The Voice on the Radio (14 page)

CHAPTER
TWELVE

Jodie canceled her Hills College interview but decided to keep the afternoon appointment at Simmons. So after breakfast—a public breakfast, in the hotel restaurant: starched, heavy napkins folded like pyramids, with waiters pouring coffee and bringing expensive toast—they went out of the hotel and stood in the pale November sun.

“Well, we’re here,” said Brian. “Let’s make use of Boston. Let’s walk to the Old State House, where the Declaration of Independence was read in July 1776.”

Janie and Jodie looked at him as if he were an out-of-date computer chip.

But in the end, they agreed, because they had to do something.

Brian enjoyed Boston. It was not skyscrapery and overpowering. It was a friendly, low-ceiling kind of place. In such a city, surely a mere radio program would be absorbed, fall between cracks, blend with the rest of Boston’s violent history.

“I didn’t want to go to Hills College anyway,” said Jodie, in the tone of voice that informed Brian she had been daydreaming exclusively of Hills. “It doesn’t have enough campus. I want grass and a quadrangle and trees to study under.”

“I wonder if people really study under trees,” said Brian. “You see it in the photographs in college catalogs, but I don’t think real life people cry Aha! A tree! Let’s study!”

Janie had studied beneath a tree with Reeve.

Raked leaves with Reeve.

She knew the buttons on his sweater and the whorls of his fingerprints.

Why had he not remembered these things? Or had he remembered, but they didn’t mean much?

They meant the world to me, Reeve, thought Janie.

She knew then that she would have to box up her love for Reeve. She wanted to keep it, like a rose from a corsage.

Brian put his hand in front of her, to keep her from stepping off the curb into traffic; the world was thoughtlessly going on without her.

How much discipline do I have? she thought. Can I loathe Reeve in the present, but still love him in the past? It doesn’t work in divorce.

She wished she really were a Barbie. Plastic was good, paper was good. Hair and clothes were good. But hearts…what good were they?

Jodie, Brian and Janie waited for a walk light, as if they had a place to go and a reason to cross. A car radio blared so loudly that the percussion seemed to be right on the sidewalk with them.

Radio.

Janie listened to radio for music, but Sarah-Charlotte loved talk shows. She used to play talk show the way other little girls played house. Sarah-Charlotte. The best friend who knew nothing.

Janie’s head ached with thoughts of Sarah-Charlotte. Sarah-Charlotte continued to grow up, to acquire poise and depth, whereas she, Janie, seemed to get younger. She would not mature from this experience, she would weaken. And so would her friendship with Sarah-Charlotte weaken, because there would be more secrets than sharing.

Her feet walked.

Her ears heard Brian and Jodie speak.

Sarah-Charlotte was wrong.

Not much was fight or flight.

It was plain old hanging on that mattered.

They ended up at the Old Corner Bookstore, which Brian had read about in a tour guide to Boston. “Longfellow and Hawthorne and Oliver Wendell Holmes used to read here. Let’s go in.” Brian nudged the girls until they obeyed.

It was a regular bookstore, less history-minded than Brian had expected. In fact, the local history shelves were quite manageable. I’ll buy one book, he thought. This will get me launched in actual reading. Out of the zillions of choices, I’ll find one here.

Brian picked out
Paul Revere and the World He Lived In
. It was thick and somehow exciting, with its chapter headings and scholarly notes and bibliography.

Jodie and Janie eyed his purchase. “When did you decide to be a historian?” said Janie.

Brian was relieved to hear her speak at last. “I’ve always been a closet historian. I was just keeping up with Brendan for a few years before I came out.”

Janie smiled. “What will Brendan do to you when he finds out?”

Brian wanted to hug her smile, he was so glad she could still produce it. “I’m hoping to get points for being his twin,” said Brian, “but he’ll probably be ashamed to be seen in public with me. I’ll be carrying a book and it won’t be Stephen King.”

“You could put a fake wrapper on it,” suggested Janie. “We can hide Paul Revere inside
Pet Sematary
.”

“I’m impressed, Janie,” said Jodie. “Joking, after last night?”

“I don’t think it’s me. I think it’s my other self.”

Jodie nodded. “I’ve always wondered if everybody has a twin inside. Brian and Bren really became twins, but some of us don’t; we just carry the other self around.”

“Whoa!” said Janie. “That’s a little spooky for me.”

For me, too, thought Brian. And believe me, my twin is not my other self.

“I didn’t mean I really have another personality.” Janie paused to consider what she did mean. “I mean that I can be stronger if I have to be.”

They walked on brick sidewalks and slate side-walks, cracked sidewalks and cobblestones.

Brian read aloud from
Paul Revere and the World He Lived In
. “There were heroes then,” said Brian. “Now there are just sleazy people being sleazy on the radio.”

They were silent with their thoughts. Who—anytime under the sun—would have thought Reeve could fall under the heading of sleazy?

They got directions for taking the T to Simmons College for Jodie’s interview. “Why am I going on this interview, anyway?” said Jodie.

“So you have something to tell Mom and Dad,” said Janie. “So you don’t have to lie about everything when Mom and Dad ask how Boston went.”

A siren screamed. Traffic did not move over for it.

“Janie?” said Brian, trying to be casual. But oh! how this question mattered. “You meant our mom and dad, didn’t you?”

Lights changed. Red was gone. Green shone.

And for Brian, Janie changed. She looked amazed, and uncertain, and finally—glad. “Yes, I meant
ours
,” said Janie, and she stepped back from Brian and Jodie as if she thought they might refuse this.

Brian’s chest tightened. Surely he could tell his mother that, without giving away the Reeve part.

“My mom, my mom, my dad, my dad,” said Janie.

Equal, thought Brian. Could she mean that? Could
we
mean that? Can
we
set aside knowing that we were just clutter?

The lights changed again, and they stayed on the corner, and to Brian it was an intersection of life, not traffic; he studied the rushing cars and wondered why they didn’t collide more, since in life you were always colliding with everything.

“They have enough to worry about, all my parents,” said Janie. “They think everything is okay. And so we’re going to leave them at the okay stage.”

Jodie took her sister’s hand, and Brian had the funniest idea that she was going to kiss it. But of course she didn’t. She said, “Sounds like a Western. Leaving on the Okay Stage.”

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

“Did you have a lovely time, darling?” said Janie’s mother, scrunching Janie up against her. “I thought of you all weekend,” her mother said happily. “How’s Reeve? How’s Boston? How were Jodie and Brian? Wasn’t it wonderful they asked you along? Don’t you feel like a country that’s had bad international relations, and now they’re normalizing? We can normalize with the Springs.”

The Okay Stage was not going to be an easy ride.

Because her parents were not okay to start with. Janie loved them: loved them so completely that within her love was pity.

Janie gave her mother another hug to buy time. That, too, was awful—using a hug to hide in. Janie ached to tell her mother about rotten Reeve. But she put her parents first. She hated Reeve right then, for putting himself first. She schooled her face, to keep rage off it. She had not expected rage in herself.
I hate him
! she thought.

“Boston was fabulous. We walked and walked. Brian had read up on everything and knew exactly where we should go, and was full of history.” Janie busied herself with coming-in-the-door activities: hanging up the heavy coat, folding the scarf, shelving the gloves, taking off the boots. She was so fiercely angry that when she had the boots off, she wanted to beat the walls with them. Dent the whole house with those heels.

My parents never asked me to grow up, she thought. Is it fair for me to ask them to grow up? Or do I just go on by myself?

Truly, the last thing on earth Janie wanted to do was to go on by herself.

She set the two boots neatly next to each other.

“Brian’s a sweet boy,” said Janie’s mother. “What’s the story between Brian and Brendan?”

“Brendan is athletic and Brian’s not.”

“That’s it? That’s the whole story?”

Janie did not want a conversation about anybody’s whole story.

People didn’t deserve to have their whole stories told.

“Hi, kitten,” said her father, coming in and pretending to box with her. He was having a snack and handed her a corner of cake, cold from the refrigerator. A refrigerator from which Reeve had probably taken as many snacks as Janie over the years. She wanted to slam Reeve’s finger in the door. No. That wouldn’t even bruise him. A host of good ideas came to her, like a violent movie: the ways in which she would see that Reeve found out what it was like to get hurt.

“We missed you,” said her father. “Three whole days! I hope Boston was worth it.” He wore a wheat-colored turtleneck with an oatmeal wool blazer. He looked like a prep school dean.

Down in New Jersey, her other father would have on navy sweats, and whoever hugged him would be scraped by his beard. I love them both, she thought.

The sentence was incredible.

I love them both
.

Her rage drained away.

If that was true, if she had come at last to the place where she could love both sets of parents, then yes. Boston was worth it.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, struggling to speak over the lump in her throat. She managed a couple of college campus stories and then retreated to her bedroom and the privacy she desperately needed.

“That’s interesting,” she heard her father say. “No mention of Reeve. I wonder if that’s going to peter out now that he’s in college.”

It didn’t peter out, thought Janie. It crashed.

She closed her door, and nothing got better. She had actually thought that once she was alone in her own room, things would be better.

Oh, Reeve! Why? To be popular? But you’ve always been popular! You’re the kind of guy everybody likes on sight and likes even better once they get to know you. How could you have needed
more
popularity?

Perhaps you can get greedy for popularity, she thought, the way people get greedy for money. Perhaps it’s like a slot machine. One taste of being important and you go on and on, throwing your quarters in, greedy for more.

Boston had been worth it.

But to learn that Reeve—her beloved, perfect Reeve—was not worth it…

She had never wanted to learn that.

“Tell us all about Boston!” said Mr. Spring eagerly. The family was in the new kitchen, sitting on pale pine stools. The semicircle of white counter was big enough that they could leave the Sunday newspaper spread out and still serve dinner comfortably.

They were having spaghetti and meatballs. Jodie was a spoon-whirler; Brendan was a slurper; Mom was a cutter; Dad was a masher. Brian could not combine spaghetti with anxiety, so he was not eating at all. Nobody noticed.

“You should have stayed home and come to my games,” said Brendan. “They were really exciting.” Brendan told them about his games.

What had happened to the silent communication between twins? Brian wanted to know. He might as well have been a plate of meatballs for all Brendan was tuning in.

Discussion of Brendan’s success lasted until the salad. Brian was not fond of lettuce. It seemed to Brian his mother should have picked up on this during the past thirteen years, but no, night after night, there was lettuce.

Mom and Dad faced Jodie eagerly. They spoke at the same time. “Is Boston a great town?” asked their mother. “I always thought it would be.”

“Which college did you like best, Jo?” said their father.

Jodie shifted herself around. She had to have her entire body in place before she could talk about important things. “I liked them all,” she began.

Brendan, however, interrupted to announce what college he would go to and what athletic scholarships he would get.

Brian actively disliked his twin. He wanted to push Brendan’s face into his spaghetti.

“You think you’ll apply to any of the Boston schools, Jodie?” asked their mother. “You were right, we don’t have much time. You have to get applications out by the first of the year.”

Boy, when these guys set aside worry, they really did it. Mom and Dad weren’t aware of anything wrong. Brian was offended.
Somebody
should be asking what had happened to his appetite.

Jodie did see that her brother had eaten nothing, and she was envious of his good judgment. She was sorry she’d eaten so much. The meatballs had been an especially bad choice. She was heart-sick about Reeve; she was eager for college; but college was damaged; she was thrilled about her new sisterhood with Janie; she was worried whether Janie could hold together. These combined like indigestion.

After the required college and Boston discussions, Jodie said, “We had a great time with Janie. Mom, she was really a sister. Maybe it was the car, you know? In a car you’re so close, and it’s so easy to talk.”

“That’s wonderful!” Mom was beaming.

There, thought Jodie. That’s as close as I can get to letting Mom and Dad know that Janie cares about her mom, her mom, her dad, her dad. Any closer and I’d have to touch Reeve.

“You know what, Mom?” said Brian, throwing away his oil-and-vinegar-stained lettuce and moving on to Mrs. Smith’s Apple Pie. “With Janie? At the hotel?”

Jodie eyed him tensely. There were no good hotel stories to relate.

“You pulled it off, Mom. We really have been protected. I mean…I was thinking…seeing her…that nothing damaged us. You loved us. You were there.” He struggled with what he wanted to say. “But Janie—even with four parents to guard her from harm—Janie gets slugged every time she turns around.”

“What do you mean?” said his father. “What happened to Janie now?” Child in trouble. Instant anxiety. Brian was pleased that his father could still get uptight about one of his kids.

“She and Reeve are having problems,” said Jodie.

“Is that all,” said their father. “Okay with me. They were way too close for my taste.”

Jodie glared at her pie wedge. She would have given anything to be that close to a boy. What was with parents? Always insisting that you could be popular, but the minute you got popular, you were “way too close.”

“Do you think Janie would come down for Thanksgiving?” asked Mom.

“Not Thursday,” said Jodie. “But I bet Friday and Saturday she would. I’ll call her tonight and ask.”

Jodie was tempted to phone Stephen.

She was desperate to hear her brother’s voice. Somebody who knew anger so well could tell her how to be angry, or how not to be so angry. But Stephen had found safety in a distant place, and Jodie owed him that privilege. Stephen should not have to carry the kidnapped sister burden any longer.

Janie was not making her Johnson mother and father carry the burden either but was carrying it herself.

Jodie helped clean up the kitchen. A little slave labor to go along with the new house would be ideal. Finally she got up to her room. She sprawled on her bed, loving the silence and the space of it. Then she phoned Connecticut.

“Jodie, he called me,” said her sister instantly. “He’s called three times.”

“Reeve has? Too bad you can’t electrocute a guy through the phone line.”

“I was so glad to hear his voice.”

“No! Did you make up with him? I’ll kill you.”

“I hung up on him, but I was still glad to hear his voice.”

“He does have a great voice,” admitted Jodie. “Of course after we stick a knife through his ribs and puncture his lungs, he won’t.” She wasn’t sure Janie even heard this contribution. Janie needed to talk.

In fact, Jodie hardly spoke again. From her sister poured out fury and pain and love and sorrow. Reeve’s voice had tipped her past control. Jodie was surprised that Janie had not said all these things to Reeve. Then she realized that Janie
had
said all these things to Reeve, all during the previous year.

No wonder Reeve sold it, thought Jodie. Pure agony, all raw—and all fascinating. If you were the kind of person who believes other people are just material—boy, is this ever material!

“Reeve knew I was trying so hard to do the right thing,” said Janie, “and the right thing was so hard to figure out, Jodie, because every choice was only
half
right. I kept looking for
whole
right. And then he sells it. Without blinking. I can’t decide if he’s a rattlesnake, or just a turkey.”

Janie needs me, thought Jodie. It took the betrayal of her boyfriend to make that happen.

Janie’s Call Waiting beep sounded.

“If it’s Sarah-Charlotte, tell her you’re busy,” instructed Jodie.

But it was Reeve.

Even hoarse with misery, his voice was beautiful. Janie hated him for not being a person who matched his voice. “Jodie and I were just saying that you’re either a rattlesnake or a turkey.”

“Turkey,” said Reeve. “Janie, please, I’m having a hard time, too. I’m trying to—”

“How dare you ask me for sympathy? Reeve, don’t call me again.” Janie thought of all the nights she had prayed for the opposite: Please, God, let cute Reeve next door think of me and call.

“Who else am I going to call? Janie, please. Over Thanksgiving weekend, we have to talk.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Janie, there is. I’ve thought so much about what I chose to do, and tomorrow I have to face the guys at the station and let them know that I’m through, and if I could just talk to you—”

“No. It hurts me. Stop hurting me.” Janie hung up.

The chilly white of her bedroom was not comforting. She wished she still had the room of her childhood.

She wished she still had her childhood.

She clicked back to Jodie, and wondered who she would have been if Hannah had never coaxed her into a stolen car.