Shelter Me

by Juliette Fay

  On Wednesday, the weather cleared, and mist rose from the pine needles as Janie dropped Dylan off at camp. Keane was already there, saving a seat for Dylan. Dylan sat next to some other boy whom Janie didn’t recognize. After dinner, he said he was tired and went to bed early.

  Cormac and Barb came over and were disappointed to find that Dylan was already fast asleep. Barb had made a collage of pictures from his birthday party. In the center was a close-up of Cormac’s ingenious pirate cake. The mat around it had openings cut off-kilter for the other pictures: Keane and Dylan laughing and pointing to the earring on the pirate’s butt; the boys bobbing for apples with Uncle Charlie; a close-up of Gram and Aunt Jude singing “Happy Birthday”; Tug showing Dylan how to use the tiny screwdriver; Janie and Cormac passing out cake to Heidi and Father Jake; Carly pulling herself up on Dylan’s new bike.

  There was a separate picture, too. Beautifully matted and framed, it was of their little family sitting in the grass. Janie’s head was turned toward Dylan whispering into his ear, and his mouth was wide with laughter. The only one looking directly into the camera lens was Carly. Steadying herself between her mother’s upright knees, the baby graced the picture with a look of such confidence and purpose it was as if she were planning her first solo flight. At any moment she would soar above the backyard and head for parts unknown. Barb’s photo had managed to capture the true Carly, not the lifelike doll who got toted from one errand to the next, whose mother barely even knew her.

  It was a gut punch, as if every photo exposed Janie’s shortcomings as a mother, a daughter, a friend, and an employer. For a brief moment she wondered if Barb had designed it for that express purpose. No, she determined, Barb wasn’t that smart. Just monumentally insensitive.

  Janie did try to hold her tongue. When Cormac offered to get a hammer and picture hook and put them up for her right away, she didn’t immediately tell them that she had no plans to hang them, would likely store them in a distant corner of the web-ridden eaves. No, she had only said that she didn’t want to wake the children with the hammering. But Cormac persisted, and Janie admitted that she might need some time to get used to them. Why? they asked.

  She finally lost patience and told them. Because she didn’t think that Dylan would want such a detailed reminder of the worst birthday of his life. Which, of course, was only part of the truth.

  Barb left the house in tears. Cormac stayed long enough to express his disappointment in Janie’s insensitivity. HER insensitivity! Janie replied that she would get right to work on a Pology scone for Barb, unless she didn’t do carbs, in which case Janie could grow her some Pology lettuce.

  EVERY DAY SEEMED TO end worse than the last, and Thursday was no exception. Noreen had an evening flight back to her Italian homeland, and Uncle Charlie had spent hours spritzing Armor All on the plastic interior of his Ford Tempo. Janie picked Dylan up at camp a few minutes early to avoid seeing Heidi, then drove to Aunt Jude’s so the kids could say good-bye to their gram.

  “I didn’t see you that much,” Dylan complained to Noreen. He’d worn his goggles for the brief car ride, and Janie could still see the faint pink rings around his eyes. She hoped no one else noticed.

  “I was with you all weekend!” chided Noreen with a gentle smile.

  “But then you moved in with Auntie Jude.”

  “Well, I wanted some time with my sister. Sisters are very special, Dylan. You’ll see. When you and Carly are all grown up and don’t live together anymore, you’ll want to spend time with her, too.”

  “How come I won’t live with Carly? Is Mom going to make her leave our house?”

  Janie winced inwardly. He thinks I make everyone leave.

  They sat shoe-horned into Jude’s tiny kitchen and ate Stella d’Oro Anisette Toast cookies, while Noreen and Dylan reminded each other of every moment they had spent together during her stay. The bedtime stories and the trips to Cormac’s Confectionary and swinging on the swing set in the backyard. Gram liked to swing. Gets her closer to the jet stream, Janie brooded.

  Uncle Charlie went out to the driveway to warm up the Tempo, and good-byes were said.

  “I love you very much, Janie dear,” her mother whispered as they gave each other a quick hug.

  Janie almost said, Love you, too. It was true, and yet she felt it was against her will, as if it were a condition of some sort, like eczema or a tendency to stutter. “Have a safe flight,” she said instead.

  After they watched the Tempo recede down the street and turn onto Route 27, Aunt Jude invited them to stay for dinner. Janie suspected that Aunt Jude wanted to talk about patching it up with her mother, so she made excuses about the kids being tired and left.

  At a quarter to six, Janie found herself thinking, “Oh, good, Robby will be home soon.” It had been over a month since she’d forgotten he was dead, and the slip stung her like a wasp.

  Rice Krispies for dinner. It was all she could manage.

  ON FRIDAY, AFTER DROPPING Dylan off at camp, Janie realized she had no errands to run. There was no one she wanted to visit, or, if she were honest with herself, even had the option to visit, without facing some tear in the relationship that required mending. She went home and tried to enjoy the absence of power tools buzzing at close range, but it just seemed quiet and boring.

  Before Janie had a chance to choose some toys for Carly, Carly crawled over to the plastic toy bin and pitched every single item out. Janie slumped down with her back against the speckled green sofa and watched. Carly climbed into the bin and sat with her hands perched on the rim, as if it were about to take her on an amusement park ride. Carly looked at Janie. “Ma!” she yelled.

  “Yes, I see you. You’re in the toy bin.”

  “Mmmmm!” Carly growled, imitating Dylan’s motor sounds.

  “Are you going for a ride?” Carly giggled and growled even louder. Janie reached for the bin and pulled it across the carpet toward her, the baby’s head swaying back for a moment as the ride took off. Her eyes went wide with excitement and she laughed, “Ma!”

  Janie pushed the bin back and forth. Then, caught up in the child’s delight, she got behind it on her hands and knees, steering it all around the room. When she made unexpected turns, Carly let out happy shrieks that made Janie smile despite her bleak mood. As the turns got more precarious, the baby’s howls of approval grew louder, until the bin bumped too hard into the couch and spilled her out onto the carpet. Her face fell and her lips trembled.

  I ruined it, was Janie’s first thought. Goddammit, I ruin everything. She crawled to the baby and bent down to console her. “You okay, Carly? You alright? Mommy’s sorry. I should be more careful. I wasn’t careful enough with my baby.”

  The little girl wrenched back from the precipice of unhappiness and pulled herself up on her mother, pushing Janie down in the process. Carly climbed up on Janie and pressed her damp little lips against Janie’s neck. “That tickles,” Janie laughed in surprise, and Carly pressed harder, burrowing her face into her mother’s soft, vulnerable throat. Janie tried to pull away, her whole body shaking with laughter, but Carly’s chubby hands slid behind Janie’s neck, capturing her, claiming her. Imprisoned by her drooling ten-month-old, it was the best Janie had felt in a week.

  When the game finally ended, Carly lay upon her mother’s chest for a moment, then climbed down onto her knees. Slowly she rose onto her feet, using Janie’s body to stabilize herself. Then she turned and walked four steps across the carpet to the couch.

  “Carly!” said Janie, sitting up. “Look at you!” She held out her hands and Carly lurched back across the short distance to her, falling into her arms. “You did it! You walked!” Carly staggered back to the couch, then returned to Janie. “You’re not a baby anymore—you’re officially a toddler!”

  Who can I tell? thought Janie in a blur of excitement. Who should I call first?

  The list, not long to begin with, grew shorter as she realized that her relationship with each person was currently…experie
ncing technical difficulties. Even the contractor was pissed at her. That left Uncle Charlie and Aunt Brigid—and no matter how Aunt Jude was feeling about Janie right now, if Charlie and Brigid got the news first, she’d be undeniably hurt. And Shelly. Who the hell even knew where Shelly was at the moment? Probably loving it up with her new handsome, rich, architecturally dramatic boyfriend.

  Dylan. The goggled one. He should hear the news first. Hopefully he’d be excited about it. Janie realized that she wasn’t sure if he would be—he’d been uncharacteristically unenthusiastic about everything since she’d blown up at his best friend’s mother. In front of him. For taking him to Dairy Queen and consequently sending Janie into a hair-tearing panic.

  But Janie didn’t want to think about that. She finally decided to call Aunt Jude, who was so delighted, she said she was coming right over to see. An immediate visit was more than Janie had bargained for. “I could bring her to your house tomorrow,” she offered.

  “I can’t wait that long!” said Aunt Jude, and hung up the phone.

  By the time she arrived, Carly was droopy with fatigue, refused to show off her newfound skills for her auntie, and was soon put in her crib for a nap. When Janie came back down the stairs, Aunt Jude was helping herself to the pistachio pudding she’d made for Janie, which had remained untouched until now.

  “It’s so exciting,” said Aunt Jude. “A toddler! She’s growing up so fast.”

  “You didn’t even see it,” Janie reminded her.

  “But you saw it. That’s good enough for me.”

  “Why?” asked Janie. Why was that good enough for her? It wouldn’t have been good enough for Janie, not by a long shot.

  “Because you’re her mother! I don’t need to see—I’ve seen all I need to. I saw you and your brother walk—that was important to me. You two were my babies. Not my real babies, of course, but the realest ones I’ll ever have. Your mother was good like that. She shared you.”

  “She was lucky to have your help,” countered Janie.

  Aunt Jude smiled appreciatively. “So we were both lucky.”

  Before she left, she worked on Janie about serving lunch with her at the soup kitchen.

  “The kids,” said Janie, hoping that would end it.

  “Charlie and Brigie will take them. It’s all set.”

  Janie rolled her eyes. “Aunt Jude.”

  “What?”

  “I’m a grown-up. You can’t just run my life like you did when I was little.”

  “I’m not running your life. I’m giving you opportunities. I can’t make you go.”

  “But you always do.”

  “No, Janie, I don’t. I’m just watching you walk, like I always have. If you don’t want to walk, that’s your choice, just like it always has been.”

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 17

  Carly walked today! Only ten months old. Dylan was thirteen months, I think. He’s more cautious—probably had to think it through first. Carly doesn’t seem to feel fear (yet). Lucky girl. I called Aunt Jude. What were the options? (My fault, I know.) She came over and I didn’t fight with her. At least that’s something.

  A Jake-less Friday. The first in five months. Get used to it.

  “IT SMELLS FUNNY,” WHISPERED Dylan, as Janie buckled him and his booster seat into Uncle Charlie’s car. Carly and her baby seat were already installed. She had refused to walk since the previous morning, a fact that made Janie wonder if it had really happened at all.

  “It’s Armor All,” Janie whispered back. “It’s supposed to make everything shiny.”

  “Oh,” said Dylan. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

  “Ready for our magic carpet ride?” boomed Uncle Charlie as he maneuvered his massive frame into the driver’s seat of the Tempo.

  “Like Aladdin!” giggled Dylan.

  “I guess that makes me Princess Jasmine,” said Aunt Brigid, securing an errant strand of wiry gray hair with a bobby pin behind her ear. To Janie she said, “I hope you don’t mind us taking them on a royal trip to the dump. Charlie hasn’t shown them off to his buddies in a while.”

  “I thought he was working at Cormac’s now.”

  A wry smile came over Aunt Brigid. “Oh, he is…but it’s a bit of an adjustment.”

  Janie waved as the car backed cautiously down the driveway.

  Jude insisted on driving them to Table of Plenty. “I know the way,” she said.

  “So does everyone who’s ever been down Route 27,” said Janie. “You just want control of the keys in case I try to leave early.”

  “But you’re not leaving early, so why would I be worried about that?”

  The soup kitchen was on the south side of Pelham, just before the Natick town line. It was housed in a former shoe factory that had been purchased through a federal War on Poverty grant by the Mass Bay Food Bank. Though recently painted a cheery salmon color, it hadn’t been properly scraped beforehand, giving the building a smeary, bubbled look, like a war refugee with lipstick on.

  In the parking lot behind the building sat a handful of vehicles, not one of which was less than a decade old. (Volunteers with nice cars learned very quickly to park at Brooks Pharmacy across the street.) A line of patrons sat on wooden benches waiting, mostly patiently, for the doors to open. A few younger men congregated by a decrepit Lincoln Town Car, leaning on it and smoking cigarettes. One elderly woman walked determined laps around the perimeter of the parking lot, humming and occasionally exclaiming to herself about the state of her hair, which was pulled back in a tidy bun. Though it was August, she wore a heavy sweatshirt and what looked to be several pairs of pants. Janie saw the outer layer slide down the woman’s narrow hips until she hitched them back up.

  Aunt Jude knocked on a small side door of the building, and was let in by a round, sweaty older woman in a hairnet and apron. “Judy, Judy, Jude!” exclaimed the woman, wiping the perspiration from her cheeks. “You get right in here! And who’s this curly-headed child?”

  “This is my niece, Jane LaMarche. Janie, this is Vonetta Driscoll. She’s the volunteer coordinator, and she makes the best egg noodle soup in the world. I could live on it!”

  “You sweet talker,” cooed Vonetta. A moment later, she looked past Janie. “Beryl, now you know I can’t let you in this way. You keep on walking, honey. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

  “Did I hear someone say eggs?” asked Beryl politely. “Because I’m just a bit concerned about my cholesterol today, and I might decline to partake of eggs.”

  “No eggs, just tuna casserole. You alright with mercury?”

  “Well,” smiled Beryl, shyly. “I have been characterized as mercurial, so I suppose it’s fitting.”

  “Wonderful,” said Vonetta. “Glad we’re on the same page. I’ll give a shout when it’s ready.”

  Vonetta ushered Janie and Aunt Jude back to the volunteer office, where Jude stashed her laptop computer and Janie was admonished to put her long black curls up into a ponytail.

  “Look at those eyes,” Vonetta commented to Jude. “They’re so light, it doesn’t hardly look like she could see out of them.” Waving her hand in front of Janie, she teased, “You can see, right?”

  Janie chuckled, unsure of how to respond. It had been so long since she’d been with someone who wasn’t inspecting her for signs of anguish, she almost didn’t recognize the feeling. After a moment it came to her. Relief.

  Aunt Jude showed Janie where to restock the napkins and plastic utensils while Aunt Jude helped load the trays of food onto the folding tables that formed the buffet. At noon, they took their places behind the tables, ready to serve the patrons who surged through the scuffed double doors.

  Aunt Jude seemed to know most of them, if not by name, by some detail they had shared with her about their lives. “Hello, Mary…Hi there, Antonio…Hi, would you like a little extra? I know you’ve got a healthy appetite…Now, Mr. Jones,” she addressed one elderly gentleman in a tattered Red Sox cap, “where is your friend, Mr. DiFilippo?” />
  “Ahh, he’s taking a nap. Little siesta. He’ll be ’round later.”

  Janie smiled and scooped, garnering grins from some of the younger men. Others seemed strangely suspicious, and one even made quite a show of inspecting his casserole after she served him. Most, however, nodded and avoided eye contact, staring blankly into their paper plates.

  “Just a half portion, please,” murmured Beryl, the walker. “I don’t metabolize cream-based cooking as I did in my younger days.” She moved quickly down the line to the salad and breathed a barely perceptible sigh of disappointment. A wide metal bowl of limp iceberg lettuce was speckled with shaved carrots and the occasional pale tomato wedge.

  After the meal was served, Janie helped Aunt Jude and a handful of other volunteers ferry the serving trays back to the kitchen. The leftovers were shoveled into plastic containers while the volunteers stopped to serve themselves. Several took their plates out to the large room to eat with the guests. Others, like Aunt Jude and Janie, had just a quick bite in the kitchen.

  “Mmm,” said Aunt Jude. “I love your tuna casserole, Vonetta! Don’t you, Janie? Don’t you just love it?” Janie smiled and nodded toward Vonetta, wondering how quickly she could ditch the rest of the ample serving Aunt Jude had given her.

  After they set the kitchen in order, Aunt Jude went back to the volunteer office and retrieved her laptop computer. “This is my favorite part,” she told Janie as they walked out into the dining room. Most of the tables still held the debris of the meal, but one table in the corner had been meticulously cleared and wiped. Two middle-aged men sat at the table waiting patiently for Jude.

  “Well, I see my foreign correspondents have gathered faithfully!” Aunt Jude said to the men as she booted up the computer. “Any news, Malcolm?”

  “She’s holding her own, God bless her,” said the man called Malcolm. His face was lined and pitted with blackheads. Janie thought he must be in his sixties, but she couldn’t be sure.