Plain Jayne (21 page)

“Um, well, I'm not in Albany any more.”

“Oh? Where are you?”

“OHSU.”

“What! Why? Are you okay?”

“It's not me. Gideon had a heart attack, but listen. He had to come up
here to have bypass surgery, and now I have three people staying in my apartment who can't live off crackers.”

“Any vegetarians?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Any food allergies?”

“None that I'm aware of.”

“How many people?”

“Four, including me.”

“Four?” Gemma checked.

“Martha, Sara, me…and Levi.”

“Levi's there?”

“Gem—”

“Levi, you kissed him, Levi?”

“There just aren't a whole lot of Levis in this world. Yes, same one.”

“He's staying in your apartment?”

“In the study.”

“Oh, that's kind of cute.”

“Not helping!”

“Right. How about if I bring over some food from the restaurant?”

My shoulders relaxed. “Have I told you you're fantastic?”

“Not in the last ten minutes.”

“Feel free to invite yourself over. Sara will want to analyze your outfit.”

“I would, but I have study tonight.”

“Oh.” Study as in Bible study. “Well, have fun with that.”

“I will. Have you talked to Shane recently?”

“I haven't.”

“Just wondering. See you tonight?”

“Tonight,” I agreed, and hung up.

Shane. Shane, Shane, Shane. Didn't know what to do with Shane. Didn't know what to do about Shane. I wanted to talk to him—well, catch up at least. But I didn't particularly want him to know I was back in town or to know I had houseguests.

If only I hadn't kissed Levi.

If only I could kiss him again.

“Everything okay?” Levi asked when I returned.

“Yeah. I just secured us food for tonight.”

“You didn't need to do that. I can cook.”

“You can cook? Like what, toast?”

“Pasta. Jambalaya. Chicken Cordon Bleu.”

“I'm impressed. I thought most bachelors ate noodles with butter and salt.”

“I do that too.”

“No poor-person pasta tonight. My friend Gemma is either cooking or bringing food from her family's restaurant. Either way, we'll eat well.”

“You have good friends.”

“I do.”

“Holding up okay? It was a late night.”

“You're asking me? It's your dad hooked up to the machines in there. How are you?”

Levi sighed.

I gave him a sad smile. “It's okay. You don't have to say anything.”

Gemma arrived promptly at six thirty that night, and I wondered if she'd kicked up her wardrobe a bit to make up for not staying. Despite the fact that she was carrying an armload of casserole dishes, Sara studied her ensemble from head to toe.

It doesn't hurt that Gemma's half-French, half-Italian, and wholly striking.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Rosemary chicken lasagna, rolls, salad, soup from the restaurant—”

“What kind?”

“Italian Wedding, I think. Maybe potato and leek.”

“I confuse the two all the time.”

“I just had Niko throw some into a container. I wasn't involved in the soup choosing.”

“If it's good enough for your brother, it's good enough for the rest of us.” I turned to my houseguests, assembled as they were in the dining alcove. “This is my dear friend Gemma. Gemma, this is Martha, her daughter Sara, and her son Levi.”

“Good to meet you,” she said, possibly paying more attention to Levi than Martha or Sara. “Let me get the food and get out of your way.”

“Positive you can't stay?”

“Sorry. Bible study, and I'm bringing the snack.”

Knowing Gem, the snack involved something wrapped in prosciutto or stuffed with candied marscapone. Being on the receiving end of Gemma's cuisine was a happy place to be.

“What kind of Bible study?” Levi asked, out of the blue.

Gemma paused, a funny little smile on her face. “We're going through Isaiah.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets, not particularly interested in the ritual Christians go through to identify each other.

“I like Isaiah. Are you going through the whole book?”

“And studying the historical context, yes.”

“That must be fascinating.”

“Completely fascinating,” I said. “Want us to transfer the food out of these containers?”

“No, that's fine. The study is also interesting because we're reading the Scripture out of four translations, including Amplified.”

“You can get some remarkable insights from the Amplified.”

“It just takes a while to read through.”

They shared a laugh. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

“I do need to go, though,” Gemma said. “Jayne? Didn't you leave your scarf in my car?”

“Scarf?” I wasn't much of a scarf wearer, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd ridden in Gemma's car.

But then I read the look on Gemma's face.

“Right. Scarf. I'll follow you out.” I turned to my guests. “Feel free to start without me. I'll be right back.”

Gemma waved goodbye to everyone, and then I shut the door behind us.

“I don't wear scarves,” I said when we were halfway down the stairs. “You couldn't think of anything else?”

“Nope. So, that's Levi?”

“Yes, Gem, that's Levi.”

“I like him.”

“Fine. He's all yours.”

She glared at me. “No. I mean I like him for you. Jayne, why on earth are you still in a relationship with Shane?”

I
sighed. “Why am I with Shane? He's smart. He makes me laugh. I enjoy spending time with him. We vote the same way, believe in the same things.”

But on the inside, I knew the honest answer.

Shane was safe. He knew nothing about my past, and I liked it that way. He didn't pry into my life, at least not usually.

More than that, he was the first clean-cut, non-hick guy to notice me, to want to spend time with me. A part of me felt that I owed him for that.

I had a pretty good handle on Levi. He wouldn't let me shut him out of my life. Because of that, I couldn't afford a relationship with him. He would want too much.

I didn't tell Gemma that.

“Believing the same things doesn't make a great relationship. I mean, think of Meg Ryan and Greg Kinnear in
You've Got Mail
,” I said instead.

“You do realize they were playing scripted characters.”

“Fine,” I said with a calculated shrug. “It's unprofessional to get involved with someone while I'm working on a story.”

“You're not working on it for the newspaper.”

“Still, I'm working on it. I'm on the job. I can't get involved.”

“That's why half the family is staying in your apartment.”

“Not half. Six, no, seven other members aren't here. Only thirty percent of the family are here.”

“I stand corrected. You might just…think about it.”

“Okay. I will. Here's your car,” I said, as if, after three years of ownership, Gemma struggled with automobile identification. “Thanks so much for the food!”

“Are you getting rid of me?”

“Don't want you to be late for study.”

Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “That would break your heart, wouldn't it. You'll keep me posted on Gideon and everything?”

“Absolutely.”

“You're not just saying that?”

“Absolutely not.” I gave her a hug to make myself feel less guilty.

I watched Levi during dinner for signs that he was suddenly interested in marriage.

Not to me. To Gemma. Her cooking had that effect on men sometimes. They would envision themselves happy and well fed and that would be the end of that.

That Gemma was still single astounded us all, especially considering the quality of her meatloaf.

After dinner I found myself thinking that I was home, in possession of a TV, and wouldn't it be nice to watch Bill Moyers? I knew I had recorded shows on my DVR…but what was the protocol on television viewing when the Amish were about?

I could go with the strict interpretation and say I couldn't do anything they wouldn't, but then, I wouldn't be able to turn the lights on.

In the end I decided that using basic necessities was permissible (seeing as how I didn't own a Coleman lantern), but Bill Moyers was pushing it.

Martha beat the boredom by attacking my apartment with a vengeance. The dinner dishes were washed and put away into locations they had only ever dreamed of. After that, she swept the floor with a broom I didn't know I had before proceeding to hand wash the floor on her hands and knees. She used paper towels because I didn't own rags, a fact that completely amazed her.

I was completely amazed that I had a broom, so we were even.

“Thanks for letting her do that,” Levi said in a voice quiet enough for Martha not to hear. “I think it's cathartic for her.”

“I just keep feeling like I should tip her or something,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. “I'm not quite a slob, but I don't think this apartment was this clean when I moved in.”

“It probably wasn't. The Amish have a standard for interior cleanliness that outsiders can only aspire to.”

“I didn't say I aspired. I don't enjoy scrubbing on my hands and knees.”

“The irony is that they'll walk barefoot through mud and wash less than we might have them wash, but the houses are always very clean.”

“And the rest of us are the other way around.”

“Like I said, thanks for doing this.”

I shrugged, remembering the sight of Gideon nearly lifeless in his hospital bed. “You're welcome.”

I walked the halls of a ward in a daze. There were doors on either side of me; they stretched as far as I could see. Some of the doors were open, some were closed. Some had people inside, others had puppies.