by Juliette Fay
“It was too loud at the house,” Janie called over Carly’s wails.
“You give that little lovie dove right over to me,” Aunt Jude crooned as the baby lurched out of Janie’s arms toward her. “That’s my girl, yes you are, that’s my baby. You come right upstairs with me to your nice, quiet nappy place…”
“You’re watching this?” Janie asked when Aunt Jude came back downstairs.
“Oh, I never miss it. Unless I have somewhere to go, or Table of Plenty needs me to help out with lunch because somebody didn’t come for their shift.” Aunt Jude rattled on for a while about the irresponsibility of some people who’d rather get a manicure than help out, and the impermanent quality of nail polish, and her friend’s husband’s nail-color preference, though he rarely noticed if she bothered to wear any. Janie glazed over. She was quite certain that one day Aunt Jude’s ramblings would contain a cure for cancer or a workable blueprint for world peace. But no one would ever know because no one could stand to listen to her for that long. “…But I do like this Ellen,” Jude was saying. “She’s very funny. She’s a lesbian.”
“You find homosexuality funny?” Janie could never pass up an opportunity to get under her aunt’s skin.
“Jane Elizabeth Dwyer LaMarche! Of course I don’t find it funny. A person’s personal private life is not a laughing matter. That’s not what makes her funny at all, I never said that. She’s very humorous and she happens to feel romantic toward other women for some reason. Those two are not connected in any way. At least I don’t think so. Well, let’s just think about that for a minute. Let me see, now. Those young men on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy are funny. Have you ever seen that one? It’s very hilarious!”
Bored now with her aunt’s verbal meanderings, Janie dropped herself like a bag of laundry onto the faded blue corduroy recliner. Time for a new subject. “What do you think of Barb?”
“Cormac’s girl?” Aunt Jude picked up the iron and applied it in little dabs to a blouse collar. “I think she’s nice. She’s very…tall, isn’t she? She must be six feet tall almost.”
“She wears those high heels.”
“It’ll be a big change, won’t it? Cormac’s belonged to us for so long. Such a sweet, funny boy. Always trying to separate himself, but always staying so close. It’ll be strange, but she’s a nice girl and it’s time.”
“Time?” Janie sat up. “For what? What are you talking about?”
“Well, they haven’t said anything, but I think this is it. Auntie’s intuition. He’s forty now. It’s time.”
Janie sank back, relieved. Auntie could intuit herself silly. Cormac wasn’t getting married. They watched the end of The Ellen DeGeneres Show and then the midday news, which reported the ongoing investigation of Father Lambrosini, as well as the anticipated heat wave and two more burglaries. When it was time to pick up Dylan, Carly was still sleeping, so Janie left her with Aunt Jude and took Dylan to Pelham Ball Field to practice throwing. She had gotten him the smallest baseball mitt she could find, and still it flopped around on his hand as if it were wearing him. Nonetheless, Dylan was ecstatic to stand on the pitcher’s mound and wing the ball in her general direction, then charge home plate and scream, “Home run!”
It should be Robby, Janie knew. Robby should be out here with his boy, his little window breaker. But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t ever be. This thought didn’t startle and disable her quite as much as it once had, although it would never be okay.
See this? Janie sent up a prayer to her dead husband. If you can’t be here, at least keep watching. Don’t stop watching over us.
JANIE AND THE KIDS were eating apples and peanut butter in the kitchen when Tug hoisted a four-by-eight-foot piece of plywood that completely covered the hole for the new window. Janie came around to the front door. “Do we need that?” she asked.
“If you don’t want raccoons raiding your Cheerios, you do.”
“It blocks out all the light.”
“Well, I think I have a sheet of heavy plastic in the truck. I could staple that up instead. Just don’t leave any food out.”
The kids were exhausted. Dylan had spent himself playing ball and was weepy with fatigue by the time he collapsed into his bed. He fell asleep midsentence, whining something about his mitt. Janie should have been tired too, but she lay in bed that night considering what other fatherly duties might await her. She threw the sheets off so the occasional asthmatic puffs of breeze could cool her and fell asleep to the distant crinkling of the plastic as it sighed in and out again.
IT WASN’T THE RANDOM snapping of the plastic that woke her. The sound was shorter, sharper, more purposeful. It stopped almost as soon as it began, and she wondered if she had only dreamed it. She rolled over, hoping to slide back into the muggy torpor from which she had been beckoned. But catching sight of the clock, she knew Jake would likely e-mail her soon, and she might as well get up.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner into the living room, she was surprised to see a light on in the office. A figure emerged from the light, his face in shadow, and for a brief moment Janie thought it was Tug, back to make some further adjustment to the porch plans. She flipped the light switch, illuminating the living room and the man’s face. It was not Tug.
This man was shorter and pasty-looking, not shades of caramel like Tug. He rubbed his latex-gloved hands in slow circles over his thighs and smiled as if he knew her, as if they were old friends who had chanced to meet in some unlikely spot, out of context from their prior relationship. Janie stared at him, momentarily wondering where she might have seen this strange, doughy face before.
“Hey there,” he said. At the sound of his voice it became clear to her that she did not know this man. He was from nowhere. And he was standing in her living room in the middle of the night.
“What?” she asked, as the fact of the situation registered in its terrifying entirety.
“Hey there, pretty lady,” he said and took a step toward her.
Robby, she thought, get down here! And then she remembered she was alone in the house, except for Carly and Dylan. And she became aware that if this strange man got past her to the staircase, there was absolutely nothing standing between him and them.
“Get out,” she said, the tension in her chest making her sound small to herself.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” she wrenched out in a growl.
“Nah, I like it here.”
The bile rose up in her throat and all she could think of was how fucking infuriating it was that this pasty little troll was talking to her like this, and her husband wasn’t here to step in. It’s your job now, she told herself, even this. The women from her self-defense class assembled in the back of her brain. Yell! they told her.
Janie yelled. “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE IT HERE IN A MINUTE YOU STINKING PILE OF SHIT. YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DEALING WITH. YOU WANNA TAKE ME YOU GO AHEAD AND TRY IT BECAUSE I AM NOT GOING DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT YOU’LL REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE GODFORSAKEN LIFE!”
This she screamed at the very top of her lungs, like she had no plans to ever use them again. Like her vocal chords had just been waiting for this moment to burn themselves out in one last blast. She gesticulated wildly, pounding on her own chest, pointing at him.
The strange man halted his forward direction. In fact, he took a step back, a look of startled panic on his face that seemed oddly incongruous, as if she were the attacker, not him. His nostrils flared, and he appeared to will himself forward, his hands snapping out and grabbing her wrists. It was exactly what Arturo had done in that silly-looking suit. And Instructor Debbie had taught her that when her wrists were grabbed it was the perfect opportunity to slam her knee into the guy’s genitals. Do it! the women urged.
She reared back on her left leg to gain momentum, which served to fully focus his attention on maintaining control of her arms. Then she rammed her right knee
so hard between his legs that her knee cap felt the impact of his pelvic bone behind the sensitive reproductive organs. He released his grip on her wrists and lurched forward to grasp his exploding testicles, practically an engraved invitation for her to slam her other knee into his downward facing nose.
And when he collapsed on her living room rug, he was still. Which was almost disappointing because she was just twitching to kick him some more. She had never experienced so much uncontrolled rage in all her life, and that was saying something.
Good effing work! called the Katya in her head.
OFFICER DOUGIE SHAW SLAMMED on the brakes of his squad car in Janie’s driveway, leaped out, and ran for her front door, dodging lumber and piles of dirt by the light of his blue-and-red flashers. The door was open and he lunged inside, drawing his gun and aiming it at the crumpled heap on Janie’s carpet. He whipped his head left then right, finally locating Janie on the stairs wielding the phone and a large glass jar about half full of rocks and pine cones.
“You alright?” barked Officer Dougie. He squinted quizzically at the jar for a second, and then back to the perpetrator.
“Yeah,” she said, knowing that her uncontrolled panting belied her.
The guy bleeding onto her rug began to moan and make futile little writhing movements.
“Shit, Janie,” breathed Dougie, “what the hell happened?”
The entire Pelham police force and half the fire department arrived moments later, sirens screaming, lights flashing. The primal growl of the idling fire truck and ambulance announced their ominous wrath to the neighborhood. Janie darted up the stairs to check on the kids, certain that all the noise would have woken them. Carly was sitting upright in her crib, half-lidded eyes scanning blindly around the room. Then she slowly toppled back down onto her blanket. By the time Janie tiptoed across the room and peeked over the crib railing, the little girl had already fallen back asleep. Dylan, apparently still worn out from an afternoon of ball playing, snored lightly.
Janie went back downstairs and told what she knew, as the perpetrator was handcuffed and then hauled up onto his feet.
“Aw, Jesus,” one of the officers muttered when the bloodbat-hed face came into view.
“My fuckin’ nose,” moaned the pasty little man, spitting red-streaked saliva. “Christ, my balls!” he whined, as two officers propelled him out the front door.
Janie’s house soon cleared of the uniformed invasion until it was just Dougie again, asking what sounded like the same questions over and over. Finally he jammed the little pad of paper into his pocket and said, “I’m calling Cormac.”
“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” she said. Her breathing had slowed and the panic subsided; weariness crawled over her, and her limbs went limp. It was all she could do to stay upright.
“Janie,” he said. “You don’t want to be alone after an attack.” He scratched his crew cut with the capped end of his pen. “Course, you did beat the guy bloody. That puts a new twist on it…”
“My neighbor will be over here any second,” said Janie, wondering why Shelly hadn’t already arrived. With the fleet of rescue vehicles clogging the street, she could hardly be unaware of the spectacle. “Really, I just want to go back to sleep.”
“Once the adrenaline stops pumping you get really tired,” nodded Dougie. “You sure she’s coming?”
It took ten more minutes of reassuring him that she was fine, just worn out, and that if Shelly didn’t show up for some reason, Janie would call someone else. “You don’t want to be alone right now,” Dougie kept insisting, as if he were reporting from somewhere inside her head. As if he had any idea of what she wanted right now. What she wanted, in fact, was for him to stop talking at her and go check the lock on that bastard’s jail cell. That’s what she wanted.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, JANIE was still slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, alone. Her exhaustion had migrated into nausea and a weird shaking feeling. She knew she could not sleep. She wondered if she would ever sleep again.
If Shelly were here, she would tell Janie to go to sleep and Janie would comply. That was the core of their relationship. Shelly showed up and told her what to do when everything was incomprehensible and terrifying. And though completely uncharacteristic of her, Janie obeyed. Where was Shelly now, when she needed instructions most?
Janie reached for the phone and found herself dialing not Shelly, but the rectory. Later she would rationalize this by saying Jake was the only person she knew who would be awake. That he would understand her need to pull inside herself. That he had been assaulted and would know how to help her calm down. These things were all true, but much later she would admit to herself that, had they not been true, she would have called him, anyway.
“Jane?” he said. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, I just…this weird thing just happened, and I knew you would be awake…”
“What happened?”
“A guy…some guy broke in…”
“Someone broke into your house? Tonight?”
“Yeah, and he grabbed me…”
“Oh my God!”
“And I beat the shit out of him. Like they taught me in that class. I broke his nose and I kneed him in the crotch…I had to keep him from getting to the kids…”
“Jane, my God! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m…uh…” She gulped in air before her throat closed up altogether. A sob escaped and she put her hand over her eyes. “I’m kind of…” She was weeping before she was even aware that she was upset, her shoulders shaking, her lungs heaving. Oh, she thought somewhere in her numbness, I’m crying.
He may have said something more, or he may have simply hung up. The next thing she knew there was banging at the front door. She stumbled blindly toward it, and when she opened the door she was suddenly enveloped in warmth, clutched against skin and well-worn cotton, rocked as her body spasmed and shook, as wails of anger and fear and sadness erupted from her. She heard whispering but couldn’t make it out. Didn’t care, anyway.
When the exhaustion overtook her again, and the sobbing slowed, she looked down. Still pressed against his body, all she could see was that his feet were bare.
10
JANIE ROSE TO CONSCIOUSNESS with the slamming of a car door. Actually, the sound was too heavy for a car, the metallic thunk too low in register. More likely a truck.
She mulled over the familiar smell of a man whose deodorant was in need of reapplication. The vestiges of Sport Scent or Powder Fresh could still be detected, but this was overpowered by the musky, reassuring odor of dried male sweat. She felt the pressure of her cheekbone resting against his shoulder as they sat slumped next to each other on the couch, his head tilted back toward the top of the couch pillows, his mouth slightly open. She resisted the temptation to slide her arm beneath his and entwine his fingers with her own.
“Jake,” she said, and he blinked. His hand slid up to scratch his chest through the faded cotton T-shirt. Janie noticed the unraveled edge of the sleeve. It matched the ragged hems of his jeans.
His yawn ended with the start of a smile when he saw her. Then his eyes flicked down to their legs, thigh to thigh on the couch, hers covered in thin pajamas, and he slid away. Turning to face her, he made sure that none of their body parts touched. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said. “When you fell asleep, I meant to just sit there for a minute and then go. I guess I dozed off.” He looked down at his bare feet, then up at her again, a vague panic setting in around his eyes.
“You should go,” she said, and noted the relief on his face. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. The kids will be up soon.”
He was on his feet and at the door in a moment, but halted his exit abruptly. Turning back toward her he asked, “Should I come back? It’s Friday,” he reminded her.
She thought for a moment, unable to come up with the right answer. “Um, yeah. If you want to.”
“Alright,” he sai
d, and left.
A FEW MINUTES LATER Janie was scooping coffee grounds into a paper filter when there was a terrific ripping sound behind her. “Mother of Christ!” she gasped. The grounds flew from the filter and splayed out across the kitchen counter. Turning to defend herself, she saw Tug pulling the plastic off the window frame. “You scared the hell out of me!” she told him.
“Sorry,” he said without any sign of remorse. He balled up the plastic and stomped away.
What’s his problem? Janie wondered briefly, swiping at the grounds on the counter.
By the time she had started the coffee, he was back. “You might want to clear out today,” he said inspecting a pair of pliers, for what, Janie couldn’t determine. “Lotta banging.”
“Okay.” He seemed strangely irritable. Maybe he was just tired. “Coffee?” she offered.
“No.”
Janie poured herself a cup and sat down. She would need to tell Cormac about the break-in, preferably before that blabby Dougie Shaw got to him. And then maybe she could convince him to pass it on to Aunt Jude. Janie dreaded telling her aunt. Which would be worse, she wondered: the sure-to-be-endless fretting for Janie’s and the children’s safety? Or the satisfaction that Aunt Jude would inevitably sling around at having been right about that stupid self-defense class? As if a home invasion itself weren’t enough to put up with.
“I have to come in.” Tug was looking somewhere past her shoulder. “I have to measure for reinforcements under the window.”
“The front door’s open.”
He disappeared for a moment. “What the…what IS this!” he called from the doorway. Janie saw him staring at the hubcap-sized spot of dried blood on the living room rug.
“I forgot,” she muttered, getting up. “Can you help me get this out of here before Dylan sees it?”
“Is everyone okay?” He stared at her incredulously.
“Everyone but the guy who broke in last night.” She told him the details as they rolled the bloody rug and leaned it behind a tree by the driveway. She would have it cleaned while Dylan was at camp.