desk. His satchel rested on his lap, a pistol in his hand. The Walker brothers fled, leaving a trail of boozy blood behind.

 

Sam called the police and an ambulance. He attempted to give a statement, including his involvement, but Mr. Chan waved a hand to interrupt him. “Three thugs tried to rob my store. Mr. Sam defended me. That is what happened.”

 

Sam received treatment at the hospital for his injuries, but the doctor admitted Mr. Chan for observation. Guilt and shame riddled Sam’s conscience. He returned to the hospital the next day to atone for his wrongdoing.

 

He found Ya Li at her husband’s bedside watching him sleep. She turned to Sam and smiled with warmth and concern. “Mr. Sam, I am sorry you were injured. Thank you for defending my husband”, she said quietly.

 

Sam couldn’t bear the guilt any longer. “This is all my fault,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I was desperate. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I broke Mr. Chan’s trust. I don’t deserve thanks.”

 

Ya Li smiled softly at her husband, then turned again to Sam. “In Chinese culture, to forgive is to realize kindness and wisdom. We believe we should treat others how we want to be treated. My husband knows you are a good man who made a mistake in a desperate moment. We forgive you out of respect and appreciation for the honorable person you are. It is now your responsibility to be worthy of our forgiveness.”

 

Ya Li’s kindness humbled Sam. He promised to do better. Sam asked Ya Li to convey his well wishes to Mr. Chan. As he moved to leave, Ya Li handed him a package. “Dumplings for Eli” she smiled. Sam took the bag and bowed in thanks. He reached the doorway just as Mr. Chan called out weakly.

 

“Mr. Sam, I am in need of rest and recovery. You are in charge. Don’t be late. You will find an advance of your manager’s wages in the dumpling package. Now go rest.”

 

Sam nodded, tears streaming from his swollen eyes. The Chans had forgiven him. Sam promised to earn it. He balled his hand into a fist and tucked it into his pocket. Like Eli, he too had a pocketful of promises. And another chance to fulfill them.