But that would only hurt his feelings. He was devoted to her memory, and duplicating their life before she died probably kept him alive and busy and made his days happier. Maybe this was the only life that could ever be his own.
“How long ago did your wife die?" she asked, hoping it wasn't a tactless question.
“Four years and three weeks ago. I wish you could have known her. She was the best woman in the world. Little, but strong. And so smart. She read all the time. And her gardens were beautiful. I've tried so hard to keep them just as she left them, but I'm not a good gardener. It's sad to see her plants looking so bad."
“I'm sure when we visit your yard tomorrow, somebody will make good suggestions. It won't be me, though. I'm not really a gardener, I'd just like to turn into one," Jane said.
“I don't want to be one," Arnie admitted. "I just owe it to Darlene.”
Jane thought for a moment. "Are you sure you owe her that?”
He frowned. "I'm sure."
“I'm sorry if I offended you," Jane said. "It's just that I'm a widow. My husband died in a car wreck, but I've gone on with my own life. So I guess I see it differently”
Jane didn't think she needed to give the whole truth, that Steve had died on an icy bridge while leaving her for another woman.
“But you're young," Arnie said. "I married Darlene when we were both seventeen and we lived together with joy for decades. These things are easier when you're young."
“I guess you're right. I didn't mean to pry or criticize. You're a good man. And I thank you for the beans. They'll be my lunch tomorrow and I'll be thinking of you and Darlene.”
Once again Arnie was about to get teary, so he very nearly ran out of the house without even saying good-bye.
Jane felt a bit teary, too. But she'd lied about waiting until tomorrow's lunch. She was already hungry after the mediocre meal the girls had cooked. She scooped out a ladle full of the beans and ham and warmed them up in the microwave. Katie must have smelled the aroma wafting up the stairs, and came down from her room to eat again as well.
“Mom, this is great stuff. Did you make it?" "No, an old man I know made it with his late wife's recipe.”
Katie nibbled a few of the crackers. "These are terrific, too." She finished munching and said, "Our dinner wasn't really very good, was it?”
Jane shook her head sadly. "No, I'm afraid it wasn't. But cooking is an art. It takes practice and experimentation. Sometimes for years. I had no idea how to cook anything at all when I married your father. I'd eaten what the staff of various embassies had cooked through my whole childhood. Then I ate in a dorm in college. And when I finished, I had a roommate who was a good cook and wouldn't let me near the kitchen. Your father nearly starved to death the whole first year we were married, I was so bad at cooking."
“I'd like to be good — at something," Katie said.
“You're already good at a lot of things, Katie. Your grades at school have steadily gotten better and better and I'm so proud of you for that."
“But you say I'm no good at driving."
“Because you aren't yet. You will be when you learn how important it is to keep your eyes and brain on the road instead of what you see around you. You might turn out to be a race driver. Though I pray not!" Jane added with a smile.
“So when do people get to know what they really want to be good at?”
Hard question for a mom who wanted to give good advice.
“Everybody knows when it comes along," Jane said. "I'm still working on being a writer, you know. I've spent a couple years on one book because it's not good enough yet. But like you with driving, the more I do it, the better 1 get when I focus on the right things. And I'm a pretty good cook when I feel like it, even though I started out badly. And I'm a better driver than Mrs. Nowack.”
Katie laughed. "Everybody's a better driver than Mrs. Nowack.”
Katie rinsed out her bowl, put it in the dishwasher, brushed the cracker crumbs into her hand, and washed them down the disposal before leaving the room.
That's progress, Jane thought.
Jane went to bed early. Mike was still out at ten, and she was fretting that he was getting seriously interested in the bizarre Kipsy Topper. How could he be? She was such a deliberately unattractive girl. And appeared to have no personality at all. Or, if the conversation she overhead when Shelley was grilling her was any indication, an unformed and insecure personality.
She crawled into bed, knocking her left shin against the cast. She'd had it on more than half a week now. In light of her talk with Katie, it was time to quit whining about it and learn to get around better. No more scooting up and down the stairs on her bottom, no more letting people help her in and out of vehicles.
After all, this was nothing. A broken bone in a foot was trivial. It wasn't on a scale with breast cancer or some other dangerous disease. She'd been a wimp and should have been thinking it was a good thing she had nothing worse wrong with her body and health.
When she comfortably settled into bed, she realized she'd brought the wrong book upstairs. It was The Arms of Krupp, not the mystery she intended to read tonight. She crawled back out of bed, picked up the crutches she'd dragged up‑ stairs, and with determination, got to the bottom of the stairs keeping upright. A small victory, but she was learning how to cope and was proud of herself. Starting now, she was no longer an invalid. She was a perfectly able-bodied woman who just happened to have a cast on her leg.
She got back up to her bedroom with only one scary moment at the top step, and started reading the mystery book she'd fetched from the living room. But ten pages into it, she realized she'd read it before and hadn't believed the ending. So what now?
She hoped to be awake when Mike came in. Should she tidy up the closet? It didn't really need tidying. She could strip the bed and wash the sheets, but that would take too long. She suddenly realized how terrific it would be to have something to watch on television. But she'd always resisted having a television in her bedroom for no good reason.
But now she was Woman, competent with crutches, and she deserved one. She'd order it tomorrow. That way she could listen to a program while she was taking a bath, or cleaning upstairs, or simply vegging out early.
Somehow this seemed to her to be a very grown-up decision. Inside, there was still a little of Katie in her. That remnant of insecurity that probably haunts every adult.
Except maybe Shelley.
Twenty-one
when Shelley came out of her house to fetch ·, Jane, she found her friend walking almost normally up and down the driveway.
“Good Lord, I think you've got it!" Shelley exclaimed, clapping her hands.
“I've been experimenting since six this morning," Jane said. "I finally caught on that I do better with one crutch. It substitutes for the bad foot, but I don't need the other one for the good foot. And I don't hang by my armpits with only one. Aren't I great? Watch this!”
She did a slightly awkward half pirouette. "Not bad, huh?" Jane said, grinning.
“What happened to you? Yesterday you were a sad sack, today you're Margot Fonteyn at her peak."
“Two conversations last night," Jane said, opening the door of Shelley's van and expertly hoisting herself up, with her left hand grasping the inside top of the door and hauling the rest of herself and the crutch into the front seat. "One with poor old Arnie — wait till you taste his wife's ham and three-bean stew — and one talk with Katie. Completely different topics, but it cured me of my hypochondria. Could you drive me to buy a television for my bedroom this afternoon?”
Shelley goggled. "I thought I'd never hear you say that. You must be the last person in the neighborhood to succumb. I thought you felt it was immoral or something to have a TV in the bedroom."
“I guess I did. It was stupid and I want one. I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to watch the morning news in bed."
“The pharmacies must be doing well," Shelley said.
“Amazingly well
," Jane admitted.
When she'd married into a family-owned pharmacy, they'd had money problems and she'd contributed a smallish inheritance of her own to help them over the slump. Out of gratitude, a document had been drawn up saying if her husband died first, she'd still receive his one-third share of the profits. She'd hoarded the money for the kids' college funds in stocks that were also doing well.
“I see they're putting up another facility in that new mall," Shelley added.
“And they've gone on-line and are raking in Internet sales at a fabulous rate," Jane replied. "I'll never get really rich, but I finally have enough stashed away for college fees and can do a few things for myself. Being stingy is a hard habit to break, but the television for myself is a start."
“Is getting rid of that awful station wagon and filling the chasm in your driveway next?"
“The station wagon still has a few miles to go, but I really should get a new driveway," Jane said, her eyes lighting up at the thought of getting rid of the World's Worst Pothole.
Shelley shot out of the driveway, talking and looking at Jane. "So Arnie brought you some more food. I think maybe he's getting a crush on you."
“He'll get over it today, if he does. Now that I'm clearly mobile. He was just feeding me because I was acting so helpless. Don't you ever look at what's behind you?"
“I don't care what's behind me," Shelley said with a laugh. "You know, I heard that the first thing on a woman's body that starts to go is the back of her arms. I figure that's why God put them where we couldn't see them.”
Jane nearly toppled over laughing. When she finally caught her breath, she said, "I've noticed something else. I'm getting arm muscles. Look. But pull over first!”
Shelley obligingly did so. "Whaddya know. You are getting muscles."
“I like them," Jane said. "I thought we might drop in somewhere that I could buy some hand weights so I can keep them in both arms."
“Hand weights! You're going to exercise! I never thought I'd see the day!"
“Maybe we could even join one of those health clubs and both get back in shape," Jane burbled.
Shelley stiffened up and threw the car in gear. "That's going all too far! Exercising… ugh," she said with a shudder, and then said, "Look what Paul gave me last night." She dug in the center console and handed Jane a tiny phone.
“What's this for?"
“Calling while I'm driving.”
Jane put her head in her hands and pretended she was sobbing. "Even safe drivers are a menace when they drive and talk on the phone. Promise me you'll never use it when I'm with you."
“Who would I be calling except you?" Shelley said. "And if I'm with you, I don't need to call you and you wouldn't be home, you'd be with me.”
As Jane was deciphering this reasoning, they passed a fast-food restaurant and Shelley turned in to get a cup of coffee to go. Jane chose a huge glass of iced tea because the day was rapidly turning hot. They reached the community center and she had to shift her attention to exiting the van and walking up the stairs, balancing her heavy paper cup in her free hand. She only slopped a little of it down her leg.
They were early and only Stefan was already in the room. Jane looked over her notes from the previous day while the others wandered in. Within ten minutes, the adult students were ready for the day's topic. But the teacher hadn't appeared. They chatted among themselves for fifteen minutes. Jane took the opportunity to thank Arnold again for the beans. "I didn't even waitfor today. I tried them out last night and they're delicious.”
Arnie just looked pleased and nodded his head. Ursula, stepping on a comb she'd dropped that looked like it was meant for currying a horse, leaped in. "A bean dish? Oh, do tell me the recipe. I love beans.”
Jane whispered to Shelley, "Have you got that phone on you?"
“In my purse."
“Then pretend you're helping me to the bathroom and we'll call Mel and report that Eastman's still missing."
“Excuse us for a moment," Shelley said to the group. "Jane needs a helper."
“You call him," Shelley said, handing the phone to Jane when they reached the bathroom. "You just push the power button, wait a moment, then dial and push the button marked 'talk.' “
Jane fumbled with the tiny buttons and reached Mel on the third ring. "I thought you should know Dr. Eastman didn't turn up in class this morning.”
Shelley tried to put her own ear to the tiny speaker. Jane waved her away and listened intently to Mel.
When the conversation was over and Shelley showed her how to hang up the phone, Jane said, "I'll tell what he said when we're in your van. Meanwhile, just follow my lead.”
They went back to the classroom and Jane said to the group, "Since Dr. Eastman has apparently been delayed, I suggest we go on with our tour planned for today. He had the list of addresses and can catch up with us later.”
Ursula enthusiastically seconded this, and so did Miss Winstead, and the ladies left the room, leaving the men no choice but to follow.
As soon as Jane and Shelley were in the van and heading for Stefan's home, Jane reported that Mel had said the young boy at Eastman's house had called him early this morning. "The boy had gone to the garage to get a part to repair a garden-hose connection and discovered that Eastman's car was still there."
“So much for his driving upstate to his other property," Shelley said, as she uncharacteristically stopped at a yellow light.
“Mel thinks it's too coincidental that the first teacher of the class was attacked and the second teacher has disappeared."
“So, against all logic, it might involve someone in the class?"
“He didn't go as far as saying that. It's just something he's considering more significant than it seemed before."
“What are the police doing to try to find Eastman?"
“I didn't ask and he didn't mention it," Jane replied. "We have to pretend to ourselves we don't know any of this on the tour.”
Stefan's yard was as boring as Jane's had been before she hired plants. But it wasn't nearly asmessy. He apparently didn't have pets. There was a fairly small maple tree in the center of the grassy yard, and little scattered innocuous shrubs around the edges. This was a recently developed neighborhood and this appeared to be the way all the homes had been parsimoniously landscaped.
Almost everyone had suggestions. Miss Win-stead's were the most sweeping. She suggested terraces, hidden garden rooms, and the pool having the water supply come out a hill. Just like her garden, of course.
Charles Jones argued for the opposite approach. Specimen plants on islands of mulch, so that each could be admired for its own special quality of growth and bloom. Geometric paths. Just like his garden.
Ursula said, "Just fill it up with plants you like and see what thrives and what dies and replace the dead ones with something else you'd like to try.”
Poor Stefan tried to be polite about the suggestions, but still insisted that all he really wanted at first was a nice little pool with a fountain with some kind of sculpture spouting water in the middle and easy-to-grow, pretty flowers around the pool.
Miss Winstead launched into a treatise on caring for a pool, which was largely discouraging, even though she claimed to love hers. Shelley suggested that instead of making planting beds, Stefan could get mobs of nice planters to surround the pool and change the plants with the seasons.
Jane managed to drag Stefan away for a moment and say, "Wait till you see what I have on my patio. It might be a modest start for you.”
He looked so grateful that she was afraid he'd be disappointed when he saw her little birdbath fountain. Or maybe after Miss Winstead's lecture, he'd be happy to know he could have the lovely sound of running water surrounded by plants with very little trouble and work.
Only Arnold Waring was content to just roam around and examine the shrubs and not offer any advice at all or join in the competition for Stefan s approval of their own garden tastes.
Stefan finally g
ot tired of advice and urged them along to Arnold's. When Shelley and Jane arrived, Shelley said, "I didn't realize Arnold lived so close to Julie Jackson's. Just across the street and three houses down."
“Hmm," Jane said. "I wonder if anyone questioned the neighbors after they found Julie. Old people on their own often keep an eagle eye on the houses around them. Arnold might have seen someone hanging about her house."
“I'm sure the police thought of that," Shelley said. "My goodness, Arnold keeps his house tidy. You can almost smell the fresh paint on the shutters."
“This iced tea has gone straight through me," Jane complained. "Would you run me home to pee?"
“Pee here. Well, not right here. I'm sure Arnold has a bathroom.”
“I don't like asking."
“Jane, don't be frumpy. Don't you know everybody pees now and then? With your background, you've probably peed in fifteen or twenty different countries in strangers' houses."
“And I never liked to," Jane said with a laugh.
As they drove up to Arnie's house, Shelley noticed Geneva Jackson and her husband come out of Julie's house with a suitcase. "Only one suitcase?" she said. "I thought they were staying until Julie was out of the hospital.”
Shelley waved and Geneva spoke to her husband, and he put the case in their car while Geneva came up the street briskly. "We're on our way to the hospital to bring Julie home!" she said with a huge smile. "The doctor thought it would be a couple days more, but she's making such improvement, and with a brother-in-law who's a neurologist staying with her, her physician is releasing her early.”
Jane thought that was good news, but if she didn't find a bathroom soon, she'd create a scene.
Twenty-two
Jane said timidly, "Arnie, may I use your bath room? I just drank a huge cup of iced tea."
“I saw you doing that. You're really making improvement moving around. The bathroom on the first floor doesn't have a door right now. I have a carpenter replacing it tomorrow, but there's another upstairs. Do you need help with the steps?”
Even if she had, she would have lied. The idea of a man taking her clear to the bathroom door didn't appeal to her. "No, I've practiced and I can make it by myself, thanks." She realized that even changing a door must be a wrench to Arnie. After all, his late wife must have touched that door thousands of times.
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