Jane of Austin

by Hillary Manton Lodge

  “So it wasn’t…intentional?”

  “Intentional? You mean—” Her words sunk in. “You mean, did I intend to drown myself?”

  “You were very upset.”

  “Never,” I said, my tone uncompromising. “Never ever. I was upset. I shouldn’t have been on that pier. But I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

  Celia’s eyes squeezed shut. She looked harrowed, and I hated what I’d put her through. I reached with my hand, the one without the IV, and clasped her hand. “I’m so sorry. It was an accident; it was stupid. It might not always seem like it, but you and Margot are the most important people in my life. I wouldn’t give all that up because I was upset over a boy.”

  Celia squeezed back. “I’m glad. I’m…I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how things have been the last few weeks. I can’t…I don’t even know how to explain…”

  “No.” I shook my head. “You don’t need to explain. It doesn’t matter. Not enough for us to not be friends again.”

  Celia exhaled a sob. “I messed everything up. I should never have brought us to Austin.”

  “You didn’t mess everything up. Or if you did, I was messing things up alongside you as well as I could.”

  Celia laughed, and I continued. “Austin’s growing on me,” I said, resigned. “Maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome.”

  “Or breakfast tacos?”

  “I do like the breakfast tacos,” I admitted.

  Celia opened her mouth, closed it, and then tried again. “It’s none of my business,” she began cautiously.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re my sister and my best friend. Also my business partner. There’s enough overlap that I’m pretty sure it might also be your business.”

  “It’s…it’s just…It’s Callum,” Celia finally blurted out.

  “Callum?” The memories came rushing back, only jumbled and nonsensical. I really must have had a head injury, because what I did remember didn’t make sense. “You might fill me in on how I got back from the lake, because I’m not sure I’ve got it all straight.”

  “I don’t know all of it,” she said. “But he pulled you out of the water and resuscitated you.”

  My eyes flew open, and I touched my hand to my lips. “Resuscitated? Like…?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like with his mouth?”

  Celia cleared her throat. “It’s the best way to get oxygen into drowning victims, since he didn’t have a set of bellows on hand.”

  “Very funny,” I said, though I couldn’t help but wince when I heard the words drowning victim. “So what you’re telling me is that I am the proud recipient of Callum’s cooties.”

  Celia pressed her lips together. “It’s not funny.”

  “A part of me is still twelve,” I said. “It’s a little funny.”

  “You’re not allowed to make jokes yet. Last night was—”

  “It was serious, I know.” I folded my hands primly. “I’ll try to be more appropriate. Is there any ice water?”

  “There are some ice chips over here, they’re half melted. Your throat hurt?”

  I nodded.

  “Just rest,” she said.

  I took a sip of the icy water; the temperature felt good and terrible at the same time. “Where’s Margot?” I asked.

  Celia tipped her head toward the corner of the room, and I sat up to peek. Sure enough, Margot sat curled up in the corner chair, her sweatshirt wadded into a pillow.

  “Nina tried to talk her into going back to Ian and Mariah’s, but she wasn’t about to leave. Nina,” she said, “has been really great.”

  “What else happened?” I asked. “How did I get back to the house?”

  “Callum carried you.”

  I felt myself grow very still. “He can’t have.”

  “He did.”

  “But his leg.” I stared into Celia’s eyes, waiting for her to tell me she’d made a mistake, that it somehow wasn’t true.

  She only stared back, her eyes sad but certain.

  “Is he okay?” I asked, my voice small. “Callum? Is he okay?”

  “I think he reinjured himself, some.”

  “Where is he?”

  Celia shook her head. “He was treated in the ER and released. But I imagine he’s around here, somewhere. I doubt far.”

  “He doesn’t…You don’t think…” I didn’t know how to put the thought into words, and even if I did…

  Because if he did, if Callum somehow cared for me? I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t at all deserve it.

  “I’m tired,” I said, ashamed to meet Celia’s gaze. “You should go home—or the lake house, whichever is closest. Get some sleep. Drag Margot with you.”

  “Nope,” Celia said, leaning back in her chair. “I’m staying put. You rest, though. You haven’t slept a lot, since…”

  “Since the breakup? Not a lot, no.” I glanced back at Margot. “You don’t have to stay. You’ll sleep better at the casita.”

  “No I won’t. And Margot’s sleeping just fine.”

  “What if I can’t sleep while you’re in here?”

  Celia’s face turned serene. “Count sheep.”

  I counted sheep until Celia fell asleep. One of the benefits of a sisterhood like ours is knowing your sister’s breathing patterns. If she takes a breath every second, she’s lightly asleep. Every second and a half? Deep sleep.

  When she’d reached deep sleep, I climbed, slowly, carefully, off the bed.

  Thankfully, I wore three hospital gowns, one of them backwards, so I wasn’t at risk for a sitcom moment, but I still reached for Celia’s discarded woolen sweater and draped it over my shoulders. I slipped my feet into the ill-fitting but dry slippers the nurse had left behind for me, and then quietly wheeled my IV stand beside me.

  Maybe my gut was wrong, but Celia had said Callum was nearby.

  Not a single nurse stopped me, which was good, because I didn’t feel like an argument, not this time, especially while dragging an IV stand like a recalcitrant dog.

  I walked out the double doors to what I assumed was the waiting room, and sure enough. There was Callum, asleep, his head tipped straight back against the wall.

  I took a seat next to him, carefully; every one of my muscles ached. By the time I’d made it safely into the seat, I looked up at him only to find that he was awake and looking back at me.

  “Hi,” I said, suddenly feeling shy. Shy and a little self-conscious. I cleared my throat. “I don’t remember everything, but I remember enough to know that I need to thank you.”

  “No, you don’t,” Callum said, his voice pitched low.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  I glanced down at his leg, the one with the fresh bandage. “Hmm.”

  “I’m fine,” he repeated.

  “Thank you. And…I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

  I snorted. “Nothing, aside from being out for hours, long after dark, in the middle of a storm without a cell phone, flashlight, or even a pack of matches. It was stupid. And then I stupidly went out onto a wet pier, and”—I looked down at my lap, ashamed—“I shouldn’t have needed rescuing in the first place.”

  “You were upset.”

  “I could have stayed home and colored.”

  “Colored?”

  “You know, those adult coloring books, the ones with the teeny flowers. I could have done that.” I paused and chewed my lip. “I recognize I’m rambling.”

  A small smile tilted his mouth upward. “Just a little. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He looked me over, taking in my bedraggled appearance, complete with the IV. “Hmm.”

  “I’m fine,” I repeated. “They’re pumping me full of electrolytes, since I went and swallowed a bunch of lake water.”

  “Lungs hurt?”

  “A little.”

  Callum turned until he faced me squarely, raising an eyebrow.

/>   “Okay, fine. I didn’t know my lungs could feel like this.” I started to laugh, but the space of a painful breath turned it into the beginning of a sob.

  And that baby sob felt like my lungs were being torn apart. Suddenly, the sense of needing to cry over the night, over Sean, over my own stupidity—all of that was eclipsed by my lungs reminding me that they’d been full of lake rather than oxygen.

  “Hey,” Callum reached over, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Take it easy. Close your eyes. Focus on your breath.”

  I couldn’t. But I could focus on his voice. There was something about it, something about the pitch or the rasp, I couldn’t tell. His voice sounded like full-leaf Assam tea tasted. As I listened to his voice, my breathing evened and the dark swirl of emotions dissipated into a fog that I could, at least, see through.

  When my breaths felt close to normal, rather than uneven stabs in my chest, I opened my eyes. Callum was right in front of me, his dark eyes fixed on my face, his face lined with concern. He was looking at me, and I realized, now that I could breathe, that I didn’t want to look away.

  “Thanks,” I said, my gaze still fixed on his face. Once I realized I’d been staring, though, my face flushed and I glanced away. “I tried to get Celia to go home, but she’s stubborn and won’t listen to me.”

  That tilted smile again. “Hmm.”

  “You should go. Go sleep. This can’t be comfortable for you.”

  “I used to sleep outdoors, on rocks.”

  I had to cover my mouth to stop from laughing—it would hurt too much. “On rocks?”

  He nodded. “When I was deployed, it happened.”

  “So you’d look around for a giant pile of rocks and pick that spot out for yourself?”

  He folded his arms and leaned back. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they can take that IV out. If you’re sassing me, you’re not feeling too bad.”

  “The sass makes me stronger.”

  “Good.” He nodded toward the IV pick on my hand. “And leave that in there. You don’t want any complications.” His gaze found mine again. “I thought you’d died because I wasn’t fast enough.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, and I can’t say it enough,” I told him, my heart full of despair. “It was stupid and emotional and I’m…I’m old enough to know better. Margot’s old enough to know better.” My eyes squeezed shut.

  “It’s partly my fault,” Callum said, his voice dark and low.

  “What?” I tipped my head to look at him. “No. Not at all. The opposite, actually.”

  “I didn’t tell you.” He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “My sister-in-law, Lila? She was dating a guy, six months ago. He took her on a trip to Mexico. Her documents, cash, and credit cards were stolen, and she couldn’t reenter the country.”

  “Oh no,” I said, even as I wondered why he’d decided to tell me now. “But you brought her back, right?”

  “I did. She was in a bad spot, and she’s not in the clear yet. The guy just left her there. And she was pregnant.” He looked at me then, his eyes full of sorrow and compassion and something else, something I didn’t understand. “Jane, it was Sean.”

  “What?”

  “Sean and Lila were together. He left her in Mexico.”

  “Oh.” I blinked once, twice. Three times. “He—oh.”

  And suddenly, the pieces fell into place.

  How Sean had been preoccupied after Nina told the story about Lila, how he’d taken me out on our romantic adventure before breaking up with me. He hadn’t been going to Nashville for his career; he’d been running away. Running and running hard and making me feel like it had all been in my head.

  He’d been living with his aunt, and now he was with Sofi—who knew exactly what was motivating him. But he’d pretended that it was all for his career, all for love, and never a breath about how deeply he’d failed someone he’d professed to care about. Sure, he’d hurt me, but Lila, pregnant with Sean’s child, abandoned in Mexico?

  The last bit of me that was still in love with him—that bit gnashed its teeth at the thought of another woman sharing intimacies with him, carrying his child. The part of me that railed in anger felt doubly justified for believing him to be the lowest of the low.

  And the rest of me? It just felt…tired.

  “Lila’s okay?” I asked Callum, steering my thoughts back to the present.

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “She should make sure Sean pays child support.”

  “I’m on it. Me and the PI who found her.”

  I nodded. “Good.” I bit my lip. “I was really in love with him.”

  “I know. Everyone did. And from the spectator’s seat, it looked like he loved you back.”

  “But the love of a terrible person, what’s that worth? How did I fall for someone with that kind of…absence of character?”

  “Sometimes we fall for the wrong people.”

  “We?” I looked up at him. “You ever fall for the wrong person?”

  “I was in love with Lila, a long time ago.”

  “Oh?” A strange stab of jealousy struck my chest. That, or a bit of lake moisture that hadn’t made it out of my lung.

  “But she married my brother, and I realized that we were needing and wanting different things. She’s important to me,” he said, clarifying. “But sister-important.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Speaking of sisters,” Callum said, “does Celia know you’re out here?”

  I shook my head. “I, ah, snuck out.”

  His mouth tipped upward, forming that increasingly familiar hint of a smile. “You don’t say.”

  “I also stole her coat.”

  “Looks good with your gown.”

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice prim.

  “Instead of telling everyone else they should sleep, you could get some sleep yourself.”

  “I could.” I looked back at him. “I wanted to thank you first. For everything.”

  “It was nothing.”

  I stood up carefully. “It was everything,” I said. “At least it is to me and Celia and Margot. When I get back home to my kitchen? I’m making you a cake.”

  31

  That’s right, you’re not from Texas.

  But Texas wants you anyway.

  —LYLE LOVETT

  Callum

  The hospital released Jane after a battery of tests, an adjustment of her electrolytes, and several hours on oxygen. Her CT scan showed the sort of mild swelling expected from a concussion, and the chest X-ray didn’t observe any concerning debris in her lungs.

  Still, the doctor provided literature about warning signs for complications. Celia tucked it into her purse.

  Nina decided it would be best if we all returned to Charlie’s—after all, a long visit had been planned, and Pilar had been granted time off while the family vacationed. If Jane and Celia returned to the lake house, a team of well-intentioned friends would be available to help.

  Jane groused about feeling like a nuisance, but Nina waved her off.

  If I’d been aware of Jane before, that awareness had multiplied exponentially since her near drowning. As we drove—Nina behind the wheel, Jane in the front passenger seat—I watched the rise and fall of her shoulders. I listened to her voice, ears tuned to any hint of rasp or cough.

  Back at the lake house, I watched for signs of weakness or fever.

  I tried to be subtle about it, of course. But I realized I hadn’t been subtle enough when Nina brought me a cup of coffee midafternoon.

  “If you’re going to play sentry,” she said, “you’ll need coffee.” She shot Jane, sitting across the room, a significant glance.

  I accepted the cup as casually as possible.

  “How’s your leg?”

  It burned like the fires of Mordor. “It’s fine.”

  “Do you need to take something for it? To ease the pain?”

  If only. “I don’t like the painkillers,” I told h
er truthfully. “I don’t like how they make me feel.”

  Nina sighed. “And I’ll bet the over-the-counter ones don’t do anything for you.”

  I snorted without thinking, and then excused myself. “No, ma’am.”

  “How about one of the kolache Charlie picked up from 7 Grams this morning?”

  “That sounds very nice, thank you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and bustled off toward the kitchen to bring me back a pastry.

  She brought one for me and one for Jane, who looked like she wanted to escape the house altogether.

  “Is that a Danish?” Jane asked, examining the offering.

  “It’s a kolache,” Nina said. “Czech immigrants came to central Texas during the mid-1800s, and they brought kolache with them. The ones from 7 Grams are my favorite.”

  Jane took a bite. “It’s like a brioche donut. Celia? You should try this.”

  Celia came and tasted; I could see the wheels turning inside Jane’s head.

  “It’s good,” Celia said, taking a second bite. “We could do this. What do you think, a two-rise dough?”

  Jane took another bite. “I think three. It’s really good.”

  “I’ll bring you more,” Nina said, and Celia blushed, realizing she’d eaten half of Jane’s.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Nina said. “You girls put kolache in your pastry case, and you’ll never want for business.”

  Charlie entered the room. “That’s true; I’ll drive miles to get to my favorite ones.”

  “They’re too sweet,” said Mariah, but nobody listened to her.

  “It’s very good,” Jane told Nina and Charlie. “I’m sure you can find them in the Bay Area—you can find anything—but I haven’t had one before.”

  “Really?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide. “That’s so sad.”

  Jane tore off a piece of the sweet bread edge, and held it close to her face.

  “Is there something wrong with it?” Charlie asked.

  Jane squinted. “I’m just examining the crumb structure.”

  “You can tell a lot about a bread from the crumb structure,” Celia explained. “Jane’s a better baker—”

  “Shut up. You’re an ace baker,” her sister retorted without breaking her focus on the piece of bread. “The person who baked this knew what they were doing. It’s well baked, good rise. Good color, nice loft.” Jane looked to Nina and Charlie. “What kind of flavors do they come in?”