Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) (14 page)

Geordie Crossland let out a grunt, flung down his newspaper and turned his eyes incredulously on his wife. “Damn it, Ruth! You have to start talking sense to me! Even supposing such things happen, how could John be reborn already, when it isn't even nine months since he died? You can't interrupt me with nonsense at all hours of the day. I need time to read the business news.”

But his wife was adamant, “I— I— I had a dream last night, and John's spirit spoke to me, sure as I'm standing here. I'm telling you, Geordie, it's happened!”

“But John wasn't even religious. How could his spirit be talking to you?”

She was wringing her hands, “He's one of the damned. It's something that can't be explained logically.”

“Damned?” retorted her husband irritably, his glasses sinking further down his nose, “If he's damned, what's he doing reincarnated? The damned don't come back to earth, they go to hell; everybody knows that. To hear you go on about your dreams, you'd think they were real or something. You honestly think your dreams or these séances can actually tell you the future?” He picked up the paper, gave it a small protesting shake and covered himself with it. His voice continued from its shelter: “I don't know why you go on day after day believing these things. It's all superstition.”

“Well, why not? It helps me cope with the uncertainty of life.”

The following days, Mrs. Crossland had laryngitis, which obliged her to speak in hushed tones: “Yes, the stars are aligning themselves ....” She lifted her hands in a gesture of helpless surrender. She had a premonition, a sign that came to her in dreams, and she knew something was going to happen. Jillian listened in silence to her mother's familiar tale. “Well, of course something is going to happen” she retorted. “It always does.”

“No, no, no. This is fate.”

“Oh, Mom. Talk sense to me.” All the while, Jillian was suppressing the urge to laugh or at the very least protest these ridiculous beliefs and to grab her mother and shake her hard until she admitted that Madame Zelda and the spirits were all a load of nonsense. Such absurd talk about spirits and Madame Zelda's prophecy. “Mom, someone who doesn't have a religion will invent something to replace it. You know that, don't you? Why don't you go to church and pray for Mr. Mueller's soul instead of worrying about curses and bad luck?” She felt dismayed by the lack of comprehension she read in her mother's face. Her mother was just being superstitious, and no one could predict the future from what were obviously just tragic coincidences! She argued weakly, “Mom, Mr. Mueller had high blood pressure, and he died of a concussion from falling down the stairs.”

Later that afternoon the telephone rang, and Jillian picked it up as she stared sightlessly out the kitchen window. Outside in the heat of the noonday sun, bumblebees were frantically collecting pollen from a prized Tango Rose bush, now ripened and in full bloom. She heard someone speaking her name, a voice she barely recognized, “Is this Jillian?” The voice sounded deep, much older and far away, as if travelling from a great distance. It was Matt, and he was making the call from the triage at the hospital. In the background she could hear muffled voices. She waited for him to apologize and say he had made a mistake kissing her the night at the party, make some crazy excuse— say he'd been drunk and it wouldn't ever happen again. But instead she heard him thanking her for the amazing evening he'd had. Her heart was beating rapidly, as if it were beginning to trip. She was cradling the receiver on one shoulder and absently twirled her hair around her forefinger, a big smile etched on her face, her eyes sparkling with a newfound joy. She was surprised. Yes, and she was flattered. Matt was asking her if she would like to join him for dinner at the Old Mill Restaurant—
her, Plain Jane Jillian!
It didn't seem real. She laughed in amazement and agreed.

From their very first encounter at Union Station, Jillian had sensed, or at least convinced herself, that there was something special, even fated, about Matt Barnes. And so she gave herself up to the feeling— or, more precisely, the illusion— of love. Every nuance or word that fell from Matt Barnes's lips, erratic images of their time together during those glorious weeks, would flash through her mind at odd times of the day. Matt's hand touching hers as they walked together, or Matt was leaning out his car window, flashing that perfect smile of his. Yes, she was consumed by a surge of restlessness and began to experience a discomfort otherwise known as
the suffering of love,
although she could not identify it as such. Surely she was ill; if this was not illness then what could she call it?

Her brother exhaled loudly, straightening himself against the kitchen counter, “Well, my little sis has met a boy! It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Her father suggested that perhaps she had caught some form of rare bug— e-coli or maybe even salmonella poisoning. There were some nasty viruses going around.

“Oh Dad!” she would shrug lost in her miserable bliss and not realizing that her father was smiling knowingly because he remembered how he had felt the first time he took an interest in girls.

She convinced herself that she had stumbled into a fairytale romance: she was Cinderella, and Matt Barnes, of course, was Prince Charming. The invisible love fairies were busy doing their work and spreading their magical fairy dust. She walked around the house already picturing Matt not only as a lover but as her husband and the father to her unborn children.

Geordie Crossland walked out onto the terrace, hands in his pockets, and stopped abruptly, a pained smile etched on his face. The stillness of the afternoon was interrupted by the laughter and talk of children. Looking into the garden, in the midst of meadow poppies and Queen Anne's lace, he saw a boy and a girl no more than five; they couldn't have been older. He knew his eyesight was not what it used to be, but he was sure he could see them; he could even hear their voices. He would have sworn that Adam and Jillian, just mere toddlers, were there playing in the back yard. The ghost images seemed blurred in the brilliant sunshine; the years had rushed by too quickly! He wiped at his eyes, which felt puffy from the humidity. He took out a handkerchief and wiped them harder.

He searched the garden for the patio furniture, which had been moved away from the deep shade of the yews and now stood out in the bright sunshine. He marched deliberately, albeit with a little difficulty owing to his bad knees, in order to move the heavy cast-iron table and chairs to a shadier spot. At once he noticed x-ray images lying on the table, which he looked at for a few bewildered seconds. “What on earth is this?” he called out. “Jillian, what's the meaning of these pictures?”

“Oh those!” Jillian called out from the kitchen window, “They're photographs of goats with scoliosis. Matt thought I might like to see what the newest leading-edge instrumentation out there can do: something about stapling the vertebrae to allow flexibility instead of fusing the whole spine. He knows I plan to specialize in orthopaedics.”

Her father glanced at the x-ray pictures with revulsion, wondering why Matt would choose to bring her such images, and then added with distaste, “This has just upset my breakfast. I'm not sure if I'll have much appetite for lunch later, and you know how much I love your mother's cooking.”

“Oh, Dad! They're just x-rays.”

“What happens to these goats once they're finished with them?”

'Oh, Dad!”

“What? I hope they don't go back into the food chain! Remind me never to eat goat cheese.

“Dad, Matt wants me to be up to date with medical stuff.”

“Next time Matt comes calling, tell him there is no need to bring these revolting pictures here.” Then he moved towards the chair and got himself settled in. He raised his
Globe and Mail
like a screen.

Jillian's eyes wandered over the green of the trees; the sky was clear, and the day was beautiful and sunny. Her mother walked up from behind her and whispered, “There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Jilly.” She glanced anxiously towards the patio where her husband was reading the paper. “I didn't want to mention this in front of your father, since he wouldn't understand this sort of thing, but ....” She hesitated, her eyes lit with a cautious interest: “I suppose you're getting serious with Matt?”

“Serious?”

“Well, you do know about the birds and the bees, even though we've never discussed it.”

“Of course, mom.”

“Well?”

“You mean sex?” replied Jillian, embarrassed by the question. “Not serious in that kind of way Mom.”

“I'm glad to hear that, Jillian,” her mother answered, obviously relieved.

It was the beginning of the long muggy days: the day of the Summer Solstice, the longest and brightest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. The sun would not set until 9:30 p.m., and the next morning the cicadas would be droning in the trees as early as eight o'clock: a time when flowers were getting ready to burst forth into a spectacular riot of colour, while butterflies and bees were buzzing about, assiduously pollinating. Yes, the continual frenzy and renewal of life— and summer barbeques.

“So, do you know anything about this new love in Jillian's life?” asked Annie Treadway.

“Not really. I haven't seen much of Jillian or this new man of hers. She doesn't have time for me any more,” replied Amelia Hartmann grudgingly. “He must be quite the catch, though, if Jilly-bean is so scarce. I vaguely recall him from the graduation party. He's good-looking in a geeky sort of way.”

Lauren Chow was curious, too. “What does he look like, Amelia?”

“Let me see ...” replied Amelia and began to itemize each feature as though she were doing multiplication tables in her head: “He is extremely polite and well spoken, tall, and dark, and broad-shouldered— oh, and he's a doctor.”

“Ah, a workaholic!”

“No one can be that perfect without a few vices,” warned Lauren.

Jillian had just arrived at Annie's barbeque, out of breath but smiling as she stood in the doorway looking around for her friends, when she heard someone calling her name. She looked around the room to see where the voice had come from and saw eyes resting on her that quickly turned away. A group of girls were poised on the edge of their seats, talking in hushed tones. As she approached them, she managed to catch the last snatch of gossip, which caused the smile on her face to quickly fade. Unaware yet that Jillian was within earshot, Amelia continued, “I don't know why Jilly-Bean has fallen head over heels for Matt; he looks so much older than her, and he's so red in the face!” The girls nudged Amelia, trying to warn her that Jillian was standing right behind her, but Amelia was in the middle of one of her rants and couldn't be stopped. “You'd think she would return my calls or something. I mean— ”

Jillian stood silently listening to the talk, looking stunned, like the victim of some unspeakable hurt. She was about to open her mouth to say something in Matt's defence, but Annie promptly grabbed sharp-tongued Amelia, seized her hands and pinned them tightly behind her back before she could finish her sentence, and pushed her towards the kitchen.

“Annie!” Amelia cried indignantly, “What's going on? What have I said? Ouch, let go!” She looked over her shoulder, caught sight of Jillian`s face and she knew at once the hurt her words had caused.

Andrew Waits stood a few feet away, with his back to the group of friends, pretending not to have heard. He had a beer in his hand and was biting his lower lip, looking preoccupied and agitated as he absently thumbed through dusty book covers on the bookshelves, moving aside picture frames as if trying to locate something that he couldn't find.

The honk of a horn came through an open window. “That must be Matt,” the girls called out in loud animated voices. Jillian's heart raced as she shook herself, then quickly glanced at her baggy T-shirt and shorts. It was so hot, her hair was sticking to the back of her neck. She darted an angry look at her friends as if to say, “Please don't embarrass me.” They followed her as far as the veranda. Jillian was now standing on the first step, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, holding a hand over her eyes to better see the car in the driveway, waving frantically as she called out, “Matt! It's about time you got here. I was beginning to get worried.”

Matt waved from an open window and then stepped out of his car, a 2001 red Ford Mustang. Jillian was brimming with excitement as she rushed down the steps in her flip-flops to greet him, followed close behind by Annie.

Jillian and Matt hugged and briefly kissed each other on the lips. For a moment they smiled at one another in a way that excluded Annie, who stood right beside them but seemed invisible to the couple. Jillian absently turned around and was surprised to find Annie standing there and exclaimed in a breathy voice, “Oh, Annie, you startled me.” She smiled at her friend, put an arm around her shoulder and announced, “Matt, this is Annie, a very sweet friend of mine. Believe it or not, we've known each other since junior kindergarten.”

Annie smiled shyly. Her eyes involuntarily widened with curious interest.

“Any friend of Jillian is a friend of mine,” Matt replied with enthusiasm and put out a hand in greeting.

Annie gazed up smiling at Matt and squeezed his hand in return.

“Step this way, Matt, and I'll introduce you to the gang,” said Jillian happily.

Matt strode up to meet Amelia, Lauren and Samantha, and although they all at first had serious misgivings about him, these quickly faded as the evening wore on.

Hours later, Matt and Jillian stood in the midst of a throng of friends, talking loudly. Music was blaring; Jillian was happy, distracted, marvelling at the sound of her own laughter above the crowd.

Matt was talking about his theories and some of his recent medical experiments. He realized that most of his audience understood very little, but still they listened as if spellbound, perhaps thinking to themselves, “How very intellectually stimulating!” Seeing their expressions he gave a quick reluctant laugh seeing, then paused and said rather doubtfully, “I'm afraid this might be a little too technical for you ladies.”