Shelter Me

by Juliette Fay

  Aunt Jude stopped to check the pizza and plunked down into a chair, which served to rouse Janie from her stupor. “Oh, okay,” said Janie, attempting to seem as if she’d been listening.

  Aunt Jude continued. “So when they decided to do a raffle to raise money, I called up Arturo, because he was so friendly and helpful. Such a nice man. He’s Argentinian. No, now wait, I think he’s Perunian…Perunian? Is that right?”

  “Yup,” mumbled Janie, combing her black curls onto the back of her head with her fingers. What was this about prunes? She let the hair fall back onto her shoulders.

  “Well, didn’t he give me a whole Experiential Safety class for the raffle! A whole class! That’s from nine in the morning to five in the afternoon. You can bring your lunch and eat in the classroom, but not on the mats, I don’t think, because that could be messy. Or there are some very reasonable restaurants nearby. There’s a Pirate’s Hideaway, you know the one with the nets over the order counter and a gangplank by the restrooms? They have those in Rhode Island, too, because Auntie Brigie and I took a trip to Newport once, just for the day. It’s kind of a long ride, though, so I wouldn’t recommend it. Not with the little ones, anyway. So, guess what? You’re going!”

  “To Newport?”

  “No, to the class! So you won’t have to be so scared around here at night, when the house makes all those strange noises. You can protect the babies.” Aunt Jude got up to check the pizza again. “You know they still haven’t caught that cat burglar, the one that broke into those houses in Natick. Right in the middle of the night, he did it, with everyone just snoozing away. Pelham could be his next target.” She sucked air in through her pursed lips. “I shudder to think!”

  “Whoa, hold on,” said Janie, finally realizing something had transpired that involved her. “I don’t want to go to any class. You have to stop this.”

  “Stop what?” Aunt Jude closed the oven. She stood there with the oven mitts held up, as if she were about to perform surgery on a fire-breathing dragon.

  “Stop signing me up for things. I don’t want to go to classes or grief groups or harbor cruises or any other crazy thing you find online. The Internet is not the solution to all of life’s problems!”

  Aunt Jude tossed the oven mitts on the counter. “You’re just hungry.”

  Janie blew an agitated huff. “So? Even if I stuffed myself with frozen pizza, and ate every friggin’ Fig Newton on the planet, I still would NOT GO TO ANY CLASSES.”

  “Jane Elizabeth Dwyer LaMarche—”

  “And don’t start using all my names, because that does not work with me—”

  “Your mother would be so ashamed to hear you speak like—”

  “YOUR SISTER is in ITALY. In EUROPE. A whole OCEAN away. She came home for ONE WEEK when Robby died. ONE…GODDAMNED…” Janie clenched her teeth on the ache in her jaw, willing herself, commanding herself not to shed one single drop.

  “Yes, well,” Aunt Jude shook her head, opened her mouth to say something, shook her head again. She put the mitts back on and took the pizza out. One side of the mushroom and olive was almost black. “Noreen’s the sensitive one,” she said finally.

  “SENSITIVE, MY ASS!” yelled Janie. Reeling away from Aunt Jude she caught sight of Carly sitting in her highchair. The corners of her little mouth were turned down into her trembling chin. Her eyes filled and overflowed onto the reddened cheeks, but no sound came from her. Janie burst into tears and put her hands over her face.

  “There, now,” she heard Aunt Jude say, lifting Carly from her seat. “There, there, now.” Holding the baby in one loose-skinned arm, Aunt Jude put her other arm around Janie. Carly reached out to grab a handful of Janie’s black hair. Ashamed of herself, Janie could not reach back.

  THE NEXT EVENING, SATURDAY, Cormac stopped by with a bag of muffins.

  “Ah,” said Janie. “The Pelham swat team has arrived.”

  “Available for crises of all varieties, chickie,” he said, and gave her a hug that lasted a second or two longer than usual. “Aunt Jude came by the bakery for soda bread this afternoon.”

  “Give you an earful, did she?” Janie closed the front door and followed him into her kitchen.

  “Well,” he said, reaching for the blue flowered plate on top of the kitchen cabinet. “Yeah. You know her.” He took pineapple coconut muffins from the bag and arranged them on the plate. The last muffin, pistachio, he handed to Janie. She poured him a glass of orange juice and they sat down.

  “I’m alright, you know,” she said. “It’s only her that makes me flip out. She’s been capable of that my whole life, not just since Robby died.”

  “Nah, I know.” His massive fingers delicately pulled the top off a muffin and returned the bottom to the serving plate. “I was just thinking about your mom.”

  Janie rolled her eyes.

  “No,” he said, “just that it’s weird, her staying in Italy. I mean, I know she loves that job at the American School there. But, you know. It’s summer.” The entire muffin top went into his mouth.

  “She can do what she likes.” Janie picked a pistachio, still in its shell, off the top of the muffin. A year ago she had convinced him not to put green food color in the pistachio muffins, telling him it was old-fashioned, like dressing boys in blue and girls in pink. He solved the muffin’s ensuing identity crisis by placing a whole pistachio on each one, like a flag announcing its country of origin.

  “She should be here,” he said.

  “Well, she’s not.” Janie rolled the pistachio between her fingers. “I’m thirty-eight years old. She’s no longer responsible for my mental state. And, honestly, I don’t even know that I’d want her here.”

  “Come on.”

  “She’d be watching me like a hawk, worrying, fussing, sewing things like her life depended on it.”

  Cormac finished off his juice and dissected another muffin. “Hell of a stitcher, that one,” he said. “Still, it’d be nice to have the company.”

  Janie shrugged and nibbled a piece of her muffin.

  Cormac licked a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “You thinking about going back to work any time soon? Not like I’m pushing or anything,” he said. “But maybe a little outside contact might be a good thing. People to talk to.”

  “People with respiratory problems aren’t usually too chatty,” she said.

  “You know what I mean. At the hospital. Co-workers, janitorial staff…flower delivery people…pushy family members…”

  He meant well, but the very thought made her stomach clench. “I can’t even imagine getting dressed in work clothes, much less actually getting out the door. Besides what would I do with the kids?” She took another bite of her muffin. “You change the recipe on these?” she asked.

  “Not really,” Cormac replied, his mouth full of muffin top.

  “You did too.” Janie took a bigger bite. “It’s sweeter.”

  “We just added a little brown sugar. Not that much. I can’t believe you can even taste it.”

  “We?” said Janie. “What’s ‘we’? There is no ‘we’ at Cormac’s Confectionary. There is only Cormac. Or was that the royal ‘we’? As in ‘We are not amused.’” She affected a British accent.

  “One of the employees suggested it, and I decided to give it a try,” he said, though the color was rising on his large cheekbones.

  “Cormac McGrath, you have made a career out of never doing what anyone wanted you to do, so don’t give me that load of bull. Who, exactly, suggested it?”

  “Can’t remember.”

  “Let me see if I can jog your memory. Unnaturally tall, thin, and busty? Comes complete with oven mitts and matching flour sack? Yes, it’s Bakery Barbie, now available at a toy store near you!”

  Cormac grinned, but didn’t let out the big laugh Janie expected. “She’s nice, you know,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m just teasing,” said Janie, covering her surprise and an odd twinge of jealousy. Cormac took advice from Janie only rarely, and
virtually never from anyone else. He’d had a lot of girlfriends in his forty years. A few had been serious; one had even enthralled him to the point that he followed her to Oregon and lived with her for a year. But then he came back. Janie suspected him of being too happy for marriage. He never seemed to need anything or anyone in his life that he didn’t already have.

  “So what about that self-defense course?” asked Cormac.

  “Oh, please!” said Janie. “What are you? Aunt Jude’s minion?”

  “If I were Aunt Jude’s minion, I’d have horns coming out of my head and a spiked tail. I know it’s hard to believe, but from time to time I just happen to agree with her.”

  “Why, for godsake? It’s not like I live in some bad neighborhood in Boston. I don’t even go to Boston very often. I just sit here in boring old Pelham, where the biggest crime is throwing recyclables in with the garbage.”

  “Read the police log in the paper. Stuff happens.”

  “Oh yeah. I could get my mailbox bashed in by a Red Bull–crazed lacrosse player. You’ve been giving Dougie Shaw too many free cupcakes.”

  “Hey, Officer Dougie may not exactly be Starsky or Hutch, but he knows about all kinds of crazy crap that goes on.”

  “Like?”

  “Like those break-ins in Natick. And he says there’s a whole lot more wife beating than anybody knows about.”

  Janie looked away. “I think I’m safe on that score.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Cormac. He reached out his hand, speckled with tiny oven-burn scars, and patted her pale arm. “Chickie, I’m sorry.”

  She gave him a weak smile, “You’re forgiven if you lay off the self-defense course.”

  He leaned toward her and whispered, “No chance.”

  TUESDAY, JUNE 19

  Shelly came by this afternoon, all excited about a nibble on that other Pelham Heights house. The one she sold a couple of weeks ago was what she calls “A Big-Girl House.” Women who wear good jewelry to the gym and whose parties are never potlucks. This one is even bigger, the grandest house she’s ever listed, she says. Must cost a couple million. I don’t want it to sell. Not sure why. I guess I don’t want her to turn into a Big Girl and get a house to match.

  She was all over me about the stupid self-defense course. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it, except I thought she would be on my side. She’s always on my side about everything else, which is weird when you think about it. I’m probably wrong a lot.

  Anyway, she kept saying, “I’m a Real Estate Agent,” as if this might actually INCREASE her credibility. She says there was an attempted break-in up in Pelham Heights, but the guy ran when the alarm went off. Then she peppered me with all the robberies and scams and near misses she’s heard of in her fifty-three years. Shelly would consider it an assault if someone accidentally bumped her with their grocery cart and put a run in her twenty-dollar stockings.

  I told her I don’t need to worry about intruders. Anyone stupid enough to sneak up on my house in the middle of the night is going to break his ankle in one of the many gaping holes in my front yard—all thanks to her good friend the contractor, Mr. Dig-and-Disappear.

  After she left, I took the kids to Town Beach for the first time since last fall. Just couldn’t stand to be in the house any more. I forgot how big Lake Pequot is. It’s big. And windy. I know the water’s probably full of goose poop, but there’s something about the place that makes you feel almost healthy. It calmed me down from Shelly’s suburban tales of evil and woe.

  Dylan was busy digging a hole for a family of twigs he collected and Carly was sleepy, so I lay down on the blanket with her. She kept looking and looking at me. I had to close my eyes to get her to settle down and doze off. When I opened my eyes I saw what seemed like teeny, tiny fireworks hovering above the sand. Then my eyes focused and it was just a swarm of little bugs with the sun glinting off them. It wasn’t a miracle or anything, but for a moment or two it was pretty entertaining.

  4

  WHEN FATHER JAKE ARRIVED that Friday he looked dramatically different. Actually, the difference was rather minor, but it made him seem like another person—his twin, perhaps, who was pinch-hitting while the ghostly priest haunted some other woebe-gone soul. He had on the same black jeans and black shirt he wore every day of his life, as far as Janie knew. But in place of the somber black sport shoes, there were tan low-cut hiking boots. And because the weather had turned cooler, he was wearing a brown chamois shirt over the black cotton button down. Strangest of all, the little white insert in his collar was gone. It was as if Johnny Cash had made a side trip to L. L. Bean.

  “Everything okay?” asked Janie.

  “What—you mean this?” he asked, holding up a large glass jar with a white screw-top. Distracted by his new persona, Janie hadn’t even noticed what he was carrying. “We had a thank-you brunch for all the church volunteers,” he explained. “This had fruit cup in it. I saved it for you.”

  “Thanks,” she said, baffled.

  “You’re welcome.” He set the jar on the counter in the kitchen. Carly was sitting in her highchair, aiming her tiny thumb and forefinger at a sprinkling of Cheerios on her tray. “She’s up,” said Father Jake. “That’s perfect.”

  “For…?” asked Janie.

  “For a hike. I thought we could walk over to Jansen Woods.”

  “Well, that’s a nice idea but it’s her nap time.”

  “You have one of those baby backpacks, right? Would she sleep in that?”

  She’d pass out like a drunken sailor, thought Janie. “I guess, but we wouldn’t get very far. Jansen Woods is half a mile from here. You have to be back by noon.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. You just always leave at noon.”

  “Well, it won’t matter if I’m back later. Do you have sneakers or something?”

  Of course she did. There was nothing at all keeping Janie from taking a walk, other than the fact that she didn’t want to. She didn’t even know why she didn’t want to—it was a beautiful, clear, cool day. She and Robby had spent many days just like this one hiking in New Hampshire or Vermont before they’d had kids. She loved to hike. But not now.

  Nevertheless there she was, trudging up her shady street. Carly was strapped into the carrier on her back, the wide pink brim of the baby’s hat flopping with each reluctant step Janie took. Father Jake commented on various things around them: a squad of bicycles in a neighbor’s yard, the height of an evergreen, the lack of fences. “How do you like your neighbors?” he asked.

  “Well, I don’t know everyone,” she said. “Some keep to themselves. But most are nice. A few are still here from when I was a kid growing up in the neighborhood. When Robby died they sent an unbelievable amount of food. Kind of funny because I’d never had less of an appetite in my life, and suddenly I was up to my armpits in casseroles and banana bread.”

  Father Jake nodded and strode silently for a few minutes. “You know, I was thinking,” he said quietly. “That’s one of the worst things about being homeless. I mean, other than being without shelter. No neighbors. No one to notice when your life takes an unexpected turn. No one to bake banana bread.”

  “So you’re saying I should be glad.”

  “Glad?”

  “That though I’m a widow, pushing forty, with two small children, at least I have a roof over my head.” She felt Carly slump slowly forward against her back, the little dozing body collapsing by degrees. “Of course, if I were homeless, I suppose I could be glad that I wasn’t also blind. Or lame. Or cursed with the heartbreak of psoriasis.”

  Father Jake smiled at her. “You always make things funny.”

  “By that you mean I’m a sarcastic smart-ass.”

  “By that I mean you’re funny. I wish I had that gift. I imagine it helps.”

  Janie stopped and put her hands on her hips. It took Father Jake a step or two to realize she wasn’t moving forward anymore. He turned toward her and waited.

  “You
know,” she said quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping baby, “you’d have a little more credibility if you weren’t so unflinchingly nice.” His eyebrows shot up. Janie continued, “I’ve been a total bitch to you, and you keep acting like visiting me is somehow pleasant.”

  He squinted at her, nodded slightly, looked away. Then he met her gaze. “I guess both things are true. You have been a total bitch to me. You’re antagonistic and snide and a terrible listener.”

  Janie stepped back, stunned.

  “You’re also…” he searched for the word, “oddly likable, underneath all the sarcasm. And,” he rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyebrows. “And you bagged me doing my…what did you call it…? My Father Friendly impression.” He chuckled then and shook his head. “I am unflinchingly nice, and it’s a kick to be around someone who challenges me to be more than that.”

  Janie turned slowly and began to walk again. The baby was now snoring gently against her shoulder blade, the weight propelling her forward. “Where’s your collar?” she asked as Father Jake fell into step with her.

  “In my pocket. I got the feeling it annoyed you.”

  They turned right at the end of her street, down a less-frequented road; this dead-ended at a path that climbed gradually up a hill. Father Jake matched her pace, neither slow nor fast, and she began to feel her limbs warm up. Not a surging, angry heat, the kind that had become so familiar in the past five months. More of a steady warmth that poured through her like hot honey. “So, I’m a terrible listener,” she said.