Jane Bites Back

thought horrified her.

“He said the puppet looked just like you,” Lucy explained. She squinted at Jane. “Now that you mention it, you do kind of look like her,” she said.

“Rubbish,” said Jane. “All middle-aged Englishwomen look alike. Anyway, no more puppets. It was a fun idea, but I think we should stick to books.”

“I guess that puts the kibosh on the Little Women action figures,” Lucy joked. “Pity. I was looking forward to the Beth doll with real scarlet fever action.”

“Out,” Jane said, pointing to the door.

Lucy cackled evilly and scurried out, leaving a laughing Jane behind. Lucy reminded her a bit of Cassandra, always looking for the fun in things. It was no surprise that Jane was so fond of the young woman.

She was about to get up when the phone rang. Thinking it might be Nick Trilling, she picked it up.

“Good morning,” Walter said.

Jane felt a twinge of guilt as she said, “Good morning yourself.” Although technically nothing had happened between her and Byron, she still felt as if she were doing Walter a disservice.

“I was wondering if you might be free for lunch,” said Walter. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

Jane hesitated. She really didn’t want to see either Walter or Byron at the moment. But she knew she couldn’t put it off much longer. “I’d like that,” she said. “Why don’t you come by around one? We can get something at the Soup Kitchen.”

“Wonderful,” Walter said. “It’s a date.”

No sooner had she hung up than the phone rang again. “One o’clock,” she said, assuming it was Walter, who almost always had to call back because he couldn’t remember what they’d decided. “The Soup Kitchen.”

“How did you know I was calling to ask you to lunch?”

Byron’s voice practically purred through the line. Hearing it, Jane felt her pulse quicken. “I-I-I thought you were someone else,” she stammered.

“I could pretend to be,” Byron suggested. “I’ve been many different men since you last knew me.”

“I’m sure you have,” said Jane. “And I can’t have lunch with any of you. I have an appointment.”

Byron sighed as if he was deeply disappointed. “I see I’ve lost your heart to another man,” he said.

“You never had it to lose,” Jane snapped.

“We’ll see,” said Byron. “Perhaps dinner, then?”

“No,” Jane told him.

“I’m just going to keep asking until you agree,” said Byron. “Besides, I’m sure we can find something much nicer to eat than what you had the other night.”

Jane bristled. “You followed me,” she said.

“You weren’t the only one out hunting,” said Byron. “But really, being a blonde doesn’t suit you. And that fellow you chose. What was his name? Paul? I bet he tasted of acne cream and too much sugar. I’m surprised you could stomach him.”

“I feed to survive,” Jane hissed, afraid that if she spoke any louder Lucy would hear her. “Not for pleasure.”

“That’s a difference between us,” said Byron. “I find that I quite like American food.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Jane told him. “Please don’t call me here again.”

“Wait,” Byron said, stopping her. “You haven’t said when we can meet again.”

Jane shut her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth. He’d already said that he wouldn’t cease bothering her until she agreed to see him, and she knew he was serious about it. She was going to have to do it. But she couldn’t give in so easily.

“I’ll have to let you know,” she said.

She could hear Byron laughing softly. “Very well,” he said. “But remember, I’m not a patient man.”

“Goodbye,” Jane said curtly, and hung up.

She couldn’t believe what a roller coaster the morning had been. First there’d been the high of Kelly’s fantastic news, and now she felt deflated by the tiny matter of her life being turned upside down by Byron’s arrival. Standing in the middle was Walter. Good, sweet Walter, who only wanted her to love him.

Men, she thought. The downfall of women since Adam blamed Eve for that stupid apple. She wondered briefly if it was too late to become a lesbian. “I’m sure they have just as difficult a time of it,” she said to the empty room. “Love is dangerous for everyone.”

For the rest of the morning she stayed in the office, catching up on the endless paperwork, poring over publishers’ catalogs to see what books she might want to order, and generally trying to avoid interacting with anyone. She was feeling pulled in too many directions to think properly, and her thoughts raced from one thing to another as she attempted to sort out her thoughts about her book, Walter, Byron, and pretty much her entire life. She had half a mind to just disappear, run off to another town and start all over again. But that would be only a temporary solution, she reminded herself. Also, it would be rude.

Precisely at one Walter knocked on the office door. “Ready?” he asked.

“I just have to get my coat,” said Jane, doing just that.

Five minutes later they were seated at a table in the Soup Kitchen, looking at the menu.

“I’m thinking clam chowder,” Walter said. “How about you?”

Jane picked something at random, not really caring what she put in her stomach. “Perhaps the chicken and wild rice,” she said.

They placed their orders and settled into what Jane felt was an uncomfortable silence.

“I want to apologize for the other night,” Walter said after a few minutes.

“Whatever for?” asked Jane.

“For asking you about Brian,” Walter explained. “It was none of my business.”

Jane stirred a packet of sugar into the iced tea she’d requested. “Oh, it’s all right,” she said. “I’m sorry I was so mysterious about the whole thing. I hope you haven’t been fretting over it.”

“Maybe a little,” Walter admitted, playing with his fork. “After all, he’s a popular guy.”

“Do you think so?” said Jane.

Walter nodded. “All the women in town are smitten with him,” he said. “You should see them following him around.”

To her surprise, Jane felt a pang of jealousy. She hid it by stirring another packet of sugar into her tea, rattling the spoon vigorously against the sides. “You don’t say,” she remarked.

“Personally, I think it’s the accent,” said Walter. “Women seem to love men with British accents.”

“It’s Scottish, actually,” said Jane automatically. “But they’re practically the same,” she added hastily.

“Anyway, he’s quite a hit,” Walter told her.

Their soups arrived at that moment, saving Jane from having to reply.

“There’s something else I want to apologize for,” said Walter. He didn’t wait for Jane to respond before continuing. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Evelyn.”

Jane looked at him, her spoon halfway to her mouth.

“Sherman told me that you and he talked about her at the New Year’s party,” Walter said. “I should have told you about her a long time ago.”

Jane returned her spoon to the bowl. “Walter, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted.

Jane concentrated on her soup. Secrets were one thing she was not ready to share with Walter. But she let him talk, not only because it prevented her from having to, but also because she genuinely wanted to hear what he had to say.

“For a long time I blamed myself for her death,” he said. “I know that it wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t help it. I asked myself over and over why I didn’t go into the water with her, why I wasn’t there. Why I couldn’t save her. Eventually I got tired of asking myself those questions. And I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s not that I forgot about Evelyn; it’s more that in my mind that loss happened to someone else. Not to me, to some other man. Does that make any sense?”

Jane was trying hard not to cry. What Walter had just said was very much how she felt about the loss of her own family. She reached across the table and took Walter’s hand. At that moment she felt as if they shared