Shelter Me (18 page)

“I don’t know, he didn’t say.”

“No, that’s definitely it. People swear off dating when they’ve been hurt. His wife probably had an affair or something. There’s nothing like that to kill your interest.”

Janie was just getting used to the idea of considering Tug’s love life at all. Had he been hurt somehow? He didn’t show it. Come to think of it, he didn’t show much of anything, other than a penchant for chocolate milk and an uncanny understanding of small boys.

“Well, I’d better get to work,” said Heidi. “Thanks for trying.”

Janie felt a flash of sympathy. “You know, you’re a nice person. Smart and pretty. It’ll happen.”

“Thanks,” said Heidi, fingering her car keys. She squinted in the direction of the parking lot. “I’d better get to work.”

I
T WAS A QUIET
afternoon. Noreen took Dylan to Cormac’s Confectionary for a snack after camp, leaving Janie with the napping baby and the hum of the washing machine. Janie loaded and unloaded, washed and dried, sorted and folded. It seemed as if she hadn’t done laundry in weeks.

When, toward the end of the afternoon, the washer and dryer had stopped, the hum remained, and Janie recognized the crackling buzz of a coming thunderstorm. Tug went home early, pulling away in the white truck just as the rain started. Janie sat on the living room rug surrounded by piles of folded laundry, and listened to the
tack, tack, tack
of the first raindrops spattering on the roof. The familiar sound had changed slightly, was somehow more distant now that the new porch roof sheltered the front door from the weather. Tug had installed special gutters for the new section of roof and continued them on across the old. They were designed to resist the deposits of nature’s detritus. They should never need cleaning, he’d told her, and offered to install them across the back of the house as well. She was still deciding.

The cozy sound of the rain made her wish for Robby’s arms around her, as they had been for so many thunderstorms. She remembered one time early on, when they’d gone camping in the Berkshires. Instead of hiking in the rain, they’d spent the dreary day in the tent snuggled in their sleeping bag, alternately making love, sleeping, nibbling on trail mix and singing songs to each other. Janie didn’t have much of a voice, so she chose camp songs she’d remembered from childhood: “Sipping Cider Through a Straw” and “Found a Peanut” and the like. Robby tried to harmonize, though he often didn’t know the words, and the silly lyrics and off-key melody would make them laugh and roll around in the sleeping bag until they were kissing and clutching each other once again.

“Smell this,” Janie had said when they’d gotten home and pulled the packs apart by the washing machine. She’d held out the open sleeping bag to him. “Take a whiff, if you dare.”

“Whoa!” laughed Robby after he’d stuck his nose in. “And a good time was had by all!”

It had become a joke between them, something they’d say to each other after particularly exceptional sex. Now, sitting in the living room, wishing for the gazillionth time in the last eight
months that she could feel him near her, she could remember that phrase. But, in her mind she could not hear him say it. The words were there, but not the sound of his voice.

No,
she thought, slipping into the deep end of her sorrow.
Don’t fade. Please, Robby, honey. Please don’t fade away on me. What will I have when there’s not even the memory of your voice? Nothing. I will have nothing.

W
HEN
N
OREEN AND
D
YLAN
returned just before dinner with a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken from the market, Janie was dozing on the rug amid the clean clothes. She had cried so hard, and become so weak and exhausted, she’d fallen asleep right where she sat.

“Mommy’s tired,” Janie heard Dylan whisper as she was coming to. “She gets tired a lot.”

“She works hard,” said Noreen. “Try to help her when you can.”

“How?” said Dylan.

“Just be the best boy you can be.”

“I am,” he said, as if it were obvious.

“Yes, of course you are.”

“K
IND OF A ROUGH
day,” Janie e-mailed Jake at 2:15 a.m. She read the
Boston Globe
online, stopping to check for his response every few minutes, until quarter to four. But none ever came.

J
AKE WAS WEARING THE
somber black sport shoes when he showed up at eleven o’clock on Friday morning, not the walking shoes. And he had his collar on.

“No walk?” asked Janie. She stopped fastening the chest strap on Carly’s baby backpack.

“Not today,” he said quietly.

“You have some sort of meeting after this?” she said indicating the collar. “You’re all suited up.”

“Oh.” He fingered the collar, then clasped his hands firmly in front of him. “Let’s go inside.”

Janie took Carly out of the backpack and set her up with some toys in the living room. She felt a strange numbness come over her, as if she were watching herself take out the little toy piano and the blocks, but the hands weren’t actually hers.

“Tea?” she asked when she went into the kitchen.

“No thanks.”

Her heart began to pound, and she knew something was off. “Okay, what’s going on?” she asked.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine. As a matter of fact, I’m really happy with how well you’re doing. You’ve really come through the worst of it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You should have seen me yesterday, sobbing in the clean sock pile.”

His face softened, and she realized that until that moment she’d been talking to the ghost twin, not the real Jake. How had she missed it?

“You had a bad day yesterday?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She studied him. “Didn’t you get my e-mail?”

“Oh. I guess I’ve been offline.” He looked down at his hands, a finger tracing along the grain of the butcher-block table. “The party was wonderful,” he began again. “Dylan seemed very happy.”

Why is he painting this rosy picture?
It suddenly seemed very important to prove that she was not doing well at all. “You left just before the meltdown. We had the whole place in tears. Even the contractor, who doesn’t strike me as a weepy guy.” She lobbed this at him like a rotten egg.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s not really surprising, I suppose. But getting through this first year, that’s the toughest. And you’re almost there. Next year will be much easier.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said, a slow burn stoking up in her veins. “So we just have to get through Carly’s birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. Piece of cake. Well, actually I guess you’d have to throw in Valentine’s Day, Robby’s birthday in March, and my birthday in April, since we didn’t celebrate those at all. I guess technically we haven’t gotten through those. But, yeah,” she said, sarcasm pinching at every word. “You’re right; we’re in the homestretch.”

He did not reply. He stared out the kitchen window into the quiet yard. Tug had gone to check on another job, so the comforting sound of his incessant banging felt particularly absent. Janie slammed her hand on the table. “What is WRONG with you today? What IS all this bullshit?”

He turned fully toward her and she could see that the switch had been flipped behind his eyes. Ghost Jake was gone, Real Jake was back again. “Jane.”

“WHAT, for chrissake!”

“JANE!”

“Just SAY it! Whatever it is, just don’t give me this Father Friendly crap!”

“I can’t come here anymore. I can’t…we can’t do this.”

“Do WHAT?” She knew exactly what, and yet in her mind, it had been a secret, even from him. She couldn’t believe he knew the private struggle she was waging against the infectious crush.

“Have you even read the paper?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea of what those kinds of insinuations could do to me?
And
you. I was,” he made little quote marks in the air, ‘ “casually dressed’ and ‘shoeless.’ Mother of—” he bit back his words. “I shouldn’t even be here now!”

“Oh, I get it. I see. You are turning your back on our friendship because it might LOOK bad. Father Jake with his big vow to serve humanity, but only until the gossip mill starts and a couple of old ladies tsk-tsk to each other over their morning Metamucil!”

He let out a sigh and stared darkly out the window. “One of those old ladies was your mother.”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

“Your mother came to the rectory to see me after Mass yesterday morning. She’s concerned about how close we’ve become.”

Janie was stunned that her mother had taken such a step, intruding so completely into something that wasn’t her business. It wasn’t like her. And yet, Janie had sensed her mother’s reticence when it came to Jake. Now she knew why. “Goddamn her,” muttered Janie. “What right does she have?”

“You’re her daughter.”

“All the more reason not to screw up my life in such a heinously embarrassing way.”

A cheerless smile invaded his face. “You know I have no experience of parental protection. But I imagine it would be hard to watch a child who’s already been through too much choosing something that can only cause more pain.” And there it was. He knew. Silence throbbed around them.

“It’s a crush,” Janie said finally. “A stupid grade school crush. By definition it’s temporary.”

Jake began to twist in his seat. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest. “Well, I guess I should be the judge of that. But thanks for your insulting characterization.”

Janie’s head snapped in his direction. “Why are
you
insulted?”

He snorted derisively. “Because you just relegated my emotional state to a childish whim.”

Janie’s mind raced to reorganize the pieces of this puzzle into a completely different configuration.
His emotional state? HIS?
she wondered incredulously. “You have feelings for me?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Jane, don’t act like you didn’t know. It’s embarrassing.”

“I thought you were…you know…just being really kind.”

He studied her, searching for someone who knew better. He glanced away. “I’m not that kind.”

Her heart was pounding so hard and fast she felt it might seize and stop, like a motor revolving beyond its capacity. The last time her heart had beat like this she was facing an attacker, not the single person who seemed to understand her these days, the one person she wanted near her. She heard the faint voices from the self-defense class calling,
Do it! Do it now!

“I have feelings for you, too.” She was breathless, as if she’d just sprinted a long way toward him.

His gaze crept cautiously to hers, then sank to his hands. He shook his head. “This can’t happen.”

“Apparently it already has.”

“Jane.” He was looking at her now. “It’s my fault. This is all…it’s my responsibility.”

“Oh, and what am I?” she asked. “Some little girl, some invalid who’s been taken advantage of? I’m an adult, Jake. Don’t treat me like a helpless child.”

“No, you’re not a child. But you are incredibly vulnerable right now. And I let things get out of hand because of my own crisis. I let it go too far.”

“How can you say that? Nothing bad happened. No one can say we’ve done something wrong.”

He looked away again, unable to meet her eyes, fingers gripping the edge of the table. “It’s not what’s happened so far that concerns me.”

Janie felt vaguely light-headed.
There’s an answer to this riddle,
she thought.
There’s a solution that isn’t an ending.
“Has this ever happened to you before?” she asked, hoping the answer was yes, as in Yes, it is fixable. And hoping the answer was no, as in No, I have never felt this way about anyone but you.

“Not really,” he said. “Not like this.”

The worst of both worlds,
she thought.
Don’t give up!
whispered the women from the class.
Save yourself!

“Jake.” She steadied herself. “There’s another option.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ve thought about it.”

“You have? About me?”

“Yes, about you. I certainly haven’t had these thoughts about anyone else. Which is why I am quite certain this is not a stupid fucking grade school crush, as you so eloquently described it.”

His pass at humor, the break in the tension, the faint, clean breath of hope—these things conspired to make her reach out and brush the back of her knuckles against his, her palm facing upward, open. His fingers arched up and entwined with hers. They watched those fingers intently, as if an answer would stream out from the tips. Then he disentangled himself, laying his hand on top of hers, ending the motion. “I cannot have an affair,” he said simply.

“And I’m not getting involved with a guy who wears black every day,” she said. “I’m not talking about an affair. I’m talking about you being free.”

He squeezed her hand. “I want so much to do this for you.”

“Then do it. It’s the only way we don’t lose each other.”

“I can’t.”

Janie whipped her hand away. “You can’t? CAN’T?”

“No. I can’t. I cannot. That’s not who I am. You of all people know that.”

“I know that? How the hell would I know that?” she demanded. And yet, somewhere down deep, she did know that. He had told her about his engagement, how it had tortured him, despite the love he felt for his fiancée. Janie batted this away, saying, “Okay, you like being a priest. But why? Is it because you’re so in love with the Lord that you could never fall for someone else? No. Obviously not. No, the real reason is, you like the cover. You like being able to fade in and out without anyone noticing. You don’t want the scrutiny of intimacy. What the hell kind of life is that!”

He was fuming now, eyes searching wildly around the room. “And you’re such a paragon of intimacy! You snarl and snipe at people all day long. The people that love you the most, you treat the worst, as if they’re disposable! And yet you need them and love them and fight with them and cry to them. That’s not me! That’s not my kind of life!”

“Bullshit! You need people just as much as I do!”

“Yes. I do.” He looked exhausted all of a sudden. “In some ways maybe more. I’m not as strong as you are. But I also need quiet.” He sighed. “I need to pray. I want and need to keep my eyes on God every moment of every day. That’s what makes sense to me, Jane. It’s the only thing that gives me peace. Loving you gives me no peace.”

Tears began to slip down Janie’s cheeks. “Since Robby died,” she said, “it’s the only thing that gives me peace.”

They sat there in their last minutes together, motionless except for the rise and fall of their chests and the blinking of their flooded lids. A new life, a paler, sadder life would begin when one of them moved. It would be set in dull, grinding motion when he left her house for the last time.

“Jane.” His voice hissed with the strain of emotion as he rose from the chair. “I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t care that he was sorry. It didn’t matter now.

“Would you please…” he choked. “Could you go to Mass somewhere else for a while?”

Mass?
she thought.
He’s worried about Mass?

“Good-bye, Jake,” she whispered. “At least this time I get to say good-bye.”

I
T WAS DARK WHEN
Noreen came to sit on her bed. “Sweetheart,” she said, jiggling Janie’s arm.

Janie was stuporous. Somewhere in her brain, the keys of Carly’s piano were playing a cacophony of tin, random notes. She remembered that after the front door had closed on Jake and on the only good part of her life that was left, she had heard Carly crying. Janie had stumbled into the living room to find Carly wedged under the couch, reaching for the little piano that had found its way into the dark abyss beyond her insistent fingers. Janie had dislodged the baby, who continued to howl for her toy all the way up the stairs and into the confines of her crib. The noise. The ceaseless noise.

Janie had called Aunt Jude and said simply, “I’m going to bed.” Aunt Jude had known to pick up Dylan at camp. Carly had cried herself to sleep.

Janie had been too spent to cry. She had lain on her bed, a twirling numbness overtaking her, until she succumbed to the black torpor that awaited. At some point, she’d become aware of Aunt Jude’s grating enthusiasm as she babbled to Carly in the other room. And now it was dark out.

“Janie, dear.”

Janie opened her eyes. Her mother was wearing a gray cardigan with an embroidered hummingbird that she’d likely made herself.
Hummingbird
, thought Janie.
That’s what you are. You don’t care how fast you have to beat your wings, as long as you can fly away
.

“Jude and I are taking the children out for a quick bite. Then we thought maybe they could have a sleepover with us at Jude’s. That would get them out of your hair for a bit. You need some time to yourself.”

Janie’s tongue felt thick and pasty when she asked, “To do what?”

Noreen folded her hands in her lap. “Just collect yourself, dear.”

Collect myself. Pick up all the broken little shards and plaster-of-paris them back together like a craft project.

“I hate you,” said Janie. “You should have stayed in Italy.”

Noreen rose and walked out, grasping the door frame with her knobby fingers as she passed.

T
HE NEXT MORNING THE
sun blared in the window, coating Janie with a sticky dampness that made her unruly hair cling to her neck. The electric buzz of insects whined outside.

“Hey!” A woman’s voice called, followed by the staccato rapping of footsteps coming up the stairs. “Hey, what are you, sick? What are you still doing in bed? Where are the kids?”

“Jesus, Shelly,” Janie muttered, rolling away from the verbal barrage. “Can’t you just shut the hell up for once.”

“I heard that, bub. A girl who sleeps in her clothes does not get to tell me to shut the hell up. Where are those pajamas I got you? And when’s the last time you washed your hair, it’s all greasy.”

Janie rolled back. “Shut UP!” she yelled, but her voice was scratchy and weak.

“What happened?” asked Shelly. She stood there in her pale blue suit with the opalescent buttons and her diamond stud earrings, hands on hips, the French manicure gleaming from the plastic nails. “I spend a few nights at Geoffrey’s and all hell breaks loose.”

Much to her shame and fury, Janie started to cry. Shelly lowered herself to the side of the bed. “Okay, baby,” she crooned, patting Janie’s knee. “Now what’s all this about.”