Jane Doe(32)

Still up?

It’s Luke, and I would have welcomed this two hours ago, but even I’m too sleepy to be interested in a booty call right now. Barely, I answer.

Want to grab lunch tomorrow?

Lunch? I was expecting him to ask for a quick topless pic to help him get to sleep. I hesitate, frowning at the phone. Maybe it’s just an opening gambit.

I can’t.

Too busy? I can come over to Minneapolis if that helps.

I’m tempted, but I can’t risk Steven seeing me with another man.

I’ll probably eat at my desk.

Ok. Maybe another day?

Maybe.

There’s a long pause and I think the conversation is over, but just as I’m setting my phone down, there’s another text.

I don’t want you to think this is all about sex for me. It’s not.

Hm. That’s . . . interesting. I’m almost always certain of myself, but this is the type of interaction that can throw me off. Before I can think of an appropriate answer, he texts a follow-up.

You can probably tell by the way I’ve played hard to get.

I laugh at the stupid joke and finally respond.

Well, I think I’m starting to wear you down.

Maybe.

I have to admit, he intrigues me. I shouldn’t spend time with him, but I like that he surprises me.

We’ll see about lunch. Maybe Monday. Good night.

He signs off with a winky face. My cat jumps onto the bed and curls close. When I pet her, she stretches out and her heat presses all along my side.

Tonight . . . tonight I feel something that seems like true happiness, but it might just be satisfaction.





CHAPTER 24

I get up early to watch Steven get ready for work. The camera wakes up when he gets out of bed and stretches. I watch him tug up his ridiculous pajama bottoms before he heads to the bathroom. I hear him pee; then he tosses his pj’s out the door and into a hamper. He wears a fresh pair every night, I guess. He probably irons them before stacking them neatly in his dresser drawer.

A glance at the dirty clothes lying on the floor of my bedroom makes me smile. It’s too bad all my clothes are so pale and flowery. I’d love to wear a black shirt to work with gray cat hair all over the back of it. Still, that might be too much this early in our relationship. A deal breaker instead of a trigger for abuse.

I’ve already showered and dressed, so I wait impatiently as Steven gets ready. In the end I’m disappointed. Once dressed, he heads out the door, not even stopping for coffee in the kitchen. By the time he gets home from work, the puddle I left on his floor will be dry. I’ve missed my moment of slapstick comedy. Still, I feel certain he’ll give me another chance.

I’m just finishing my last cup of coffee when my phone rings. Is Steven actually being considerate and giving me a morning-after call?

No, of course not. It’s my mother. I put my phone down and ignore it. It’s her second phone call in a week. Maybe I should turn off call forwarding so she can’t reach me on this burner phone. She’s becoming a nuisance.

A buzz indicates that she’s left a message. Before I can listen to it, the phone vibrates with yet another call. It’s my mother again. Jesus.

“What?” I snap when I answer.

“Daddy’s had a stroke!” She always calls him Daddy. I haven’t called him that since I was four. Even in kindergarten I could see he wasn’t a hero who would fight monsters for me. He was a shiftless, immature loser with a massively overinflated ego and no sense of responsibility.

“Did you call 911?” I ask.

“We’re at the hospital now.” I hear the helplessness in her voice, but I feel no sympathy. She’s always been helpless. Hapless. Unable to deal with life. Having a sociopath for a daughter was a boon for her. I started cold-bloodedly taking care of family business by fifth grade. “Okay. You’re both on Medicare, right?”

“Yes! But they took him to the hospital up in Enid, and I don’t know how I’m going to get back and forth. He could be here for weeks! If he makes it through.”

“I just paid for a car repair, so I’m not sure what you mean.”

“It’s a two-hour drive! I’ll have to find a place to stay, Jane. And I can’t afford that. You know we’re living check to check.”

“Fine. I’ll send a prepaid debit card.”

“Can’t you just set me up somewhere nice?”

“No. I’ll send five hundred dollars, and you make it stretch.” If I set her up, it’ll be all room-service meals and valet parking. This isn’t my first rodeo.

“Jane . . . Jane . . .” She’s weeping now. “You should come on home and see your daddy. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case he doesn’t make it!”

“You’ve hardly said one word about his status, so I’m going to assume he’s stable.”

“He had a stroke!”

“Well, big surprise. He’s been drinking hard and eating rich since the seventies. Was it a big one or a little one?”

“He’s drooling, Jane! Slurring his words!”

I sigh. “Yeah, what do the doctors say?”

She hesitates, so I know she’s trying to figure a way to frame it in the most dire terms. She once carried on for days about a “brain tumor” she had. I was six years old and still terrified of being sent to an orphanage. I knew damn well my father wasn’t going to keep me if my mama died.