Looking for Jane (46)

“Welcome home, dearest,” Tom says. He plants a kiss on her cheek and hands her a large glass of red wine.

“Ah, cheers,” Evelyn says with a sigh, settling herself down on a stool at the kitchen island.

“My wife seems taxed on this Friday evening,” Tom says, his back to her as he tends to the frying pan. “Care to vent?”

Evelyn hadn’t intended to get married, but Tom asked when she suggested they move to Toronto, and she’d agreed willingly. It was the most natural of seemingly unnatural choices, to marry a gay man. For both of them, it felt like an extension of their existing relationship.

But in the moment when Tom proposed, Evelyn had laughed aloud.

“I thought your intentions were entirely honourable, Mr. O’Reilly,” she said with a smirk. “Or have you just been manipulating me all this time? Leading me into believing you’re gay so you could sneak up on me with a surprise proposal?”

He dropped to one knee and held both of her hands in his own. “Marrying you would mean that I could enjoy a lifetime’s supply of your lemon shortbread biscuits, and that alone is worth the commitment.”

She smiled wryly.

“But, Evelyn, you have truly made me happier than any other woman ever has at any point in my life.”

The smile sank a couple of notches on Evelyn’s face as she realized he was quite serious. His relationship with his mother was strained, to say the least. He had fled England to escape her snide remarks about his “nature” under the pretense of expanding his horizons with an overseas education.

“I know you have your reasons for never wanting to get married or have children,” Tom continued. “You’ve trusted me with your biggest secrets, and I’ve trusted you with mine. But I think we could stay safe and be very happy sharing a life together.”

Evelyn smiled, then, feigning outrage, cried, “You don’t expect me to take your name, do you?”

“Of course not, my darling. I wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing, for fear of grievous injury to my most delicate and valued organs.”

Laughing, Evelyn nodded. “Okay.”

“That’s a yes?”

“That’s a yes.” And she let Tom slide a simple ring onto her finger.

Evelyn runs that same finger around the rim of her wine glass now, watching the diamond in her engagement ring catch the light from overhead as she considers how to broach the topic of the Jane network with Tom. They’re rarely cagey with one another. Their shared bluntness is one of the things that’s made their unique relationship work over the years. And how else could it work if they weren’t brutally honest with one another? There’s no space to play games with each other when your relationship is based on a mutual need to keep your true identity a secret.

“I know that look. Spit it out, love,” Tom says, sitting down on the stool across from her.

Evelyn softens, takes a long sip of her drink. “Alice came to me with a proposal today.”

“Mmm, bad timing. You’re already married.”

“Ha, ha, yes, I know. But seriously, she was asking me to join her at a meeting of an underground abortion network. It’s called Jane.”

“Jane?” Tom asks.

“Jane.” Evelyn takes another large swig of wine.

“Huh. What are they doing that you aren’t?”

“I’m not sure, really. Sticking their necks out unnecessarily. That’s what I told Alice, anyway. Sounds like a whisper network of sorts, but I don’t have much detail.”

“Where’s the harm in going to get that detail?”

“Mm?”

“Go to the meeting. There’s nothing to lose, right?”

Evelyn considers for a moment, then shakes her head. “No. Not tonight, anyway. I need time to think.” She pauses, then taps her finger on the side of her glass. “Can a girl get a top-up?”

Tom unfolds his long limbs and retrieves the bottle from the counter beside the stove, sets it down beside Evelyn before turning his attention back to meal preparation. Evelyn pours a little too much into her glass, then leans forward, settling her elbows onto the island.

“Alice is adamant that we can be doing more than we already are, but”—Evelyn shakes her head—“there’s a lot to lose if we’re found out.”

Tom is quiet for a while, though Evelyn can tell he’s thinking it over. “You remember the Parliament Hill protest?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“Do you remember the conversation we had the night before you left?”

She can see where he’s going with this. In medical school, his grades were always a couple of percentage points higher than hers. It was an ongoing joke at the time, but she’s always felt like Tom benefits from a slight edge. He’s often just one step ahead of her. It’s a trait that makes him such an attentive husband, though. He anticipates her needs before she’s fully aware of them herself.

“You thought I was worrying too much,” he says. “And that you’d be a hypocrite for not going to the protest. You basically told me that if you’re doing this, you’re doing this, right?”

Evelyn holds his intense gaze with her own.

“Well,” Tom says, “it would seem that other women are doing it, too. Maybe the need is coming out of the shadows a bit, and that’s a good thing for everyone. It’s illegal, full stop, so there will always be a risk, I grant you. But if more women are standing up to the illegality, fighting against it… why not join them? Maybe there is safety in numbers, in a way. You told me they couldn’t arrest you all at the Hill protest. Not enough handcuffs, right?”