Looking for Jane (22)
It’s just a series of gut feelings Nancy can’t seem to connect with anything stronger than the weakest thread.
Until now, the idea was just an undefined, shapeless shadow in a dark corner of Nancy’s brain. But her grandmama’s comments echo in her mind as she boards the subway car that takes her back to her apartment. The thoughts continue to whir when she arrives home and shuts her bedroom door behind her.
It’s as though something dark has latched onto her heart. She already knew it was there, though she couldn’t sense its edges yet. But when she crawls into bed still fully clothed, Nancy can finally feel the prickly outline of the shadow, a truth she had previously been determined to ignore.
* * *
Three days later, Nancy finds herself standing on the front porch of her parents’ house, staring at the familiar silver door knocker, a large M wrapped in twists of ivy. She considers the name for a brief moment, contemplates her own identity with it.
Of course you’re a Mitchell, she tells herself. This is ridiculous. You should just turn around and go home.
But a persistent voice in Nancy’s mind argues back.
Then why can’t you let this go? Why haven’t you just dismissed it as the ramblings of an old woman whose mind is on the decline?
And the truth is, she’s already starting to regret this plan. When she learned that her parents would be going out to dinner tonight with their friends the Morgensterns, she invited herself over for afternoon tea, telling her mother she needed a quiet place to study for the evening.
“I’m just going to do some homework here, Mum, if you don’t mind,” she’d said on the phone. “It gets too loud here at the apartment, and I really need to get down to work on this final English paper.” She crossed her legs at the ankle then, to keep her feet from jiggling with nerves. “Besides, your couch is way more comfortable than mine.”
Her mother sighed. “Well, you didn’t have to move out, you know.”
“I know, Mum.”
Except her apartment isn’t that noisy; her two roommates are generally reasonable. She’s here to search her parents’ room for information. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for, exactly. Just some form of confirmation that what Grandmama told her might be true.
Or hopefully not.
Screwing up her nerve, Nancy is just about to reach into her purse for her key when her mother opens the front door.
“Nancy, dear, whatever are you doing lurking out here on the porch? You’ll catch your death. It’s freezing out.”
“It’s ten degrees, Mum,” Nancy says, stepping over the threshold and shutting the door behind her. “And besides, that’s not how viruses work.”
Frances clicks her tongue at her daughter with an exaggerated eye roll. “Yes, yes, you’re very clever.”
“Good to see you, Mum,” Nancy says, planting a kiss on her heavily powdered cheek. Her mother air-kisses her back through salmon-pink lipstick.
Nancy hangs her coat and purse on a hook in the wall, kicks off her hiking boots, then sets them neatly on the boot tray as her mother watches with a critical eye. Frances reaches down and picks up a speck of mud that shook loose from the sole of Nancy’s boot, opens the front door, and tosses it out onto the porch. Nancy smiles tightly.
“Is the tea on already?” she asks, knowing it will be. “Can I lend a hand?”
“No, no, dear, come on in and sit down. I hate it when you act like a guest.”
“Sorry, Mum.”
“Oh, never mind,” Frances says. “Your father says you need your independence and all that. I’ve just never quite adjusted. You know that.”
Nancy nods and flops down on the couch. “I know. I’m sorry it’s hard for you.”
Frances pats a curl on top of her head. “Yes, well, time for tea, then.” She bustles off to the kitchen and returns a minute later with a platter of Peak Freans biscuits and over-milked orange pekoe.
“Is Dad here?” Nancy asks, leaning forward to take a raspberry cream cookie.
“He’s just upstairs finishing getting ready. He’ll be down.” Frances settles herself on a large wing chair and pours tea for them both. “I have something for you, just there.” She indicates a shopping bag from the Bay that Nancy hadn’t noticed. “Open it!”
“Aw, Mum, you didn’t have to do that.” Nancy’s insides squirm with guilt.
“Yes, I did. I saw it and thought it was gorgeous, just your colours!”
Nancy pulls the bag toward her. Reaching in, she lifts out a dress. It’s blue and pink floral with puffy sleeves, something Nancy wouldn’t be caught dead in.
“I was just thinking you’ll want something nice for dates and things. You’ll never impress Mr. Right with all that denim you wear. And those big sweaters do nothing for your figure, dear.”
Nancy takes a deep breath and lowers the dress back into the bag. “Thanks, Mum, it’s lovely.”
Frances smiles over the rim of the Royal Doulton. “I’m glad you like it. And on the subject of dresses, I have some rather big news. Clara and Anthony are engaged to be married!”
“Oh my gosh, wow!” Nancy feigns surprise. Clara had called her a week ago to deliver the news, which Nancy felt was less than cause for celebration. For one thing, Nancy thought Clara could do a whole lot better than her mercurial, vituperative boyfriend Anthony. And for another, she knew this news would spark a renewed determination in Frances to see Nancy married off at the earliest opportunity. Nancy just hadn’t predicted that determination would arrive in the form of a puffy-sleeved floral dress.