Plain Jayne (28 page)

“My stomach's growling,” Shane called from down the hall. “I know, I heard.” I pinned another square onto the fabric amoeba on the floor.

“I'm really hungry.”

“That's nice.”

“We should give the boy a break and get him some food, don't you think?” Mom said, pinning a square before straightening. I heard her spine crack.

“I guess.” I put the straight pin I'd been holding back onto the metallic pin base.

“I might pass out,” Shane's voice sounded fainter than before.

“You're such a drama queen!”

I try not to reward such behavior, but when he's that whiny, there's not much to do but feed him.

We invited Mom to join us and ended up driving her car, since the last time Shane sat in the backseat of my car there was a lot of sighing and comments about cramped toes.

A deluge of memories filled my brain as we pulled into the parking lot. “I don't know if I told you,” I said to Shane, “but I used to waitress here.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. It's kind of a Lincoln City thing. About everyone under thirty has either worked here, at Salishan, or been in construction.”

“As in plastic surgery?”

I swatted his arm. “Houses. Condos. You know what I mean.”

“What's Salishan?”

“A spa and golf resort south of here.”

The hostess who seated us did not look familiar, thank goodness. We settled into our cozy booth and eyed the menu.

Shane studied his. “I'm impressed.”

“I thought you would be.”

I had almost relaxed when our waitress arrived.

“Jayne?”

I looked up. My heart sank. “Gretchen! Wow.”

We hadn't seen each other since graduation. We were best friends in middle school, slightly less so in high school. After graduation and my leaving for college, we lost track.

Or rather, I lost track. I think she had tried to email me a few times, but I was busy with school and not particularly desirous of maintaining a connection to home.

“How have you been?” she asked, her eyes brimming with curiosity. She probably thought I'd run away with the circus.

“Jayne's been working as a reporter for the
Oregonian
,” my mom answered.

I turned to look at her, surprised at the pride in her voice.

“Really?”

“She's written some terrific features in the last few months.”

My mom read my work?

“That's so exciting!”

“This is my boyfriend, Shane,” I said, collecting myself.

“Nice to meet you,” Gretchen extended her hand. “Jayne and I went to high school together.”

“What have you been up to?” I asked, feeling as though I had to return the question.

Gretchen shrugged. “This and that. I've been making jewelry lately, but this pays the bills. I'm so glad to run into you! I heard your dad passed away recently—I'm really sorry about that.”

“Thanks.” I didn't know what else to say.

“So cool to see you. Can I get you guys started with drinks?”

After lunch Shane and I dropped Mom off at the house, bundled up, and drove down to the beach for a walk.

“Why haven't you visited?” Shane asked, taking in the coastline. “The food's good, the people are friendly. You had friends here.”

“I had to get away.”

“Your mom is great. I wish my mom was as laid-back as yours.”

“You never met my father.”

“True, but how bad could he be?”

“I frankly have no memory of him telling me he loved me. As a child, as a teen, as an adult. Not that I gave him much opportunity later on, but maybe he could have left it as a voice mail message.”

“Never?”

“Maybe when I was a toddler, but my memory doesn't stretch back that far.”

“I'm sorry.”

I sighed. “I am too.”

Beth was not invited to dinner that night. “I hope everyone likes lasagna,” Mom said when we returned.

“Mom makes a mean lasagna,” I told Shane.

“I don't think there's a man alive who doesn't like lasagna.” Shane clapped his hands together. “Sounds good.”

“The lactose-intolerant ones are probably a bit leery.”

“They probably are.”

An hour later, Shane and I helped set the table. Mom brought the food out, and we sat down to a much quieter, drama-free dinner.

Until halfway through. Mom said, “Church is tomorrow. Were you two interested in coming along?”

I froze.

I had a million memories of sitting in that sanctuary and not being able to sit still enough. Not wearing the right clothes. Not paying close enough attention to the sermon to be able to answer the questions my father asked afterward.

“Miss Lynnie will be there. I'm sure she'd like to see you.”

“Miss Lynnie's still alive?”

Shane asked, “Who's Miss Lynnie?”

“My kindergarten Sunday school teacher.” I put my hand to my chest. “I can't believe she's still alive!”

“Ninety-six last December.”

“Wow.” I sat for a moment and basked in happy Miss Lynnie memories. I turned to Shane. “Imagine the sweetest, tiniest old lady in the world. I think half the reason we liked her was because she was about our height. She always told us that when she went to heaven, she wanted her job to be bathing the little babies.”

“Babies in heaven get dirty?”

“Even if they weren't, I think God would let her wash them,” I said. “I don't know that even He could deny her that.”

I thought for a moment. Most of the time I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about God or believing in heaven, but I believed, with all my heart, that when Miss Lynnie passed away she would be in heaven bathing those babies. I didn't want to believe that someone like Miss Lynnie would simply cease to exist.

A part of me wanted to believe better, so that I could join Miss Lynnie and hand her the soap, if they use soap in heaven.

“I'd like to go. I haven't seen Miss Lynnie in ages.” I turned to Shane. “Would you like to come too?”

“I'm probably due for a trip.”

Mom gave the gentlest of smiles. “Attending church isn't like a dental cleaning.”

“It's not? Could've fooled me,” he said with a chuckle. “Pass the salad?”

I spent Sunday morning in a panic. What did people wear to church these days? I mean, I knew now what Amish people wore to Amish church, but I didn't think that counted.

“You know, it makes it tricky to get out of my room when quilt squares are everywhere,” I heard Shane grouse down the hall.

“The quilt is at a very delicate stage right now,” I said. I didn't know if that was true or not, but his whining was annoying me and I decided he could take it.

In the end I decided on gray trousers and a soft, black wool wrap sweater.
I paired it with a red, five-strand beaded necklace that Gemma gave me for Christmas the year before.

I even paid attention to my makeup that morning.

Shane whistled when he saw me. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.”

“You've been dressing snappier since you went to stay with the Amish.”

“It's what happens when a teen in an apron critiques your wardrobe. And I don't think you're supposed to whistle at a woman before church.”

“Probably not.” He leaned over for a kiss. “Are you ready?”

“Did you smudge my lipstick?”

“You're wearing lipstick?” He rubbed at his lips. “Am I wearing lipstick?”

“There's a bit of shimmer, but it suits you.”

“Gross!” He pulled an about-face and all but ran for the bathroom mirror.

“Hurry up!” I called, walking downstairs.

Mom stood in the living room, Bible in hand. “You look lovely,” she said, looking up as Shane descended. “Both of you.”

“Thanks.” I gave her a hug.

The drive to the church was quiet. In truth, my heart pounded. “Will Beth be there?” I asked.

“She might be.” Mom turned on the car's blinker. “We didn't discuss if they'd be there today or not.”

I sighed, but I reasoned in my head that being in church would give Beth cause to at least keep her voice down while she ripped my head off.

She couldn't kill me during a sermon or worship. There would be witnesses.

The inside of the sanctuary was as beautiful as I remembered, the wood paneling glowing in the pale morning light.

I didn't see Beth or Gary. We followed Mom to where my family sat traditionally, four rows back on the right-hand side.

The worship music was in full swing, and I realized I had been gone so long I didn't know many of the songs.

I also realized Shane couldn't sing. His pitch was approximate rather than accurate, and if I didn't know better I'd wonder if his voice was still changing.

I'd never known that about him before.

We followed along with the projected PowerPoint slides as best we could. People weren't turning and staring the way I'd feared, only singing.

In Shane's case, singing badly.

Halfway through “Here I Am to Worship” I heard a rustling to our right as people slid into our row.

I turned to see Beth and Gary clutching their Bibles and rain gear. I waved a hand and smiled, hoping for the best.

Beth waved back. The expression in her eyes could only be described as hope.

O
r maybe her expression wasn't hope, but indigestion. You know, when you eat breakfast right before church, it can do funky things to you. I didn't want to get my hopes up. As much as I wanted things to be okay between me and Beth, I was a realist.

I'd never known my sister to make a decision or change her mind with anything resembling speed. She dated Gary for two years. The engagement lasted another year, partly because she couldn't pick a wedding date for the first six months. The likelihood of her deciding in thirty-six hours that I wasn't the cause of the breakdown of the American family and global warming was fairly low.

I said hello to her and Gary after the service. She didn't bite my head off. No barbs, no snarky comments.

So as not to test my luck, I spotted Miss Lynnie in the back and made a run for it before Beth could change her mind.

Miss Lynnie greeted me with the biggest smile I'd ever seen.

“Look at you, all grown up,” she said, reaching up to pat my cheek. “Are you busy doing big things in the world?”

I gave her a careful hug. She smelled the way she always had—of lavender and Jean Nate bath powder. “I think so,” I said.

“I thought you would. You were always a special girl. Are you loving your Lord and Savior with your work?”

My mouth opened and closed for a moment as I tried to figure out how to answer that. Was it possible to love God through reporting?

“I hope so,” I said, feeling that answer was positive and yet vague enough not to get me into too much trouble.

She gave me a knowing look. “I hope so too. Now, tell me, who is that handsome young man? He looks like he knows you.”