Jane (24 page)

Once the story broke, it was everywhere, and much of the reaction was unpleasant. One magazine interviewed Nico’s female fans about his impending wedding. “Give me a break,” a thirty-year-old woman was quoted as saying. “I was buying Nico’s records when she was in elementary school. Nico owes his longtime fans more
than this.” And the female president of the Nico Rathburn fan club quipped, “I’d like to wring her scrawny little neck. Just kidding.”

The reactions of Nico’s male fans weren’t much better. One was quoted as saying, “Who cares? The guy should be able to marry whoever he wants to,” but another said, “What a disappointment. He could have had any woman he wanted. That wife of his, the Brazilian model? Now she was seriously hot. What ever happened to her?”

“Welcome to my life,” Nico said grimly, reading over my shoulder. “I have to know what the press is saying about me, Jane, but you don’t.” He plucked the magazine out of my hand and tossed it at a window, which it hit with a smack. “Promise me you won’t read any more of that shit.”

It was an easy promise to make and keep. However, my new notoriety found other ways of seeping into daily life. Now people stared at me when I walked through town or dropped into the grocery store, so I stopped going out, except to run Maddy to school and to playdates. I limited my wanderings to the grounds of Thornfield Park. On the plus side, the mothers picking up their children at the Waldorf School now smiled at me and said hello.

The wave of publicity had another unforeseen consequence. Jenna called my cell phone. “I saw your face in
Us,
little sister. You’ve been holding out on me. When were you planning to fill me in on the details?”

“There isn’t much to tell,” I said.

Jenna laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re marrying Nico Rathburn, and there isn’t much to tell? When did you two
start dating? I never would have pegged you as the type to sleep your way up the ladder, but I admire your style.”

I thought of an angry reply but bit it back.

“So, are you and Nico coming to our wedding?” She said his name with theatrical emphasis. “I ask because I never received your RSVP.”

“You never sent me an invitation.”

Jenna laughed. “Of course I did. You’re my sister. It must have gotten lost in the mail. I’ll FedEx it to you this afternoon, and you just call me back and tell me if you and that seriously hot fiancé of yours want the salmon or the filet mignon.”

Again, I said nothing.

“And just so you know, I’m available to be your bridesmaid if you need me,” she added. “Matron of honor, even.”

I told her I would give the matter some thought. Then I found Nico in his office, going through that day’s mail. “Can we get married at town hall?” I asked him. “Just you, me, and Maddy?”

He pushed aside the mail and rolled toward me on his desk chair. “You. Here. Now.” I sat on his lap, and he buried his face in my hair for a long moment. “You are a woman after my own heart,” he said finally. “Just the three of us would be perfect. How about early next week?”

“Why not tomorrow?” I asked, jokingly. “Or, if we’re being wildly impetuous, why not today?”

He brushed back the hair that had fallen into my eyes. “Two reasons: you need a wedding dress and a ring. And we’re going to L.A. over the weekend.”

“We are?” This was the first I’d heard of it.

“I have to meet with Dino Marcusi. You’ve heard of him, right? The director. He wants to shoot a documentary about the tour. Didn’t I mention this?”

“Not even once.”

“You’ll get to see L.A. You’ve never been, right?”

“I’ve never been anywhere. But I can’t go with you. Maddy’s class is putting on a play on Friday, remember? And she’s been invited to Pia’s birthday party on Saturday, at Mystic Aquarium. I’m supposed to help chaperone the thousand kids invited along.”

“Can’t you get out of it? Isn’t my documentary more important?”

“More important to you and me, but not to Maddy. She’ll be heartbroken if she has to miss the party, and she
can’t
miss the play. They don’t have understudies for preschool plays, you know.”

“Shouldn’t they?” Nico kissed the hollow behind my ear. “How am I supposed to get along without you for three whole days?”

“The same way you always did,” I said. “As for the dress, if it’s only going to be the three of us, do I really need one?”

“You’re going to have a wedding dress. Don’t even start with me on this. It’s not negotiable. I will not be denied the pleasure of seeing you in white lace, looking like a princess, on this one day at least.
Capisce?
” He kissed the spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

“Nico?”

“What is it, angel?”

A question had been nagging me ever since the magazines had brought it up. “What ever happened to your first wife? Where is she now?”

Nico pulled back with a start. “Why do you ask?”

“Are you angry?” I was surprised by the agitation in his voice. “It’s not that strange a question, is it? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He sighed deeply. “I’m not angry with you. It’s just a sore subject. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing. She wasn’t well when our marriage broke up. You know that much from the news stories, right? I think she wanted out of the public eye, and that’s all I know. I don’t want to talk about her anymore. Can you live with that?”

I nestled my head into his shoulder, and he stroked my hair, gently, as though I were infinitely precious. How could I give him a moment’s pain by bringing her up again? “Of course I can,” I said.

Though the dress Nico bought me for our wedding was exquisite and far too expensive for my taste, it represented a compromise. He had wanted me to wear one that cost twice as much — an ornate, beaded affair with a train that was better suited to Saint Paul’s Cathedral than town hall. The dress we settled on was simple white satin, modestly cut. To bargain him down from the Princess Diana gown, I let him pick out a poufy waist-length wedding veil, and though it wasn’t the kind of thing I would have chosen for myself, I had to admit that I found my reflection in the boutique’s three-way mirror secretly thrilling.

Was it bad luck for my fiancé not only to have seen the dress ahead of time but to have chosen it himself? Nico waved off the question. “Left to your own devices, you’d show up for the wedding in overalls,” he said.

“But they’d be white ones.” I let the subject drop. Back home, I hung the dress and veil next to my black concert dress, allowed myself one last look at them, and ran off to keep Nico company while he packed for his trip to L.A.

“Come with me,” he urged one last time, and I repeated the many reasons I couldn’t go with him. Before he left, he made love to me one more time, running his hands over my body again and again, as if trying to memorize it. Then he showered and kissed me good-bye.

When he was gone, the estate felt lonely and emptier than it ever had before. I couldn’t help feeling restless, thinking of the delights that lay in store: a wedding and a honeymoon tour that would take us all over Europe and then across the United States. The night before Nico was scheduled to return — the eve of our wedding — after putting Maddy to bed, I found myself unable to read or relax. To expend some of my excess energy, I wandered the grounds and saw, for the first time, the wreck of the chestnut tree. It was black and split down the center. The two halves clung to each other, the firm base and strong roots keeping them upright. But the tree was clearly dead; one good storm would knock it over. For now, though, they formed one tree — a ruin, but an entire ruin.

I sat at a distance, hugged my knees to my chest, and watched the sun set behind the poor old tree. Something about the image moved me. I had brought pencils and a pad with me and made a hasty sketch, trying to capture the sight while the tree still stood; maybe I could paint it from memory later, when I was far from Thornfield Park. As I drew, I marveled that the two halves still
managed to cling to each other. I continued drawing until it was too dark to see, then watched until fireflies dotted the field and the moon rose between the charred branches.

That night, despite my fears that I might get no rest at all, I must have slept deeply because I woke with a start. My room seemed unusually bright. I opened my eyes and saw that my door was opened a crack. Had I left it that way? That would have been very unlike me. Since the night of the fire, I always made sure I locked it at bedtime. I sat up in bed and noticed that the door to my closet was also open. I heard rustling deep inside. “Maddy?” I asked. “What are you doing in there?” No one answered, but a form emerged from the closet. Even in the half light, I could see right away that it was an adult, tall and broad shouldered. I gasped, realizing who it must be. Then the figure lurched toward me. The light from the hallway shone on the figure’s face, and I could see that it wasn’t Brenda, as I had feared. It was someone I’d never seen before in my life, a woman, with wild white hair partly obscuring her face. She wore a long, pale dress — a nightgown maybe. She moved again, and I got a better look. Her mouth was twisted into a grimace, and her frantic eyes were staring at me. I thought she might reach for me, maybe for my neck. As tall and strong as she looked, I doubted I’d be able to resist if she tried anything, and the haunted look on her face made violence seem possible, even probable. But no, her gaze left me and returned to the closet. She reached in and pulled out my wedding veil.

I thought about running for the door but was afraid to call any attention to myself. Instead, I stayed frozen in place and watched
while she waved the veil in front of her like a long banner, then threw it over her head and turned to the mirror.
Am I dreaming?
I willed myself to wake up, but the scene kept playing out before me. The woman struck a pose, made a chuckling sound, then, without warning, ripped the veil from her head, tore it in half, tossed it to the floor, and stomped on it. A moment later, she startled, as though she’d heard some noise I couldn’t hear, and bolted for the door. I heard her heavy footsteps disappearing as she made her way down the hall.

I leaped to my feet and ran for the door on shaky legs. I considered locking it but then thought of Maddy. After the fire, Nico had a lock installed on the inside of Maddy’s door, one she could manage herself, and one only Nico, Lucia, and I had keys for. Still, that woman had somehow gotten into my room, and I was fairly certain my door had been locked. I had to do what I could to protect Maddy. I fumbled for my house keys, ran down the hall — the woman was by then out of sight — let myself into Maddy’s room, locked the door behind me, and got in bed with her. In her sleep she squirmed closer until she was right up against me. I was glad to feel her warmth and to hear her soft, deep breath. I lay there for a long time, considering what I should do next. Should I call 911 and report an intruder? That seemed like the obvious choice, until I recalled all that had happened since my arrival at Thornfield Park: the mysterious laughter, the fire, Mason’s wounds, and Nico’s demand that I not speak to Mason and he not speak to me. I realized then that the intruder in my bedroom hadn’t come from somewhere else; she had been living with us all along. And I also
knew that Nico wouldn’t want outsiders brought in to contend with that woman, whoever she was.

I had to talk to Nico, but Maddy’s room had no phone, and I’d left my cell back in my room. I didn’t dare risk going out into the hall and running into that woman again. By dawn, Nico would be flying home to us. There seemed to be nothing else to do but sit up until first light, keeping watch over Maddy, willing the hours to pass by without incident.

When my wedding day finally dawned, I dressed Maddy and fed her breakfast, as usual, but I could barely speak, so preoccupied was I with the events of the night before. When Nico arrived midmorning, he found me waiting for him near the driveway, Maddy in the grass at my feet blowing soap bubbles. He only had to take one look at me to know something was wrong. He raced out of the car and gathered me up in his arms. “What is it?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine, but we need to talk in private.” I mouthed the last two words silently.

Nico bent to give Maddy a kiss on the cheek; she flung her arms around his neck, but he pried her loose. “Run off and find Lucia. Yes, I have a present for you. The faster you do what I say, the faster you’ll get it.”

As soon as we were alone, I told him the details of last night’s visitation. Nico grew pale as he listened, and when I’d finished speaking, he pulled me close. “Thank God you weren’t hurt.” A moment later, though, his tone changed. “Maybe you were having a nightmare?”

“My veil was torn in half. It’s still lying in pieces on the floor of my room. You know me better than to think I’d confuse a dream with reality, don’t you?”

He rubbed his cheek against my forehead. “Of course. I guess I was hoping it couldn’t really have happened.”

“But you know who that woman was.” My voice wasn’t accusatory — at least I hoped it wasn’t. I needed to know the truth. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Jane, Jane.” He walked me away from the house, as though afraid we might be overheard. “It must have been Brenda.”

“No. I saw her. She was tall and broad shouldered like Brenda, but she had long white hair and a very different face. It wasn’t Brenda.”

He thought a moment. “Long white hair,” he repeated. “Could you have imagined that? Could you have been half-asleep?”

“I was wide-awake. I’ve never been so awake in my life.”

“And the room was dark?”

“Except for the light from the hallway, but I got a good look at her.”

“You say the woman was built like Brenda. Could Brenda have been wearing a wig? And makeup so that she looked completely different? A disguise?”

“Why would she do such a thing?” The idea seemed ludicrous.

“Why would she do any of the things she’s done?” Nico asked. “Come into your bedroom, tear your wedding veil in half? Try to set fire to my room?” He put an arm around my shoulder. “She’s not right in the head.”