Jane Doe

by Stone, Victoria Helen

  No one likes me. Not with Meg gone. No one should like me.

  I have no idea what to do with this. People don’t change, and that includes me. I couldn’t settle down with a man if I wanted to. Could I? “I have a job,” I say. “A life.” But I don’t have a life—not really. My real life died with Meg.

  “I know you can’t stay.” He sighs and lets his head fall back on the couch. “I know that, but I really, really wish you could.”

  I like being with him the same way I liked being with Meg. I almost wish I could stay too.

  “Maybe I can visit,” I suggest. But he’s a cute, nice guy. He’ll find someone else, and he might not even be willing to cheat on her when I come to town. “We can stay in touch.”

  “Sure.”

  He’s looking up at the ceiling, his thumb gliding absently over my skin. His eyes look sad and tired. I try to think of something to say that might cheer him up.

  “Do you want to have sex?” I ask.

  “Jane . . . you . . .” Luke squeezes his eyes shut and laughs. “Yes, damn it. Yes, I want to have sex.”

  I climb onto his lap and kiss him until he doesn’t look sad anymore. It’s all I know to do. And it works for a little while.

  CHAPTER 44

  It’s finally Bible study night!

  Steven agreed to bring me, but only after I cornered him in the hallway at work and started to cry.

  “I haven’t been ignoring you!” he insisted. “I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

  Busy making me feel like worthless crap.

  Anyway, my pleading worked its magic. I expressed regret for whatever imaginary infraction I’d committed, and now he can be nice to me again.

  “Can I spend the night?” I asked in a quavering voice, and a pleased smile spread over his face.

  “Of course you can spend the night, babe. And we can grab dinner on the drive out.”

  I’m back in his good graces.

  Dinner was deli sandwiches eaten in a hurry, and Steven’s breath smells like raw onions now, but I still feel like a princess as I hop out of his SUV and glide toward the big glass doors of the church. It’s drizzling and miserable, and I take that as a good sign.

  Once we’re inside, I remove my bulky coat and unwind my scarf to expose my pink flowery dress and lace-trimmed neckline. Catching sight of myself in the glass entryway, I touch the gold cross nestled just below the hollow of my neck and smile.

  Steven tells me to find a seat, and I pick one in the first row where the deacons normally sit during services. Tonight is less formal. No suits for the men and no hierarchical seating. It’s almost seven, and fewer than a hundred people are gathered in the hall. Steven tells me we’ll have a short service and then break up into smaller groups for discussion until 8:30. Then we’ll go home and Steven will finally make me so, so happy.

  When he enters the hall with his father, I wave in happy greeting. Pastor Hepsworth’s gaze falls immediately to the cross at my neck. His mouth twitches into a frown, but he recovers and returns my wave. I clasp my hands in my lap and eagerly await the mini-sermon.

  Steven joins me in the front row. He pats my hand. “It’s nice having you here,” he whispers.

  “Thank you for bringing me,” I whisper back. “I’ve missed you. It was nice being all alone with you last weekend.”

  “We’ll be all alone tonight,” he says with a wink.

  “Stop!” I scold, covering my face in embarrassment. “Don’t talk about that here!”

  Steven grins. “You really are the perfect girl, Jane.”

  He’s so sweet when he wants to be. Isn’t that what Meg said all the time? He’s so good to me, Jane. I know we argue sometimes, but he’s funny and cute and kind. Just give him a chance. You’ll see.

  Pastor Hepsworth steps to the podium and begins speaking about forgiveness. I hope he’s taking in his own message and really learning it, because he’ll need to use it soon.

  As he speaks, his gaze roams the crowd, and each time it strays over my section, his eyes move to my gold cross. I shouldn’t have sent the picture. It was a wicked, pointless impulse. But I feel no regret, only giddy anticipation.

  I don’t need to seduce Pastor Hepsworth, but I like knowing that I could. His weakness is a little icing on my cake.

  He only speaks for fifteen minutes, and then the crowd begins to break up into smaller groups. Steven leads his men’s group away to one of the study rooms. I approach his father. “Pastor Hepsworth? Could I speak with you for a moment? I know you’re very busy.”

  He watches me intently for a few seconds, looking for some clue. But I gaze innocently up at him until he cracks and settles his face into a gentle smile. “Of course, my dear. Come sit down with me.” We move to the end of one of the pews as most of the people disperse to meeting rooms. The pastor takes a seat a foot away from me, but his eyes skip to my necklace for another quick look.

  “Everything is going great with Steven, but I’m troubled by something that . . . Well, I guess it’s not a secret . . .”

  He nods, but his forehead crumples in confusion. “You can confide in me, my girl. You can trust in my absolute discretion.”

  “You won’t tell Steven about this?”

  The pastor clears his throat. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “Thank you.” I nod. “Okay . . .” I start as if I’m nervous. “I . . . I know about his ex-girlfriend. How she died.”

  He blinks as if he’s surprised that’s what I want to talk about, but he recovers quickly. “Ah, yes. Quite a tragedy.”

  “Sometimes I worry that he’s not ready for another relationship. I think he blames himself for what happened.”

  He settles down finally, leaning back in the pew, ready to dispense godly advice. “It’s normal for anyone to feel guilt after such an awful event.”

  “Yes, but he says he wasn’t good to her.”

  “Nonsense! I counseled that girl myself and she was deeply troubled. Deeply.”

  Liar. Liar. Liar. Steven was the trouble in Meg’s life. But I keep my face blank. “About what?”

  “She’d lived quite a life of sin before she joined our church. She and Steven argued about her past, yes, but she still struggled to live in the right during her relationship with Steven.”

  “He says maybe he was too hard on her sometimes.”

  “A man’s role is to lead his family, Jane. Do you believe that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Meg wasn’t raised in the church, and she struggled to accept her role as a helpmate. Yes, they spoke of marriage, but she couldn’t set aside her ideas of so-called liberation and feminism. She had demons, my dear. True, evil demons that tormented her and pushed her to sinful, reckless behavior.”

  Oh, Meg was the one sinning. Never Steven with his blow jobs and porn and Tinder hookups. He’s just a man, after all. And so is his father.

  “But we all sin, don’t we?” I part my lips and raise my eyes to gaze up at him. “I’m a sinner too, Pastor Hepsworth. What if I have demons I can’t escape? Am I still good enough for God? Am I good enough for Steven?”

  He’s staring at my mouth, then at that gold cross. “Is there something you want to tell me?” he prompts.

  I shake my head.

  The pastor takes a deep breath. He clears his throat again. Licks his lips. “Jane . . . did you text me last weekend?”

  I shake my head harder.

  “Perhaps you were reaching out for help.”

  “No, sir,” I whisper.

  “Jane.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He watches sternly for a moment before sighing. “Well, if there’s ever anything you need to confess or anything you need guidance with, you can come to me. My door is always open.”

  “I will.”

  When I don’t say more, Pastor Hepsworth pats my hand, then slides both his hands around it to hold it. “Steven and I both tried to guide Meg, but, sadly, her demons were too much for her
to bear. In the end she committed the ultimate sin by taking the life God gave her.” Is that what he told his son? There was nothing more we could have done.

  They could have been kind. Steven could have stopped stomping her into the ground every chance he got. His father could have counseled him to be gentle and understanding.

  I swallow the bitter saliva pooling in my mouth and manage to rasp a question. “You don’t think she’s in hell, do you?”

  “My child, suicide is something God can never forgive. She’s damned for all eternity. But the rest of us still have time to save our own souls. And I can see what a good girl you are, Jane.” His hands squeeze mine. “We are all sinners and we are all worthy of God’s forgiveness. We have only to confess and ask for mercy. I will not judge you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I tug his hands up and hold them to my bosom. “Thank you so much. You’ve made me feel better.”

  His eyes are on his own fingers, resting against my cleavage. I smile as innocently as a mother cradling her babe.

  No, there’s no reason to seduce him. But after what he just said about Meg, is there any reason not to ruin him too? Just like Steven, his father blames Meg for everything.

  Their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them. Good old Deuteronomy.

  This is hardly my first Bible study. I’ve already got the best parts memorized and I believe in them wholeheartedly. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth. But the rest is even better: burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise.

  They’re going to feel this for a long time.

  CHAPTER 45

  On our way home from church, I gasp at the sight of a liquor store. “Oh my gosh, I have the worst craving for a margarita right now! Could we stop and get some mix?”

  “On a Wednesday night?”

  “Is that too naughty?” I ask.

  “I like you naughty.” He pulls a quick U-turn and drives me back to the liquor store; then he lets me go in by myself. I grab tequila and margarita mix. Beer isn’t going to cut it tonight. I need him drunk as a skunk.

  He holds my hand for the rest of the drive, smiling because he can’t wait to get me drunk and nasty. I know the feeling.

  As soon as we get to his house, I mix up a pitcher of mild margaritas. When I pour his glass, I add extra tequila. Then a little more.

  His eyes widen when he sips it. “Too strong?” I ask before taking a sip of mine. I close my eyes and hum with pleasure. “Mmmm. So good.”

  Steven laughs. “Not too strong for me, babe. Drink up.”

  He can’t say his drink has too much tequila, because that would make him weaker than a woman. God, I hate this idiot. “Want to watch a little of the hockey game?” I ask.

  He drops to the couch and switches it on. I hover for a moment, and as I expect, he drains the margarita quickly. He’s used to downing beer after beer. He can’t pace himself with hard liquor. I pluck the empty from his hand and rush to refill it.

  “Thanks, babe,” he says, eyes on the screen when I deliver a second drink. “You’re the best.”

  “No, you’re the best, sweetie.” I snuggle close and watch the game with him. When I finish my first margarita, I offer to get him his third. I fill the glass about three-quarters of the way up and top it off with an inch of extra tequila. My glass is mostly ice.

  “Want some chips, honey?” I call out. I find some tortilla chips and salsa and my man is so content. The salt and spice make him thirsty. I keep his glass full.

  Within forty-five minutes he is red-faced and yelling at the TV as he finishes his fifth margarita. During the next commercial break, I mute the TV and turn to him.

  “Steven . . . that wasn’t true what you said about Rhonda, was it?”

  “Huh?” The shift of topic is too sudden, and he grimaces with irritation as his gaze slides unsteadily toward me.

  “You didn’t really have an affair with her, did you?”

  His eyes go comically wide. “What?”

  My God, he was so drunk, he doesn’t remember. “You told me about it, Steven. At the cabin.”

  He shakes his head hard, but the movement is too much for him in this state and he tips back, collapsing into the cushions.

  I gently touch his hand. “Steven?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “We need to talk about it. You had an affair with your own stepmom.”

  His mouth contorts with rage. “No. Don’t call her that. She was, like, twenty-five years old. She was no one to me.”

  “But, Steven, she’s your dad’s—”

  “Shut up. She’s nothing more than a whore. That’s all.”

  “I don’t get it. What happened? Did you seduce her or something?”

  “Me? You think I seduced her?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t understand how this could have happened. She’s your father’s wife!”

  I’ve brought the pitcher into the living room, and he refills his own drink now, spilling some on the coffee table. His hands shake. “She wasn’t much of a damn wife,” he mutters.

  “So she . . . she seduced you?”

  He snorts. “She was desperate.”

  “Desperate for what?”

  “I’d just graduated from college and I moved in with them for a few months. I was living there, and . . . I don’t know. I did a little snooping around. I didn’t know much about her and I didn’t trust her.”

  “What were you snooping for?”

  “Whatever. Just anything. I figured she was a grasping little bitch. And she was. I found pills hidden under some clothes in the bottom drawer of her armoire. Birth control pills.”

  “So?”

  “So they’d been married for almost two years, and she hadn’t gotten pregnant yet, and they were seeing a fertility doctor.”

  “Oh.”

  “My father was torn up about it. He was upset that he couldn’t get his young wife pregnant and he thought he was letting her down. The doctor said it was his fault. Low sperm count and all that. And she was taking birth control the whole time.” Spittle flies from his mouth at this outrage. “I confronted her. Threw the pills in her face, and she begged me not to tell him.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  He laughs. He’s relaxing into the story now. He’s proud of himself for taking advantage of this bitch. “No. She said she’d do anything to keep it quiet. Absolutely anything. So I told her to try her best. She got on her knees right there in my dad’s bedroom and sucked me off.”

  “Steven! Oh my God! You . . . How could you do that? With your dad’s wife?”

  “I’m a man, Jane. I can’t say no to that.”

  Holy cow, he is so warped.

  “For the rest of the summer, she basically did anything I wanted. He’d been smart enough to make her sign a prenup. She would’ve walked away with nothing.”

  “So you betrayed your father with her over and over again?”

  The smirk falls from his face. “I love my dad. Don’t try to twist this around. She was already betraying him. She was already a terrible, lying, screwed-up wife. Just like my mom. All women are the same. You’re all whores. My dad knows that too.”

  “I’m not a whore.”

  “Are you kidding? When I close my eyes, I can’t tell the difference between you and Rhonda.”

  I should gasp and act offended and maybe cry a little. I don’t bother. He’s too drunk to notice the difference. “Did you love her?” I ask.

  “Jesus, of course I didn’t love her. I can’t stand her. I just used what she was offering.”

  Yeah, he’d used her. But what he doesn’t realize is she used him too. She’d conned her way into a prosperous marriage and Steven had found out, but Rhonda had come up with the perfect way to silence him. He couldn’t expose her without breaking his father’s heart. She’d tied him up in her secret and he could never escape it.

  Maybe she’s like me.

  Or maybe not. Maybe she’s just like everyone else in this
world. She’d used Robert Hepsworth for money, and he’d used her for her young body and pretty face. She’d used Steven to ensure her continued prosperity, and he’d used her for sex and humiliation. So far they’d each come out pretty even. Now the tide was about to change, and they would all be swept out with it.

  His eyes are bleary, the lids heavy, but he reaches for me. “Come ’ere.”

  Oh, great, he wants to pretend I’m Rhonda again.

  “I’m not in the mood,” I say.

  “Come on. You wanted to know the truth and I told you. Don’t act pissed now.”

  Strangely I’m not as excited about him calling me a whore as he is.

  “Come on, babe,” he whines.

  “No, this is serious, Steven. Your dad is a wonderful man.”

  “I know he is,” Steven says softly. “He’s the best. He’s the best.” He makes a strange noise, and I realize he’s starting to cry. Good Lord. “I love my dad,” he says before breaking into sobs. “I love my dad!”

  I’ve got no patience for this. “I know you do, sweetheart. Come on. Let’s go to bed.” I switch off the TV and tug him to his feet.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” he slurs. A tear drips down his face and a trickle of snot leaks from his nose.

  “I know. Get to bed. I’ll be right there. I just need to tidy up the kitchen first.”

  He nods and stumbles toward the hallway.

  I take the dishes to the kitchen, wipe down the coffee table, and call for a car. Then I do the dishes. I’m in the middle of writing Steven a note when his first snores echo down the hallway.

  Dear Steven, I drank way too much and I’m afraid I’ll be sick in the morning, so I took a car home. See you at work, sweetie. Love you bunches.

  When I deliver it to his room, he’s lying facedown on the mattress, his jeans around his ankles. I drop the note on top of his bare ass and blow him a kiss.

  I can’t waste any more time here tonight. I’ve got a recording to edit.

  CHAPTER 46

  I have a sense of déjà vu as I call in sick to work and walk to the car rental agency, but this time I ask for a full-size SUV. As I’m turning over my fraudulent driver’s license to the clerk, Steven texts me.