I’ll Become the Sea (9 page)

“And then he just left?” Sarah sat on the floor in sweatpants and a baggy flannel shirt, hair tied back in a ponytail. She waved a French fry incredulously in the air.

“Yeah. He left. What else were we supposed to do?”

“Well, jump each other’s bones, for one.”

Jane blushed, burying her face in a pillow. Sarah got up and went to the couch to sit beside her.

“Poor Jane. A gorgeous, pathologically sweet guy who’s great with kids and always there for you and plays the guitar—he likes you, you like him—how awful for you.”

Jane took the pillow down from her face and punched Sarah with it. “There is the minor problem of my being engaged to another man, you know.”

“Engaged? Engaged to whom? I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Come on. I know you don’t like Ben, but this isn’t nothing. I made a commitment to him.”

“Not yet you didn’t.”

“I agreed to be his girlfriend and his fiancée.”

“His work is his girlfriend. His film is his fiancée. Maybe if John Ford broke his arm, Ben would drive over to his casket and help him wash the dishes for a few days, but not you. Who did that for you?”

“You did. Want to get married?”

Sarah laughed. “Name the time, I’ll be there.”

Jane crossed her legs on the couch. She picked at the stitching on the pillow.

“David is the one who was here, Jane. That is what a boyfriend is. That, plus the fireworks you’re describing to me…I mean really, do you know what I’d give for that? And you’re telling me you’re willing to settle for Ben? Who goes off across the country for months on end and asks you to ‘take a break’? What does that even mean, anyway?”

“It’s not settling. I do love him.”

“What do you love about him? Tell me.”

“He’s so smart, Sarah. And so focused. He’s not a monster. He’s just involved in his work. He’s passionate about it. He wants to succeed. And he doesn’t like to be crowded.”

“But you do like to be crowded. You like having people around you, the people you love. It means something to you when people come through for you, and it hurts you when they don’t. I’m not saying Ben is a bad person or that what he wants in his life is wrong, it’s just not a good match for you. He’s not willing to give you what you need. Or not able. Whatever it is, he’s not here. Even when he is here, he’s not here. His mind is on something else.”

“I should be able to accept that. I shouldn’t want him to be something he’s not. He’s a good man. He doesn’t have to be exactly what I dream up.”

“No, he doesn’t. But that isn’t going to stop you from wanting him to be, and pressuring him to be. And the same goes for him. He wants you to hold yourself back, like he does, to not be so emotional, to not make so many demands on him. Can you really do that for a lifetime? Be the woman he wants you to be? Because it’s just going to be a power struggle, back and forth, trying to change each other. If you could really accept how he is and not be hurt by it, then fine. But I don’t think you can.”

“I can. I can accept it.”

“Then why is David here on your couch every day, holding your hand? Why is he on your mind every minute?”

“It’s nothing. He’s wonderful, but it’s…nothing. I’m just nervous, maybe, about getting married. And worried about the parole board, and about Raymond. It’s just…all these feelings, they’re just a distraction. And David…he might think he feels something for me, but it’s…it’s not real.”

“It isn’t? Then why, I repeat, is he here on your couch every day?”

“We’re friends.”

Sarah snorted. “Right. Friends. Jane, the man wants you.”

Jane felt her heart turning over. She forced herself not to react to it. “No. Maybe he thinks he does, but it will pass. Ben is my fiancé. He is the one…he’s…the man I should be with. I just…I can get used to it. I can be less needy, I can give him the space he needs.”

“Jane.”

“No, he’s right. He didn’t come home when I broke my arm because he was tired. I’m always…falling apart. David’s just not used to it yet. He doesn’t know.”

“You don’t really believe that?”

“I know it.”

“Honey.”

“Don’t, Sarah. Yes, I…I feel something for David. But it would be the same with him as it is with Ben, eventually, once he realizes. Anyway, I love Ben. Do you think I don’t love him?”

“I know you do.”

“Okay.”

“But I also know what that love is doing to you.”

Jane held her hand over her mouth, cradling her face.

“What do you think happens when you love someone who can’t handle who you are?”

“Sarah, stop.”

“Really? Because I think you need to hear this.”

“Yes, really.”

“Fine. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“Thank you.”

“But I think you need to face the fact that David scares the hell out of you.”

“Sarah.”

“Okay.”

Jane leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder. “You’re messing me all up.”

Sarah rested her chin on Jane’s head. “Good.”

She nudged Jane and stood, heading to the kitchen for the plate of brownies they’d made earlier. She returned with a full plate and two glasses of milk.

“You’re a goddess,” Jane said.

“Indeed. So you’re off until the end of the year?”

“Yeah. The pain’s getting better, but I can’t do anything. I can’t even write my name with this busted hand. The students have all finished taking the state tests, and there are only three weeks left of school. I’m getting workers’ comp, so…”

“You don’t have to justify it to me. You need the time off. Read some good books, give your arm time to heal. When do you get the cast off?”

“End of June.”

“Nice. You going to celebrate?”

“Um. Yes?”

“What?” Sarah stopped midbite, brownie still in her mouth. “These are awesome, by the way.”

“Good. Well. David, he…invited me to go to the pier at Seaside Heights, for fun, after I’m better.”

Sarah resumed chewing. “Mm-hmm.”

“Stop.”

“And are you going to see him before then?”

“Yes.”

“Just for fun, as friends.”

“Yes!”

“Good luck, sister.” Sarah shoved the rest of the brownie in her mouth.

Linda sat down in the booth across from Jane. She pushed her wiry hair back from her face, tying it with a faded scrunchy, and reached for a menu.

“My back is killing me.”

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Who knows? The doctors won’t tell me anything. They just keep giving me more pills to take.”

“Are you going to physical therapy?”

“Mostly. When I can make it.”

“You need to go, Mom.”

“Yeah, I know that, but there’s no time. I worked sixty hours this week, double shifts. By the time I get home I’m dead on my feet.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. You must be exhausted.”

“Yeah, tell me. Anyway, what are you getting?”

“Tuna sandwich, how about you?”

“I need a burger. They any good here?”

“Sure, yeah, they’re great. Get a milkshake too. They’re the best.”

“Right. My pants are too tight as it is.” Linda ordered a coffee, a rare hamburger and a chocolate shake, reaching for the cigarettes in her purse.

“There’s no smoking here, Ma.”

Linda huffed, tossing her bag down onto the seat. “Shit. Thought I’d get away with it in Jersey.”

Jane smiled. “Sorry.”

“So, how’s my girl? Let me see that arm.”

Jane lifted her sling, pulling the fabric aside to show the cast. She shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

“No? That’s good.” Linda studied the table, tapping her fingers against the saltshaker. “Sorry I didn’t come sooner. Like I said, the mall’s been awful.”

“I wish you didn’t have to work so much.”

“I need the money, sweetheart. I have bills, you know, and without your father around I can’t exactly afford to let anything slide.”

“I could help you out, Mom. Send a little money every month.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“I’m not taking money from my kid. No way.”

“I’d rather you do that than wait around for Dad to come home.”

“Well, it won’t be long now, will it?”

Jane watched her mother. Tendrils of hair sprung out from the band of her platinum blond ponytail. Her face, lined beneath a dusting of pale powder, nevertheless held fast to the beauty of her youth. Her eyes were soft and brown, her lipstick the wrong color for her skin. The beige sweater she wore clung too tightly around her middle, but overall she was slim still in her light blue jeans. She looked exactly as she had when Jane was a child. Maybe a bit more tired, if that were possible.

Jane rested her cheek in her hand, feeling the old familiar ache fill her throat. The love she felt for her mother was almost painful.

“Thank you for coming to see me, Mom. I know it was a long drive.”

“Ah.” Linda waved her hand, flicking the idea away. “I have to come see my baby when she’s hurt. That’s what mommas do, right?”

Jane’s smile was slow, pensive. “I’m really glad to see you.”

“Me too, Janie. So what’s been going on with you? How’s Ben doing?”

“Oh, he’s fine. Busy. Almost finished with the film, I think.”

“That’s nice. Work okay?”

“Well, aside from this…” Jane gestured to her arm.

“Yeah. Right.” Linda laughed. “Sorry. You’re off for the summer?”

“Yes, actually, I’m out on workers’ comp, so…”

“Oh, you’re lucky. Get some time off to relax.”

“Well—”

“Yeah, you know, teachers, you guys have a good deal going. All that time off…”

The waitress came by with Linda’s coffee. Nodding at the server, Linda reached across the table for the sweetener. “You’ll be off all this summer, right?” She kept her eyes on the coffee.

Jane watched her, careful. “Yeah.”

“So you’ll be free to come to Maryland, for the hearing.”

“Mom…”

“Now listen, I had to come here in person to tell you this. And I don’t want you interrupting me. Let me say my piece.”

Jane closed her eyes. So this is why she came.

“Your father did wrong, I know that. But he paid his debt. He’s been in that hellhole now for twelve years. Enough is enough.”

“What about the man he killed? Is it enough for him? Twelve years, then he’s out on the street to do it again?”

“Goddamn it, Jane.” Linda slammed her coffee spoon on the table. She covered it with her hand to stop its clattering, lowering her voice. “He’s not going to do it again. I told you. He’s changed. You’d know that yourself if you went to visit him once in a while.”

“Mom, I write to him, I call him, I go once every month.”

“Yeah, well, imagine him up there in that place all by himself, no one to talk to, no family with him.”

“He murdered someone, Mom.”

“It was not murder!” Linda hissed. “It was an accident. He was drunk. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“He had a knife with him at the bar. That means he had it on him. What if he had used it on you?”

“Damn it, don’t say that.” Linda wiped her eyes with the back of her knuckle, straining to keep her voice down. “I know he was out of control, Jane. I know it. But it was the drinking. It wasn’t him. You don’t know him like I do. The way he used to be. He’s had a hard life, a very hard life. No one should have to go through what he’s been through.”

“I know that. Trust me, I know. And I do know him like you do. Don’t you think I love him too? He’s my father.”

The waitress came again with their plates of food. “You girls okay?”

“Yes,” Jane said automatically. “Yes, we’re fine. Thank you. This looks great.”

The waitress smiled, giving Jane a long look. She grabbed a pile of napkins from a nearby cart and set them on the table. “In case you need these.” She eased away.

Linda reached for one and blew her nose, taking off her glasses. Dark circles ringed her swollen eyes.

Jane watched her mother take a deep sip of her milkshake and set it down. “Look at you. Sitting there crying into your shake.”

Linda snorted, gave her a grudging smile. “You’re one to talk. With your little tuna sandwich.”

Jane reached for her mother’s hand across the table. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you’ve had a hard time.”

“You don’t know. You have no idea.”

Jane met her gaze, searching her eyes for something she could connect to, something she could reach. “I’m afraid of him.”

Linda’s eyes filled. She shook her head. “Don’t say that.”

“Mom, there won’t be anyone there to protect you.”

“I don’t need anyone to protect me.”

“Yes, you do. Of course you do. Otherwise, what was the point of me?”

“Honey.” She looked at Jane. For a moment it almost seemed as if she could see her. “There’s more point to you than there ever was to me.”

Jane held her mother’s gaze. She was still a young enough woman. She could make another life for herself, a new start. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Mom. You’re worth more than this.”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m not.” She leaned forward. “I just…I love you, Mom.”

Linda looked away for a moment, and then back.

“I love you too, Janie. Just do this for me. Please. I need you.”

Jane took a deep breath. “I’ll think about it, Mom, okay?”

“Okay.” She patted her daughter’s hand. “That’s all I ask.”

*  *  *

Jane lay in bed that night, staring through the darkness at the ceiling. She couldn’t sleep, but she didn’t need to. There was nowhere to be tomorrow morning. No demands on her time, no schedule to keep. Only the constant, steady pressure of her mother’s voice in her head.

She knew that Linda loved her, had not meant to hurt her or to let her be hurt. That she had barely survived those years herself. Called upon to save herself or her daughter, she had chosen neither. She’d chosen Dennis. She was still choosing him.

Many nights Jane had lain in her bed just like this, silent and still under the blankets, listening to her parents fight. There would be another woman, or the threat of one, or her mother would have put dinner on the table late, or cold, and her father would rail against her for hours over it while he drank, and drank, and drank. And she would listen, praying for their voices to soften as they sometimes did, for the sound of their bedroom door to click shut.

On those evenings when the screaming died away, when they slunk off together to their shabby bed, she allowed herself to cry. She could afford it then, knowing they were safe at least for the night. Although somehow that fade into silence was harder to accept, knowing what her mother was agreeing to, what she was forgiving.

One morning she’d gone downstairs to breakfast, eyes still red from the night before, to find Linda singing in the kitchen. She was wearing a faded nightgown and standing at the stove, making pancakes. She kissed Jane on the cheek as she stepped in, pulling her too close against her loose breasts.

“Morning, Mom.”

“Janie! Good morning. How’d you sleep, baby doll?” Her voice was unnaturally sweet, set with determined cheer.

“Fine, thanks. How about you?”

“Oh, real good. Real good. Listen, flip this batch for me while I run to the bathroom, okay?” She handed Jane the plastic spatula.

Her mother hurried out of the kitchen. On the table next to a full ashtray and a coffee cup lay the morning’s crossword puzzle. Jane eyed it while the pancake batter bubbled in the pan.

She supposed they had made up. There’d been no more sound from them since just before midnight, when she’d fallen into the imperfect sleep of someone waiting. She was groggy, thinking back on what she’d heard of their fight. It was something about the rent being due.

In her head she had calculated what was left in her small bank account, trying to figure out if she should come downstairs and offer to help. But she’d been afraid. Her father’s voice had sounded loud and slurred, and then abruptly there’d been silence, followed by the creak of their feet across the floor boards.

His car wasn’t in the driveway. She looked out the window at the empty spot and wondered where he’d gone. Maybe she could bring it up to Linda this morning, while they were alone. Her father wouldn’t need to know where the money had come from.

She turned the perfect, round pancakes over and set the spatula down on the stove. She walked over to take a closer look at the crossword. It was missing sixteen down, “Ayn Rand’s philosophy.”

“Objectivism,” she said aloud, and suddenly a piercing beep blasted through the kitchen.

A flare of smoke rose out from under the pancake grill, the spatula warped and melting against the hot rings of the burner. Jane plucked it out of the fire and tossed it into the sink as her mother barreled back into the room.

Linda took one look at the plastic liquefying on the burner and slapped Jane across the face. “I leave you here for five minutes and this is what you do? I just cleaned that goddamn stove!” She turned to inspect the damage. “Jesus, look at this!”

Jane leaned against the counter, holding her face in her hand. She felt herself go still inside, all sound and color fading out of the room. “I’m sorry.”

“Look at the fuckin’ burner! It’s ruined! I am telling you right now, little girl, you are cleaning that up. And if you can’t clean it up, you’re buying a new fuckin’ ring for the stove, because I am not paying for that. God, it stinks in here.”

She pushed past Jane to open the window over the sink. As she lifted her arms to hoist the sill, the baby powder scent of her deodorant drifted over the kitchen, mingling with stale sweat, cloying and sweet. The smell made Jane sick. She wanted to lift the hot griddle in her hand, to wind it back, to knock Linda down.

She took a step back, horrified.

She’d cleaned the stove. And used her babysitting money to replace the burner.

Linda had resumed cooking, muttering to herself, piling pancakes on a warming plate in the oven and frying bacon to go with it. When her dad pulled into the driveway, she made Jane sit down at the table as if nothing happened.

“He’ll just get mad. I don’t want any more trouble here today.”

Her father came in with a case of Heineken under his arm and a bouquet of roses wrapped in grocery paper.

“For you, Lin.” He kissed her mother on the lips.

“Thanks, baby. These are really pretty.”

Linda took them, arranging them in a vase and giving Jane a fierce look of warning. “Sit down, love. I made us a nice breakfast.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Dennis gestured toward Jane, who sat with her hands in her lap, looking down at her plate.

“Ah, don’t mind her,” Linda said. “She’s in a snit.”

*  *  *

She’d once told Ben about that morning with her mother. They were making breakfast in his narrow kitchen a few months before he’d gone to L.A. Scrambled eggs and toast, fresh fruit from the farmer’s market. He was brewing espresso beside her, whooshing steam from the stainless steel machine and fogging the window over the sink.

“She really screamed at me.” Jane laughed. “Dad was scary, but Mom could stop your heart when she was mad. The way she’d come at you! Terrifying.”

“Mm hmm.”

Jane’s smile faltered. “Looking back on it now, it’s kind of funny, don’t you think? Here I am so worried about my father, and getting ready to empty my bank account for her, and trying to help her with the crossword, and I make one mistake and it’s all over.”

“She hit you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“That’s fucked up.”

Beside her, he fed a cup of milk into the steamer. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the whirring.

“Of course it’s fucked up. I know that. I was just…”

“I suppose she’s had her share of karmic justice for it, though, right?” He set the steamed milk down and turned to the opposite counter to begin slicing pineapple.

“What does that mean?”

“I mean the whole situation was a mess, obviously. It’s amazing you turned out as well as you did.”

“Is that a compliment?” She turned to face him, watching his back as he sliced.

“Of course it is.” His knife clicked repeatedly against the cutting board. “Look at you. Smart, educated, sophisticated. You’re everything they’re not.”

“Well…”

“That’s you. You did that on your own. Do you know how much I admire that?”

She softened. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know why you let them bother you so much.”