Jane Goes Batty

Sensing an opportunity to win points with Miriam, Jane ignored the question and bent down so that she was closer to the dog. “Hi, Lilith,” she said, holding out her hand.

Lilith bared her teeth and lunged at Jane’s hand. Jane retracted her hand and stared at the dog, shaking, as Lilith continued to bark at her.

“She doesn’t care for strange people,” Miriam said. “Walter, I’d like to see the rest of the house.”

She turned and walked away, Lilith once again at her heels. Jane looked at Walter. “I seem to be a hit with both of them,” she said.

“You’re doing fine,” said Walter. He took Jane’s hand. “Come on. I think you’ll like this.”

For the next hour Jane admired the William Morris wallpapers and painstakingly restored wood floors. She appreciated the kitchen that was at once functional and of a period, and the bathroom with its claw-foot tub and black-and-white-tiled floor. When Walter brought them into one of the house’s five bedrooms and showed them a series of framed prints that Miriam attributed to Albert Joseph Moore, she refrained from pointing out that they were actually by John William Godward. Nor did she point out that the woman in the painting bore a remarkable resemblance to herself, or that they were wearing the same necklace. (She did, however, wonder if Walter saw the similarities, and if he had chosen the print with her in mind.)

Miriam, Jane was pleased to see, appeared to be impressed by her son’s handiwork. Despite the occasional comment about a color she did not care for or a piece of furniture she found not quite right, she was very complimentary. She particularly seemed to appreciate the sheer amount of work that had gone into the restoration, especially after Walter showed them a photo album containing before and after shots of each room.

“You’ve done a remarkable job,” Jane told him. “The house is extraordinary.”

“Do you really think so?” he asked.

“I do,” said Jane. “I think anyone would be happy living in such a beautiful place.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say that,” Walter said. “Because I’m going to be moving in.”

“Are you?” Jane exclaimed. “That’s wonderful!”

Walter smiled. “I’m hoping you’ll live here as well,” he said. “You know, after we’re mar—” He stopped and blushed.

Jane and Miriam both looked at Walter with surprised expressions.

Walter, clearing his throat, said, “Oh, dear. That just slipped out.” He took Jane’s hand. “I didn’t plan on asking you this way,” he said. “But now that it’s out, I—”

“Walter,” Miriam said sharply.

Jane’s heart raced as she processed what was happening. Had Walter just asked her to marry him? That was impossible. Not impossible, she told herself. Unexpected.

“Walter,” Jane heard Miriam say again. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty?”

“I know you haven’t known Jane very long,” Walter said. “But I have, and I know that I love her.” He squeezed Jane’s hand. “And I believe she loves me.”

Miriam turned her gaze to Jane. “Is that true?” she asked, her voice cold.

Jane looked into Miriam’s dark eyes and was surprised by the hatred she saw there. Then she recalled Miriam’s words of the other night. I know what you are. She still didn’t know what Miriam had meant by that, but thinking about it angered her. No, she thought while staring back at Miriam. You don’t know what I am. You don’t know anything about me.

“Yes,” Jane said. “It’s true. I do love him.”

She dreaded what she had to say next. Steeling herself, she looked at Walter’s smiling face. “I do love you,” she said. “But I can’t marry you.”

Chapter 10

“But I thought you wanted to marry him.”

Jane wiped her eyes and looked at Ben Cohen, into whose office she had been surprised to find herself walking ten minutes earlier. After the awkward moment with Walter she had quickly excused herself and fled the Carlyle House, leaving a smirking Miriam Ellenberg and a shocked Walter to watch her retreat. She had first driven to her own home, only to find it overrun by yet another of Beverly Shrop’s tour groups. Next she had gone to the bookstore, but the presence of Ant’s van had forced her to turn around.

That’s when she’d found herself driving in the direction of Sukkat Shalom. She hadn’t even realized she was going there until she pulled into the parking lot. She’d almost turned right around again. After all, she had met Rabbi Ben Cohen only once. She really knew nothing about him, or he about her. And yet she’d gotten out of Lucy’s truck and entered the synagogue as if some other force were controlling her actions.

Now she was seated once more in the chair across from the couch, staring at the Pollock hanging on the wall behind the rabbi. Ben Cohen, dressed in jeans and a shirt the color of cornflowers, waited patiently for her to speak.

“I do,” she said, sniffling. “That’s why I came here in the first place, right?”

“You tell me,” Ben said.

“It is,” said Jane. She hesitated. “Well, because of Miriam, anyway.”

The rabbi nodded. “You wouldn’t have come otherwise?”

“Why would I?” Jane replied.

Ben shrugged his wide shoulders. “I don’t know,” he told her. “Why would you?”

“Stop doing that!” said Jane.

“Doing what?”

“That!” Jane said. “Answering everything I say with another question.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” said Ben, one side of his mouth lifting slightly, as if he were trying very hard to remain composed.

Jane snorted. “Very funny.”

Ben laughed. “You obviously haven’t met many Jews,” he said. “Or therapists. But we’re getting off track. Walter asked you to marry him. You said no.”

“I said I can’t,” Jane clarified.

“Can’t,” said the rabbi. “However, you’ve known all along that it would come to this. Which, by the way, brings us back to why you came here in the first place.”

“Oh, I know,” Jane said, her frustration audible in her voice. “But that was before.”

“Before?” Ben said. “Before what?”

“Miriam,” Jane replied. “Before Miriam. When she was just his mother I could handle her. The idea of her. The reality, however, is not at all agreeable.”

“A lot of women clash with their potential mothers-in-law at first,” said Ben. “It seems to come with the territory.”

Jane shot him a look. “Are you married?” she asked.

Ben surprised her by looking away. “I was,” he said. “My wife died giving birth to our daughter.”

Jane felt terrible for having asked the question. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Ben held up a hand. “It’s all right,” he said. “You’re not prying. You thought I had no experience with mothers-in-law.”

“No,” Jane objected. “I just … well, yes, that’s what I thought.”

The rabbi laughed. “As it happens, my mother-in-law is a wonderful person,” he said. “And my mother loved Naomi very much. But I’ve heard stories.”

It was Jane’s turn to laugh. “I imagine you have,” she said. She paused before asking her next question, afraid she might cause Ben pain by voicing it. “Your daughter,” she said. “Is she …” She fumbled for her next words.

“She’s six,” said Ben. “Her name is Sarah.”

Jane was suddenly overcome by sadness. She felt a tear slip from her eye. She wiped it away, but another soon followed. She couldn’t help but think about her own family, particularly Cassie. How she missed her sister.