Lady in Waiting: A Novel (23 page)

“Is Brad still here?” I whispered. “Is he with Jeff and the girls?”

Molly blinked slowly. “Probably not.” She looked up at me.

I willed my voice to stay calm. “Probably not still here, or probably not with Jeff and the girls?”

“Jane—,” she began, but I cut her off.

“Just tell me.”

“He was going to leave to drive back around two today. That’s when you were getting off the subway to come here.”

“Two? He left at two? He drove four hours to spend an hour here, and then he turned around and left?”

“He drove down last night. He said he got to your apartment around eleven.”

“My
apartment?”

“Geez, yours collectively, Jane!”

I didn’t want to take out my anger and frustration on Molly. But I couldn’t seem to rein in the hurt. “Sorry.”

“For what it’s worth, he looks pathetic.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not. Jeff thought so too.”

It irked me that Molly and Jeff saw Brad, talked to Brad, observed Brad, and I hadn’t. It didn’t seem fair.

“Did he come over here? Did he just show up on your doorstep?”

“He came over to talk to Jeff for a little bit. He did ask about you, Jane. He asked how we thought you were getting along. And he asked if we knew when you were getting back today.”

“Why couldn’t he just have called me himself?” I exploded. “I had my phone in my lap on the train ride home! The whole way!”

“Well, why didn’t you just call him?”

“I did call him! Last night! I told you that. This whole thing about space and distance was
his
idea. He wanted it and I’ve tried very hard to give it to him!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I shot back.

“I think you’re giving him more space than he deserves. Or needs. I don’t think you should try so hard.”

“It’s what he said he wanted.”

“Well, people don’t always know exactly what they want.”

“Why are you telling me this? Did he say something to you?”

“It’s what he didn’t say, Jane. I don’t know how to explain it. He seems kind of restless. I just think you should begin to reclaim the space you lent him.”

“Easy for you to say.” I lifted my glass and swallowed the last of the mineral water. It had warmed in the sunny alcove of her balcony and tasted metallic.

“You should call him tonight.”

“Right.”

“You should. He said Connor wants you to come up to Dartmouth next Saturday for his next track meet.”

“He said that? Did he say how I was supposed to get there? He has the car.”

“I think that’s why he came over here. He asked us if we could give you a lift to Newark next Saturday morning so you could catch a commuter flight. We said yes.”

“A commuter flight.”

“He said he feels bad that he has the car and you can’t get to any of Connor’s meets. I think he means to pay for your plane ticket.”

“My plane ticket.” My voice was flat.

“I think he wants to see you. I think maybe he has missed you.”

I stood up. Too much information was sliding into me. The possibility of Brad missing me tingled inside my head, like the pins-and-needles sensation that brings a sleepy limb back to awareness. It was both intensely welcome and bracing.

“I haven’t been home yet. I need to call Emma before it gets too late. It’s already after eight in England.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you. I just need to go.”

“And you’re not mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.” I leaned down to grab my purse.

“And you’ll call Brad tonight. Right?” she asked.

“Emma first.”

Molly stood as well, and we headed back inside her apartment carrying our cups. “You calling her about the ring?”

“Yes. My jeweler friend says it’s the real deal, pre-Elizabethan near as he can tell. He says it could be worth six thousand dollars.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

“I guess. I don’t know. I wish I knew where it came from. I really don’t think the previous owner had any inkling what was in that box where I found the prayer book. Someone, at some point, hid the ring inside it. I’d like to find out why, if I can.”

“Just to satisfy your curiosity, then?”

“Yes. No. I mean, yes, I am curious. But there’s something else about the ring that draws me.”

“Your name is in it,” Molly said.

Yes.

My name.

Jane
.

I grabbed my overnight bag at her front door, and she hugged me good-bye.

When my hand was on her doorknob, I turned back to face her. “Did you talk to Brad about anything else? Did Jeff talk to him?”

She hesitated only a minute. “He really didn’t say anything more to me. And I don’t know what he and Jeff talked about. Jeff didn’t want to say. They didn’t talk long. Brad’s not a talker. But I am telling you. He looked different to me.”

A sigh escaped me. “Okay. See you later.”

I used the time during my seven-block trek to my apartment to call Emma and ask where in Cardiff she found the boxes. If she asked why, I’d decided to tell her I found a ring crammed inside one of the books and was wondering how old it might be. If she pressed me, I would probably end up telling her everything. She answered on the fourth ring.

“Emma, it’s Jane. Have I called too late?”

“Jane! Not at all. Just in from a very bad dress rehearsal of
Twelfth Night
. Dreadful, really. Didn’t think I’d hear from you until next month, love. What’s up?”

“I didn’t think I would be calling either, and I’ll keep it short. I just need to talk to you about those boxes you sent—”

“But I told you last week those boxes were in dreadful shape. Remember? I couldn’t help it this go-around.”

“No, that’s not why I called. I just … I was wondering if you could tell me where you found the boxes. The books, especially.”

“They all came from the same jumble sale, Jane. I told you that, love. In Cardiff. In Wales.”

“Yes, but did you buy them from an estate dealer or a merchant who has a shop in town?”

“Is something amiss, then?” The casual lift in her voice was replaced with concern.

“Not amiss, really. I just … I found something shoved up inside the binding of one of the books. It was a very old book, actually.”

“What did you find?”

I hesitated, just for a second. “A ring.”

“A ring? A nice one? Did you find another bloody Hope Diamond, Jane?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I mean it’s quite pretty, but—”

“How old?”

I stepped into a busy crosswalk. “Old.”

“Jane, how old?” I could tell she was smiling.

When I hesitated she laughed. “Really, Jane. What kind of person do you think I am? It’s yours, love. I am not going to fetch my solicitor to get it back from you. Besides I’ve already cashed your check. How old?”

“Maybe the mid–fifteen hundreds.”

Emma pulled the phone away from her mouth, and I heard a few choice words. She came back to me, almost breathless with astonishment. “You cheeky little girl! Inside the binding of a book! Do you always go looking for four-hundred-year-old rings in the bindings of books?”

“Very funny. And it’s not official. I just had a friend of mine look at it. He says I need to take it to an expert to know for sure.”

“I can’t believe you found a four-hundred-year-old ring in a box of dirt and junk! Can’t believe it!”

“Maybe four hundred years old. And, Emma, it has my name etched inside.”

“No …,” she whispered. “Truly?”

“There’s a few Latin words, and then my name. Jane.”

“You’re giving me the willies, Janie.”

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

“So you’re wonderin’ how much it’s worth?”

“Yes. Well, sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“I just …” But I didn’t finish the thought. I didn’t think Emma would understand the growing notion I had that the ring came to me in some quirky bend of Providence. Now. At this point in my life, when the wheels of my routine existence were grinding to a halt, leaving me to wonder what the heck I was supposed to do and if there really were choices that were mine to make.

“I’d like to know as much as possible about it,” I finished. “My jeweler friend says it was likely given as a betrothal gift. I’d like to know who gave to whom.”

Emma clucked her tongue. “That’s not the kind of answer you’re likely to find at a jumble sale, love. They call it a jumble for a reason.”

“I know. But I have to start somewhere. Will you be heading back to Cardiff any time soon?”

“I could maybe sneak in a trip. There’s a clothing consignment shop in Bristol I’ve been wanting to get to. Could maybe swing by Cardiff and see if I can find the man who sold it to me. He was just a scraggly old man, Jane. Maybe one tooth left in his mouth. He wasn’t a dealer, I can tell you that much.”

“But you’ll try to find out who he is?”

“I’ll go back to the empty lot. There’s a jumble sale there every Saturday in the spring and summer, I hear. Maybe he’s a regular. What do you want me to ask him if I find him?”

“Ask him if I can call him. Tell him I just have a couple questions about where the boxes of books came from.”

“All right, love. Don’t get your hopes up, though. Like as not, you’ll probably have to be content with just wondering.”

“Maybe.”

“So. Anything new on Brad?”

“No. Nothing new.”

“He’s still in New Hampshire?”

I kept a sigh from escaping. “Yes.”

“She probably lives up there, you know.”

“What?”

“The other woman. She probably lives up there.”

Heat spread across my face. “There is no other woman.”

“Oh, Jane, don’t be daft. Of course there is.”

“He promised me there isn’t.”

She paused. “Right. Have it your way, then. Hey. You should come see me, Jane. I’ll take you to my favorite singles’ pub.”

“I’m not single.”

“Right.”

“Good-bye, Emma.”

We hung up, and for the fourth time that day, I checked to see if Brad actually had tried to call me back and I missed it. But there was no missed call.

I hadn’t missed anything.

I rounded the corner to my street and headed up the cement steps to my apartment building, my thoughts in a tumble over Brad’s having been at Molly and Jeff’s this morning, and Brad asking them to get me to the airport to catch a flight he intended to pay for. Brad making sure I could get to New Hampshire next weekend. It almost seemed like Brad was orchestrating a meeting.

I turned the key in the front door to my apartment and stepped inside, tossing my overnight bag onto the floor as I pushed the door closed behind me.

Movement ahead of me on the couch startled me, and the back of my head bumped against the front door.

Brad was standing there, waiting for me.

H
i, Jane.” Brad wore a soft pair of chinos and a creamy yellow polo shirt. In one hand he held a half-empty bottle of water. The other was tucked in his pants pocket. His face was tanned—from canoeing and track meets most likely—and his hair was longer than he’d ever worn it before.

“Brad.” My voice sounded almost childlike. “Molly said you were heading back to New Hampshire.”

“Oh. So you’ve been to Molly and Jeff’s already?”

“I stopped off at their place on my way home from Long Island. She said you’d been by earlier today. That you were going to leave at two.”

He hesitated, just for a moment. “I changed my mind. I decided to wait until after you got back, but I was beginning to think you’d decided to stay in Long Island another day.” He set the bottle down on the coffee table.

“Sorry you had to wait,” I muttered, not knowing what else to say.

“No, it’s okay. Did Molly tell you I’d like to help you get to Connor’s track meet next weekend? There’s a flight that gets into Manchester at ten thirty in the morning. I can … I can pick you up, if you want. We’ll be able to catch the first event if your plane’s on time. I know Connor would love to have you there.”

“Yes. I mean, I’ve missed being there.”

“So it’s okay with you if I make those arrangements?”

“I guess so.”

We stood there, in our living room, staring at each other as a couple of awkward seconds hung between us. Then he moved toward me and stretched out his hand. “Can I talk to you?”

I tentatively reached out my own hand, and he wrapped his hand around it. His hand was warm. Brad folded his fingers around mine and pulled me toward the couch. He set me down, released my hand, and then took the armchair next to me, leaning forward on it like doctors do when they must deliver troubling news.

I wanted to get up and run.

He looked down at his shoes and then raised his head to look at me. “I’m really sorry I didn’t call you back last night.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t too.” I barely whispered it, but I knew he heard me.

“I honestly didn’t know how to respond, Jane. I didn’t want to get into it on the phone, especially since you were at your parents’.”

Something snapped—or maybe bent—inside me. He sounded so calm and confident, and I had felt so anxious and insecure. It made me angry. And afraid.