See Jane Run

by Joy Fielding

  “But where would you go?” Sarah demanded. “How would you live?”

  Jane hung her head, unable to think of a satisfactory reply.

  There was a loud knocking from the front hall. “Excuse me, is anybody home?”

  “Who the hell is that?” Sarah asked.

  Jane was the first into the front hall, drawn, as if magnetized, by the familiar voice. It can’t be, she thought. No, it can’t be.

  Paula Marinelli stood just inside the entranceway, her face as sober as ever. “The door was open …” she began.

  “What are you doing here?” Jane demanded, wondering how much Paula had overheard.

  “Michael told me you were here. I thought we should talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” Was there no end to this woman’s presumption? Were there no lengths to which she wouldn’t go for the man she idolized?

  “I think you better leave before I call the police,” Sarah told her. “You can report back to your boss that Jane is doing just fine.”

  “I’ll do that,” Paula said as Jane fought the urge to jump at her throat. “But not until I’ve said what I came here to say.”

  “In that case,” Jane told her, curious in spite of herself, “I guess we’d better sit down.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  THE first thing Jane noticed when she met with Michael in his lawyer’s office was how fit and confident he appeared. There were no bags under his eyes to betray a lack of sleep. His hands were steady; his voice was warm.

  “Hello, Jane,” he said easily.

  “Michael,” Jane replied, smoothing the folds of her beige Armani pantsuit, and trying not to spit in his face. She shouldn’t have come here, she thought, stifling the urge to run from the expensively furnished room. She should have taken Emily and fled, instead of listening to her friends, instead of risking everything. What did she think she was doing? Did she really expect Michael to give up without a fight?

  “How have you been?” Michael managed to look and sound concerned about her welfare.

  “Much better,” she stated between gritted teeth, aware that Michael’s attorney, Tom Wadell, was studying her from behind his large marble desk. He’s waiting for me to make a mistake, maybe lose my temper, fly off the handle, anything that would give them more ammunition to use against me in court.

  “Can my secretary get you a cup of coffee while we’re waiting for Ms. Bower to arrive?” the lawyer asked, smoothing his bald head with long, manicured fingers.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Since my wife’s attorney has been unfortunately delayed,” Michael began, and Jane bit down hard on the side of her tongue to keep from screaming, “perhaps Jane and I could take this opportunity to have a few moments in private.”

  Jane shook her head in amazement, unable to find her voice. What was Michael trying to do?

  “I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request,” Michael added quickly, looking to his lawyer.

  “Mrs. Whittaker?” Tom Wadell asked.

  “I certainly wouldn’t want to appear unreasonable,” Jane said, not bothering to disguise her sarcasm.

  Tom Wadell rose from his high-backed, burgundy leather chair. “I’ll be in the conference room. My secretary is right outside the door … in case you need anything.”

  In case you have to scream for help from this demented woman, Jane understood he meant, watching him shut the door behind him. Automatically she took a step back.

  Michael looked hurt, almost offended. “Just what is it you think I’m going to do to you, Jane?”

  “What’s left?” Jane asked in return.

  “I thought we could talk to each other like two adults….”

  “Interesting concept for a man who prefers children.”

  Michael looked to the floor. “You’re not making this easy.”

  “I must have forgotten to take my Haldol this morning.”

  Michael’s eyes slowly lifted to hers, his mouth a frown. “I know what you think I’ve done, Jane, but—”

  “Oh, spare me, will you, Michael? Save your lies for the courtroom. If this is what you wanted to talk about—”

  “I want my wife back.”

  “What?!”

  “I love you, Jane. I know you don’t believe that. I know you think I’m some kind of monster, but you have to believe that I love you, that all I’ve ever wanted is everything we once had. I just want this nightmare to be over and for you and Emily to come back home where you belong.”

  Jane sank into the burgundy leather sofa on the wall across from Tom Wadell’s desk, hearing the air whoosh out of the wide seat. Was she losing it again? Could these words really be coming out of Michael’s mouth?

  Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out the small jeweler’s box Jane had returned to him, via the same courier service he had used, the day before. “I bought it for you, Jane. I want you to have it.”

  Jane felt her fingers curl into tight fists at her sides. Was this his plan? Was he hoping that she’d strike him?

  “I miss you, Jane. I miss our life together. I miss our daughter.”

  “The daughter you told me was dead.”

  Michael ran a steady hand through his hair. “I know that’s what you think I told you ….”

  “I see. So now my hearing is suspect as well.”

  “Jane, you were completely irrational. Hysterical. How can you be sure of what anyone told you?”

  Jane closed her eyes, said nothing. Could she be sure?

  “I love you, Jane,” he said, sitting beside her. “I know what you think I’ve done, to you and our daughter, but I also know that with time, and with proper therapy, you’ll come to understand that nothing happened the way you think it did, that I never did any of the things you’re accusing me of.”

  “And Emily?” Jane asked. “How long before she understands?”

  “Emily is seven years old,” Michael explained patiently. “Nothing would make her happier than to see her parents back together.” He reached for her hands.

  Jane watched his long surgeon’s fingers stretch toward her own. Then she lifted her gaze to his face. She traced the wayward lines of his nose, studied his full lips, his fair hair, his pale-green eyes, trying to piece all the parts together into one recognizable whole. But he was more of a stranger to her now than when she’d met him in Dr. Meloff’s office two months earlier. “Touch me and I’ll kill you,” she said evenly.

  Michael immediately pulled his hands away and jumped to his feet, clearly shaken. Jane wondered whether it was her words or the calm way she had delivered them that had spooked him. “Are you threatening me, Jane?” he asked, shaking his head in seeming amazement.

  In that instant, it occurred to Jane that the office might be bugged. Had she blown everything? Oh, God, where was her lawyer? What was taking the woman so long?

  “That’s exactly the attitude that got us into this mess,” Michael was saying. “There’s no room in your life for compromise, for working things out peacefully. Why should you compromise when you’re always right? You know everything, don’t you, Jane? No sir, nobody can tell Jane Whittaker anything. She knows it all. She has all the answers. She calls the shots. Nothing gets done without her approval. You always have to be in control, don’t you, Jane? You have to make all the key decisions: where we go; who we see; what we do; when we make love; how we make love. …”

  Jane fought to piece together the puzzle of his sudden accusations. “Are you trying to say it’s my fault that you molested our daughter?”

  “For God’s sake, Jane. I never molested Emily!” He raised his hands to the ceiling, as if appealing to a higher order for help. “She wandered into the bathroom one night when I was taking a leak. You were off at one of your meetings. She was curious, as any child would be. She asked if she could touch me. I didn’t see any harm in it. It was all so innocent. I had no idea of the repercussions….”

  “So now it’s Emily’s fault.”

  “W
hy are you so consumed with assigning blame?”

  “Why don’t you go straight to hell?!” Jane snapped, her voice louder than she expected.

  There was a knock at the door. “Everything all right in there?” a woman’s voice inquired.

  Michael walked to the door and opened it, a look of anguish on his face. “I think you can ask Mr. Wadell to come back now,” he told the concerned-looking secretary, disappointment clinging to every word. “It doesn’t appear that we’re going to accomplish anything on our own.”

  “Nice touch, Michael,” Jane said, amazed by how well he had played her.

  He looked at her as if he had no idea what she meant, and Jane found herself wondering whether she would stand any chance at all against him in court.

  “Look who’s here!” Tom Wadell exclaimed, leading Jane’s lawyer inside the office and motioning for everyone to sit down in the grouping of chairs across from his desk.

  Jane’s lawyer was a transplanted Floridian named Renee Bower who had moved to the Boston area after a brief stint in New York. She was an attractive woman whose soft exterior belied the toughness at her core. She gave Jane a brief nod of reassurance as she settled in, clearly not intimidated by the opulence of her surroundings. “Sorry I’m late. It took longer at the D.A.’s office than I expected.”

  “I think we should get right to business,” Michael stated after they were introduced.

  “We’re open to any reasonable suggestions,” Renee Bower told him.

  Tom Wadell cleared his throat. “My client has no desire for a protracted and bitter court battle. Also, as a concerned father, he has no desire to see his daughter separated from her mother at this traumatic point in her life. He feels enough damage has been done to the child already, and has no desire to add to her suffering. He is, therefore, willing to allow Mrs. Whittaker custody of Emily.”

  Jane’s eyes shot to Michael’s. Could it really be that he was finally listening to his conscience, that he would spare them all the agony of a court hearing?

  “And in return?” Renee Bower was asking.

  “In return, your client drops all allegations of sexual abuse against Dr. Whittaker.”

  “My client gets sole custody?”

  “Dr. Whittaker gets generous access.”

  “What does that mean, generous access?” Jane interrupted, leaning forward, her earlier elation starting to dissipate.

  “My client would see his daughter on alternate weekends and every Wednesday night. Also one month each summer and one week at Christmas and Easter. Other holidays to be divided equally between both parents.”

  “Never,” Jane said angrily. “I will never give you unsupervised access to Emily.”

  “You really expect me to agree to see my daughter for only a few hours a week in the company of some social worker who’ll be watching my every move?” Michael asked.

  “That’s the least of what I expect.”

  “I see. And you’re willing to gamble? Because if you don’t accept my offer, Jane, and I think your lawyer will tell you it’s a damn good offer, then I’ll fight you for everything. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll be lucky if you ever see our daughter again.” He paused, letting the full weight of his words sink in.

  Jane looked toward Renee Bower, but the woman was staring directly at Michael.

  “You really think you can make your obscene charges stick?” Michael continued, standing up and circling the room. “That the D.A., given the evidence of your hysterical amnesia, will take your word over mine? That any charges will be laid? That I won’t be completely exonerated? And after that, when we face off in a custody dispute, you think that any judge is going to take the word of a woman who, in addition to forgetting who she is, has a history of violence that includes whacking her husband over the head and beating up on total strangers? Does that sound logical to you?” He paused, though, clearly, he wasn’t finished. “And what about Emily?”

  “Emily?”

  “Yes, Emily. Don’t you understand the harm you’d be doing by forcing her to testify against her own father in court?”

  Jane shot to her feet, her chair teetering on its back legs, as her lawyer sought unsuccessfully to steady it. “How much harm I’m doing?”

  “If you don’t care about me, Jane, if it doesn’t matter to you what these outrageous accusations will do to my life, then at least can’t you think about our little girl?”

  “You bastard!”

  “Jane,” her lawyer cautioned.

  “How dare you,” Jane hissed, slamming her fist on the cold marble desk top, watching Tom Wadell pull back in alarm. “How dare you try to twist this around.”

  “Banging on the desk, Jane. That’s a good start. What’s next on the agenda?”

  “Jane,” Renee Bower warned, “don’t lose it.”

  “Maybe we should reschedule this meeting, give you some time to consider our proposal,” Tom Wadell offered, rising to his feet.

  “Just give me a moment to get this straight,” Jane asked. “I want to make sure that I understand everything.” She began pacing, Michael quickly resuming his seat to get out of her way. “You avoid the publicity and fallout of an unpleasant trial; you get to keep your position at the hospital and your dazzling reputation; in return, I get sole custody of Emily. I get to look after her on a daily basis; you get to molest her on Wednesday nights and every other weekend….”

  “Jane, for God’s sake.” Michael brushed his hair away from his forehead.

  “… Not to mention a week at Christmas and Easter and a whole month in the summer.”

  “I don’t see that this is getting us anywhere.” Tom Wadell began gathering his papers together.

  “You really expect me to go along with this?” Jane stopped directly in front of her husband. Was she planning to strike him? God knew nothing would give her greater satisfaction.

  Michael inched his chin slowly toward her, daring her, taunting her. “I foolishly thought a compromise might be in all our best interests.”

  Jane fought to keep her hands at her sides, to keep her fingers from scratching at her husband’s eyes. And suddenly she saw Emily reflected in those eyes, and she understood that her best hope for winning, her best revenge, lay in remaining calm. How strange, she thought, that in this instance, hope and revenge should amount to the same thing.

  “Oh, it’s in your best interests, all right. And maybe even in mine,” she said, returning to her seat. “But not in Emily’s.” She looked to her lawyer, who reached over and covered Jane’s hand with her own. “Besides, it’s way too late for compromises now.”

  Michael laughed bitterly. “And what does that mean?”

  Jane let her lawyer speak for her. “I’ve just come from the D.A.’s office,” Renee Bower stated. “He’s prepared to bring criminal charges against you.”

  Michael’s glance shot to his attorney.

  “The D.A. knows those charges will never stick,” Tom Wadell said with confidence. “I can’t imagine he’d actually go to trial on the word of an impressionable child and her, pardon the expression, seriously unbalanced mother.” He smiled at Jane as if he had just paid her a great compliment.

  “It’s not just our word anymore,” Renee Bower told him. Jane watched the smile freeze on his face.

  “What does that mean?” Michael demanded.

  “If you’ll excuse me a minute,” Renee Bower offered, “I think I can clear this up.” She rose from her seat and exited the office.

  “What the hell is this about, Jane?” Michael demanded.

  “Relax,” his lawyer advised. “Ms. Bower is famous for her theatrics.”

  In less than a minute Renee Bower returned, Paula Marinelli at her side.

  “Paula?! Thank God!” Michael exclaimed. “We’ve been trying to get in touch with you all week.” He jumped up and grabbed her hand, leading her toward his lawyer’s desk. “Tom, this is Paula Marinelli, my housekeeper, the one who helped me look after Jane. She knows be
tter than anyone the shape Jane was in.”

  “You might be interested in hearing what Ms. Marinelli has to say,” Renee Bower suggested, signaling for Paula to proceed.

  “How could you do it, Dr. Whittaker?” Paula asked quietly, her voice a monotone. “I trusted you. No, I thought you walked on water. How could you betray me the way you did? How could you hurt my little girl?”

  Michael’s face went from white to ashen. “Hurt her?! My God, I saved her life!”

  “Yes, you did,” Paula acknowledged, “and for that I’ll always be grateful.”

  “Suppose you tell us what you told the D.A.,” Tom Wadell said, his eyes reflecting his grasp of the situation.

  “When my daughter, Christine, first started having nightmares,” Paula began, looking directly at Michael’s attorney, “I thought it was just something children go through. I didn’t pay them much attention, not even after my mother told me she thought there was something more to it. When Christine told me that she didn’t want to go for her checkup because the doctor touched me funny, I didn’t think anything of it. When she persisted, I told her that Dr. Whittaker only touched her where he had to make her well. I refused to listen to what she was really saying. Once, I even spanked her for making up such terrible stories.”

  “Tom, this is ridiculous,” Michael interrupted. “Do I have to listen to this crap?”

  “I think it might be a good idea for you to sit down,” his lawyer advised.

  Michael sank into his chair as if he were an inflatable doll with a hole in its side. Jane could almost hear him losing air.

  “When I heard Jane’s story,” Paula continued, “when I heard what Dr. Whittaker had done to his own little girl, I realized that everything Christine had told me was true. I was so shaken, I couldn’t move. I felt as if someone had reached in and cut out my heart.” Paula shook her head in disbelief. “I believed this man over my own child. I ignored her cries for help because I trusted him. I’ve always done everything he asked me to do without question. I kept his wife drugged and cut off from her family and friends. I gave her pills and injections, sometimes round the clock, if that’s what he told me to do. I watched her suffer and I did nothing about it because I believed him when he said it was for her own good. Now I know he’s a liar. I know that he molested his daughter and he molested my little girl, and I’m ready to testify to that under oath. I look forward to testifying to it. That’s what I told the district attorney.”