Shelter Me (17 page)

A
FTER A FEW MINUTES
, Carly squawked loud enough for Janie to let go, and she crawled over and pulled herself up on Barb’s low-
slung capris. Barb picked her up. Keane wiggled away from his mother and wandered toward the picnic table to help himself to more cake. Cormac and Uncle Charlie inhaled their sniffles and turned in unison to rake the sticky pirate plates off the table and into the trash. Aunt Jude pulled tissues from her big white purse and handed them out to Noreen and Aunt Brigid.

“Hi, Tug,” said Dylan, wiping his nose on the shoulder of his T-shirt. “What’s that?”

Tug was holding a box wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper, and sliding a handkerchief into the back pocket of his jeans. “A present I brought you,” he said. “But maybe you’d rather open it another time.”

“No,” said Dylan getting up. “Now’s good.”

Janie went into the house to get the bag of apples for bobbing, and took the opportunity to hold a cold wet dishcloth against her cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. She heard someone come in the kitchen door, and then felt hands on her shoulders gently pressing and rubbing.

“There are so many things I could say, right now,” murmured Aunt Jude.

Janie sighed and her arms went loose. “Thanks for not saying any of them.”

“Oh, alright,” said Aunt Jude giving Janie’s shoulders a little shake. Then she went back out. In a moment Janie followed her.

“Whoa, that’s sick!” she heard Keane say, and turned toward a low buzzing sound. Dylan was kneeling in the grass and wearing a set of plastic safety goggles that seemed to envelop his entire head. He was leaning over a small block of wood and holding some sort of tool.

“Hey, what’s that?” she asked walking toward them. Tug watched her approach.

“A screwdrive!” yelled Dylan. “My own screwdrive! To keep! Now I can build stuff, too!”

“You gave him a power tool?” she asked Tug incredulously.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It runs on two double-A batteries. It’s got the torque of a pinwheel. And Dylan knows that he can only use it with a grown-up watching, right, Dylan?”

“Yep.” He chewed his lip and guided the bolts in and out of the predrilled holes in the wood block.

“Tug, he’s five, for godsake.”

“Janie, it’s safe. I ran it past a couple of my buddies’ wives, and they gave it the thumbs-up. Fact, they had me make extras for their kids. You can put it away when you don’t want him to use it.”

“But—”

“Like some cake?” Heidi was suddenly with them, offering Tug a generous slab of ship’s bow.

“Thanks,” said Tug. He smiled politely, taking the cake in his left hand and offering her his right. It was then that Janie noticed he was wearing a clean shirt. “Tug Malinowski. Porch builder.”

“Heidi Mathison. Mother of the friend of the birthday boy.” She passed a self-conscious hand up to her almost normal-looking cheeks. “You’re doing a wonderful job out front. It’s going to add so much to the house. And how did you ever come up with this screwdriver idea? The boys can’t get enough of it.”

He smiled. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Sorry, but you’re wrong there,” she said, her smile looking more sparkly than Janie had ever seen. “I’m in marketing and we have several toy manufacturers on our client list. There’s nothing with this kind of realism. If you ever wanted to take it to the next level I could put you in touch with some people who…”

Janie took one more wary glance at the mini cordless screwdriver, now in the hands of a begoggled Keane.
Her problem now
, she thought and went to the picnic table to help straighten up.

“Janie?” said Barb, the rims of her eyes still shiny and pink. “I’m so sorry,” she exhaled. “I never thought…it never occurred to me the pictures would remind Dylan about…”

“It’s okay,” said Janie.

“I’m really sorry. I can just throw that roll right in the trash.”

“What?” said Cormac, tuning in. “Don’t throw them out, they were terrific.”

“But they’ll remind her of…”

“So? It’s not like without the pictures we’ll all just forget about Robby and never have another sad thought.” He turned to Janie. “You’ve got to see them. It was so perfect. Promise me you’ll just take a look at them.” Cormac’s arm slid around Barb’s shoulder, a gesture of support, or perhaps protection from his ice-eyed cousin. He’s belonged to us for so long, Aunt Jude had said.
Not for much longer,
thought Janie.

By 2:30 the heat had climbed another couple of degrees, and the boys were clamoring to get wet. By turns they plunged their heads into the tub of water, their small pink mouths rooting for the apples that slipped away as if self-propelled. Urged on by Cormac, Barb documented the activity from every angle. After three or four tries apiece, both frustrated boys were beginning to show signs of impending party-induced meltdown. Uncle Charlie surreptitiously slid his huge hand into the bucket and held an apple from below for each to bite.

“I did it!” screamed Keane. “I did it and I don’t even LIKE apples!”

And then it was time to go. Janie was hugged mercilessly by all the grown-ups except Tug. Even Heidi, the last to leave, hazarded a quick squeeze, saying, “Thanks for letting me stay. The Jell-O was delicious.” She shot a furtive glance toward Tug, and told Janie, “I’ll call you later.”

Tug followed Janie into the house, carrying the bag of trash. “You okay with that little screwdriver?”

Carly was slumped on her hip, and Dylan had already relegated himself to lying on the couch with Nubby Bunny, rubbing a soft worn rabbit ear over his nose. She nodded wearily. “Sorry I freaked out. You know how I get.”

“Yeah.” He smiled at her. His lips parted as if to add something, but then he closed them again.

“It really is a pretty cool gift.” She shifted the heavy-lidded baby to the other hip. “And it came at just the right time.”

He nodded. Then he went back outside and climbed the ladder to the roof. As Janie laid the sleeping baby in her crib, she heard the rhythmic tapping of his hammer against the new shingles. She went downstairs and curled herself around Dylan on the couch, and they dozed on dreams of black cake and spinning bolts.

N
OREEN KNEW THAT HER
daughter had been attacked ten days before. Jude and Charlie and Brigid had talked of nothing else when Janie was out of hearing distance: how Jude had procured the self-defense course for the fund-raiser, and then won the prize herself and given it to Janie. (This point had been detailed by Jude more than once.) How the intruder had broken into several homes in the area. How Jude’s friend’s son, the owner of Walking on Sunshine Carpet Cleaners, got the hideous bloodstain out of Janie’s living room rug. How that Dougie Shaw (“Remember him, can you believe he’s all grown up and carrying a firearm now?”) responded to Janie’s 911 call. How the attacker’s guilty plea meant that Janie would not have to testify, and how that awful man (“goddamned evil bastard” Charlie invariably muttered) had gone straight to prison.

Noreen now knew everything her brother and sister knew, and yet some things still seemed unexplained. It was clear that Janie did not want to talk about it, and Noreen wouldn’t press. But when the weekly
Pelham Town Crier
arrived on Tuesday morning, the questions it answered provoked even further uncertainty.

“There’s an article in the paper about you,” Noreen called from the kitchen when Janie returned from dropping Dylan off at camp. “About the attack.”

“I don’t want to see it,” said Janie. She took Carly into the
living room and set her up with a brightly colored toy piano, her current obsession. “Wait a minute,” said Janie. “Who’s it by?”

“The reporter’s name is Wick Lally.” Noreen came and handed the paper to Janie. While she waited for Janie to read it, she sat down next to Carly and straightened the straps of her sunsuit.

“Cripes,” muttered Janie, straining to concentrate over Carly’s piano playing. “What an ass.”

“Is it true?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it’s technically factual. But it sounds so melodramatic. And who cares about all these little details, anyway?” Janie was annoyed at how exposed she felt.

“Why did the priest…” Noreen fiddled with the slipcover on the couch, which seemed perfectly straight to Janie. “…why did Father come over? How did he know to come?”

The article stated that a neighbor saw a gray sedan in Janie’s driveway shortly after the incident. It remained there until the following morning when Father Jake emerged from the house and drove away in it. The neighbor claimed he was casually dressed and “shoeless.”

“I guess I called him,” said Janie. She turned the little piano upside down and Carly thumped on the bottom like a drum. The sound was much less jarring.

Noreen picked a thread from the slipcover’s hem. “Why not Charlie or Cormac? Or even Jude?”

“I don’t know,” Janie shrugged. “I didn’t want to bother them. Jake’s up half the night, anyway.”

“Bother them?” said Noreen, turning suddenly to Janie. “They’re family. You were attacked. They would never have considered it a bother. And how do you know Father’s up at night?”

“Because we’re friends. Neither of us sleeps very well, and sometimes we talk at night. It’s no big deal, Mum.” It sounded meaningless as she said it, but Janie knew it was not meaningless. It meant something. Carly flipped the piano right side up and began to bang on the tin-sounding keys again.

Noreen retreated to fiddling with the slipcover, smoothing the green-speckled print with her sun-spotted hand. “You’re very friendly with him.”

“So?” Janie flipped the piano again. Carly flipped it back.

“I’m not going to interfere in your life…”

“Good.”

“…but it seems to me that such a friendship might not be…”

“What?”

“…the best idea.”

“Mum, please. I don’t know what you’re worried about.” Janie knew exactly what her mother was worried about, and if she were completely honest, she would have admitted to herself that she, too, had some concerns. She didn’t like the quickening of her pulse when Jake came into view and she didn’t like how much she thought about him when he wasn’t with her. She certainly knew it was not a good idea to speculate whether he thought about her, too. And yet, like knowing where your mother hid the Easter chocolates when you were a child, it was hard not to think about it.

“Janie,” said Noreen, above the baby’s racket. “Sweetheart, please be careful.”

Janie tossed the little piano into the toy bin and took the angry baby into the kitchen for a snack.

T
HE AFTERNOON HAD GONE
better than the morning. Once Dylan was home, his dogged attempts to learn to ride his new two-wheeler had distracted Janie and Noreen from the disturbing thoughts that Wick Lally’s insinuation-ridden report had aroused. Those concerns and their brief confrontation had not been laid to rest, however they had gone dormant for the time being. Noreen went over to Jude’s after dinner. To Janie, the relief was palpable.

The phone rang shortly after Janie got the children into bed. It was Heidi, with a tone to her voice that made Janie wonder if she were going to ask for a loan. “So what’s up?” Janie finally said.

“Well, nothing really. Just calling to say Hi…also, I was wondering if you know anything about your contractor’s…personal life. He wasn’t wearing a ring or anything…”

“You’re interested in Tug?” asked Janie. She stopped unloading the dishwasher.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Heidi. “I might be. If he isn’t married or involved or anything. I would never date a married man. Like ever.”

“I don’t think he’s married.” Janie held a mug in midair considering this point. “He’s never mentioned a wife or kids. Just his nieces.”

“He’s…handsome. Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

“He’s not bad looking.” Was Tug married? Did he have a woman in his life at all? How had she missed this point, she wondered, tapping the bottom of the mug against her palm.

“He’s very sweet with the boys,” said Heidi. “And he seems smart. Is he a good businessman?”

“I guess so. He’s not overcharging me or anything.” Actually, he’d gone out of his way to keep her costs down, she remembered.

“Do you think he would be okay if I, you know…asked him out?” Heidi seemed almost in pain at this point. “He’s not one of those macho guys who hates modern women, is he?” she asked, cringing.

“I honestly don’t know.” Janie put the mug on the counter and crossed her arms.

“Janie?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you find out?”

T
HE ROOF SHINGLES WERE
done and Tug was working on a railing with balusters that would ring the porch. “The balusters aren’t strictly necessary,” he explained. “But with kids, you don’t want
them running into the screen and punching holes in it or banging their heads on the railing.”

“Okay,” said Janie. “Sounds good.”

“I’m going to stain them cherry, so they’re lighter than the mahogany on the floor, but the colors won’t fight each other. You alright with that?”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“I said I was, didn’t I?”

Tug chuckled. “You going soft on me? I expect more pushback than that.”

“Let’s see,” she narrowed her eyes in mock anger, and stuck her fingers out dramatically as she counted: “The new back wall, the bigger window, the mahogany flooring, oh and let’s not forget the security system that’s not even part of the project. Now balusters. When—if ever—have you not gotten your way when you wanted to diverge from the plan? Huh? Never, that’s when. So why should I waste my time questioning you about something you’re just going to do, anyway?”

He laughed. “Guess you got me there.” After a moment her smile faded. “What?” he asked.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Heidi. You know, Keane’s mother? Blond, kind of perky?”

“I remember.”

“She asked me if you were married. You’ve been at my house all day every day, for over two months, and I don’t even know that about you.”

“Well…,” he stammered. “It’s not like we sit around shooting the breeze all the time. And you’ve been busy with your own…,” he searched for the word, “…life.”

“So are you?”

“No.”

“Seeing someone?”

“No.”

“Would you ever be interested in a date? With Heidi? Because she might be interested.”

Tug’s tan skin became tinged with pink. “Oh.”

“It’s okay to say no. She’s so…you know…cute. I’m sure there are lots of guys who would go out with her. It’s not like you’re the last chance she’ll ever have for a date.”

Tug let out a confused chuckle. “Okay.”

“Okay, yes?”

“No…,” he said, and took a breath. “No. I’m not dating these days. I’m kind of on vacation from all that.”

“Oh.” Janie didn’t know whether to ask for clarification, though she was vaguely curious. She was about to go back inside when he said, “Tell you the truth, she looks just like my ex-wife.”

“Really?”

“Dead ringer.”

“So…that’s not good. In terms of dating.”

“It’d be a little distracting.”

Janie smiled. “I won’t tell her that part.”

“She’s very nice,” he said. “I’m just not…”

“In the market. Okay. And guess what? I changed my mind about those balusters.” She flicked her thumb over her shoulder. “They’re out.”

He laughed and adjusted the baluster he’d been working on so it fit a little tighter. “Anything you say, Mrs. LaMarche. You’re the boss.”

T
HAT NIGHT
, J
ANIE DREAMED
she was trekking through a shadowy forest, muddy and scratched, as if she’d fallen down a ravine. Cold, wet clothing clung to her body, constricting her movement in every direction. The path she was following ended abruptly at the shore of a steam-shrouded lake. She pulled off her boots and tore at her clothes, aching to enter the warm water.

When she was finally free of every stitch of clammy, binding cloth, she dove in. The water was soft and warm and strangely buoyant. The scrapes on her aching limbs stopped hurting and she felt clean and safe. She was like a seal, skimming in and out of the water. Something swam up to her, another seal-person. He swam around and around her and she couldn’t see his face. His hands glided up her body, touching her, healing her. And then his head rose above the water and his lips skimmed across her face. She felt herself grow warmer and warmer until he was kissing her, gently probing her with his hands, and she reached out to pull his smooth wet body toward her.

“Jake,” she said, as their legs entwined and their heads slipped below the water.

W
HEN SHE BECAME AWARE
of the pillow under her cheek, Janie shut her eyes tighter and tried to dive back down into the dream. She wanted to be naked and warm and pressed against that seal-man’s body, with every nerve ending throbbing in anticipation of feeling good for a change; without a thought except for what might happen in the next moment, subsequent moments being too far in the future to warrant consideration. Not caring, not hurting, not knowing anyone or anything.

No such fucking luck,
she groaned to herself as the light behind her eyelids seemed to grow brighter. The illusion of happiness slipping away from her, melting back into the recesses of her limited imagination, made her breathless with frustration.

It was Jake,
she had to admit to herself. He was in the dream, and he was in her head in a way that he shouldn’t be. But what were her options? She knew she could not force herself to stop thinking about him any more than she could force herself not to dream about him.
What if he were married?
she asked herself.
How would I handle it?
She knew how—avoid him until the unwanted feelings subsided. It was the only way to deal with a stupid crush.

Unacceptable. She was barely getting through the days as it was. How would she vent her molten feelings, manage her hair-trigger temper, or feel the least bit understood without a daily dose of Jake? This…okay, yes, this crush—it would pass. It had only developed, like some minor localized infection, because her resistance was low. It had been eight months without intimacy of any kind, and her craving to connect—with anyone who could stand her long enough to understand her—had led her into this…infected crush.

Funny though. She’d never had an infection that felt this good.

“W
HERE ARE YOU GOING
?” Janie asked her mother as she came downstairs to gun the coffee maker to full throttle. “You’re dressed up.”

“To church.”

On a Thursday?
A vague tension settled into Janie’s shoulders. “Morning Mass?” she asked. Noreen nodded. Janie turned to find the bag of grounds in the cabinet. “Well, pray for me.”

“Every day,” said Noreen. “The best I can.”

W
HEN
J
ANIE DROPPED
D
YLAN
off at Pond Pals camp, Heidi was there, taking longer than usual to get Keane settled, arranging his backpack with exacting precision in the pile of bags by the gate. “Oh, hi!” she said expectantly to Janie.

“Hi,” said Janie, shifting the growing baby a little higher up her hip. She waved to Dylan as he scooted off to assume the seat on the story blanket that Keane routinely saved for him.

“What’s new?” asked Heidi.

Janie shrugged.
I have a pus-filled, suppurating, infected crush on the parish priest
, she thought,
but other than that, nothing much.

“Come on,” urged Heidi. “Don’t make me ask.”

“What?”

“Did you talk to him?”

Jake?
she thought. But she knew Heidi could have no idea about that. No one did. “Oh, Tug.”

Heidi gave an embarrassed sigh. “It’s okay. You’ve got a lot on your mind.” She was doing that desperate, unpopular girl thing again, which was hard for Janie to make sense of in the context of the Gwyneth Paltrow looks and the Ann Taylor suit.

“No, I talked to him,” said Janie. “He’s divorced, but not looking. He’s on vacation from dating.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s pretty much all he said.”

Heidi’s face went slack with disappointment, then she nodded. “Must have been a bad divorce.”