Jane Goes Batty

“Excellent,” said Jane. “How about tomorrow night?”

“As it happens, we’re free,” Ben replied.

“Good,” Jane said. “I’ll expect you at six.”

She wrote down her address for Ben, inquired after Sarah’s likes (hamburgers) and dislikes (anything involving celery), and returned to the truck. She got in and sat there for some time thinking about things. The whole question of her soul and its status was upsetting her more than she cared to recognize. But her more immediate problem was Walter and, to an only slightly lesser degree, Miriam.

She took out her cellphone and dialed Walter’s number. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t answer, but he picked up after only one ring.

“Where are you?” he asked, sounding anxious. “I’ve been trying to call you for the last two hours.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jane. “I must have turned the ringer off.”

A silence stretched between them like a thin, tight wire. Jane knew that, having caused the problem, it was up to her to make the next move. “We should talk,” she said. “I don’t suppose you can get rid of your mother?”

“Not permanently,” said Walter.

Despite the tension, Jane found herself laughing. “How about long enough for lunch?” she said.

“I think I can manage that,” Walter said.

“Meet me at the bookstore in half an hour,” said Jane. “We can go from there.”

“All right,” Walter said. “I love you.”

Jane bit her lip as tears came to her eyes for the second time that day. “I love you too,” she said.

As she drove to the bookstore she fought back feelings of panic. So much was going on in her life—and going poorly. She felt out of control, and that in turn made her want to retreat. Part of her longed for the quiet, secure life she’d had before Constance had come out and turned everything upside down.

But it was too late. Now she had no choice but to face her new life and all of the challenges it was presenting. Your characters manage to do it, she reminded herself. If they can, you can. After all, you’re the one who told them what to do.

Chapter 11

“Jane!”

“Jane.”

“Jane?”

“Oh, Ja-aaane.”

The voices came from all around her. Jane turned, trying to locate the sources, and saw Ant Doolan coming at her with a video camera. Behind him was Byron, behind Byron was Walter, and behind Walter was Beverly Shrop. Seeing them all, Jane’s heart began to pound.

“Jane,” one of the twins called. “There’s a phone call for you. A Jessica Aber—”

“Tell her I’ll call her back,” Jane told him as she walked toward Ant and the others, holding up her hand.

“Stop,” she commanded.

Her four visitors formed a neat line in front of her, like soldiers falling in for inspection. Before any of them could speak, Jane did.

“I’m taking the day off,” she told Ant. “Go find something else to do.”

She next faced Byron, who looked at her with a puzzled yet amused expression. “Yes, of course we’d love to do a signing for your new novel,” she said.

“That’s not why I’m—” he began.

“Just speak to Lucy about it,” said Jane, moving on to Walter. “You wait out front,” she instructed her boyfriend. “I’ll be just a minute.”

Lastly she addressed Beverly. “And what do you want?” she asked.

Beverly beamed. “It’s about the festival. As you may know, there’s a rivalry between Janeites and Brontëites.”

“Is there?” said Jane dryly.

Beverly nodded. “There is. So we—and by that I mean I—thought it might be fun to arrange some kind of game with teams composed of each group.”

“What kind of game?” Jane asked.

“Softball,” Beverly answered. “It seems easiest to manage. Of course, I would prefer croquet, but what with so many people—”

Jane sighed. “What has this got to do with me?”

“Oh,” Beverly said. “Well, I was hoping you might captain one of the teams. Mr. Osborn has graciously agreed to captain the Brontëites, and—”

Jane once more interrupted Beverly. “Have you now?” she asked Byron, who was in the process of pretending to ignore the conversation.

“What? Oh. Yes, I believe I have. It should be great fun, don’t you think?”

“I had no idea you were so fond of the Brontës,” Jane remarked. “Or softball.”

Byron feigned surprise. “Who isn’t fond of them?” he said. He winked mischievously at Jane, who glowered back.

“Very well,” Jane told a waiting Beverly. “I’ll do it. We can talk about it later.”

She turned and walked toward the front door. Walter was waiting outside, and she could see him pacing. But to her annoyance, Byron was following her.

“I suppose you think this is amusing,” Jane said. “Honestly. Softball?”

“I knew you would be enthusiastic about it,” said Byron. “But that isn’t why I came.” He gently took Jane’s elbow, forcing her to stop.

“Unhand me,” Jane objected, pulling away. But Byron’s grip tightened.

“You’re in danger,” he said in a low voice. “We’re all in danger.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jane. “All who?”

“All of us,” Byron said. He smiled, and for a moment Jane saw his fangs. Then he retracted them. “Someone is here who means us harm,” he said.

“And just who is it?” said Jane. “Don’t tell me Our Gloomy Friend is back.”

Byron shook his head. “I don’t think it’s she,” he said. “Although I suppose it could be. For the past day or two I’ve just felt something wasn’t right.”

“Oh, well then,” Jane said. “Now that’s much clearer.”

Byron leaned in even closer. “Listen to me. I don’t know who it is. But I sense something. Maybe if you’d developed your powers instead of running from them, you would sense it too.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Jane said.

“Just be careful,” said Byron. He stepped away. “We’ll just see about that,” he said loudly and cheerfully, confusing Jane. “I’ll have you know I pitched a mean softball game when I was younger.”

“Is that so?” Jane replied, playing along. “Well, we’ll just see how many touchdowns you get!”

Byron shook his head.

“How many goals you get!” Jane said as several customers began to laugh.

Byron grimaced.

“Baskets?” Jane asked.

“Just go,” said Byron, rolling his eyes. “Now.”

Jane walked quickly to the door and went out into the warm afternoon sun. Walter immediately descended upon her, taking her hand. “I’m so sorry about this morning,” he said. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I don’t know what came over me. One minute we were talking about the house and then I was talking about getting married. And my mother, well—”

“It’s all right,” Jane said. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. The way I ran out of there, I can only imagine what your mother thinks.”

“She seems fine with it, actually,” Walter said.