Looking for Jane (88)

“Not me, no.”

Nancy can hardly stand to ask it, but she does anyway. She has to. “Where did you get these, Mum?”

“At, uh, a craft fair down at the Exhibition,” she says. “A local woman makes them.”

“I’ve wondered about setting up a booth at one of those fairs, you know,” Lois chimes in, nodding into her cup of tea. “Lots of ladies willing to spend good money for quality items like that.”

Several women begin talking at once about the craft fair, and the conversation moves on.

Frances walks over to her daughter. Reaching out, she takes Nancy’s cheeks in her hands and stares into her eyes, blue into brown. As always, Nancy can’t read them. Frances plants a kiss on top of her head and lingers for a moment. Electricity passes between them, and then her mother lets go, and shuffles away again to attend to her guests.

Nancy can’t breathe. Clutching the booties, she mumbles something about having to pee and heaves herself up from the chair. She waddles out of the stifling living room, loud once again with chatter, into the cool air of the hallway. She stumbles into the powder room near the kitchen and shuts the door behind her, sits down on the carpeted toilet seat cover.

Is this a message from her mother? A confession? Is this finally happening? Nancy wonders. She wriggles her fingers down into each of the booties in turn, searching for Margaret’s note.

She checks three times, actually turning the booties inside out to make sure she hasn’t missed it, but it isn’t there.

It isn’t there.

The fresh betrayal slashes open the half-healed wound on Nancy heart. She throws the booties onto the floor at her feet and crumples over her swollen belly, clutching at it with shaking hands. Laughter drifts into the hallway from the living room as Nancy begins to sob.



* * *



She arrives back home in the passenger seat of her dad’s car. The back seat and trunk are full to the brim with blankets, toys, teething rings, stuffed animals, and baby clothes. Michael comes out of the house when they pull up, grinning at her through the windshield. She smiles back in an automatic sort of way and gets out of the car.

“Did the guest of honour enjoy herself?” he asks, planting a kiss on her cheek. When she doesn’t respond, he peers at her face. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Of course, yeah, I’m just tired. Overstimulated, you know.”

Michael pats her gently on the back. “Well, we’ve got a nice quiet evening planned anyway, eh?”

He helps her dad unload the haul of gifts while Nancy watches, one hand on her belly and the other clutching her purse. The booties are stuffed into an inside pocket, hidden once again.

When the last of the gifts have been brought into the front hall of their town house, her father turns to her. “Looks like you came out unscathed. Thank you for doing that, Beetle. I can tell your mother had a great time.”

He pulls Nancy into a hug that she returns without passion. When they break apart, she looks up into his face. “Dad…”

He waits. “Yeah?”

Nancy doesn’t know what to say. Should she ask him? Confront him right here on the sidewalk? Did he even know Frances was going to give Margaret’s booties to Nancy? Would he have agreed? Would he have included the note if it had been up to him?

She shakes her head, and the realization that there will never be a right time and place for this conversation comes crashing down on her. “Nothing. Thanks for the ride home. We’ll see you guys later.”

“Oh. Okay,” her dad says, nonplussed. “See you later.”

Nancy walks toward the front door. Michael says goodbye to her dad and follows.

Later that night, Michael comes to find her in the nursery. The noise of the hockey game was getting on her nerves, so she left him alone on the couch to come sort baby clothes. She’s passed an hour arranging and rearranging items in the chest of drawers. Her mind is racing and she can’t seem to settle.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Nance?” Michael asks again. He’s standing in the doorway, watching her fuss with a sleeper. “You’ve seemed really off since you got home. Did your mom say something to get to you?”

Nancy takes in her husband’s sandy hair and blue eyes, reflected in the soft light from the bedside table lamp she picked out at Eaton’s a few weeks ago. He’s so handsome, and thoughtful, and she knows she’s lucky to have him. If they have a boy, she hopes he turns out just like his dad.

She looks down at the striped green sleeper in her hands, marvels at how tiny the little feet are. She can hardly believe that in a few weeks she’ll be holding something so small and vulnerable in her arms. Something that she and Michael created together in love.

“Nancy?”

Michael is in the room now, walking toward her with his brow knitted. She steps over to the rocking chair, avoiding him, and settles herself down into it with the usual grunting sigh that now accompanies any kind of exertion.

“What’s wrong? What is it? Is the baby okay?” he asks, kneeling on the rug at her feet.

Nancy is hit with a pang of guilt. “Oh God, yes, the baby is fine. Kicking and moving a lot. It’s not that, Mike. I don’t know. I’m fine. I just got overwhelmed at the shower today, that’s all.”

“Is it? You’ve been quiet and avoiding me all night. I think I know you better than that, Nance.”