“Sheesh, the nerve. How very last decade of them.”
The guy laughed, and Jane shifted her weight, settling more firmly on one hip. He had warm, kind eyes the color of gingerbread—sort of a honeyed-brown—and she liked that they were about the same height. He didn’t tower above her.
“You have a lot of flowers,” he said. “Someone sure loves you.”
Jane looked at the box at her feet, glad this stranger couldn’t see the small cards of pretty much identical, generic well-wishes from various guys she’d dated a few times—the one where her name was misspelled as “Jan” was particularly heartwarming.
A horn blipped lightly behind them.
Jane sighed.
“Your ride?”
She nodded.
“Do you need a hand?”
“No, I still have one—two, actually. Thanks, though.”
The guy smiled again. “Right. Good one.”
Jane tried to crane her head in a subtle way to watch him leave. Too bad she hadn’t gotten his name.
Candy buzzed around the side of the car, whipped opened the passenger door, and appeared at Jane’s side, arms out, ready to steady Jane if she showed any sign of slipping.
“I wish you weren’t always so efficient.” Jane turned so her backside faced the car and lowered herself into the seat. “If you’d taken like five minutes longer—”
“Only you would think of flirting at a time like this.”
“A time like what?” Jane eased her legs into the car and grinned. “And no, no, I’m definitely not the only one.”
As they pulled up to the house, Jane chuckled. Their little sister Kaylie and their twin brothers Matthew and Michael had their faces pressed up against the glass. And wait, there was another little familiar face. Dean’s daughter, Isobel, was there, too.
Jane looked pointedly at Dean’s vintage Mustang in the driveway and turned to Candy with raised eyebrows. “Now, Candy, how can you even think of flirting at a time like this?”
Candy blushed bright pink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered. “He’s just been helping while you were out of commission.”
Jane tsk-tsked. “Shocking is all I can say, sister-dear, shocking.”
****
Jane had barely inched through the door, when Kaylie almost bowled her over in an excited hug. “Candy says we can do another Christmas dinner now that you’re home.”
Jane leaned a little heavier on her crutches and pulled a face. “It’s January. Can’t we skip it and have a ‘welcome home, cripple’ dinner instead?”
“Jane!” Candy hissed.
“What?” She caught the look on Kaylie’s face. “Ah, I’m sorry Kaylie-baylie. I’m just grouchy and out of sorts. A second Christmas dinner…sounds great.”
Kaylie rolled her eyes. “You will actually have fun. I promise, and look what else.”
“Well, as long as you promise.” Jane took the elaborate welcome home card Kaylie handed her—a combination of collage and little cartoon figures of each member of the family, cheering.
“Aw, doodle. It’s the greatest. Thank you.”
Kaylie smiled modestly, and, wonder of wonders, didn’t even scold Jane about using the nickname she hated. “And check this out.” She held up a sheet of poster board so big she looked like a huge piece of green paper with legs and a head.
“Boy, you’ve been busy with projects galore, hey?”
The poster appeared to be some type of calendar. Jane did a double take. “Kaylie, is that a countdown to next Christmas? That’s a whole year away.”
“Yes, isn’t it great?”
Great wouldn’t have been Jane’s first description, not even close. Kaylie was a sweetheart, but she was showing signs of developing Candy’s manic love of all things structured and planned. And if Jane had to go through a countdown ritual every day for the next year, she would go…crazier.
“Hey, what are you doing this weekend?” her twin brothers Michael and Matt asked in unison, appearing around the corner.
“Working” was on the tip of her tongue. But no, of course, she wouldn’t be. She was on disability leave for…well, at this point, the timeframe was totally up in the air. She shrugged wordlessly.
“Well, do you care if Matt and I go out?”
“No, of course not—” Behind the boys, Candy was making a cutting motion with her hand, shaking her head, and mouthing No. “Um, unless we already have plans to do something?”
The twins looked crushed.
Candy nodded, pleased.
Jane shook her head. “It’s great to be home, guys, but I’m totally exhausted.” She tried to ignore the concerned looks that passed between her siblings. “Do you mind if I skip the welcome home activities and sack out?”
“Of course not,” Candy said while the others shook their heads and mumbled similar kind words. “Michael, Matt—can you help Jane upstairs, please?”
“I’m not an invalid,” Jane snapped. “I can manage a few steps.”
Michael held up his hands. “OK, OK.”
Matt laughed. “I told you she wouldn’t like Operation Help Jane, Candy.”
Jane hated that she’d been ungrateful. “I’m sorry, Candy. I’m feeling a bit claustrophobic. That’s all.”
Candy smiled. “I know, and I’m probably getting on your last nerve. Just holler down if you need anything.”
Jane nodded. She was finally home free. Maneuvering into her room, however, she wished she’d taken Candy up on her offer for help. She sank onto her bed. How could five stairs and a hallway feel like so much work? Her arm throbbed. Her ribs ached. At least she was finally alone though—
“Uh, hey, Jane?”
She closed her eyes. Now Dean had to say hello. Really?
“Hey, Dean. Thanks for helping out and stuff. I know it means the world to Candy. And to me.”
Dean waved away the praise. “Some kid named Sarah called. She’ll be at church tomorrow and hopes to catch up with you. I promised to give you the message.”
“Thanks.”
Dean nodded and left as quickly as he’d come, which, now that Jane was breathing easier again, was a bit disappointing. She wanted to pump him for details about him and Candy.
Obviously, something had changed in their relationship—as in, they actually had one now. She smiled to herself. Arguably, trying to “give” her buddy and fellow nurse, Dean, to Candy as a Christmas present hadn’t been her best idea, but it looked as if it was working out now, so go her! Candy had opened up and chosen to trust again.
Jane hoped the decision didn’t turn around and bite her sister in the rear.
She pushed the negative thought away. Dependable, tenacious Candy, and kind, conscientious Dean would be fine.
People like Jane—and her mother—weren’t cut out for long-term relationships.
Maybe if her mom and her mom’s latest and last boyfriend, Ray, hadn’t died in their rage-fueled car crash, if they’d somehow lived, resolved their issues, and gone on to have a relationship that worked out, maybe then she’d be less jaded.
Jane turned off those thoughts, too. After all, they hadn’t lived. They hadn’t lasted. They had, in fact, been the worst of the whole string of her mom’s unbelievably poor choices.
Jane shifted on the bed and her mind rolled back to Dean’s message about Sarah. It was good news and made Jane’s decision for her. She’d been on the fence about going back to church right away, thought it might be nice to have a week at home, doing devotions on her own, before running the gauntlet of sympathy her well-meaning church would subject her to, but if Sarah would be there, she would be, too.
“Are you all right?” Candy’s concerned voice broke through her thoughts.
“You bet. Brilliant, in fact.” Jane glanced at Candy who stood in her doorway, eyeballing her skeptically. “I’m going to church with you tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?”
Jane tried to sit upright, but cou
ldn’t.
Candy entered the room all the way and gently helped her without saying a word—even when Jane grunted with pain at her ribs’ protest to the movement.
“I’m sure,” she said when she could speak again.
3
It turned out, however, that Jane wasn’t up to church on Sunday. Not at all. With the exception of a follow-up doctor’s appointment and a trip to start physiotherapy, she spent the whole week at home, most of it in her room. She tried to go on periodic walks about the house and to stretch a bit, so she wouldn’t stiffen up completely and her injuries would heal faster, but even the simplest movements caused agony. Once or twice she caught a glimpse of how pathetic she looked in the big hallway mirror, and the sight made everything seem pointless.
When Candy tried to comfort her with comments like, “You’ll be back to your old self sooner than you know.” Jane stared pointedly at the wires and pins that looked, for all the world, like nails pushing out of her skin, and scowled until Candy glanced away.
Jane did call Sarah to explain her absence. Her mother answered, promised to relay Jane’s message, and sounded very happy when she added, “I’m sure you’ll get to visit Sarah, anyway. It looks as if she’s sticking around for a bit. Just focus on getting well.”
On the first Sunday in February—a February that still felt like the dead-of-winter—Kaylie burst into the dining room holding her countdown to Christmas calendar. “Only 322 days ’til Christmas. Can you believe it?”
Jane pressed her face into her good hand. She was so ready to get out of the house that she would’ve happily gone to church no matter how much discomfort it caused.
The church foyer was crowded, and Jane found herself on the verge of tears several times as people greeted her. What on earth was wrong with her? She wasn’t one of those weepy women. But it was just so touching-slash-irritating how many people seemed to care. OK. Not really irritating. She was just annoyed because she hated looking weak. Being feeble. She was embarrassed to be injured. How lame was that?
She followed after Kaylie but got her to pick seats near the back in case sitting got too uncomfortable. Midway through the praise and worship, she spotted Sarah. Hopefully, she’d be able to locate her again at the end.
She tried to focus on the music and sing along—usually this was the part of the service where she felt closest to God and received the biggest blessing, but also the most conviction if she’d pulled away from Him or had unconfessed sin or resentment or bitterness…but not today. She couldn’t feel God anymore. Hadn’t been able to since the accident. She was worried that she might never again.
The lyrics were all there, but they might as well have been jingles on the radio.
“Are you OK?” Kaylie whispered as the offering plate was passed.
“Yeah, why?” Jane looked down at her little sister’s head and smiled. Apparently, she’d done her hair herself. Two large clip-on bows decorated a messy up-do.
“You looked mad or sad for a minute.”
The smile fled Jane’s face. “Ah, it’s nothing, doodle. Don’t worry. I was just thinking.”
“Thought I smelled something burning,” Kaylie joked but slipped her hand into Jane’s and gripped it tightly.
“Ha,” Jane said, squeezing back.
The pastor spoke on the second half of Proverbs 31, and though he read the whole thing, and usually Jane found the scripture both inspiring and motivating, today her mind got caught on the seventeenth verse. “She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks.” The whole passage was about working hard and being a blessing to your family, and here she was, useless. More than useless.
“You’re doing it again,” Kaylie muttered.
“Doing what?”
“Scowling.”
“I’m paying attention to the sermon. Maybe you should try it.”
Kaylie rolled her eyes.
Jane sneaked out during the last song and positioned herself by the entrance to the cloakroom because it gave her a good view of the sanctuary’s doors.
She forced cheery smiles and hellos and thank yous to a few people who made their way over to greet her and inquire about her health. Finally, she didn’t have to fake her smile.
“Jane.” Sarah’s voice was her trademark whisper, but it was filled with audible excitement all the same.
“Hey, Sarah.” Jane propped her crutch against the doorframe, hugged Sarah in a one-armed embrace, and then steadied herself and stepped back. “It’s so good to see you. I was ecstatic when I got your message, and your mom told me you moved back home.”
Sarah’s face, extra pale beneath her raven-black fringe, turned baby pink. “Yeah, it’s going OK actually.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ve been clean for three months.”
Tears smarted in Jane’s eyes. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Yeah.” Sarah pulled her sleeves over the heels of her hand and slid her thumbs through the factory-designed holes in her sweater. “I still want to get high, but I just don’t.”
Jane nodded. “It’s weird how our heads work against us sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Sarah said again. “It’s like it says in Romans. We have to renew our minds daily. I’m careful about who I say that to, though. Right now I find it encouraging. Before it would’ve made me want to kill myself.” Sarah wasn’t being facetious.
Jane marveled at how she could joke about it. She’d come so far.
“I actually, well, I have this hope right now…” Sarah looked down at her feet.
“That’s lovely—and what is it? If that’s not too personal.”
“No, no, it’s just I don’t want you to think it’s silly.
“I won’t.”
“Do you know 2 Corinthians 1:3 and 4?”
Jane wracked her brain. “Um, wait—yes. I think so.”
“‘Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God’—that’s what I hope. That one day I’ll be able to comfort other people with what I’ve gone through.”
“I think you already are.”
Sarah smiled.
Again Jane was awed by the transformation in her young friend. If she hadn’t met up with her infrequently since her release from the hospital that last time, she never would’ve recognized her.
Sarah was about to say something else when her eyes lit up. “Hey, it’s my uncle. You came!” she said to someone behind Jane.
Jane turned, and her mouth fell open in surprise. The cute CD guy from the hospital stood there. Today, he wore a long-sleeved black t-shirt, with a renaissance-style angel emblazoned across the front—a renaissance angel playing drums.
“I said I would, didn’t I?” His eyes crinkled, and Jane was shocked by how familiar the expression already seemed to her. She loved how his face smiled before he did. His gaze fell on Jane and his forehead creased. “You’re the woman from the hospital—outside emergency.”
Jane liked that he referred to her as a woman, not a girl, but she didn’t have a chance to confirm or deny it when he continued, “And you’re Jane—small world!”
“I’m sorry?” she said looking from him to Sarah and back to him. “Um, do I know you?”
“No, but I feel as if I know you. Sarah blathers about you, the angel-nurse she met when she was hospitalized, non-stop.”
“That’s so not true, liar,” Sarah said, but her tone held only affection.
The cute guy held out his hand. “Timothy James Steady,” he said.
For some reason, Jane didn’t want to take his hand, so she waved her crutch at him.
“Oh, yeah—sorry. That was dumb of me.”
“It’s no biggie,” Jane said. “And, yes, I’m Jane.”
“Just Jane?”
“For now.”
“Oh, so it’s like that, is it?”
> She grinned and gave a little shrug. “Maybe it is, Timothy Steady. Maybe it is.” As she said his name, something in her tweaked with recognition. “Timothy, Tim…Steady. Wait a minute.” The drumming angel on his shirt took on sudden significance. “Wait, Tim Steady, as in the Tim Steady? The drummer for Pick Axe?”
Sarah started laughing. “I can’t believe you even know who Pick Axe was, Jane.”
Tim turned red and responded to Sarah, not Jane. “Yeah, she’s probably the only person in the world who does—or did.”
“Oh, whatever.” Jane laughed. “You guys were huge for a few seconds. You had your five minutes of fame.”
“Five minutes? Well, I could see you’re gorgeous, but you’re generous, too?”
“Oh, how corny can you get?” Sarah groaned. “Just because you’re desperate,” she teased, “doesn’t mean you need to broadcast the fact.”
Jane laughed again, but it was forced this time. On one hand, she found it refreshing to not have either Sarah or Tim comment on the fading bruises on her face or ask questions about the ugly cage on her arm. And what girl didn’t want to be called gorgeous? But did she really fit that description?
She’d never be able to wear anything sleeveless unselfconsciously again. Even if she did somehow manage to stop being so dang shallow, no one in public would be able to be cool with it. Her scars and the damage to the lymph nodes would be permanent.
Ugh. She shook her head and gave herself an inner scolding. The scars didn’t matter. They didn’t change who someone was on the inside.
And on some level, she knew that was true. But saying it was easier than living it. She wasn’t just a pretty face anymore. It was questionable whether she’d be able to do her old job again. And these days, she definitely wasn’t the life of the party or fun and easy going…So who was she? What did she have to offer? And if she didn’t know the answers to such basic questions, how could any man really be interested in her?
Tim was only flirting with her because he didn’t have a clue how messed up she was—inside and out. Then, again, maybe she was assuming interest that wasn’t there. Maybe he was being funny and nice because she was friends with Sarah, and he was concerned about his niece. That made sense.
Drummer Boy Page 2