See Jane Run Page 21
“Does he ever talk about her?”
“No.”
“What does he talk about?”
“He doesn’t say much.”
“But I hear you talking,” Jane persisted. “There are some nights when I’m in bed and I can hear the two of you talking in the kitchen.”
“I ask him about his day. He tells me if anything particularly interesting happened.”
“I should be doing that.”
“Yes, you should.”
“Does he ever talk about me?”
“Sometimes.”
“What does he say?”
“That he loves you. That he wishes he could help you. Sometimes he cries.”
“It’s time for your pills.” Paula held out the pills for Jane to take.
“Do I have to?”
“You’re not going to give me a hard time, are you, Jane?”
“It’s just that they don’t seem to be working.”
“Dr. Whittaker thinks they are.”
“But I just sit here all day, like a zombie.”
“That’s all you’re supposed to do. You’re giving your subconscious a chance to work things out.” Paula’s balance shifted from one foot to the other.
“But I can’t think clearly. My head doesn’t stop spinning. I can barely move.”
“You’re not supposed to move.”
“How long has it been now?”
“How long has what been?”
“How long have I been back from the hospital?”
“A little over three weeks.”
“And I just sit here all day.” Jane could hear the amazement in her voice.
“You’re getting your strength back.”
“But it wasn’t my strength that I lost.”
“We’re not going to have an argument, are we, Jane?”
“I don’t want to argue. I just want to understand …”
“Understand that if you don’t take your pills, Dr. Whittaker will put you back on injections.”
“He said I didn’t have to have any more needles.”
“Not as long as you take your pills. Now, what’s it going to be?”
“Maybe we could go for a walk today,” Jane said.
“Maybe.”
“You always say that.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. And then we never go.”
“Maybe today we will.” Paula shrugged, then returned to her dusting.
“Are you afraid I’d try to run away?”
“No.”
“I haven’t the strength to run away. You don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
“You don’t fool me, you know,” Jane told her.
“I’m not trying to fool you.”
“I know the real reason you let me stay in the sunroom.”
“And what’s that?”
“So you can keep an eye on me.”
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” Jane stated.
“That’s not true.”
“What is true?”
“Don’t ask me.” Paula approached the back window of the sunroom and stared outside.
“Do you think I cheated on Michael?”
“I don’t know.”
“Cheated on him with my neighbor’s husband?”
“I don’t know.”
“My neighbor certainly thinks so.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Do you think she was lying?” Jane asked.
“No.”
“Would you let me call Daniel?”
“What?!” Paula made no attempt to contain her amazement.
“That way I could ask him.”
“You want to call your neighbor’s ex-husband and ask him whether or not you slept together? Jane, do you have any idea how crazy that would sound?”
Jane closed her eyes in defeat, knowing that Paula was right. “I just want to know the truth,” she whispered.
“Are you sure?” Paula asked.
“Who was that on the phone?” Jane wondered aloud as Paula came back into the room.
“Just someone trying to sell you a subscription for the Boston Pops.”
“You’re lying.”
“Jane …”
“I can always tell when you’re lying because you get this funny little expression on your face, like you’ve got a mouthful of pits you want to spit out.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Paula protested.
“Also I heard you say I was still in San Diego.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to eavesdrop?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“This isn’t funny, Jane.”
“I want to know how long you think you can keep me from speaking to my friends.”
“Hopefully until you can remember who your friends are.”
“What would be so awful about my speaking to them now?” Jane demanded.
“Because it would probably upset you and it would definitely upset them.”
“Why would it upset them?”
“For openers, you slur your words,” Paula told her, straightening the throw cushion behind Jane’s head.
“Do I? I wasn’t sure….”
“And they’d get very worried, and probably insist on seeing you. …”
“So?”
“So, have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“You think I’m an awful person, don’t you?” Jane stared at Paula, not sure whether she wanted an answer.
“I think you’re a difficult person.”
“You don’t understand how a man like Michael can stay married to a woman like me.”
“I think that when a man like Dr. Whittaker makes a commitment, he stands by it,” Paula said.
“Through thick and through thin—”
“Through the good times and the bad—”
“For richer or poorer—”
“Till death do you part.” Paula smiled.
“What are you baking?” Jane stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the sunroom, watching Paula at the counter.
Paula spun around. “What are you doing in the kitchen?”
“It’s my kitchen.”
Paula shrugged. “Then you might as well pull up a chair.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“You can sit quietly and let me concentrate. I don’t want to slice my finger off because I’m busy talking to you.”
“What are you slicing?”
“Apples.”
“Are you making an apple pie?”
“I thought that Michael could stand a little something to cheer him up.”
“So it’s Michael now,” Jane observed.
The phone rang.
Jane’s head spun toward the sound, then continued spinning. She gripped the sides of the table, focusing on the small vase of summer flowers that sat at its center.
“Damnit, why does the phone always ring when your hands are full of guck?” Paula reached for a towel hanging on a hook beneath the sink.
Without stopping to consider her actions, Jane propelled herself into a standing position and lunged toward the phone.
“Don’t answer that!”
“Why not? It’s my phone!” She grabbed the receiver off the wall. “Hello?”
Paula dropped the dish towel and grabbed for the phone cord, yanking at it and almost succeeding in tearing it from Jane’s hands. Jane immediately and repeatedly wrapped the long cord around her, using her body like a giant ball of yarn, leaving only her hands free to keep an increasingly frantic Paula at bay. “Get back,” Jane hissed.
“Hello? Hello? Jane, are you there?”
“Hi,” Jane shouted into the receiver.
“Jane, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Well, great. I wasn’t sure what the story was. Susan said she called the other day and your new housekeeper, or whoever it was, said you were still in San Diego and she wa
sn’t sure when you’d be back in the city.”
“I got back last night.” Jane almost laughed.
“Oh, well, if this is a bad time, you can call me later.”
“No! This is a great time. I’ve missed you.”
Who the hell was she talking to?
“I’ve missed you too. I couldn’t believe you spent almost a month with Gargamella.”
“Who?”
“Your sister-in-law.”
“Gargamella?” Wasn’t the woman’s name Eleanor?
“Well, isn’t that what you always call her? You said she reminds you of Gargamel, the evil villain who’s always chasing those poor little Smurfs. Why am I telling you this? You’re the one who explained it to me.”
“She’s evil?”
“Well, no, you just never had much use for her. Jane, is something wrong? This is a very strange conversation we’re having, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Everything’s fine. How’ve you been?” Jane watched as Paula began moving in slow circles toward her. “Stay away from me!”
“What?”
“Not you.”
“What do you mean, Stay away from you?”
“There’s a big spider in the kitchen.” Jane decided this was as good a description of Paula as any. “You know how I hate spiders.”
“Well, no, actually, I didn’t know that.”
Paula began swaying back and forth, forcing Jane’s eyes to follow her, playing to her dizziness.
“Stay still, damn you!”
“Jane, just ignore the damn thing. It’s more afraid of you than you are of it.”
“Give me the phone, Jane.” Paula’s voice was low, soothing, almost hypnotic.
“Stay away from me!”
“Jane, why don’t you just call me back.”
“No!”
Paula leaped toward her, grabbing at the phone. Jane vaulted out of her reach, wrapping the phone even tighter around her body, hugging the receiver against her ear with her shoulder, flailing out with her free arm, knocking Paula slightly off balance as she dove for the knife that rested on the counter beside the bowl of sliced apples, brandishing it at Paula, who froze, obviously terrified, then sank into one of the kitchen chairs, admitting her defeat.
“Jesus Christ, Jane. That must be some spider. What’s going on there?”
Jane watched Paula watching her. She waved the knife, seeing Paula flinch, her chest heaving, her eyes wild. What was she planning? Jane wondered, silently debating whether or not to tell whoever this woman was on the other end of the receiver exactly what was going on.
And what would she say? Help, I’m being held prisoner in my very own kitchen by a woman who, only moments ago, was making me an apple pie? My husband and this woman are keeping me drugged and away from my friends, whom I can’t remember anyway because I’ve lost my memory. Lost my mind is more what she’ll believe, which is probably a damn sight closer to the truth.
Unless I can get her over here, unless she can see me for herself, unless I can find the necessary time to really talk to her, to explain to her in person everything that’s happened.
“I’d love to see you,” Jane ventured, seeing Paula’s teeth clench, though she sat very still. “When are we going to get together?”
“Well, that’s the main reason I called. To see if we’re still on for tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“You did forget. I knew it. I said to Peter, I bet she’s forgotten all about it. I mean, we made these plans so long ago.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten.”
“Dinner’s still on?”
“Of course.”
“Are you sure? I mean, you just got back from California. You probably have a million things to do….”
“Why do you think I came back?”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m very flattered. But you’re sure you’re up for entertaining? I mean, we could just as easily go to a restaurant.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it.”
What was going on? What was happening? She had to think fast, which was hard to do when your head was spinning and your heart was pounding and you were holding a knife on someone. She needed a minute to put everything together. Who was she speaking to? And who was this man, this Peter, whom she had mentioned? Probably her husband. And they were coming for dinner. Tonight.
Peter, she thought, repeating the name in her mind, tightening her grip on the knife when she saw Paula move. But Paula only crossed one leg over the other, seemingly resigned to her fate. She’s waiting, Jane thought, like a cat observing its prey. As soon as I present her with the opportunity, she’ll pounce. In the meantime, I have to figure out who belongs to this voice on the telephone.
I could always ask her, Jane thought, and almost laughed. Oh, sure, be here at seven, and by the way, who are you? No, don’t be silly. Think, she admonished herself. Don’t get giddy. You have to work this out. She’s obviously a friend, probably even a good friend. And she’s given you a clue. Her husband’s name. Peter.
Peter who? Peter Cottontail. Peter Rabbit. Peter Finch. Peter, Paul, and Mary. Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater. The Peter Principle. Saltpeter. Saint Peter. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. Peter. Peter-if-you’re-a-friend-then-your-name-would-have-been-in-my-little-paisley-covered-book!
She tried to recall the pages of her telephone-address book, mentally flipping through the pages: Lorraine Appleby; Diane Brewster; David and Susan Carney; Janet and Ian Hart; Eve and Ross McDermott; Howard and Peggy Rose; Sarah and Peter Tanenbaum.
Sarah and Peter Tanenbaum. Yes! Who else could it be? How many close friends could she have whose husbands were named Peter? The woman to whom she was speaking had to be Sarah Tanenbaum. Jane bit her tongue to keep from saying the name out loud.
“So, what time would you like us?”
“Any time. The sooner the better.”
“I guess you probably want to make it an early night.”
“Not at all. I’m really very anxious to talk to you.”
“Oh, yeah, me too. I had another run-in with the Gestapo.”
“What?”
“You know—my neighbor. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. You would have been proud of me. So, what time? Seven o’clock?”
“That sounds great.”
“Can I bring anything? Dessert?”
“Oh, no,” Jane said quickly, a smile creeping onto her lips. “Actually, I was just baking an apple pie.”
Paula rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. If looks could kill, Jane thought.
“Sounds wonderful. I can hardly wait.”
“Me too. Oh, and if anyone should call you,” Jane added, “and say that dinner’s off, don’t listen, okay? Come anyway. Promise?”
“Who would call me and say something like that?”
“I don’t know. Someone. As a joke. Maybe even Michael.”
“Michael?”
“As a joke.”
“Jane, is something going on that I don’t know about?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Nothing you do surprises me anymore.”
“Promise me you’ll come, no matter what.”
“Jane, you’re making me nervous….”
“Promise.”
“Okay. I promise. Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Tonight. Don’t be late.”
Jane heard the phone click. She lowered it to her chest and smiled, relaxing her grip on the knife and letting it drop to the counter. Paula was on her feet immediately, sweeping the knife out of Jane’s reach and clutching it to her side.
“You’re crazy, you know that! You could have hurt yourself.”
Jane calmly and methodically separated herself from the telephone cord although she felt anything but calm. She felt elated. Alive. Even all the drugs in her system couldn’t diminish her excitement. She extricated her body from the last of the cord and replaced the receiver on its hook, then sat down at
the kitchen table, the smile never leaving her lips. “Guess who’s coming to dinner,” she said.
EIGHTEEN
“WOULD you like something to drink?”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I don’t mean anything alcoholic. I was thinking along the lines of a Coke or a ginger ale.”
“Ginger ale would be fine.” Why was he being so nice to her? Jane watched as Michael rose to get her a drink. “I’ll pour it,” she volunteered, hastily joining him at the coffee table where Paula had carefully arranged a number of glasses and a selection of beverages.
“Do you really think I’m going to put something in your drink?” His voice resonated hurt feelings.
“Of course not.” That was exactly what Jane thought. Was she overreacting?
Michael had been concerned, even alarmed, when Paula had summoned him home to recount the afternoon’s events, but he’d admitted to Jane privately when he was helping her dress for dinner that he could understand her level of frustration, that he hadn’t understood how eager she was to speak to her friends. Certainly Paula should never have tried to wrest the phone away from her. If Jane really felt she was up to entertaining, then he was only too delighted to play the host. Could she at least tell him who they were expecting?
No, she told him. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that.
All right, he had said. He could understand even that.
She refused her medication and he didn’t insist. “I’ll let you decide about that, too, from now on,” he told her, asking only that Paula be the one to cook and serve dinner. Jane readily agreed, determining to eat only what everyone else ate, thereby ensuring that no drugs could be added to her food. She needed to be awake; it was vital that she stay alert, although what exactly she was planning to say to Sarah (assuming it was Sarah who was coming to dinner), she wasn’t altogether sure.
Jane uncapped the fresh bottle, breaking the seal, and poured herself a tall ginger ale, watching the bubbles dance in the glass. She took a small sip, then retreated to her chair by the fireplace, studying Michael as he fixed himself a gin and tonic. He looked at her and smiled, and she smiled in return, though it took some effort. In truth, she wasn’t feeling either particularly strong or particularly well. Only particularly determined, she thought, her teeth chattering behind trembling lips.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Fine.”