Mary Jane

by Jessica Anya Blau

  The kids at Sunday school acted like they hadn’t seen me for months, though I’d only missed a single week when we’d been at the beach. They were all cute and funny, but I was missing Izzy terribly and would have rather not seen any kid if I couldn’t see her.

  Mr. Forge, the choir director, was also excited to see me. “Mary Jane! You were fraternizing with Jimmy and Sheba!”

  “Yeah.” I tried to remember what my mother wanted me to say.

  “Did you just happen to be in the record store?” Mrs. Clockshire asked. Mrs. Clockshire was round in every way. Even her open palm looked like a perfect circle.

  “Yeah. With Izzy. The kid I’ve been taking care of all summer.” My face burned and my heart hurt. I longed to be back at the Cone house.

  The rest of the choir gathered around me. I felt like a fox cornered by dogs, but no one said anything about the clothes I was wearing in the photo. Or the neighborhood Night Train Records was in. Or even that Jimmy was leaning into my ear. They were simply excited that I’d met Sheba and Jimmy.

  When it was time for the service to start, I went straight to the front row of the choir seats, just as my mother had instructed. I looked out into the pews and saw my parents. My father was staring off into space. My mother was watching me as if I were a recent parolee with a flight risk. I offered a small half smile. She did not smile back.

  When the choir stood for the first song, I started out singing quietly, but eventually let myself go with it. Mr. Forge liked throwing a modern song in every week and this Sunday he had chosen “Imagine” by John Lennon. He changed the words, though, so we sang, there’s more heaven instead of no heaven. He also changed no religion to no warring.

  When the song was over, I looked out at the congregation. Most people had a look on their faces that let me know they loved this song and how we’d sung it. My father was still staring off into space. My mother had no expression. Maybe she was so traumatized by my photo in the paper that getting through church this day was painful for her.

  I glanced past my mother and almost screamed. In the back row were Jimmy, Sheba, and Izzy. Izzy appeared to be standing on the pew to see better. Sheba was smiling so big, it was like her face was made up of white teeth. She was wearing the black wig that fell to her shoulders and had bangs, and had on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, like what the librarian at school wore. Jimmy was in a baseball cap, glasses, and a button-down shirt and a tie, both of which must have belonged to Dr. Cone. The only other time I’d seen Jimmy hiding his furry chest was when we’d gone to dinner at Morgan Millard.

  I didn’t wave, as I didn’t want to draw attention to them, but Izzy frantically waved to me until Sheba pulled her down onto her lap. I winked. I smiled. I blinked my eyes. And then I glanced at my mother, who had turned in her seat to see what I was looking at. I was pretty sure she couldn’t see them through the heads in the seats, though. She would have recognized Izzy and known that it was Jimmy and Sheba seated with her.

  I sang the remaining three songs as if I were singing for Jimmy, Sheba, and Izzy alone. In my head, I could hear Sheba harmonizing. I could hear Jimmy’s bubbling-engine voice. I could even hear Izzy wobbling in and out of tune. I tried not to look at them too much, for fear my mother would get out of her seat and march to the back of the church.

  When the service ended, I was the first one off my chair and out the internal side door to the basement where we hung our choir robes. Instead of going back up the stairs into the church, I took the door that went outside. The hot air slammed into my face as I ran around to the front doors of the church. My parents always lingered in their pew and talked with the people who sat near us. I’d have a couple of minutes to say hello to Jimmy, Sheba, and Izzy.

  The glossy red double doors were open and people were spilling outside. As I was dashing up the marble steps, Mrs. Cranger stopped me. “Mary Jane, I knew that was you in the paper!”

  “Oh yeah! Funny that I was there, wasn’t it?” I said without pausing.

  But when I pushed my way inside, Jimmy, Sheba, and Izzy were gone. My stomach felt like it did a full rotation. My parents were chatting their way down the aisle, my mother with her hand on the elbow of the blind man, Mr. Blackstone.

  I turned and went outside. And then I saw the Cones’ station wagon pulled alongside the curb, running.

  “MARY JANE!” Izzy hung out the open window, waving her arms to me.

  I started to go to her when Pastor Fearson stopped me. He put his two hands over one of mine, as if he were warming my chilled fingers, and then leaned his head in toward me. “Mary Jane! What a surprise to see your picture in the paper!”

  “Yes. That was a surprise.” I could hear Izzy’s little voice calling my name over the murmur of the congregation. People were now filling the wide marble steps that led to the sidewalk. I looked around Pastor Fearson to the station wagon. Izzy motioned for me to come to her.

  But before I could move, my mother stepped in beside me and grasped my upper arm. “Mary Jane was the summer nanny for Dr. and Mrs. Cone. They took her to the record store.”

  “And what a fortuitious trip that was!” Pastor Fearson released my hand. “I don’t know who that man was, but I loved Sheba’s show. Watched just about every one.”

  “Mary Jane! Come see me!” I heard. My mother’s head jerked toward the Cone station wagon. My father stepped between my mother and me. It was like the execution of a military maneuver.

  “Pastor,” my father said, sticking out his hand for a shake. “We’ll see you next week.”

  My father set one hand on my lower back and linked his free arm into my mother’s. He walked us, chained like that, through the crowd.

  A horn beeped twice, quickly, and my mother, father, and I looked toward the station wagon. Sheba was at the wheel.

  “Oh no,” my mother said.

  My father moved his hand up to my arm. “I’m calling Dr. Cone when we get home. He needs to get his patients under control.”

  We were on the sidewalk now. Walking toward our house. Sheba rolled the station wagon beside us. Izzy leaned out the window. “Mary Jane! Why won’t you come see me?!”

  “What is wrong with these people?” my mother hissed.

  My father’s fingers clamped on my arm. Sheba continued to drive slowly beside us. She and Jimmy were looking straight ahead, as if they just happened to be cruising this same street where we were walking. But Izzy hid nothing. Her arms hung out the window. She stared at us, her mouth open, her eyes wild with confusion.

  We turned the corner, and so did the car. Sheba gunned the car so it was half a block past us, and then stopped. Jimmy got out, walked around to the other side, and opened the back door. The engine was still running.

  My father squeezed my arm and jerked me forward. My mother gasped.

  I looked at Jimmy. He nodded and motioned with his head toward the car

  “What do they want?” my mother asked. “Make them go away.”

  My father yanked me harder. He quickened his pace. My mother’s pointed pumps made a clicking sound as she trotted to keep up.

  And then, where the sidewalk curved around a massive elm tree, there was a raised buckle. My mother stumbled, and my father let go of my arm to catch her.

  And I ran.

  “GO, MARY JANE! GO!” Izzy shouted.

  I darted toward her voice, toward the open door. The car started moving and I dove in headfirst, Starsky and Hutch style. Jimmy jumped in behind me as Sheba tore away. Izzy tumbled on top of me, squealing and screaming and covering me with kisses.

  The car zoomed down the street. Past my house, pretty as a postcard. Past Beanie Jones’s house (Sheba’s finger in the air). Past the beautiful, messy Cone house.

  Out of Roland Park.

  Jimmy climbed into the front seat as Sheba got on the expressway. Izzy sat on my lap and I wrapped my arms around her and stuck my nose into her curly hair. I was so happy, I couldn’t speak. The window was still down and hot air blew into the ca
r like a torch.

  “I missed you all so much,” I said at last.

  “We missed you!” Sheba ripped off her wig and threw it behind her. It landed on the seat beside me and Izzy.

  Izzy turned her head and kissed my cheek. “I cried every night. The family wasn’t the same without you.”

  “It’s a family af-faaaair . . . !” Jimmy started singing the Sly and the Family Stone song that Izzy loved.

  “It’s a family af-faaaaair. . . . !” Sheba jumped in.

  And then Izzy and I sang along too.

  13

  The first thing I saw was my mother, seated on a chair in the Cones’ living room. Her thick orangey-beige stockings looked Velcroed together at her crossed ankles. Then there was the even more startling sight of my father on the couch. Beside him, Mrs. Cone was wearing an untucked gold silk blouse. Her nipples tented out from the thin fabric. Dr. Cone stood near the fireplace, one hand flat against the mantel. The house was only slightly messier than I had left it, so either Sheba or Izzy had been tidying up in my absence.

  Our Starsky and Hutch escape had only lasted about twenty minutes, so my parents couldn’t have been sitting there long. Sheba had worried they would call the police, so we’d returned to the Cones’ with the idea that we’d have a quick snack and then Sheba would walk me home and seduce (her word) my parents into a blanket pardon: the escape, the clothing, the lies. We’d even gone so far as to plan the outfit Sheba would wear: a tidy pink sheath that wasn’t too short or revealing. I knew the dress Sheba was talking about, as I’d seen it in her closet. It was something my mother would never wear, but it was the only piece of clothing Sheba had brought that my mother might not criticize.

  Izzy and I were hand in hand. One of us was sweating; I could feel the wetness pooling in our palms. Jimmy and Sheba stood behind us.

  No one spoke for a fraction of a second. Then Dr. Cone said, “Mary Jane, we’ve missed you!” He stepped forward and gave me a hug that felt both wonderful and terrifying. I couldn’t look at my father. What could he think of this grown man, this grown Jewish man, touching me?

  “Oh, Mary Jane!” Mrs. Cone got up from the couch and kissed me.

  “We came back so Mary Jane wouldn’t get in trouble.” Izzy turned to me and put her head in my belly. I picked her up and held her close against me, her head now deep in my neck.

  “Gerald Dillard.” My father stood. He walked around the coffee table and shook hands with Jimmy first, and then Sheba. My mother did the same and then sat back down on her chair. I knew my father wouldn’t sit again until Sheba did, and maybe Sheba knew this too, as she went to the couch and sat. Jimmy had claimed the other chair, so the only logical place for my father to plant his body was between Sheba and Mrs. Cone.

  “Mary Jane,” Izzy whispered loudly. “I’m hungry.”

  “Is it okay if I take Izzy to the kitchen for a quick snack?” I asked. I didn’t know who I was asking—my parents? Dr. and Mrs. Cone?—and I didn’t know where to look, so I stared at a misdirected whorl of shag carpet in front of Jimmy’s chair.

  “Oh, that would be wonderful,” Mrs. Cone said. “She hasn’t had lunch; she doesn’t seem to like anything I make for her now!”

  Dr. Cone said, “Mrs. Dillard, what an amazing chef you’ve made of your daughter. Each night another superb dinner!”

  My mother smiled, so I took that as a yes and escaped to the kitchen with Izzy still monkeyed on me. We scooted into the banquette and Izzy tumbled out of my arms. There was a chill of cool air on my sweat-damp neck.

  “Mary Jane,” Izzy whispered. “Are they going to put you in home jail again?” Jimmy had been calling it that in the car. He wanted to know what they fed me in home jail and if I was allowed to go to the bathroom unescorted when in home jail. We had to explain to Izzy what escorted and unescorted meant, and she pointed out that she rarely went to the bathroom unescorted, as she missed everyone when she was in there alone.

  “I hope not.” I leaned in and kissed the top of Izzy’s head. Her loamy, sweet smell and the feel of her curls on my face calmed me. “Let’s eat.”

  I scooted out from the banquette and went to the fridge. When I opened it, I found, to my relief, that it was still clean, though less stocked than I’d kept it.

  “Birds in a nest!”

  “Okay.” I pulled out the eggs. “Who made dinner when I was gone?”

  “No one.”

  “No one?” I got out the mixing bowl and started cracking eggs.

  “Hmm, Jimmy made breakfast-dinner one night.”

  “Fried bread and bacon?”

  “Uh-huh. And we got Little Tavern.”

  “Yeah?” I was cracking far more eggs than was necessary for just me and Izzy. Would others come in and eat? Or was I about to be carted off to home jail?

  “And I can’t remember the other nights.” Izzy looked up, thinking. “CHINESE! We had Chinese.”

  “Good remembering!” I whisked the eggs, then got out the milk. “What else did you do when I wasn’t here?”

  While I mixed up the pancake batter and heated the pan, Izzy climbed onto the orange stool and talked through her days and nights without me. Nothing particularly exciting had happened, but still I felt that I had missed things in simply not having been part of the daily routine.

  Izzy was salting the birds in a nest when my mother and Mrs. Cone came in.

  “Oh, are you making eggs in a nest?” Mrs. Cone clapped her hands together.

  “BIRDS in a nest!” Izzy said.

  My mother leaned over the pan. “You put too much butter in.”

  “This is how Izzy likes it.” I flipped a nest over.

  “We love Mary Jane’s meals so much,” Mrs. Cone said.

  My mother’s mouth pulled up into a forced smile. “She still has a lot to learn.” I saw her look around at the kitchen, the dishes in the sink, the books on the table, the jade Buddha on the windowsill, the unswept floor.

  My father stepped into the kitchen with Dr. Cone. “Okay, Mary Jane. Let’s go now.” His voice was firm and fast.

  “Let me just put out the food.” I went to the cupboard and took down four plates. My mother’s head bopped back just an inch as she watched. For her, letting a fourteen-year-old take over a kitchen was like handing over the controls of a flying jet to a random passenger.

  I passed the plates to Izzy, who placed them on the table.

  Dr. Cone put his hand on my father’s shoulder. “Are you sure you can’t join us for lunch?”

  “I have something planned,” my mother said. “It would be such a shame to waste the food.”

  I nervously re-salted what Izzy had already salted. My heart ticktocked like a timer.

  “Syrup?” Izzy asked.

  “Fridge door,” I said.

  With the red oven mitt that I kept tucked behind the toaster, I lifted the frying pan and walked it to the table. Everyone watched as I slid a bird in a nest onto each of the plates.

  “It’s much easier, dear, if you bring the plates to the pan,” my mother said.

  “Mary Jane, aren’t you going to eat with us?” Izzy hugged my legs.

  “I’m sorry.” I put the empty pan on the burner and then picked up Izzy and buried my face in her neck. The urge to cry welled up from my chest to my throat like a wave about to crash. But I swallowed it away and held it down.

  I kissed Izzy on the cheek and then took her to the banquette and set her in front of a plate. There was no silverware, so I quickly went to the silverware drawer. I held it open for a moment, admiring how clean it was. Just last week, Izzy and I had removed the silverware tray and emptied the cutlery. Both the tray and the drawer that held it were filled with crumbs, jam smears, unidentifiable seeds, and even dead bugs. I wanted to point out how clean the drawer was to my mother. It was something she might appreciate.

  “We need to get going, dear.” My mother crossed her arms and stared me down.

  Quickly, I pulled out the knives and forks and laid them
on the table. I leaned into Izzy’s ear and whispered, “I promise I’ll be back, but it might not be until school starts again.” Izzy looked at me, her eyes huge and wet. I kissed her quickly before I could feel her feelings and double them, and then I followed my parents out of the kichen.

  Dr. and Mrs. Cone walked us to the entrance hall. No one spoke until Dr. Cone opened the front door.

  “This humidity can kill a golf game,” my father said.

  “I’m sure it does,” Dr. Cone said. “I can take it about fifteen degrees hotter than this when there’s no humidity.”

  “Do you golf too?” Mrs. Cone asked my mother.

  “I prefer tennis.”

  “She’s a doubles gal,” my father said. “Singles in this heat will ruin her hairdo.”

  My mother smiled and then patted her stiff hair. “Well, thank you so much for having us in.”

  “It would be lovely if Mary Jane could come back till the end of summer,” Dr. Cone said.

  “What a shame she can’t,” my mom said, and smiled real big and stiff, like she was posing for a picture she didn’t want taken.

  I stared toward the steps, hoping to see Jimmy or Sheba bounding down. It seemed impossible that I’d walk out that door and simply never see them again.

  “Goodbye now,” my father said, and then I was on the sidewalk once more, between my parents, moving toward our house. I turned my head back several times, hoping that someone from the Cone house, even Dr. Cone himself, might run out and beg me to return. But no one did.

  My mother unlocked the front door, and then the three of us stepped into the sterile chill of the air-conditioning. My father immediately went to his chair.

  “Set the table for lunch,” my mother said.

  I followed her into the kitchen. She took a pot out of the refrigerator and placed it on the stove. “Chicken noodle soup.”

  I took down three bowls and placed them on the kitchen table. Then I opened the silverware drawer. I had to admire the shiny, organized cleanliness. The spoons were nested, hugging one another. The knives were lined up like canned sardines. And the forks were stacked atop one another in two neat piles. I looked over at my mother, slowly stirring the soup, her mouth in a downward melt. Before I could think it through, I put my hand into the forks and disrupted the piling. Then I did the same with the knives. The spoons seemed to cling to each other, like sleeping kittens. I flipped half of them upside down, and then removed three.