I look at the house, this sweet home of the woman I love, the simple walls and windows and roof containing everything I care about. “I know. I will.”
“Need help?”
I pause, an idea forming in my mind. It’s crazy. It’s over the top. It’ll probably freak her out and have her regretting ever going swimming in my pond that night, but what the hell. Life is for the brave.
“Do you know a carpenter?”
She nods.
“Great,” I pull out my phone. “Give me his number. Yours too.”
“You have my number.”
I look up. “I do?”
She nods.
I think back to the unknown number, the texts from the ‘friend of Jane’ and realization dawns.
“You know, I told you not to fuck this up,” Kate says, hands on hips now, staring me down. “Texted you too.”
“How?” I glance down at my phone.
“You think you’re the only one with connections in this town?” She laughs, pulling a card from her wallet and handing it to me. “Call him. He’s great. Fixes anything, builds everything.”
“Anything? Even something…huge?”
She shrugs. “Try him. I’m here if you need help.” She turns back to go into the house and pauses, looking over her shoulder. “We’re all here, if you need us.”
36
Jane
After visiting my mother’s grave, I returned home to find Kate at my dinner table, drumming fingers on the wood. With less than twenty minutes to pack a bag, she whisked me into her car, drove me to Christine’s house, where we left her car and piled into Christine’s SUV (brand new- honestly, where does she get the money?) and met Dawn, Jessica, and Penelope at the gas station down the road. Penelope led the way, and three hours later we were camped out in an AirBnB upstate, enjoying the lake and roasting marshmallows over the outside fire pit.
No answers to any of my questions. Just a “girls trip,” apparently. Even Dory, who joined us a day later, made arrangements for Philippe and Mohammed to take care of the cafe while she was away.
No explanations, but no questions either. We slept in, go for walks, enjoyed margaritas and curly fries at the only restaurant in town. Penelope and Jessica went skinny dipping. The rest of us packed bathing suits. One morning, Christine took us all out on the water in a sailboat that appeared overnight at the dock attached to our rental house. I asked her where she learned to sail and she just smiled, passing around a cooler of drinks.
I must have left my phone in my house when I was rushed out the door, but its absence has been a welcome reprieve. I don’t know if David has called. I don’t know if he is back from L.A. Either way, I feel like a weight has lifted. Visiting my mother’s grave, talking to her as I haven’t talked in years, as I never talked to her, actually, even when she was alive, loosened a part of me. I let go of so many things that afternoon, and I feel unshackled, as if a piece of myself has returned to me, a piece I didn’t even know I was missing.
The night before we leave, we sat outside, enjoying the sound of the crickets and noises of night animals. Seated around the fire, wrapped in blankets, I watched my friends dance to the only radio station, all 80’s, that came in up here, crackling through Penelope’s ancient, portable radio. They laughed and sang and I knew, whatever happens, I’d be just fine.
This afternoon, five days later, Christine follows Penelope’s rust bucket down country roads back to Midnight, and I enjoy the setting sun on my face and watch the farmland speed by us, houses getting closer together as we near Midnight.
Penelope’s car peels off towards her house, everyone inside waving as we part ways. Christine pulls into Kate’s driveway. Kate hops out, grabbing her bag from the back and comes around to my side of the car. She grabs my hand, and if I didn’t know better I would think there were tears in her eyes.
“Good luck, Jane.” She reaches in quickly, through the open window and hugs me to her. I have never received a hug from Kate in my life.
“Is she ok?” I ask Christine, laughing at Kate’s retreating back and her unexpected display of affection.
Christine smiles and heads back onto the main road.
A few minutes of silence are interrupted when I say, “You missed my turn,” and point to the road sign now behind us. It’s getting dark, but the familiar streets are easy to make out even in the fading light.
“Did I?” Christine asks, her eyes never leaving the road.
“Yes. And you know that.” I turn to her.
“Hmm,” she says, still refusing to meeting my gaze.
“Christine, where are we going?”
She says nothing, ignoring me, and I wonder if I am experiencing the friendliest, nicest kidnapping in human history.
“I have classes in a week, Christine. If you bury my body in the woods, the dean will notice my absence.”
She continues to ignore me.
We turn onto the street with the orchard at the end and I realize. She’s taking me to David’s house.
She pulls up his driveway, woods dark on either side of the gravel path, ignoring my protests with a placid calm that some might describe as pathological. We reach the front of the house. I see lights on inside, his car in the driveway.
He’s here.
“Go inside,” she says, her voice quiet and low.
I stay seated. As much as I have made peace with our unknown future, there is still a small part of me that enjoys the possibility of a future with him. The thought of snuffing out that last, tiny candle of hope leaves my stomach cold.
“Go inside,” she says again, this time turning to me.
“Did…did you plan this?” I wonder at the timing of our random, spontaneous week away.
“Yes. We all did.” Christine smiles. “Oh, and here’s your phone.” She removes it from the glove compartment and drops it
