Drummer Boy (5 page)

“Is dinner ready?” Michael called from the living room.

“Almost. Give us a second,” Jane hollered back, and found her voice again. “Your brother was older than you, wasn't he?”

“Yeah, but so what?”

Jane shrugged. “Don't let him off the hook for his decisions. Maybe you introduced him, but he could've—should've—said no. You don't use any more?”

“Good grief, no. Not since before I was saved, but even then, I was fortunate. I never developed the addiction he did.”

Kaylie skipped into the room. “Can we have juice with dinner?” she asked, retrieving a full pitcher from the fridge before Jane replied.

“We should eat.” Tim nodded toward the dining room.

“Yeah,” Jane agreed, but she didn't move.

“What?” Tim said.

Jane hesitated and then smiled and shook her head. “Nothing.”

Tim followed her out into the dining room, his heart clenching again. He knew it wasn't nothing. Despite her kind attempt to soothe him, she was probably horrified. Who wouldn't be? His brother had already been married, had been a dad when Tim thought it would be great fun to start partying with him. He sighed heavily. Why on earth had he shared the thing he was most ashamed about in his life and wrecked their great day? Talk about too much information too soon.

The phone rang just as everyone was noisily settling around the table.

Candy answered, passed the handset to Jane, and then darted an apologetic look to Tim, which confused him.

“Sounds great,” Jane said into the phone. A second later, she laughed at whatever the person she was speaking to said. “Sure. See you then.”

“Hot date?” Tim asked, shocked by how much he wanted to know.

Jane winked and passed a plate of taco shells. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

The phone rang again.

Candy looked at the call display, rolled her eyes, and passed the handset to Jane.

Jane's eyebrows knit together and she frowned, but answered anyway. “Uh, hey, John…Yes, yes…I'm still around, but um, it's not the best time to talk right now. I'm in the middle of dinner with my family.”

Tim tried to look as if he weren't listening as intently as he shamefully was.

Jane nodded into the phone, which was silly. The guy she was talking to couldn't see her.

Tim reached for the salsa, tried to appear completely focused on the food.

“No, no—no problem. Maybe…sometime. We'll see.” She hung up and fiddled with a few buttons. “Silent mode for the dinner hour,” she explained, looking a bit pink.

Tim smiled. “Well, yeah, of course, right?”

“Jane has lots of boyfriends,” Kaylie said with a big smile.

“She does, eh?” Tim asked.

“No, I don't,” Jane scoffed.

“Well, OK, but she has lots of friends who want her to be their girlfriend,” Kaylie corrected herself.

Tim would've sworn Jane was intentionally avoiding his eyes.

She smiled and joked, “Oh, who has time for serious? So many boys, so little time.”

“That's not the real saying. It's supposed to be—”

“Can we put Jane's dating life on hold for a minute and pray?” Candy interrupted Kaylie.

“Yes,” Jane said. “
Please
.”

 

 

 

 

7

 

Kaylie was belting out a cheerful song at the top of her lungs when Jane got home from her latest monthly check up: “The Twelve Day of Christmas” remixed Kaylie-style to become the “The Twelve Months.”

“On the seventh month of Christmas my true love gave to me—”

Yep, it was May all right. Only eight months to go, but Jane suspected Kaylie was working on the massive countdown calendar again and wouldn't stop singing until she finished her recent idea.

Jane slunk as quietly as she could to her room.

Christmas tunes when all the apple and cherry trees were in blossom? It was just wrong.

Upstairs, she slipped off her denim jacket, frowning at the massacred sleeve Candy had cut to fit over her equally massacred arm, and sighed as she hung it up. What was bothering her? She'd had a perfectly nice time with Sarah, enjoying green smoothies and a long walk. Was she irritated because she was still forced to walk when she'd rather run? No, that did bother her, but she wouldn't have jogged when she was visiting a friend anyway. “Stop skirting the issue, Jane,” she commanded herself aloud.

“Pardon?” Candy called from the kitchen. “Are you talking to me?”

“No, but I am home,” Jane called back.

“Great. You want tea or something?”

“No, I'm good. Thanks.”

Jane ran a tub of water and that reminded her of another thing she missed: showers.

It was something Sarah had said that bugged her. Actually, not really one specific thing. Maybe a series of things. Can a person be too positive? A little too insistent that all's perfect and right in their world?

God could work all things out for good, and that was important to remember…but sometimes, you had to be like David, to cry out your anger, fear, confusion fairly regularly, and through that painful, purging honesty come full circle to see God's faithfulness and kindness. Didn't honesty and the full confrontation of pain have to come before true healing could take place?

Yes, she believed Sarah's life and heart had been changed by meeting Jesus in a freakishly personal way. Only someone who'd experienced it themselves could understand and not think someone was totally mad for even saying such a thing. But did that mean she'd never feel old doubts or temptations or stresses?

Jane wanted, for Sarah's sake, for that to be the case, but she wasn't sure. She was worried Sarah had latched on to trying to be something particular, instead of just being who she was and knowing that was enough, that God loved and accepted her totally.

Jane slid into the warm water, carefully keeping her arm dry, and closed her eyes. “Enough,” she muttered. “Enough.”

What did she know anyway? And who was she to worry about someone else's spiritual maturity? She couldn't even be grateful and get over her accident, and an arm, in light of all the pain and suffering she'd seen others go through at the hospital, was nothing. Worse, she couldn't get over her childhood fears that love didn't last, so, with the exceptions of her siblings, she didn't let herself go there. How was that for spitting in God's face? She was self-absorbed and weak.

The soak improved her mood a little, as did sharing her embarrassing laments with God.

The phone rang while she was toweling off. Not the easiest feat one-handed, but she was getting a lot better at it, an observation that cheered her further.

“It's Sarah,” Candy called. “Should I take a message?”

“No, I'll grab it.”

Candy cracked the door and handed the phone in.

“Hey, again,” Sarah said. “I forgot to ask. This group thing I go to is having a special tea for families. I was wondering if you'd come with me?”

Jane held the phone against her ear using her shoulder and tucked her towel around herself securely. Then she left the steamy washroom. With so many bodies sharing a house, lingering too long was rude.

“I'd love to,” she said. “But are you sure I'm allowed? We're not actually related.”

“Tim says friends can be the family we choose for ourselves.”

“Oh, he does, does he?” Tim. Hearing his name again made Jane's stomach flutter.

He'd called a few times since their coffee visit, but Jane resisted calling back. He could, and should, do so much better than her.

Sure, ever since the accident, or since she'd met Tim, she'd been having silly daydreams about settling down and really loving someone and letting them love her, but her arm was injured, not her brain. That was all insecure, sentimental thinking because she'd been injured, had a scare.

Tim was a pastor, definitely looking for a wife, not just the casual, have fun, keep it light relationship Jane wanted.

Yes, her view of relationships was damaged, but what was,
was
. She knew herself. Right up until her mother died, everyone told Jane she was just like her mother, but that didn't mean Jane had to make her mistakes. Never committing meant never breaking commitments.

“Jane? You still there?”

“Yes, sorry. I was just thinking.”

“I already talked with my mom. She thinks you should come, too.”

“Well, in that case, I'd love to.”

“Great. I'll e-mail you the details.”

“Sounds good.”

Jane stared at the phone for a second and then pulled on her fluffiest, grungiest, most comfortable pajamas and headed downstairs.

“You're in pajamas already? It's—” Candy glanced at her watch and then sounded even more aghast. “
Four o'clock
.”

Jane shrugged. “What else am I going to do?”

“I thought you'd be out with what's his face, or what's his other face—or someone new face.”

“Ha ha. Funny. I'm actually thinking of taking a break from seeing people for a while.”

“Really?” The skepticism in Candy's voice wasn't flattering. “Well, seriously, it's pretty sad when even I have a social life compared to you.”

Jane filched a celery stick from the veggie tray Candy was preparing and laughed—maybe a little too loudly and too long because Candy gave her a funny look.

“What?” Jane asked. “You
do
have quite the exciting life these days. Dean this. Dean that.”

Unfortunately, for once, using the magic D-word didn't distract Candy and trigger some happy, meandering star-struck story about her new love or their wedding plans.

Candy just took a big bite of celery, too, and studied Jane while she crunched.

“Jane, honestly, what's up with you? Are you all right?”

“What are you talking about? I'm fine—of course. I have a lot to be grateful for. Things are healing up…you know, whatever.”

“It'd be pretty normal if you were upset, even angry, about being hurt.”

“I'm not. You know me. Roll with the punches. Get up and go. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.”

Candy rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. If you add another cliché to the list, I'll make the appointment for you to talk to someone myself.”

“Look, I know with your social work degree you're all into the counselling and talking everything to death, blah, blah, blah…”

“Er, yes, something like that,” Candy agreed.

“But I'm not like you. I work things out…more physically.”

“Exactly!” Candy announced as if she'd just won some contest. “If you and I were in reverse positions, I'd be happily collecting disability, reading up a storm, gaining ten pounds, and using it as an excuse to be treated like a queen—have a holiday. I wouldn't be happy to be laid up, but it wouldn't make me mental either.”

“So now I'm mental? Thanks a lot. If this is your idea of a pep talk, you should take a couple of the workshops or counselling sessions you love so much.”

“I refuse to take the bait and fight with you.” Candy moved the veggie plate out of reach, and grabbed a can of frozen juice from the fridge.

Jane glowered—more because of how astute Candy was, than out of any real aggravation. She
had
wanted to start bickering and redirect the conversation. “I hate how love has made you so mellow,” she grumbled.

Candy snort-laughed. “Just stop beating yourself up for feeling bad. Maybe if you admit you feel like wallowing, it will actually help you not to wallow. If that makes any sense.”

It did, but Jane didn't bother saying so because she wasn't convinced it applied to her personally. After all she'd been through as a kid, after all she and Candy and the rest of her sibs had survived and thrived through, she wouldn't let a stupid little physical setback totally undo her.

“Oh, hey, I forgot,” Candy said. “Tim called again.”

“OK, thanks.”

Candy seemed to be waiting for something.

“What?”

“Aren't you going to call him back?”

“I guess. Later. Maybe. Why?”

Candy blinked, and her just-hit-with-an-idea expression was so blatant a cartoon light bulb practically appeared above her head. “Is Tim why you're not seeing anyone else? What's going on with you two?”

“
Going on
? Nothing.”

Candy's eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Oh, come on, Candy. What would a guy like Tim want with me, anyway?”

Candy laughed and then stopped abruptly when she caught Jane's expression. “Are you kidding me?”

Jane shrugged.

“Look, Jane…Something is very wrong if you can't see what you have to offer. You're hilarious, smart, warm, kind—employed.”

“Employed always earns points in your eyes, so I hate to break it to you—I'm not working.”

Candy waved the words away with a freshly French-manicured hand. “You'll be back to work eventually, and that's so not the point. Even if you never worked for money another day in your life, you are wonderful. You have a great heart. Any guy would be nuts not to want you.”

Jane shook her head.

Candy lowered her voice. “I'm serious, Jane. Talk to someone. You don't seem like yourself.”

“Or maybe—maybe this petulant, whiny wimp is me and the other Jane is the impostor.”

Candy studied the white-tipped nails on her right hand, and then gave Jane a hard look. “No, that's not it, not it at all. But maybe you sincerely
like
this guy. Maybe that's the problem.”

“
What?
No.”

Candy narrowed her eyes. “You've said it before. I never date and you always date, but really it's just the same thing: fear of real commitment.”

“I seriously regret that whole conversation.”