Jane's Melody

by Ryan Winfield

  “You think he’s still going to Austin?”

  It hung its head and chewed a mouthful of hay.

  “I do believe you’d miss him as much as I would.”

  That night as she and Caleb lay in bed, Jane couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned and flipped her pillow to the cool side a dozen times before he rolled over in the dark beside her and asked her what was wrong.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Sorry if I’m keeping you up.”

  “It’s no problem,” he said. “What’s on your mind, babe?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I’ve been thinking about my brother for one thing.”

  “That’s understandable,” he said. “Think he’s still in jail?”

  “This was something like his fourth time driving drunk, so I doubt they’re letting him off with a warning.”

  She heard Caleb sigh.

  “I’m really sorry, Jane.”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do, I guess.”

  “Maybe you should go visit him.”

  “In jail?”

  “If he’s still there.”

  “You think I should?”

  “What matters is what you think, babe.”

  “Maybe I will then.”

  “You should if you want to.”

  They fell silent and several minutes passed.

  Jane stared at the shadows cast by her alarm clock on the ceiling—they made interesting shapes if she wanted them to. She could hear Caleb’s breathing beside her.

  “Caleb?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You asleep?”

  “Yes, babe,” he joked, “I’m talking with you in my sleep.”

  “Does that mean I can say or do anything and you won’t remember it tomorrow?”

  He laughed.

  “I can’t imagine forgetting anything you said or did to me. Ever. Is there something you need to talk about?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What’s bothering you, babe?”

  “Do you still think about Austin?”

  There was a long pause. She heard him sigh.

  “Yeah. I think about it.”

  “Are you still planning to go?”

  “Would you come with me if I did?”

  “I can’t move to Texas.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because everything’s here.”

  He pulled her to him, resting her in the nook of his arm. She put her ear to his chest and listened to his beating heart. He caressed her hair, and then kissed the top of her head.

  “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Jane felt as though they had walked up on the edge of a cliff together, and it was a relief to back away from it for now. It felt good to rest in his arms and just breathe. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t completely shut out thoughts of his someday leaving. She inhaled deeply and committed his smell to memory. Then she kissed his chest and closed her eyes.

  “I love you,” she heard him say.

  She meant to say it back, but she fell asleep.

  THE HORN BLEW, and the ferry pulled away from the dock. Their spring weather seemed to have fled, and it was once again raining. The ferry arrived at the Seattle pier. She drove to the courthouse, which was attached by a sky bridge to the jail, and parked in the garage. The elevator brought her to a check-in desk, and she gave a female deputy her brother’s name.

  “Are you related?” the deputy asked.

  “I’m his sister.”

  She typed the name into her terminal.

  “System takes a while.”

  While she waited, the deputy reached for a clear, plastic gallon of some horrendous-looking brown liquid and screwed off the top and drank. Strange spices and pulpy lemon wedges swirled in the upturned jug. Jane eyed her curiously.

  “I’m doing a cyan pepper cleanse,’ she said, screwing the cap back on. “It’s good for your skin.”

  Jane just nodded.

  The deputy looked back to her screen.

  “Yep. He’s here, all right.”

  She had Jane sign several forms and made a copy of her driver license. She issued her a locker key and had her stow her cell phone and her purse. Then she directed her to stand on a line on the floor and look into a web camera while she took her picture. The printer behind the desk whirred and spit out a nametag sticker. She handed it to her.

  “Put that on, and head through the door on the left.”

  The door opened to a sterile hall—gray tiled floors, gray painted walls. The hall was lit with runs of florescent lights that flickered dully overhead. There were no signs, and there was no one there to give her any instructions, so she walked the long sky bridge toward the door at its other end. The door was metal and painted orange, and there was no handle. She heard a series of clicks, and the door unlocked and opened. Another deputy stood on its other side. He walked her to a small sitting area comprised of yellow, plastic chairs and nothing else.

  “Have a seat and wait here,” he said. “We’ll call your name and room number when it’s ready. The rooms are just down the hall there, numbers overhead. You get twenty minutes.”

  Then he walked off and left her alone.

  She sat down and folded her hands in her lap. It was eerily quiet and stark. With no phone and no purse to distract her, she had nothing to do but sit and stare at the floor and think. Think and remember.

  Her brother was just over a year younger than she was, and she remembered always having to retie his shoelaces for him when they walked to the bus stop together. She could still see him, slogging along behind her with his laces whipping around his feet.

  “You’re going to trip and hurt yourself,” she always said.

  Her brother had never shown any motivation for anything except chasing excitement. Always the class clown, always the guy showing off and getting hurt. She remembered him setting up a launch ramp with plywood and coffee cans at the bottom of their hill and inviting the neighborhood kids to watch him ride his skateboard down and jump it. She remembered the ambulance and the beating she got from her father because she hadn’t stopped him. She remembered when they were older and her brother had grown big enough to fight their father back. The police had come several times. Her father stopped hitting them then, but the verbal abuse continued. She hated herself for feeling it, but she had been relieved when he died of a massive heart attack—alcohol-related, no doubt. Now her brother was walking down the same tragic path. She couldn’t count how many times he’d been locked up for fights, or for driving under the influence, or for smacking around one of his girlfriends while he was drunk. Jane just hoped that he would hit bottom before it was too late.

  “McKinney, room seven.”

  Jane looked up to see who had spoken.

  She noticed an intercom speaker mounted on the wall, and she realized that the voice had come from there.

  She stood and walked down the hall, past the windowless visiting-room doors. She stopped at number seven. She took a deep breath, grabbed the iron handle, pulled the heavy door open, and stepped into the small room.

  Her brother sat on the other side of a scratched and faded Plexiglas partition, wearing jailhouse orange and a smirk. He looked disappointed to see her. She sat on the metal stool, picked up the heavy black receiver from its wall-cradle, and placed it to her ear. Her brother did the same.

  “Hi there, Chili Pepper.”

  He called her by her childhood nickname.

  “Hi, Jon.”

  “I go by Jonathan now,” he announced. “It sounds more sophisticated in court.”

  Jane nodded.

  “You don’t look happy to see me,” she said.

  “It’s not that. I just hate you seeing me in here like this, is all. I was sure when they called me out that it was Mom again.”

  “Has she been to
see you a lot?”

  “You know how she is.”

  “Yes,” Jane said, “I know all too well how she is.”

  He shrugged, as if it couldn’t be helped.

  “Hey, how’s the weather out there?”

  “You don’t have a window?” she asked.

  “Not in this pod they’ve got me in now.”

  “Well, it’s raining again.”

  “Shit!” he said, as if the weather outside somehow affected him. “You know what they say about the weather around here, though. If you don’t like it, wait five minutes and it’ll change.”

  Jane hadn’t come to talk about the weather, so she sat looking at him and waiting for something real. There was an uncomfortable silence between them while her brother picked at a burn mark in the Plexiglas with his fingernail. His hair was long and greasy, and he needed to shave. He looked pale.

  “What are they saying?” Jane finally asked.

  “About my charge? They’re trying to stick me with a felony DUI. Can you believe that, Sis? They say it was reckless endangerment too. I guess Mom probably told you I rear-ended a police car. But he was sitting at a green light. I swear it. And he didn’t have no lights on either. I’m gonna fight it all the way this time. No way am I going up for a felony.”

  Jane heard his denial and sighed.

  “Well, what were you doing in Seattle, anyway?”

  “Prince was playing at the Showbox.”

  “Prince? You don’t even like Prince.”

  “No, but this chick I was diggin’ does. Worst part is we got in a fight, and the bitch left with someone else. After I’d bought her ticket too. Can you believe that?”

  “I can believe it. How drunk were you?”

  “They said I blew a two-three at the station. But that’s bullshit. You know they don’t calibrate those machines. We can subpoena their records and prove that too. Plus, I had a rising blood alcohol. That’s what my public defender says.”

  “So you’re not to blame here at all?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  He scowled at her through the glass.

  “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  “I only see one side, Jon.”

  “Jonathan.”

  “Whatever. Can we just change the subject?”

  They sat looking at each other for a while.

  “Are you doing okay?” he finally asked.

  Jane was taken aback by his question. She wasn’t used to him caring about anyone but himself.

  “I mean, how are you holding up with everything?”

  “With everything?” Jane asked.

  “Well, with Melody, and the funeral, is what I mean.”

  Jane inhaled a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut in an effort not to cry. The last time she had seen her brother was at Melody’s funeral, and somehow his asking about her brought everything back in vivid color.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s probably really hard to talk about.”

  She opened her eyes.

  “It is hard. But I appreciate you asking. Things are getting better. On good days I forget for a few minutes. On bad days I can’t think of anything else. I miss her a lot. But then I’ve been missing her for a long time.”

  He exhaled into the phone, a look of genuine sadness in his eyes. For a minute she saw her real brother in there.

  “She was a real special girl, Jane. She really was.”

  Jane’s attempt to hold it together failed. She began to cry.

  “It’s the same thing, Jon.”

  “What is?”

  “You.Her. This.”

  He looked away and shook his head.

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I just hate all this drinking and these drugs, Jon. I hate it with all my soul. I wish you’d get better. I really do. I wish you’d just admit that you need help. Just let them help you, for God’s sake, Jon. For my sake.For your own. It already killed Dad, it ruined Mom, and now Melody’s gone too. Jon, please make this your bottom. It can be if you want it to be. Please. I know they’ve got programs they offer through the courts.”

  He was looking down now, his head bobbing slightly, and she thought he might be crying too, but she couldn’t tell for sure. She waited for him to respond.

  There was a series of clicks on the receiver, and a robotic voice came on and said: “One minute remaining.”

  He looked up and his eyes were desperate.

  She forced an encouraging smile, hoping that something she had said had finally gotten through.

  “Mom said you might help with my bail.”

  “Come on, Jon. I told you the last time that I wouldn’t do it again. And I meant it.”

  He leaned closer to the glass, a pleading look on his face.

  “I know I never paid you back, Sis. But I will this time, I promise. This time is different.”

  She shook her head.

  “It isn’t about the money, Jon. It’s about you getting help. I might consider paying for treatment if they’ll let you go.”

  He pulled the receiver away from his ear and held it up as if he intended to smash it against the wall. But then he thought better of it and hung it on its cradle. He glared at her through the glass, and mouthed the words:

  “Fuck you.”

  Jane hung her phone up too.

  But when she stood to leave, he snatched his phone off the wall again and slapped his hand to the Plexiglas, motioning desperately for her to pick up her phone.

  She stayed standing and lifted it to her ear again.

  “Could you at least put a little money in my commissary account? Please. They’ll take it up front. Just give my name.”

  Jane hesitated and then nodded that she would.

  His eyes welled up, and she thought that he said he loved her, but the phone had gone dead, and nothing came through.

  A guard opened a door on his side of the glass and called for him to come out. Her brother looked once more at Jane and then disappeared through the door. The door slammed shut, and she was alone in the tiny room. She stood for a moment, looking through the glass at the vacated stool where he had sat. She hardly recognized him anymore. But then she wondered if she had really ever known him at all.

  WHEN SHE PULLED INTO HER GARAGE, she was happy to see that her bicycle was there. She needed to be with Caleb now more than ever. She went inside and set down her purse and kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. She found a candlelit table set for two, a vase of fresh flowers, champagne flutes, and a chilled bottle of sparkling cider. She heard quiet music turn on in the living room, and then Caleb stepped into the kitchen. He was wearing clean clothes, and his hair was styled with gel. He smiled at her and said:

  “Welcome home.”

  She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around him. He kissed the top of her head, as he liked to do. When she finally pulled away from his chest, she looked up at him and smiled, trying to communicate silently just how much he meant to her. A shy smile rose on his face and he looked down, away from her eyes. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving.”

  He stepped to the table and pulled out her chair.

  “A girl could really get used to being spoiled like this.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” he said.

  He opened the oven and pulled out a pan of lasagna. The smell of warm cheese and tomato sauce filled the small kitchen. He took her plate from the table and cut her a slice. He added a piece of garlic bread and a Caesar salad that he’d made. When they were both seated at the table, ready to eat, he poured their glasses with cider and proposed a toast.

  “To love,” he said, “because love is always enough.”

  They looked into one another’s eyes until they had clinked glasses and taken a sip of cider. Then Jane looked around again at the candles and the flowers.

  “So what’s all this f
or anyway?

  He grinned at her and shrugged.

  “It’s just for you.”

  “We’re celebrating me?”

  “I can think of nothing more worthy of celebrating.”

  “That’s sweet,” she said.

  “Plus, we can officially celebrate your yard being finished.”

  “You’re finished?”

  “Well, I planted the flowerbed for you today. The grass is coming in fast. And the fountain’s all ready to go. There isn’t really anything much left, unless you still want me to dig that swimming pool.”

  Jane stared at her plate.

  “So what now?”

  “What do you mean what now?”

  “Now that you’re done.”

  “Well, I think we should have your friends over and show off your new yard. Don’t you? Maybe the ladies you see every Saturday. I was thinking we’d do a barbeque.”

  “Oh, were you?”

  “Unless you’re ashamed of me or something.”

  “Hey, now. I could never be ashamed of you. You know better than even to suggest that. But a barbeque?”

  “Well, why not? I grill a mean steak.”

  “You do?”

  “Corn on the cob too.”

  It was impossible not to give into his charm.

  “I know you make pretty amazing lasagna, but who knew you were a man of so many talents?”

  She thought she saw him blush, but it was hard to tell in the candlelight. He leaned closer and spoke in a whisper:

  “I’ve got some other talents I might show you later.”

  Jane playfully brushed her lips against his.

  “Is that so?” she asked.

  He pulled her to him and kissed her. Then he said:

  “I’ve got moves I’ve never used.”

  Chapter 18

  THEY GATHERED IN JANE’S BACKYARD at noon on the following Sunday. It was a perfect day for it: blue skies and no wind. The flowers that Caleb had planted were bright against the backdrop of blue-green grass, and robins flitted between surrounding trees, calling to one another, and alighting on the new lawn to hunt worms. The creek rambled by, the hypnotic sound of water running softly over smooth stones.

  Jane stood on the concrete patio and drank it all in—

  Caleb turning steaks on the barbeque, surrounded by the other men. Her friends clustered in small groups, visiting. Some down on the bridge tossing pebbles into the creek.Others with their children at the goat pen, taking turns luring it to be petted with handfuls of grain. Grace sat in a patio chair, shaded by the umbrella and sipping iced tea. Her husband Bob sat next to her, wearing his pilot’s uniform.