Plain Jane (25 page)

The brown-and-white spaniel ran to Jane the minute she walked in the kitchen door. She barked a greeting, then ran after Flash and Golda through the open doorway.

It all looked so normal, so Christmas-like, with the fat red candle nestled in a bed of evergreens sitting on the table, a sugar bowl and cream pitcher next to it, coffee cups, spoons, and napkins in front of Fred and Mike. She saw a bourbon bottle on the counter. Fred obviously thought the coffee needed to be fortified.

“Jane, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Mike asked, putting his arm around her shoulder.

“Everyone is sorry. No, there’s nothing anyone can do. I punched Sharon Thomas and broke her nose. There was blood everywhere. She’s going to sue my ass off. That’s a direct quote,” Jane said, sitting down at the table.

“You broke her nose! Would I be out of line if I asked why?” Mike asked, clearly agitated at the news.

“Because she said she wasn’t paying for Betty’s funeral and said her death was my fault,” Jane snarled. “What else do you want to know? Betty’s dead. There’s a period after dead. That means she is never going to call me to talk about the weather or her dog or to tell me how she’s doing. The goddamn period means she’s dead. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“Whoa, Jane. I’m not the enemy here.”

“Like hell you aren’t. I’m going home, Trixie. Thanks for going with me. I’ll call you in the morning. Thank you both for all the wonderful presents. Do you want me to take Golda, or are you going to keep her?”

“She’s good with Flash. I’ll keep her. What time are you going to be leaving in the morning? If you’re leaving early, you might as well leave Olive here.”

“I’m not going anywhere in the morning. You’ll have to go alone, Mike. Whatever Christmas spirit I had is gone. Your family doesn’t need someone like me right now. I don’t want to argue about it. It’s your family, and they’re expecting you, so you should go. Don’t worry about me. I have things I have to do and things to take care of where Betty . . . details. There are always details to . . . to take care of.”

Mike threw his hands in the air. “What can you possibly do on Christmas Day? The answer is nothing. We made these plans a long time ago. My parents are expecting us. Jane, I’m not trying to be unreasonable. Getting away will be good for you. What possible excuse can I give them?”

“How about the truth? Somebody I cared about, somebody I once treated, died. You want me to sit down to eat and open presents? I can’t do that. Right now I want to find a safe corner and sit in it and suck my thumb. I need to think, and I need to be alone. If you can’t cut me some slack and don’t understand, I’m sorry. It’s the way it is right now.”

Mike looked across the table at Fred and Trixie’s blank faces. He wasn’t going to get any help from that direction. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I’ll drive myself home.” Jane’s tear-filled eyes pleaded with her godparents for understanding.

“It’s okay, Janie, girl,” Fred said, waddling over to her. Jane clutched at his suspenders. “Do what you have to do and don’t worry about us. Mike can use one of our cars.” Jane burst into tears when Olive pawed her leg. “Get in the car, girl, we’re going home.”

Trixie’s skinny arm snaked out as she reached for Mike’s arm. Her nails dug into his wrist. “You need to let her go. I don’t want to revise my thinking where you’re concerned, young man. This is way more serious than you think. My advice is go to your parents and let Janie do what she has to do. If you don’t, you’ll be wearing that ring on your pinkie finger. Another thing, that was a pretty selfish display of emotion a while ago. I didn’t much care for it. You’re a man!” Trixie said, as though that comment alone summed up everything.

Mike sat down. “Do you really expect me to leave her at a time like this?”

“It’s not what I expect. It’s what Jane expects. Your parents are expecting you, and there’s nothing you can do here. Make their day happy.”

“She’s blaming me,” Mike said miserably.

“Yes, she is, but she’s blaming herself, too.”

“Janie said your bags and presents for the family were in the trunk. I put them in the Bronco. Here are the keys,” Fred said.

“My car is at Jane’s. I don’t want to put you out.”

“I wouldn’t go there if I were you. Jane said you were having trouble with your brakes and were going to make the trip in her car. Just take the Bronco and head out. Call us when you get there so we don’t worry. I’ll fix you a thermos of coffee to drink on the way.”

“I feel terrible about this. Of all times for something like this to happen. All of a sudden I feel guilty as hell.”

“Son, I don’t personally give two shits about how you feel right now. I might care tomorrow because you seem like a nice enough fellow, and Janie loves you. Right now all I’m concerned about is Janie and that displaced dog lying over there. Now if that makes me something other than what you think I should be in your eyes, tough shit! Do we understand one another?” Trixie asked bluntly.

Fred blinked. His wife was on a roll.

“Yes, ma’am, I understand perfectly. Thanks for the coffee, Fred. I’ll call when I get there.”

“Don’t call Jane. You call us here at the farm. Fred, write the number down for him. Remember what I said about wearing that ring.”

Mike nodded. He shuddered from head to toe as he walked toward the door. “Merry Christmas,” he said hoarsely. He wasn’t surprised when no response followed him out to the car. The sound of the door closing was terminal-sounding. He shivered again. Maybe things would look better when it got light out.

Christmas Day.

13

Jane’s mind was in a turmoil as she drove home. She drove slowly, not because of the speed limit or road conditions but because her eyes were too blurry with tears to see well enough to drive any faster.

Olive sat beside her, whimpering as if to say she understood.

At length, Jane pulled onto the shoulder and brought the car to a stop. When she turned to look out the window, she saw St. Andrew’s. She stared at the manger scene she’d had Trixie drive past earlier. She had no conscious recollection of driving here and yet, here she was. Maybe she was supposed to come here. Maybe . . . The driver door seemed to open of its own volition. Jane climbed out. How quiet it was. Midnight mass was over. Father John was probably sound asleep.

Olive next to her, Jane walked around the front of the car to the sidewalk leading to the manger scene. It was so beautiful up close. Did they keep the lights on all night? She dropped to her knees beside the manger and reached for the wooden statue of the Baby Jesus. “I was just here a little while ago with Trixie. I wanted to come back. No that’s not true, I
needed
to come back.” She hugged the statue to her breast and cried silently. Olive continued to whimper at her side.

A long time later, Jane sensed a presence. She looked up and gasped in surprise. “Father John! What—Did someone see me and think I was—”

“No one saw you, Jane,” he interrupted. “For some reason I can never sleep on Christmas Eve. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. I was going to turn the big light off and turn on the smaller one when I saw you sitting here. Can I help, Jane?”

“No, Father, but thank you. I guess I should put Him back.” She struggled to a better position to return the small statue to the manger, her eyes never leaving those of the priest at her side.

“Only if you want to,” he said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Does He give you comfort?”

“I was hoping He would. But to tell you the truth, Father, I really don’t feel any better now than when I first got here. When I was a child and rode my bike here after everyone was asleep, it was so wonderful. I always went home feeling like I could take on the world. I don’t remember if I prayed, though. I think I did. I didn’t pray tonight. It doesn’t seem fair that I should dump my problems in God’s hands. I spent long years going to school to learn how to deal with problems, my own and everybody else’s. But now—Now, it’s as if I didn’t learn anything at all. I feel like an imposter. Oh, Father, I have so much emotional baggage. I don’t know what to do anymore. Sometimes I’m afraid I might lose my mind.”

“When I don’t know what to do about something, I find the best course of action is to do nothing. It works for me.” He sat down on the ground next to her.

Olive wiggled and squirmed until she was between them.

“I’m a good listener, Jane.”

“If I unburden my soul to you, do you think you could just listen and not say anything? Then when I’m finished, I’ll go home and we’ll never talk about it again. Can we do that? Can we pretend it’s a confession of sorts?”

“If that’s what you want, Jane.”

“Did Trixie or Fred call you?”

“Trixie called earlier. She said she had a feeling you might come here. I’ve been watching and more or less waiting for you. I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t brought it up. I can stay here until it’s time to get ready for six o’clock Mass.”

Jane opened her coat, pressed the small statue against her chest, and started to talk. From time to time she looked up to see the priest’s reaction. All she could see was love and compassion. When her words finally trickled to a conclusion, she removed the statue from inside her coat and replaced it in the manger. She squeezed Father John’s hand before she got to her feet. “I might need a character witness if she sues me and takes me to court,” she called over her shoulder as she was walking away.

“I’ll be in the front row, child. Are you coming to Mass this morning?”

“Probably not, Father.” She wanted to say Merry Christmas, but she couldn’t get the words past her lips.

Jane felt a hundred years old when she walked up the steps to her front porch. She was colder than she’d ever been in her life. She sniffed at the evergreen wreath on the door, Mike’s Christmas contribution. She hung up her coat, and then put it back on. She’d forgotten that she’d turned the thermostat down to fifty when she left with Mike earlier in the evening. She turned it up now and built a fire. The moment the room warmed, she removed her coat and plugged in the tree lights. A trip to the bathroom and one to the kitchen for a bottle of wine completed her chores. With the bottle between her knees she applied a corkscrew. The moment it popped she took a swig. “This isn’t your regulation-size bottle of wine, Olive. This is one of the
big boys
! In other words, a
half gallon.
I’d give you some, but wine isn’t good for dogs. It probably isn’t good for me either. But you know what, I don’t give a good rat’s ass if it is or isn’t.”

Outside Jane’s house, in the quiet, frosty night, Trixie McGuire looked at her husband. “Slurping from a wine bottle is better than her driving around aimlessly. She’ll fall asleep when she’s had enough. I think it’s safe to say she’s okay for the rest of the night and into tomorrow morning. That girl is in so much pain I can feel it, Fred. There must be something we can do.”

“She has to find her own way, Trixie. I want to believe she’ll come to realize and live with the knowledge that her character is her destiny. My money is on our Janie. This is just another one of those rough patches we all hit from time to time.”

“Damn it, Fred, that girl has had nothing but rough patches and potholes from the day she was born. When in the hell are they going to pave her road? I’m not sitting still for this. We have to do something,” she said, defiance lighting her eyes. She blew on her bony hands to warm them.

“Get in the car, Trixie, I’m taking you home. We’ll talk about this over some hot chocolate.” Trixie didn’t argue and allowed herself to be led to the car.

“Is this where you tell me two heads are better than one?” Trixie groused as she buckled her seat belt. “I don’t want to hear any fortune-cookie wisdom tonight . . . I mean this morning, or whatever the hell time it is.”

“It will be sunup in about twenty minutes,” Fred said.

Jane knew if she closed her eyes, one of her dumb dreams would take over. She fought valiantly to keep her eyes open but she was too tired. Much too tired.

“Okay, Billy, tell me again, why you can’t leave here?” Jane asked.

“This is where I was born and where I died. My soul didn’t pass naturally. I can’t go where the others are until I’m released.”

“Who does the releasing? Do you have to qualify or something? You know my position on spooks.”

Billy gave her a narrow look.
“I’m going to overlook that comment, Miss Jane.”

“Ask me if I care. I have more important things on my mind. Tell me something, please. Do you know where my mother and father are?”

“Your father was pure of heart so he passed to the other side but your mother—She’s on this side, also waiting to be released.”

Jane laughed, an eerie sound. “Who in their right mind would release my mother?”

“You!”

Jane laughed until the tears came. “That’s a good one, Billy. Guess she’s destined to stay on your side for all eternity because I’m not the one. She can burn—Oh, never mind.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

“Conversation. I’m trying to get a handle on this dream stuff. I’m a lousy shrink, but who knows, I might become a
dreamologist.
Someone who interprets people’s dreams. But before I can become an expert, I need to interpret my own dreams. So where does my mother hang out?”

“In your old house. She can’t leave there just like I can’t leave here.”

“A prisoner in her own house. Imagine that! Okay, here’s another question for you. Obviously you know everything that goes on here at this house so that means you heard Mike and me talking about his battery guy. What’s the answer?”

“Energy.”
Billy smiled.

“Energy?”

“Yes. When he was a small boy, he was sickly and his parents coddled him. Day after day, he did nothing but sit on the porch and watch the other children play. Even after he regained his health, he had little energy to do physical things. He got the idea that carrying batteries around with him would give him energy. He doesn’t remember his early childhood because it is too painful. The mind is a curious thing, Miss Jane, as you well know.”

“Batteries equal energy,” Jane said to herself, shaking her head. “I knew it was something simple.” She looked askance at Billy. “The question is how do you know about him? You just told me you can’t leave here.”

“I read Dr. Sorenson’s file on the man. He brings his briefcase here when he comes to visit you.”

“Let’s get back to my mother. Why didn’t she pass over? Not that I care. I’m just curious. My mother the spook. I can’t wait to tell Trixie.”

“You shouldn’t speak disrespectfully of the dead, Miss Jane,”
he scolded.

Jane bristled. “Oh, but it was okay for her to speak to me, a child, with disrespect. Life and death, what’s the difference ? If I go to that old house, will I be able to see her, talk to her?”

“I don’t know. But I do know this, you’re the only one who can release her and put her at peace. Do you want to do that?”

“Hell, no, I don’t,” she shouted. “It gives me a lot of pleasure to know she’s flopping around out there somewhere. It gives me even more pleasure to know I’m the one who’s in charge of her staying or leaving.” She hooted with delight. “That’s what I call divine retribution, Billy. Absolutely divine !”

“It’s sad that you feel that way, Miss Jane. Very sad.”

“Is anyone living in the house where she is? Wait a minute, let me rephrase that. Is any live person residing in the house where she is?”

“No. She drives everyone out. The fifth owner just moved. The house is for rent now.”

“You know this . . . how?”

“I just know.”

“Yeah, well guess what? I’m going to wake up now so you can go away.”

“I wish you well, Miss Jane.”

“And on that note, Billy, I will now leave you.” She grappled with a line she used on her radio show. “Remember now, learn the rules so you know how to break them properly.”

“Yes, ma’am. It sounds like you’re saying good-bye to your listeners on your radio show.”

Jane rolled over on the sofa and opened her eyes a fraction. She brought her arm up to look at her watch. Noon! Noon on Christmas Day. The fire she’d lit when she came home was nothing more than smoldering ashes. The tree lights twinkled.

Olive licked her face.

“I love you, too, Olive, but I’m too tired to get up just yet. Those dreams of mine wear me out. I’m just going to catch a few more winks.” She rolled back over and closed her eyes. When she woke later, it was starting to get dark outside. Maybe she should take a shower. A shower always made her feel better. Brushing her teeth always made her feel better, too. Too bad there weren’t more things that would make her feel better.

She looked at the ring on her finger, the beautiful ring Mike had given her. Where did it fit into things now? Nowhere. She removed it and stuck it in the toe of one of her socks in her sock drawer.

The long night loomed ahead of her.

Trixie poured two glasses of wine and took them to the kitchen table. “I think this was the worst Christmas ever,” she mumbled as she sat down. She knew she must look like hell. God knows she felt like hell. Neither she nor Fred had had more than a few hours’ consecutive sleep since they’d gotten the telephone call from the police department on Christmas Eve. They were getting too old for this kind of thing. But what could they do? Their Janie was in trouble and they needed to keep an eye on her.

“You said you had an idea, Fred. Share it with me. I need something to make me feel good. If I have to make one more trip over to Janie’s house, I’m going to collapse. She slept the day away, and now she’s in bed again and it’s only seven o’clock. She didn’t eat either. Mike’s called six times. I’m about ready to pull the phone out of the wall. So, what’s the idea, sweetie?”

Fred looked up from the piece of paper he’d been doodling on. “How would you feel about endowing LSU?” His eyes clung to hers, analyzing her reaction.

Trixie’s eyes flashed with impatience. “Forget it, Fred. I want to use our money for the K-9s.”

“I know, doll, but I have a plan. I’ve been thinking about it all day. Tell me what you think. Janie told us that she bit one of the boys who raped her friend. Bit him clear to the bone is what she said. I think we all agree that a bite like that would leave a pretty nasty scar, agreed?”

“Yes,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Okay, so now here’s the deal. Our new book is called
Pigskin Bloodbath.
The whole football team gets wiped out. Pigskin, Trixie, you know, a football. I see the cover art as a pair of strong, bloody hands holding that pigskin high in the air, getting ready to toss a pass.” To demonstrate, he grabbed the cantaloupe out of the fruit bowl and raised it over his head as if he was going to throw it. “We hold a contest to find a pair of hands to put on the cover of our new book. A football player’s hands, big, strong, and . . . scarred. We limit the contest to LSU football players, past and present. We would know what year they played by the form they would have to fill out. We give a hundred grand to the university and fifty thousand to the football player whose hands we choose. We’ll do it through our attorney so we can stay anonymous.” His excitement increased as the words began to flow. “Because we’ll be opening the contest to all the years, it’ll look legit. Hell, it will be legit. But it will also give us a chance to find the guy Janie sank her teeth into. I think it will work, Trixie, I really do. Who’s going to turn down fifty grand? The school won’t turn it down, that’s for sure. It will be wonderful publicity for them and us as well. We can afford to do this.” He dropped the cantaloupe back in the bowl. “What do you think?”