by Juliette Fay
“No thanks.”
Her heart began to pound, and she knew something was off. “Okay, what’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine. As a matter of fact, I’m really happy with how well you’re doing. You’ve really come through the worst of it.”
She rolled her eyes. “You should have seen me yesterday, sobbing in the clean sock pile.”
His face softened, and she realized that until that moment she’d been talking to the ghost twin, not the real Jake. How had she missed it?
“You had a bad day yesterday?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She studied him. “Didn’t you get my e-mail?”
“Oh. I guess I’ve been offline.” He looked down at his hands, a finger tracing along the grain of the butcher-block table. “The party was wonderful,” he began again. “Dylan seemed very happy.”
Why is he painting this rosy picture? It suddenly seemed very important to prove that she was not doing well at all. “You left just before the meltdown. We had the whole place in tears. Even the contractor, who doesn’t strike me as a weepy guy.” She lobbed this at him like a rotten egg.
“Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s not really surprising, I suppose. But getting through this first year, that’s the toughest. And you’re almost there. Next year will be much easier.”
“Yeah, okay,” she said, a slow burn stoking up in her veins. “So we just have to get through Carly’s birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. Piece of cake. Well, actually I guess you’d have to throw in Valentine’s Day, Robby’s birthday in March, and my birthday in April, since we didn’t celebrate those at all. I guess technically we haven’t gotten through those. But, yeah,” she said, sarcasm pinching at every word. “You’re right; we’re in the homestretch.”
He did not reply. He stared out the kitchen window into the quiet yard. Tug had gone to check on another job, so the comforting sound of his incessant banging felt particularly absent. Janie slammed her hand on the table. “What is WRONG with you today? What IS all this bullshit?”
He turned fully toward her and she could see that the switch had been flipped behind his eyes. Ghost Jake was gone, Real Jake was back again. “Jane.”
“WHAT, for chrissake!”
“JANE!”
“Just SAY it! Whatever it is, just don’t give me this Father Friendly crap!”
“I can’t come here anymore. I can’t…we can’t do this.”
“Do WHAT?” She knew exactly what, and yet in her mind, it had been a secret, even from him. She couldn’t believe he knew the private struggle she was waging against the infectious crush.
“Have you even read the paper?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea of what those kinds of insinuations could do to me? And you. I was,” he made little quote marks in the air, ‘ “casually dressed’ and ‘shoeless.’ Mother of—” he bit back his words. “I shouldn’t even be here now!”
“Oh, I get it. I see. You are turning your back on our friendship because it might LOOK bad. Father Jake with his big vow to serve humanity, but only until the gossip mill starts and a couple of old ladies tsk-tsk to each other over their morning Metamucil!”
He let out a sigh and stared darkly out the window. “One of those old ladies was your mother.”
“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”
“Your mother came to the rectory to see me after Mass yesterday morning. She’s concerned about how close we’ve become.”
Janie was stunned that her mother had taken such a step, intruding so completely into something that wasn’t her business. It wasn’t like her. And yet, Janie had sensed her mother’s reticence when it came to Jake. Now she knew why. “Goddamn her,” muttered Janie. “What right does she have?”
“You’re her daughter.”
“All the more reason not to screw up my life in such a heinously embarrassing way.”
A cheerless smile invaded his face. “You know I have no experience of parental protection. But I imagine it would be hard to watch a child who’s already been through too much choosing something that can only cause more pain.” And there it was. He knew. Silence throbbed around them.
“It’s a crush,” Janie said finally. “A stupid grade school crush. By definition it’s temporary.”
Jake began to twist in his seat. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest. “Well, I guess I should be the judge of that. But thanks for your insulting characterization.”
Janie’s head snapped in his direction. “Why are you insulted?”
He snorted derisively. “Because you just relegated my emotional state to a childish whim.”
Janie’s mind raced to reorganize the pieces of this puzzle into a completely different configuration. His emotional state? HIS? she wondered incredulously. “You have feelings for me?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Jane, don’t act like you didn’t know. It’s embarrassing.”
“I thought you were…you know…just being really kind.”
He studied her, searching for someone who knew better. He glanced away. “I’m not that kind.”
Her heart was pounding so hard and fast she felt it might seize and stop, like a motor revolving beyond its capacity. The last time her heart had beat like this she was facing an attacker, not the single person who seemed to understand her these days, the one person she wanted near her. She heard the faint voices from the self-defense class calling, Do it! Do it now!
“I have feelings for you, too.” She was breathless, as if she’d just sprinted a long way toward him.
His gaze crept cautiously to hers, then sank to his hands. He shook his head. “This can’t happen.”
“Apparently it already has.”
“Jane.” He was looking at her now. “It’s my fault. This is all…it’s my responsibility.”
“Oh, and what am I?” she asked. “Some little girl, some invalid who’s been taken advantage of? I’m an adult, Jake. Don’t treat me like a helpless child.”
“No, you’re not a child. But you are incredibly vulnerable right now. And I let things get out of hand because of my own crisis. I let it go too far.”
“How can you say that? Nothing bad happened. No one can say we’ve done something wrong.”
He looked away again, unable to meet her eyes, fingers gripping the edge of the table. “It’s not what’s happened so far that concerns me.”
Janie felt vaguely light-headed. There’s an answer to this riddle, she thought. There’s a solution that isn’t an ending. “Has this ever happened to you before?” she asked, hoping the answer was yes, as in Yes, it is fixable. And hoping the answer was no, as in No, I have never felt this way about anyone but you.
“Not really,” he said. “Not like this.”
The worst of both worlds, she thought. Don’t give up! whispered the women from the class. Save yourself!
“Jake.” She steadied herself. “There’s another option.”
He nodded. “I know. I’ve thought about it.”
“You have? About me?”
“Yes, about you. I certainly haven’t had these thoughts about anyone else. Which is why I am quite certain this is not a stupid fucking grade school crush, as you so eloquently described it.”
His pass at humor, the break in the tension, the faint, clean breath of hope—these things conspired to make her reach out and brush the back of her knuckles against his, her palm facing upward, open. His fingers arched up and entwined with hers. They watched those fingers intently, as if an answer would stream out from the tips. Then he disentangled himself, laying his hand on top of hers, ending the motion. “I cannot have an affair,” he said simply.
“And I’m not getting involved with a guy who wears black every day,” she said. “I’m not talking about an affair. I’m talking about you being free.”
He squeezed her hand. “I want so much to do this for you.”
“Then do it. It’s the only way we don’t lose each other.”
“
I can’t.”
Janie whipped her hand away. “You can’t? CAN’T?”
“No. I can’t. I cannot. That’s not who I am. You of all people know that.”
“I know that? How the hell would I know that?” she demanded. And yet, somewhere down deep, she did know that. He had told her about his engagement, how it had tortured him, despite the love he felt for his fiancée. Janie batted this away, saying, “Okay, you like being a priest. But why? Is it because you’re so in love with the Lord that you could never fall for someone else? No. Obviously not. No, the real reason is, you like the cover. You like being able to fade in and out without anyone noticing. You don’t want the scrutiny of intimacy. What the hell kind of life is that!”
He was fuming now, eyes searching wildly around the room. “And you’re such a paragon of intimacy! You snarl and snipe at people all day long. The people that love you the most, you treat the worst, as if they’re disposable! And yet you need them and love them and fight with them and cry to them. That’s not me! That’s not my kind of life!”
“Bullshit! You need people just as much as I do!”
“Yes. I do.” He looked exhausted all of a sudden. “In some ways maybe more. I’m not as strong as you are. But I also need quiet.” He sighed. “I need to pray. I want and need to keep my eyes on God every moment of every day. That’s what makes sense to me, Jane. It’s the only thing that gives me peace. Loving you gives me no peace.”
Tears began to slip down Janie’s cheeks. “Since Robby died,” she said, “it’s the only thing that gives me peace.”
They sat there in their last minutes together, motionless except for the rise and fall of their chests and the blinking of their flooded lids. A new life, a paler, sadder life would begin when one of them moved. It would be set in dull, grinding motion when he left her house for the last time.
“Jane.” His voice hissed with the strain of emotion as he rose from the chair. “I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t care that he was sorry. It didn’t matter now.
“Would you please…” he choked. “Could you go to Mass somewhere else for a while?”
Mass? she thought. He’s worried about Mass?
“Good-bye, Jake,” she whispered. “At least this time I get to say good-bye.”
IT WAS DARK WHEN Noreen came to sit on her bed. “Sweetheart,” she said, jiggling Janie’s arm.
Janie was stuporous. Somewhere in her brain, the keys of Carly’s piano were playing a cacophony of tin, random notes. She remembered that after the front door had closed on Jake and on the only good part of her life that was left, she had heard Carly crying. Janie had stumbled into the living room to find Carly wedged under the couch, reaching for the little piano that had found its way into the dark abyss beyond her insistent fingers. Janie had dislodged the baby, who continued to howl for her toy all the way up the stairs and into the confines of her crib. The noise. The ceaseless noise.
Janie had called Aunt Jude and said simply, “I’m going to bed.” Aunt Jude had known to pick up Dylan at camp. Carly had cried herself to sleep.
Janie had been too spent to cry. She had lain on her bed, a twirling numbness overtaking her, until she succumbed to the black torpor that awaited. At some point, she’d become aware of Aunt Jude’s grating enthusiasm as she babbled to Carly in the other room. And now it was dark out.
“Janie, dear.”
Janie opened her eyes. Her mother was wearing a gray cardigan with an embroidered hummingbird that she’d likely made herself. Hummingbird, thought Janie. That’s what you are. You don’t care how fast you have to beat your wings, as long as you can fly away.
“Jude and I are taking the children out for a quick bite. Then we thought maybe they could have a sleepover with us at Jude’s. That would get them out of your hair for a bit. You need some time to yourself.”
Janie’s tongue felt thick and pasty when she asked, “To do what?”
Noreen folded her hands in her lap. “Just collect yourself, dear.”
Collect myself. Pick up all the broken little shards and plaster-of-paris them back together like a craft project.
“I hate you,” said Janie. “You should have stayed in Italy.”
Noreen rose and walked out, grasping the door frame with her knobby fingers as she passed.
THE NEXT MORNING THE sun blared in the window, coating Janie with a sticky dampness that made her unruly hair cling to her neck. The electric buzz of insects whined outside.
“Hey!” A woman’s voice called, followed by the staccato rapping of footsteps coming up the stairs. “Hey, what are you, sick? What are you still doing in bed? Where are the kids?”
“Jesus, Shelly,” Janie muttered, rolling away from the verbal barrage. “Can’t you just shut the hell up for once.”
“I heard that, bub. A girl who sleeps in her clothes does not get to tell me to shut the hell up. Where are those pajamas I got you? And when’s the last time you washed your hair, it’s all greasy.”
Janie rolled back. “Shut UP!” she yelled, but her voice was scratchy and weak.
“What happened?” asked Shelly. She stood there in her pale blue suit with the opalescent buttons and her diamond stud earrings, hands on hips, the French manicure gleaming from the plastic nails. “I spend a few nights at Geoffrey’s and all hell breaks loose.”
Much to her shame and fury, Janie started to cry. Shelly lowered herself to the side of the bed. “Okay, baby,” she crooned, patting Janie’s knee. “Now what’s all this about.”
As Janie began to unwind the tale, wailing and leaking from her eyes and nose, Shelly pulled at her, gently excavating her from the bed and steering her down the stairs toward the bathroom. Occasionally, Shelly inserted one-word directives: “Walk,” and “Blow,” handing her a tissue, and “Strip,” turning on the shower and stepping just outside the bathroom, door cracked so that she could continue to listen and give commands. “I’m going to the kitchen to make coffee now,” Shelly called when Janie had finished her anguished tale. “Lots of shampoo.”
When Janie got out and dried herself, she saw that Shelly had put a clean set of “construction pajamas” on the toilet lid. She dressed and aimed herself toward the sound of clacking heels on the second floor, where Shelly was remaking her bed with clean sheets. “Get in,” said Shelly, lifting the covers, and Janie complied. “Okay, coffee’s in a thermos on the bedside table. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to stay in bed all day. I mean it, do not get up except for the bathroom.”
“The kids…”
“The kids are all squared away. Jude’s set up for them, and your mother would probably babysit until they go to middle school, after what she did.”
“I hate her.”
“Of course you do. Now I have to go. The inspection’s in a few minutes.”
“On your house?” Janie’s words came out in a pinched whine. “You have a buyer?”
“Yes, bub,” she nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not,” muttered Janie. “You’re fucking thrilled.” She looked up, remembering, “You said you’d still come back, but you didn’t even come to Dylan’s birthday.”
“Pfff,” Shelly snorted, shaking her head. “I know. I could’ve kicked myself! Geoffrey and I took a long weekend on Block Island, and I didn’t get the message till Tuesday.”
Shelly stood and straightened her suit, licking her finger and stabbing at a tiny hair of lint on the lapel. “I mean it,” she said pointing at Janie. “Do not get up. Stay in bed tomorrow, too, if you can. Monday will come soon enough.”
AFTER CRYING AND HURLING curses at her pillow for most of Saturday afternoon, Janie went downstairs to the bathroom. She peeked into the tiny back bedroom. Her mother’s things were gone. Janie went back to bed.
At 7:30 p.m., the phone rang, but Janie did not answer. At 7:32 it rang again, and again at 7:33. “Hello,” Janie whispered into the receiver, now almost awake.
“Hi, Mom. You sound all scratc
hy. Are you better yet?”
“No, Dylan.”
“Then can we stay at Auntie Jude’s again? Carly fell asleep, and Gram and me are making snip…snit…,” his voice aimed away from the receiver, “what’s it called? Oh, yeah, Snickerdoodles.”
“Oh.” I hate her.
“Mom? Don’t get too sicker, okay?”
“I’ll try. I love you, Dylan.”
“Love you, Mom. Carly loves you, too. Everybody does.”
JANIE DID NOT FEEL loved. In fact, at around 3:15 a.m. the arctic desolation she had been experiencing since Jake left thawed temporarily, exposing a reeling rage that made her want to break things. She stormed down the stairs, thankful for her children’s absence, but simultaneously blistered with anger that they were with her mother. The fucking spoiler. Abandoner of despondent offspring. Dutiful just long enough to come back and ensure the permanence of their despondence.
Janie punched the Power button on the computer and composed a long, rambling e-mail to Jake that was alternately self-pitying, self-reproaching and accusatory. It was stalkerlike, a fact that Janie realized before she hit Send. What’s next, she asked herself with disgust. Getting drunk and trying to French kiss him in the Communion line? Try not to be any more of a cautionary tale than you already are.
She stabbed at the Power button, with full knowledge that it would give her a stern rebuke about improper shutdown when she turned it on again, which made her want to preemptively toss it through the back window. But she was tired all of a sudden, and dragged herself back to her bedroom before any damage, either real or of the cyber variety, could be done.
When she woke again, it was 10:25 in the morning, and she knew with a leaden certainty that Aunt Jude and her mother had gone to Mass. The nerve, the shameless, red-panty-wearing gall of them to show up with her children in that church and take a wafer from that…that…what was he?
What was he, really? Peeling back a tattered corner of her shame and rage and hurt, Janie got a momentarily clearheaded glimpse of Jake. He was just a guy. And he was trying to live by his code, a code that neither she nor many others fully understood. And perhaps he was bound by a vow, and a love of solitude, and a level of self-protection that grew problems for him here and there. But didn’t we all have coping strategies that worked most of the time, but in certain uncommon circumstances failed miserably? He was just a guy, after all, only human. Completely human, though she had fooled herself into thinking that he was somehow better than that.