C
HAPTER
25
The next day was Christmas Eve, and so my surprise overnight guests, John and Anna, Rebecca and Junior, departed around noon. All had their own plans and their own holidays to enjoy. In fact, they were all headed for New York, the new lovers expected at Anna's family's house for a traditional Italian feast, my sister and her son planning to celebrate the holiday by eating in nice restaurants and taking in a Broadway show. “We don't do traditional Christmases,” Rebecca explained, standing before her sleek black BMW.
“Do you do this every year?” Janey asked.
“Since the divorce,” Junior replied.
“Five years,” Rebecca remarked.
“Then it is a traditionâyours,” she instructed them. “That's what Brian taught me.”
Well-spoken, I thought, proud of the way Janey and Junior had taken to each other. The two of them had returned to the farmhouse early this morning, joining us all for a big breakfast, and lots of whisperings about what gifts they hoped to get. Then they exchanged e-mail addresses so they could keep in touch. The advances of technology would not be denied in Linden Corners; the outside world could not be ignored. But both Rebecca and I were pleased that the two of them had gotten along so well. Maybe our distant family had taken a step forward, thanks to the power, the commonality of childhood.
I hugged Rebecca and reminded her about this solemn day for the Duncan family. My request was simple. “Remember Philip.”
“That's why I came to Linden Corners, so we both could.” Thankfully she hadn't noticed the absence of my ornament on the tree.
Janey and I watched both cars pull out of the driveway. She waved one last time and then, when they were out of sight, staring up at me, she announced, “I like Junior, he's very nice when you get him to open up. His mother embarrasses him a lot. But I think he liked that we became such instant friends.” Her eyes sparkled like diamonds. I bent down and embraced her.
“You did a very good thing, JaneyâI'm proud of you. From all Rebecca has told me about Junior, he doesn't make friends too easily. So it must have been a nice surprise for him to have such an instant rapport with you. Though it hardly surprises me. Look at you and me, right? We clicked from the very moment we met.”
“Junior just needed someone to pay attention to him, to listen to him. Conversation . . . communication, it's very important.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed, trying to keep an edge from creeping into my voice.
A sudden cloud crossed her face, and gone was our happy moment. “I need to go back to Cynthia's now. She and I have some last-minute holiday details to take care of. Bye, Brian.”
To hear Janey say good-bye to me cut deep. But I let her go without another word, mostly because I feared my voice might fail me. Janey's comment about needing attention and the importance of communication reawakened my paranoid feelings, not that they were sleeping too deep down inside me anyway. What I couldn't be certain was whether the meaning behind her words was directed at me. Time and attention to Janey had never been a concern before, something that had never been questioned or been at issue. Given her mood shifts and the unspoken gulf that existed between us, though, given the fact that today was Christmas Eve and those hidden fears of her could have bubbled to the surface, anything was possible.
My impulse was to run after Janey and have that talk now, but in the end I left her alone. Instead, I went back inside and called Cynthia to explain that I was going to run a few errands. “No problem, Brian, Janey will be fine here.”
As I headed out of town, a placard placed at the town's line reminded me about the children's pageant at St. Matthew's tonight. Their annual toy drive. So while I was out I picked up a last-minute gift to place under the tree at the church. All of my Corners friends were expected to attend the seven o'clock vigil mass, and for a moment I heard Father Burton's reminder rattle in my brain. It was a special celebration for the children of Linden Corners, one Janey had taken part in as long as she could recall. It was another long-standing village tradition, Gerta once informing me that “George and I took our four daughters every year while they were growing up. The mass is wonderfully inspiring. What good it does for our souls to offer comfort to those less fortunate.” Gerta was planning to attend, as well, since she explained only one of her four daughters was coming home for Christmas, and in fact she said, “Viki and Dave and the kids will arrive late on Christmas Eve.” As I ran my errands and fought against the crowds desperate for those ideal last-minute gifts, I found myself looking forward to the mass and being at Janey's side. I was gone nearly two hours, and then, thinking Cynthia had other things to do than taking care of Janey, I drove directly to her home. Brad answered the door.
“Hey, Bri, what's up?”
“Oh, I just came to pick up Janey.”
“Really? She's not here.”
There had been only one car in the driveway, so I assumed that Cynthia had taken Janey with her.
“Cyn did go out, but not with Janey. She wasn't even here when I got back from the office. Half day,” Brad said, running a hand across his unshaven jaw. Guess he had that desired time off from the law firm now, he wasn't usually so casual. “That's real strange, Bri. We told Janey to call you, you know, make sure you were home. She told us you were.”
Which meant wherever Janey had really gone off to, she was unsupervised and alone, and worse, she'd arranged it that way. A level of panic I'd never before felt surfaced in me, and I reacted with gut instinct. I raced back to my car, yelling out, “I'll call you when I find her,” then peeled out of the driveway just as Cynthia was approaching it. From behind the wheel her eyes widened in surprise, but I kept driving, figuring Brad could explain what was happening. Time was precious to me, and I had to find Janey. Two long minutes passed before I was back at the farmhouse, running inside the house, calling out, “Janey, Janey, are you here?” But there came no reply other than the hollow echo of my own voice. Even though I knew the house was empty, I still did a thorough search from basement to attic and everywhere in between just to be certain. She was nowhere to be found. I stood in her room, feeling absolutely helpless. An idea hit me and I quickly dropped down and peeked my head under her bed. The cardboard box was gone. Just then the phone rang and I ran to my bedroom, grabbed it on the third ring.
“Janey?”
“I guess that means you didn't find her,” I heard Cynthia say.
“No. Cyn, did anything happen while she was over at your house?”
“Nothing that I can think of. All we did was wrap some gifts. She seemed happy. You know, she seemed like herself.”
Cynthia would know.
“Thanks,” I said, hanging up without saying good-bye. Redialing, I called the Baker home in the hopes that Ashley's mother answered. Instead, I heard Ashley herself on the other end, and when I told her who was calling I imagined that horrible little tongue of hers.
“Have you seen Janey?” I asked her.
“No, Brian, she's not here. She's mad at me anyway, so there.”
And she hung up on me.
For a moment I wondered why Janey would be mad at her best friend. What was going on inside that little mind of hers? Could Ashley have been jealous of Janey's newfound friendship with Juniorâthey had spent most of the party talking, and maybe Ashley had gotten mad about that. It was the only rational explanation. Was their argument the reason behind Janey's disappearance? But the why could wait, the where was what took precedence.
Back down in the kitchen, I tried to think of where Janey might have gone off toâand on Christmas Eve of all days.
“Janey, where did you go?” I asked aloud.
Surrounded by constant reminders of Annieâher windmill knickknacks that ranged from salt and pepper shakers to coffee mugs and the clock upon the wall that ticked loudlyâinspiration hit me. I ran from the house without my coat, noticing that the snow had begun to fall again, big wet flakes that clung to my sweater. I made my way down the hill to the windmill, hoping I had guessed right. We all have our special places where we can hide from the world. I had shown my friends Brian's Bluff. For Janey, the windmill was her happy place because it was where she felt the closest to Annie. Annie, too, had felt so safe from her troubles inside those wooden walls.
The front door to the windmill was locked, and I hadn't brought my keys. I remembered the spare key Annie had always kept tucked under the towerâfor emergencies. I reached down and grabbed hold of the key, had the door unlocked in seconds. I flipped on the lights and looked around. Catching no sight of Janey, I called out her name anyway. Again, there came no reply, unless you counted a slight scuffling sound against the floor. Like shoes scraping against wood. Aha, she was upstairs in the studio. I took the steps two at a time, and when I reached the second level, Janey's shadow crept into my sight. She was pressed against the far wall, as though she was trying to escape from me. Her lips were quivering, and not from the cold.
“Hey,” I said. “You okay?”
She didn't respond. Deciding not to approach her, I kept my distance by sitting down on the floor near the staircase. An offensive move, because there was no way she could get past me now in the unlikely event she tried to run. Whatever had been eating away at her these past few weeks, it was all going to come out now, that much I was certain. Because it was almost Christmas and because she was Janey and I was Brian and together we were an unbeatable team. This was supposed to be our first holiday together, a perfect holiday. Instead it continued to spiral out of control.
“You want to tell me what's wrong?”
“Nothing. I'm just visiting Momma.”
“Janey, you lied to Cynthia and Brad. You told them that I was home, when you knew perfectly well that I wasn't. I told you to wait at their house until I returned,” I said, the fear in my voice overpowering my firm tone. “Which meant you were here all by yourself, and you know you're still too young for that, sweetie.”
“You can't tell me what to doâyou're not my father.”
Ooh, I believed we had hit a nerve. This was good, a verbal jab that hinted at progress.
“I know I'm not your father, Janey, never in a million years would I think I was. But I am here to look after you. I'm here because I want to look after you.”
“For now,” she said.
“For now? What's that supposed to mean? Where is it you think I'm going?”
“Home.”
“I am home, Janeyâthe farmhouse is my home. You are my home.”
“For now,” she repeated. “You know, until you get tired of living here. And then you'll go back to New York and be with your friends, because that's what you want. You just came to Linden Corners by accident.”
“Accidentally, yes, but also on purpose,” I said, hoping she would remember the strange juxtaposition of words from an earlier discussion. “And I love living here. The life I had in New York, sure, I had some fun times. But some of my memories, they weren't always good. Some days I woke up and had to wonder what I was working towardâsure, I had a good job and probably would have been very secure money-wise. But would I have been happy? I mean, truly happy and fulfilled? Not the way I am here, with you. Janey, your momma and I didn't ask to fall in loveâin fact, we resisted it. Fate had another plan, and so she and I started to think about a future together.”
“That's what you always do, Brian. Momma wasn't anyone special to you,” she said.
I was taken aback, not only by the words but by the violent force she issued them with. As though Janey truly believed them. What could have given her such a ridiculous idea that Annie hadn't been important to me, that I hadn't loved her?
“You wanted to marry that Lucy girl, the one you loved from high school. That's what Rebecca said, and even your mom. And then John told me all about that woman Maddie. You were going to marry her, too, you even bought her a ring. And you never married either one of them, so why would you have married Momma? You could always find another woman to love and marryâbecause that's what everyone wants to do, get married. Look at Mark and Sara, maybe John and Annaâthey'll probably get married. And so will you, and when you do you'll leave me.”
“Oh my God, Janey,” I said, my heart beating wildly. “Oh no, that's not true, not true at all.” Tears had welled up in my eyes and I tried to wipe them away, to no effect, because more quickly showed up until it became a steady stream. Still, I couldn't wallow in my own tears. I needed to find a way to soothe Janey's wounded feelings, to ease her mind. Her lips were trembling and she further retreated into herself, arms encircled around her small body like a protective cocoon. Emotionally she had closed herself down. Somewhere out there, in my mind or in Annie's spirit or riding the current of the wind, existed wondrous words that would open her up again, return to me the infectiously happy Janey Sullivan I'd known. I hoped I could find them.