Jane's Harmony (Jane's Melody #2)

by Ryan Winfield

  “Well, they can ramp it up without me because I’m not going back for it.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said.

  “No, I’m not,” he shot right back.

  Jane glanced at him again and said, “I thought you knew better by now than to argue with me.”

  Caleb crossed his arms and turned to look out the window. “You can’t make me go.”

  “Oh, yes, I can.”

  “Maybe I’ll cuff myself to the bed and swallow the key.”

  “I knew you liked the handcuffs,” she said, smiling. “But it won’t work. I’ll borrow one of Mr. Zigler’s beer trucks and drive you along with the headboard to L.A.”

  She could tell by his body language that he wanted to laugh, but she knew he wouldn’t let himself.

  “And besides,” she added a minute later, “who’s going to get me Jordyn’s autograph if you don’t go back?”

  Marj paused before getting into the car, glanced up at the apartment, and said, “Caleb didn’t want to come? I wouldn’t have minded, you know. And it’s an open meeting.”

  “He’s still asleep,” Jane replied, climbing behind the wheel. Then, when Marj was sitting beside her, she added, “You know, I’ve never brought him to a meeting with me. I should ask him sometime if he wants to go.”

  They made certain they had the right meeting this time, arriving early and double-checking the schedule on the door. It was a simple room with one window, sea-foam green walls hung with recovery slogans, and two dozen folding chairs set out in a loose circle. They were the first to arrive, other than a very large man wearing a cowboy hat who was busy at the refreshment table arranging cookies on a plate to go along with the coffee and tea. He saw them and smiled.

  “You better come get you some while the gettin’s good,” he said. “We get a lot of double winners at this meeting, and you know them alkies can rip through a plate of sugar cookies like they was laced with booze.”

  “Thank you,” Jane said, rising. “I think I will. Marj, can I get you coffee or tea or anything?”

  Marj shook her head. “No, thank you, dear. I had my Ovaltine this morning.”

  Jane chuckled to herself as she walked toward the coffee machine, finally having solved the mystery of who exactly drank Ovaltine. The cowboy nodded to her and slid out of the way, but he made no effort to introduce himself or ask any questions. And Jane liked that. It made her feel welcome without feeling overwhelmed. She heard chatter and caught glimpses of people filing in as she poured herself a cup of coffee and stirred in a Splenda and powdered cream. Then she took a sugar cookie from the tray and was turning to head back to her seat when she saw him and froze. She stopped so suddenly, hot coffee spilled over the brim of her cup and onto her hand, but she hardly noticed the pain. She wasn’t prepared to run into her boss at an Al-Anon meeting.

  Mr. Blanco seemed to be equally shocked, looking at her with uplifted eyebrows, then looking behind him to the door, as if to check that he had in fact come to the right room. When he looked back at Jane, he smiled. A boy stood beside him, fairer skinned and with fairer hair, but by the shared shape and color of their eyes, he was obviously his son.

  “Hi, Jane. How are you?”

  Jane was about to address him as Mr. Blanco when she remembered that the Anon in Al-Anon stood for anonymous. That and he had told her twice to call him Manuel.

  “Hello, Manuel,” she said. “What a coincidence.”

  “If you’re here for Al-Anon, it’s less of a coincidence than you might think,” he replied. “There aren’t many meetings on the weekends, and almost no others near downtown.”

  “Yes. I mean no.” She laughed at herself. “Let me start again. Yes, I’m here for the meeting. And no, there don’t seem to be many. I found this one on the Intergroup website and it just happened to be on my route. This must be your son.”

  Manuel put his hand on the boy’s head, and the boy looked down shyly at the carpet.

  “This is Chandler. Chandler, remember your manners.”

  Chandler looked up at her and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  Jane went to shake his hand but realized she had her coffee in one hand and a sugar cookie in the other. She was momentarily at a loss for what to do, but then she clamped the cookie in her mouth and reached out to shake the boy’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Chandler,” she mumbled past the cookie caught in her mouth.

  “Chandler, this is the woman I was telling you about. The twelfth man from Seattle.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Are you really from Seattle?”

  Jane nodded. “I am. And I’ve got the moss on my back from all the rain up there to prove it. Of course, it’s getting a little dried out here in all this Austin sun.”

  The boy looked confused, but at least his father laughed.

  “I hear you’re into football,” Jane said. “That’s cool.”

  The boy smiled and shrugged, as if he knew it was cool and it wasn’t any big deal.

  “We’re actually gearing up for the Seahawks game against the Forty-Niners this afternoon,” his father said. “That’s our little deal—he comes to the meeting with me, and I watch the football game with him.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not really fair,” the boy said to Jane, “because he’d be watching the game anyway.”

  Manuel laughed and gave the boy a squeeze. “Son, why don’t you grab us a couple of seats while I finish up talking with Jane here?”

  The boy beelined for a handful of sugar cookies before marching off to claim them seats. Manuel watched until he was out of earshot, then he looked back to Jane.

  “Thanks for being so nice to him. Things have been a little rough on Chandler since his mother got put away.” He sighed. “She was a pretty bad druggie. Probably still is if they can get that junk in prison. I’m hoping to get him into Alateen soon.”

  “Alateen’s a good program,” Jane said. “My primary qualifier for Al-Anon was my parents, but I’ve been coming since my daughter started drinking.”

  He looked confused when she mentioned her daughter. Then she remembered telling him in his office that she didn’t have any children.

  “She’s dead,” Jane quickly added. “My daughter. Melody. She passed away from this disease.”

  He bowed his head. “I’m very sorry. I can’t imagine your grief.”

  “Thanks. It never completely goes away, but it gets a little more manageable every day.”

  He nodded as if he guessed that what she said was true. “Chandler’s mother tried to run away with him out of state, and it nearly destroyed me. Fortunately, I have custody now and she’s locked away in a safe place.”

  “He’s a lucky boy to have someone love him like you do.”

  “Thank you. I feel lucky to have him to love.”

  There was a moment when they just looked at each other, unsure of what to say, or maybe just not needing to say anything more. Jane took a sip of her coffee. Then she saw Marj wave at her, and she noticed the chairperson passing the basket to start the meeting.

  “Looks like they’re getting started,” Jane said. “I’d better get back to my friend. It’s her first meeting in a long time.”

  “Of course,” he said, smiling graciously and letting her pass. “Say, Jane,” he called softly after her.

  She stopped and turned.

  “You wouldn’t be interested in watching the game with us, would you? Seahawks versus the Niners.”

  “That’s such a kind offer,” Jane replied. “Thank you. But I’ve got to get home to my fiancé after the meeting.”

  Jane thought she saw him blush, but it was hard to tell with his caramel-colored skin.

  “You’re welcome to bring him,” he said, recovering.

  “I’m afraid he’s exhausted,” Jane replied.

  Then for
some strange reason, she felt a strong desire to talk Caleb up, to somehow justify him as her fiancé, as if she might somehow be judged because she was engaged to a much younger man, even though Manuel didn’t know his age.

  “He’s a musician and he just returned from L.A., where he’s been filming a new music show. I’m not supposed to say anything yet, but he’ll be on the live show in a few weeks.”

  Manuel looked genuinely impressed. “What’s the name of the show?”

  “Singer-Songwriter Superstar.”

  “We’ll be sure to watch it,” he said before heading off to join his son. “The only thing Chandler likes from Seattle as much as their football is their music.”

  As soon as Jane reclaimed her seat, Marj leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Who’s the Spanish heartthrob?”

  “Marjorie,” Jane said, shaming her neighbor with her eyes, but smiling at her at the same time. “You know I’m engaged.”

  “You’re engaged”—Marj grinned—“but I’m not.”

  Chapter 15

  Jane and Mr. Zigler pulled in and parked at the same time, rushing together from their cars toward the warehouse door.

  “How long has he been here?” Jane asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Mr. Zigler said, pulling out his ring of keys. “The janitors called me and the first thing I did was call you.”

  “I’m glad I answered. I figured he was out playing a late gig and was about to go to bed. Did the janitors say what he was doing that scared them?”

  Mr. Zigler shook his head and unlocked the door.

  “I’ll bet it was that stupid show again,” Jane said, shaking her head. “It was on tonight while I was working.”

  They couldn’t see him, but they heard him as soon as they were inside. Bottles rattling, heavy boxes slamming down. They rushed across the dark warehouse and around the corner to the delivery gate. He had turned the lights on in that section and was unloading several stacked pallets by hand, carrying two or three heavy cases at a time and walking them the length of the floor, then piling them on another stack he had going there. The pallets looked to be half-unloaded, and it seemed an impossible amount of weight for one man to have moved in the space of anything short of a week.

  If he saw them, he paid them no mind as he walked back to grab another load. Jane could see that his hair was slick with sweat and his shirt had soaked through. Stranger yet, he wasn’t wearing any shoes, and his bare feet left wet prints on the cool concrete as he walked. She watched them evaporate and disappear from behind him like the prints of some ghost chasing after him to do his work.

  Mr. Zigler cleared his throat.

  Caleb stopped with an armload of boxes and looked at them. Jane couldn’t read anything of his mood in his stare.

  “You know,” Mr. Zigler said, “it’d be a lot easier if you used the forklift and moved them while they were still on the pallets. We’ve come a long way since the pyramids.”

  Caleb set the boxes down at his feet, then stood again and looked at the forklift as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Well, I didn’t have the key,” he said.

  Mr. Zigler chuckled. “That sure didn’t seem to keep you from finding your way in here in the middle of the night.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “No, you’re not in trouble. But you sure gave my cleaning crew the fright of their lives. They thought there was a madman in here stealing my booze.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Caleb said. “Who would carry cases into the warehouse if they were aiming to steal them?”

  “I know it,” Mr. Zigler replied. “Those cleaners sure are a funny bunch, aren’t they? Hard to believe they thought this was odd at all. Of course, once they described the thief, I knew they were talking about you. And where’s your shoes?”

  Caleb glanced down at his feet. “I didn’t have any socks and they were filling up with sweat. They’re over there. I’m really sorry for making you come out here in the middle of the night, Mr. Zigler. I was just working off a little stress, I guess.”

  “It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” he replied. “I got a bunch of work done for free because of your little stress release. But poor Jane here was worried sick when I called.”

  Caleb looked suddenly very exhausted and very sad. “I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

  Jane had been standing quietly, not wanting to interrupt, and she was so far from being angry, she couldn’t even put into words how she felt when he asked. She just walked toward him and hugged him. His shirt was soaked, and he smelled like an odd mixture of cardboard and sweat.

  “Let’s go home, honey,” she said. “Let’s go home and rest. I’ll give you a nice massage.”

  Caleb went and collected his shoes while Mr. Zigler clicked the bright lights off. Then they all walked together in the dim glow of the emergency lights toward the door.

  “If you want your job back, it’s always waiting,” Mr. Zigler said, pausing once they were outside before closing the door. “But I’ve got to warn you, I’m not hiring for any graveyard shift, so you’ll need to come at human hours.”

  “Thanks, boss. I appreciate it.”

  “But if you don’t mind me giving you my two cents for free,” he added, “I think you should listen to your lady here and chase your dream. You’re a good man, and a good man can take a little setback like this and make it a springboard to bigger things. You know, I half expected we’d find you drunk and breaking bottles in here. That’s what mostly happens in my business when I get a call about an employee in the middle of the night. But here you are, working off some steam. You need to direct that passion of yours into your art, young man. Not into moving boxes of bottles around.”

  He paused to put his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “I’ve not mentioned this before, and the only reason I’ll say it now is because I think so highly of you and of Jane. But when I was a boy, I always wanted to be a musician. I played saxophone. Was pretty good at it too. Practiced three whole summers with my best friend while staying with my father in Rome. But my mother, you see, well, she hammered into me this idea that I needed to do real work, be a real man. She said there wasn’t anybody ever who made a real living off being in a silly band. I guess she finally got to me. And now here I am with this warehouse and all these trucks with my name on them. But I’d give it all back in a second for a chance to play Casa del Jazz just one time with my old best friend.”

  He smiled, remembering. Then he removed his hand from Caleb’s shoulder and wished him and Jane a good night. They were almost to the car when Caleb turned back.

  “Hey, why don’t you?”

  Mr. Zigler looked up from his ring of keys. “Why don’t I what?”

  “Why don’t you go and play with your friend in Rome?”

  “Because his mother got to him too. He gave up playing and went to work at the port of Civitavecchia. He was crushed to death by a crane the summer we turned nineteen.”

  They made love later that night, but Caleb seemed to still be somewhere else. Afterwards, he rolled onto his back and lay looking up at the ceiling, while Jane lay on her side, watching him. He hadn’t been shaving or even trimming his beard since he’d been home, and he was beginning to look scruffy. He needed a haircut too. But his eyes were still bright and clear—almost too bright, almost too clear, the whites white, the irises a sparkling green—yet they seemed to look off at nothing and everything at once.

  “Are you okay, Caleb?”

  “I should have stuffed them with newspaper first.”

  “What’s that, honey? Stuffed what with newspaper?”

  “The egg cartons that I stapled to the ceiling. I think they would absorb more sound if I’d stuffed them with newsprint. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take them down and do it.”

  “Caleb, do you want to talk? Something’s eating at you.”

  “No
, I’m fine, babe. I’m just tired.”

  “I’m sure you are. But honey, you’ve been moping around here since you’ve been home. Maybe you’re depressed.”

  “I’m not depressed.”

  “Well, it sure seems like it.”

  He fished his jeans up from the floor beside the bed and stood and put them on. Then he walked from the bedroom to the bathroom.

  Jane pulled his T-shirt on and followed him. The water was running in the sink when she got there, but he was just standing in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection. She leaned against the doorjamb and sighed.

  “Caleb, you know you can tell me anything.”

  “I know,” he said, looking away from his reflection. “I’m just not sure what I’m thinking, so it’s hard to tell you.”

  “You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to.”

  “You wouldn’t think less of me?”

  “No, I wouldn’t think any less of you.”

  He looked up at her and she thought she saw an immense sadness in his eyes.

  “But I want to do it for you, Jane. I want to get you out of this lousy apartment and get us a house. Something with a yard. And I’d like for you to be able to quit this awful job.”

  “It’s not that bad, Caleb. I’m getting lots of exercise.”

  “Yeah, running from assholes trying to spit on you.”

  Jane stepped into the bathroom and caressed his cheek. “Baby, I’m fine. We’re fine. You can go back to working at the warehouse. Play gigs at night. Everything’ll be like it was.”

  “Until what, Jane? You know all those times playing at the club, or outside the club, I convinced myself I was working for a break. And here one comes and it turns out to be bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit, Caleb.”

  “Come on, Jane. You watched the last few episodes. And tonight’s was worse. They’re making it seem like Jordyn and I are a couple. And not only that, it also looks like I wasn’t good enough on my own.”