The Book of Jane (7 page)

Chapter 8

N
ow don't
you worry, shug,” Mary Sue says as she pats my back. “It's going to be all right.” She squeezes me tightly, then pulls back and motions to the couch. “You sit there, and I'll go get us some sweet tea, and you can tell me all about it.” I nod wordlessly, not knowing what else to do.

From the kitchen I can hear her saying, “You know in Charleston we just call it tea. If a person says, Why I do want some tea, they mean sweet tea of course, but Lee told me up here I had to get more specific-like and call it sweet tea. But I said to him, now why don't…” I stop listening, drowning in a dark tidal pool of my own thoughts. How have I lost my boyfriend, my job, and my reputation? I am worse than a country music song.

“Do you want some lemon bars?” she calls from the kitchen, poking her head around the corner. Not sure what to say, I nod. A few seconds later, she appears with a flowered enamel tray filled with lemon bars and two glasses of cold, dark tea. She sets the tray down on the table and hands me a glass. I take a long sip of the cool, sweet tea and smile.

“Now,” she says, settling into the couch and looking concerned, “Do you want to tell me what's wrong?” I take a deep breath and nod, but as soon as I open my mouth to tell her, I start bawling. Mary Sue doesn't say a word but puts her glass down softly and leans in to give me another hug. She lets me cry on her shoulder for what seems like hours, holding me while my body is racked with sobbing. She pulls tissues out of her pockets to wipe away my tears, and she rocks me gently. The evening light in Lee's living room softens into twilight, and the room slowly darkens. When I can't cry anymore, she smiles at me, switches on the lamp, refills my glass, and starts to talk. Her smooth, buttery voice and soothing accent lull me into relaxation as she tells me about her childhood, growing up among the sweeping verandahs, cobbled streets, and lush trees of Charleston, about the lavish parties her parents threw and the friends she had, the world of trouble she got into when she put a bug in her sister's knickers. I know she's trying to distract me, but it works, and I am transported far away from my own sad world to another time and place.

It's ten-thirty when she finishes telling me about her debutante ball, and slowly, she helps me to my feet. At the door Mary Sue gives me a final hug, and I squeeze her back. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“Hush now,” she says, shaking her head. “We'll talk more tomorrow.” I tread the stairs to my empty apartment, and it isn't until I'm inside that it occurs to me that I should have asked how she's doing.

 

“Is
he going to be okay?” I ask, nervously holding Charlie on the icy-cold steel examining table. He looks so pitiful and small in this large, stark room. I can feel him shivering. My eyes ache because it's midnight, and I've been crying all day. This is the worst possible end to the worst possible day in my life.

“I'm not sure,” the veterinarian says, making a notation in Charlie's file. Her stern face and graying hair are not comforting, but this pet hospital is supposed to be the best in the city. “Pancreatitis is a serious infection, but it's treatable. I want to keep him here tonight and get an IV into him to get him hydrated again. He's dangerously dehydrated. I also want to run some blood work on him and take some X rays to confirm that he hasn't eaten anything toxic and that there's not something lodged in his intestinal tract,” she says. I bite my lip. Oh Charlie. A night in the hospital? Poor thing. I fight back the tears as his little face wanly peers at mine. I need to be strong right now. He'll sense it if I'm nervous.

“You'll take good care of him?” I ask. She smiles at me like I'm an annoying child, while she caps her pen and places it in the pocket of her crisp white lab coat.

“That's what we do,” she says, reaching across the table for him. Normally, he'd back away, but he's so weak he allows her to scoop him up into her arms.

“Be good, Chuck,” I say. I walk around and kiss him on the head. He looks at me listlessly.

“He'll be fine,” she nods. “We'll call you tomorrow with an update.”

I nod, pick up my purse, and walk back to the reception area. On the way, I stop and steal one last glance at him as the vet takes him deeper into the hospital. With red eyes, I approach the front desk to make sure they don't need anything more from me.

“Um, hi. My Charlie is going to stay here tonight,” I say to the elderly lady behind the big desk.

From behind a nurse hands her a file, and the receptionist peers into it. “Here's his file. You're Jane Williams?” I nod. “Okay, Charlie Williams is admitted at this time. I just need a deposit from you for the visit. I'll print out your estimated costs, and tonight you just pay half of them.” I nod again.

While the woman turns around to the printer, I read the sign that says, “All payment is due at the time of treatment. There is no payment plan.” I gulp. Charlie has never had to go to the twenty-four-hour emergency pet hospital before, so I hope it won't be too much. At least I've got about two thousand saved up for emergencies just like this. Nothing is too much to make him feel better.

The woman grabs the three-page printout and brings it back to her desk. She slides it over to me. I take it and instinctively flip to the back page while she discusses everything on the itemized invoice. I nearly pass out when I see the estimated total is $643.57.

 

I am
awakened by a loud beeping. I reach out and smack my alarm clock, but the noise continues. I sit up, disoriented. Sun is streaming in through my windows. What time is it? I look at my clock and gasp. It's almost eleven! I overslept, and I am going to be late for work, and—slowly, it dawns on me. I am not late for work. I don't have anywhere I need to be. And that incessant beeping is my phone. I grab it and flip it open to stop the noise. “Hello?” I mumble without looking at the caller ID.

“Jane?” a deep voice says.

“Yep,” I say, falling back into my pillows. It's all coming back to me now.

“It's Matt Sherwin.” I stifle a groan. Matt “career death” Sherwin. Why is he calling me? “Did you see the article in
Star Power
?” he asks and laughs.

“Yeah,” I say. How can he think this is funny? “I don't know where they came up with that stuff.” I take a deep breath. “How did Chloe react to it?”

“Who?” Matt asks. “Can I have some cream for this coffee?” he asks, away from the phone, then turns back to me. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“Chloe? How did she react to the article?” I say. No sense in being fakey-professional anymore.

“Oh, she thought it was hysterical,” he says. “We had a good laugh over it.” He is silent for a moment. “Chloe's so great, you know? She's like this amazing person.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” I say, sitting up.

“Huh?
Can I get another spoon?
” he says, away from the mouthpiece. “Oh yeah,” he says. “I tried calling your work phone, and it was like shut off. What's up with that? Nina had to track down your personal cell number again. I had this great idea for the big party. I was thinking we could have these big columns, you know? And what if I dressed up like Zeus for the big speech? And we could have someone dressed like Hera run around terrorizing people all night, you know, with like, water guns or something.”

“Matt, I'm afraid I'm not working on the Strike Hunger Campaign anymore,” I sigh.

“But you were, like, so good at it, and we had so many ideas,” he says.

“I was fired because of that article.”

“Whoa, bummer,” he says. “Over some stupid little pictures in a magazine?”

“I'm afraid so,” I say.

“Can I have the check please?”

“What?”

“Sorry. Man, Jane. That's a real downer. Oh, I'm getting another call. I'll talk to you later?” He hangs up before I can get a word in, and I fall back on my pillows, cursing him.

After the call the room is silent. What am I going to do with my day? After fifteen minutes of daydreaming, I force myself to get out of bed and stumble into the living room. I can tell that my eyes are puffier than Angelina Jolie's lips, but I realize I left my hemorrhoid cream in my office yesterday. That will be a nice treat for whoever gets to move in next. I almost smile at the thought but can't quite do it.

Not knowing what else to do with myself, I go and open my day planner. I had a whole week's worth of meetings, but now I'm not going to be attending any of them. I look for something else I have scheduled, anything to look forward to. I see “Date with Ty”? scribbled in for next Friday and then throw the planner across the floor. For a moment, I'm appalled at myself, but then I leave it there and switch on my computer. I quickly check my e-mail and scan the headlines at cnn.com. I click around for a bit and then run out of websites that I like to check in on. I've never been much of a Web surfer. Let's see, I can check the weather. So there's a storm coming. Interesting. But there must be something else—oh, good idea. I sigh in relief. I should research pancreatitis. Poor Charlie. I Google it and find a few articles about the symptoms and how to treat it. After an hour, I'm nearly an expert on the disease and force myself to stop. I check my e-mail again. No new messages. I stand up and get a glass of water. I lean against the counter. Should I paint in here? A nice sunny yellow? I think back over yesterday and wonder if I should start looking for a new job, but I can't bring myself to face that yet. I go back to my desk and sit down in front of my computer. I tap my fingers and look out my window. I pull up Google again. What is it that he does? I type in “actuary” and hit Enter.

Chapter 9

T
his was
a good idea, I think, as I ride in a cab through the familiar streets of my hometown, comforting even in the rain. Maybe especially because of the rain. This is where I belong. After moping around my apartment, noticing that the rash on my face was getting larger, and watching bad daytime TV for several hours, I decided I needed to get out. And what would be better than to go home and surprise my parents? They will be happy to see me, and being in familiar surroundings will be soothing. I packed a few things to take with me, and I rushed to Grand Central to catch the 5:17 train.

On the train, Charlie is all I can think about. I called the pet hospital today, and they said he was doing much better, but they recommended he stay another night. I wanted to visit, but they said he was sleeping and suggested it might be harder for him to see me and not get to come home. I sigh aloud, thinking of him in that cold, scary place for another night. He must think I've forgotten about him.

I look out the window at the trees whizzing by. I should probably also think about getting a new job. But my lack of a job only reminds me that there is something worse. Tyson is gone. For good. And that place is still too dark for me to visit, so I push it aside.

As the cab from the train station pulls up in front of my house, I smile, thankful I have such a support group nearby. The lights are on in the living room, and my parents' cars are both in the driveway. I throw some bills at the taxi driver, walk around to the trunk to get my bag, and stride quickly up the flagstone path to my front door. I push open the door and step inside the cool house. “Mom?” I call. I place my bag down in the entryway. “Dad?”

I hear voices in the kitchen and walk in to see that my parents, brother, and a very pretty brunette are sitting at the table playing cards. “Hi guys,” I say. They all turn and look at me.

“Jane!” my mom exclaims, jumping up to give me a hug.

“Honey,” Dad says, laughing. “When did you get here?”

“What are you doing here?” Jim asks.

“I just thought I'd come home for a quick visit,” I say. They all stare at me, confused. “So here I am,” I say and laugh.

“Well…welcome,” my mom says. “We're just playing a little game of hearts. Why don't you pull up a chair until we finish this round? Oh, you remember Patrice?” she asks, gesturing to the woman.

I glance at the beautiful brunette with the deep blue eyes and the perfect heart-shaped face.
This
is our next-door neighbor Patrice Lovell? We used to make mudpies together and launch them at innocent passersby. She was pudgy and had a boy's haircut last time I saw her, and though she and Jim dated in junior high and have always been friendly, she never used to just come over and hang out.

“Hi,” I say, and she smiles back. I pull out a chair and sit down.

“Do you want some wine?” Dad asks, gesturing to the glasses at everyone's place.

“Sure,” I say and bite my lip. Why is everyone looking at me like that?

“Honey, are you okay?” Mom asks, looking concerned. I realize my eyes are probably still puffy and red. Plus moms can always tell when something is wrong.

“Of course I am,” I say, smiling cheerfully. “I just wanted to see you guys. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Mom says. “It's just…we've been getting a lot of phone calls. So many we had to take the phone off the hook. And they're from magazines.” She looks at me questioningly. “Something about Matt Sherwin?”

I sink my head into my hands.

“And I couldn't reach you at work or on your cell phone so I was getting worried.”

Oh. Mom always used my work cell phone number. I was kind of hoping to avoid getting into this right away, and with Patrice here, I really don't want to talk about it.

“Dad, do you need some help with the wine?”

“I've got it, honey,” he says. He sets a glass down on the table in front of me. “Are you in trouble?”

“Can we talk about this later?” I ask, reaching for the deck of cards. “How are you, Patrice?”

“Great.” She smiles at me shyly. “We're celebrating Jim's acceptance to Montauk School of Alternative Medicine tonight.”

“You got in,” I say to Jim, trying to smile. “That's great.” He smiles proudly, then sticks his tongue out at me. “When do you start?”

“September.” He takes the cards from me and starts to deal another hand of hearts. “What's wrong with your face?”

“Jim!” Mom says. I put my hand up quickly to cover my rash. “I've almost won this round, Jane,” she says. “We'll deal you in next game.”

I nod and take a sip. The wine is light and refreshing.

Mom puts a smile on her face, trying to help me out. “So how's Ty?” she asks and beams at me. I freeze. I had also hoped to avoid talking about this. I take another sip. Mom looks at me.

“Mom, Ty and I broke up,” I whisper. I feel so small.

“
What!?
” Dad yells.

“No!” Mom says. “When? Why?”

And now they're shocked. Great. I wait for a snarky comment from Jim, but he just looks at me sadly, which actually hurts more. I
am
pathetic.

“It just wasn't going to work out,” I say, biting my lip.

“Of course it was,” Mom says. “You guys were perfect for each other.”

I take a deep breath. “I thought so too,” I say, taking a long drink. “But apparently he had other ideas. He's moving to Denver.”

“Denver?” Dad asks, flabbergasted. “Why would he want to live there?”

“Honey,” Mom says, patting my hand.

“Mom, I—”

“Maybe you could give it another shot?” She smiles at me hopefully and pats my hand.

I look around at them. “I wish we could, more than anything. But I think it's a more permanent break.” Before they can say anything, I stand up and walk to the door. “I'm going to go to bed now,” I say. Dad nods, stunned. Mom looks like she's going to cry, as if Ty broke up with her.

“Honey, check my vanity. I've got a great Dr. Hauschka product that will help your face.”

I ignore her, trudge to my childhood room, and collapse on the bed.

 

The
next morning, I stay in bed for as long as I can, listening to the rain drum against the roof, praying for wisdom, but the smell of bacon fights against my desire to remain cocooned in my own world. Finally, hunger wins. I have to go face my family.

Dad is cooking while Mom reads the paper and drinks coffee at the table. I can hear vague computer-generated explosions coming from Jim's room.

“There you are, honey,” Mom says, smiling sweetly as I trudge down the stairs in my pajamas. “Did you sleep okay?”

I nod as I walk toward the pot of freshly brewed coffee.

“Do you want some orange juice?” Dad asks, flipping the bacon in the pan.

“No thanks,” I mumble, then take a seat at the table.

“How are you feeling today?” Mom asks.

“I'm okay.”

“I didn't sleep very well myself,” she volunteers. I nod. “I was up all night, thinking.” I don't say anything, so she continues. “I realized what the problem is. I think you just don't understand what a man really wants.”

I look up at her, eyes narrowed. “What's that?”

“They want to feel needed, honey. They need to feel like the provider. It's an ingrained thing from way back in the caveman days. He went out hunting, she stayed in and took care of the children. He brought home food at night, and they were all happy. Men are still the same today.” She smiles and hands me a napkin.

“You think I should hang out in a cave and Tyson will come back?” I ask in disbelief.

She laughs. “No, honey. What I mean is, Ty is probably uncomfortable with the fact that you make more than he does and that you place so much value on your career. You just need to be more supportive of his career.”

“You mean I should quit my job.”

“Not yet. But you do need to let him know that when you get married you will.” She smiles.

“But I won't.”

“That's what I'm saying,” she says, as if I'm a petulant five-year-old. “Maybe you should.”

I take a deep breath. Please, God, don't let me punch my mother.

“I lost my job, Mom. So waiting until I get married to quit it seems a little ridiculous now.”

I watch as her face registers shock, surprise, and, finally, delight.

“But that's perfect! Does Ty know?”

I close my eyes and place my fingers on my temples. I can't even begin to deal with the fact that my own mother is delighted that I just lost my dream job.

“No, Mom. I—” I take a deep breath. “I love Ty. I miss him more than you could ever know. But it's just not going to work. He dumped me, and he's moving on, and there's nothing I can do about it.” I start to cry. “I lost my job, but I'm going to get another. I love working; I love doing something to make a difference in the world.”

“But honey, your job wasn't really about making—”

“I am proud of my work,” I cut her off. “And I was just starting to be able to do what I really wanted with the charity work. And a magazine printed a lie about me and Matt Sherwin, and I had to take the blame.” She nods, taking it all in.

“So that's what it was,” she says, looking at me. “I wondered.”

“Are you okay?” Dad asks, sitting down at the table.

“I'm fine. I just…need some time to think.”

“Honey,” Mom says, taking a sip of coffee. “Take some time. You deserve it. But why don't you give Ty a call?” She looks at me sweetly.

“Mom, I can't,” I sigh. They don't get it. I know she's trying to help, but I didn't come here for advice; I came because I needed someone to take my side. I came here because moms are supposed to protect you and defend you against the world.

“Of course you can. Ty loves you,” she says, placing her cup down precisely.

“You're acting like this is all my fault,” I say, sitting up straight. I look at one, then the other, and they're both shaking their heads.

“Sweetheart, that's not what we're saying,” Dad says and then glares at my mom. She ignores him and looks at me, pursing her lips. I wait, but she doesn't say anything.

I nod, then stand up and walk to the stairs to gather my things. I don't need this. I'll take the first train out of here.

 

I trudge
up the stairs to my apartment building slowly, closing my umbrella and shaking off the water. I'm so glad it's pouring. I couldn't deal with the world being sunny and beautiful while I am so miserable. I spent the whole train ride thinking about what they said. Is it all my fault? Is this whole thing one big mistake? What is God trying to teach me in all this? All I know is that I couldn't stay there any longer. I know they loved Ty, and they were disappointed, and they'll come around, but I can't stand to sit and be judged until then.

After I drop off my bag, I'll head to the animal hospital to pick up Charlie. It's just a short walk from here, and maybe on the way I can even find him a Welcome Home from the Hospital toy. I think about how good it will be to see him. At least he still loves me.

But at the top of the stairs I stop and sniff the air. It smells weird up here. Damp. Like mildew. I'll have to contact the building manager about that. It feels damp too.

I put my key in my lock and push the door open. Why…what? Why is there water all over the floor? Is that some kind of trash? My couch? My couch is all wet. What happened? I look down. I'm standing in an inch of water. The entire floor is covered with debris. And there, in the middle, is Elvis. The giant statue is lying on its side on my living room floor, his stupid mouth still open in a ridiculous grin. But how did Elvis get—oh no. I look up slowly.

The skylight is gone, the broken pieces of glass littering my floor. The wind from the storm must have knocked the King over onto the skylight. He crashed through. And judging by the amount of water in my living room, it happened quite a while ago. I can't move. I'm frozen in shock in the doorway as it begins to register that Elvis has crashed through my roof and destroyed my living room.