Chapter Forty-Six
Jane was lying on the beach when she heard her mother calling, “Jane, we’re going into town now. Do you want to try to call Peter again?”
She certainly did. She felt as if they’d been apart for weeks. She jumped to her feet.
“I’ll be right there!”
She grabbed her blanket and towel and took off for the cottage. The path meandered around the dunes but she was in such a hurry that she ran right up the dune in front of her.
As she neared the crest there was a sudden excruciating pain in her right foot, so intense that she fell to the sand with a scream.
At the hospital, the nurse told Jane’s parents that she’d stepped on a sharp fragment of driftwood that had been partially buried in the sand, and that it had gone right through her foot. She would be fine, no bones broken, the nurse said, but she had needed some stitches and would have to stay off her feet as much as possible for a while.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Jane’s mother told her when they’d gotten back to the cottage, sitting on the edge of Jane’s bed and stroking her arm, careful not to disturb the heavily bandaged foot on its nest of pillows, while Jane’s father looked on. “I guess this won’t be much of a vacation for you. We’d take you right back home but I still need a few days to finish my research.”
“I’ll be here if you need anything,” her father added.
“Can you bear it that long?” her mother asked.
“Sure,” said Jane, trying to smile.
But after her parents had left the room she sighed to herself. No beach, no television, no record player, and worst of all, still no telephone. Jane’s mother had been going to call Mr. Jameson again but all the errands had been thrown aside in the confusion and the rush to the hospital. Maybe tomorrow.
Oh god, she wanted to hear Peter’s voice so badly! She wished she were home so he could come and comfort her. He’d certainly enjoy the fact that she had to stay off her feet. He wouldn’t even have to tie me to the bed, she thought longingly.
She began drifting into a long fantasy in which Peter played the doctor and she the helpless patient...and soon was smiling.
Chapter Forty-Seven
She stood outside The Word Works bookstore, tugging nervously at her red dress.
She had waited outside Peter’s house Monday morning, parked down the block where she could see his car. She’d waited as long as she could, but he hadn’t come out before she’d had to go to work. She’d returned to her vigil on her lunch break but without success.
Tuesday morning had been the same but she had taken a later lunch break and had been rewarded by seeing him emerge from his house and get into his car. She’d followed him downtown and again stopped a little way behind him when he parked in a narrow street that ran behind a line of stores.
She’d watched him enter one of them, climbing a short flight of cement stairs and using a key to open the featureless metal back door. When he’d disappeared inside she’d gotten out of her car and peered at the small sign beside the door, which read, “Word Works Bookstore Delivery Entrance”. She’d walked around to the front and looked through the store window until she’d seen him standing behind the register counting money into the drawer, then left.
She had returned that night, parked in the lot near the front of the store, and watched. When the store had closed she’d seen Peter letting the last customers out and then locking the door. A little later the door had opened again and an older man had come out—Peter’s boss, she guessed—and Peter had locked the door after him. Shortly after that, the store had gone dark.
She’d jumped from her car then and hurried through the alley between the store and the building next to it, stopping at the end and peering cautiously around the corner. She’d arrived just in time to see Peter exit through the back door, closing it firmly behind him and pulling on the handle to make sure it had locked. She’d waited until he’d gotten into his car and driven away—then crept up to the back door, fishing in her new purse for the ring of skeleton keys. She’d put her ear to the door and listened for several minutes to be sure there was no one else there, then went to work.
Although there were houses on the opposite side the street was poorly lit, so she’d had little fear of being seen and had taken her time. The lock was a fairly modern one and she went through many keys without success, but finally, she’d found one that worked, and made careful note of it. She’d opened the door just far enough to stick her head in, called out a soft, “Hello?”, waited for a moment, then stepped inside.
She hadn’t stayed long. She’d pulled a small flashlight out of her purse and looked around; as she’d expected she was in a small area separated from the rest of the store—a storage room mostly, with boxes piled up in no apparent order and in one corner a card table with a few mismatched chairs for employees to use on their breaks. There were stairs leading down to the store basement and a door that opened into the store itself.
He would be coming out that way.
She’d left then, closing the metal door carefully behind her then testing it as she had seen Peter do.
She’d returned on Thursday night, wearing her red dress. But Peter hadn’t been there that night. It had been so hard getting through the days, pretending...
But now it was Friday and he was there and she was standing outside the back door, waiting, her mouth dry. Her red dress was driving her crazy; even when she stood perfectly still it seemed to bunch and ride up. She had no idea why it had shrunk like that.
She glanced at her watch. Nine-thirty: the store would be closing. At the base of the door was a thin band of light. When the light went out it would be time.
Suddenly she heard a door open inside the store and footsteps approaching. No! It couldn’t be Peter yet! But the doorknob began to turn, and she half-climbed, half-jumped off the stairs, and crouched in the darkness beside them. The door opened and she heard Peter call out, “Good night, Mr. Nevin. See you tomorrow.”
She watched him as he hurried down the steps, got into his car, and drove away.
Then she wept.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Home at last! Jane hobbled up the porch stairs, favoring her good foot.
The last few days had been excruciating. Her mother had finally gotten through to her employer’s house using the payphone in the drugstore, but apparently, he had been out of town as well, and nothing could be done. So the phone in the cottage remained unusable and Jane had to stay off her feet so she couldn’t go into town.
Jane’s parents had done their best to keep her entertained—her father had even carried her down to the beach in his arms more than once—and she was grateful, but not being able to talk to Peter was torture. And by the time it was all right for her to stand on her feet again it was almost time to head back to Ridgeton.
She’d sent him a letter the day after her injury explaining the whole miserable situation but she doubted that he could have gotten it more than a day or so ago. She was going to call him as soon as she got in the house.
She shuffled aside as her father, loaded up with bags and suitcases, bustled up the stairs and dropped everything next to the door with a huff, then reached into his pocket and brought out his keys. But when he started to insert the key the door swung open. Jane and her father looked at each other.
Jane’s mother, similarly loaded down, came up behind them and saw them standing there. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Well,” Jane’s father replied thoughtfully, “Either I didn’t pull the door all the way closed when we left or...”
He bent down and examined the lock. “Doesn’t look like it’s been forced.”
“Well, let’s go in and have a look around,” Jane’s mother replied, sensibly. “If all the furniture’s missing we’ll have a clue.”
“Good point,” said Jane’s father.
Inside, everything appeared undisturbed. Jane looked around the main floor while her parents hurried upstairs. Then, not wanting to tackle the stairs until she had to, sat down in the living room.
After a while her mother came back down, saying, “Everything’s all right, I guess. No one’s touched my jewelry box and nothing else seems to be missing...”
Jane’s father came down shortly after, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, I guess I just didn’t pull the door all the way closed. Funny, I could have sworn...” He shrugged again, picked up a couple of the suitcases, and headed back upstairs.
Much later Jane was in her room unpacking and noticed that her closet door had been left open, something she never did. She stared at it for a few seconds...then shook her head. She’d probably done it that morning when they’d all been in a hurry to leave and she was still half-asleep.
No matter. She was home and she was going to call Peter right now! She dialed his house, smiling in anticipation of the sound of his voice, but his father answered and told her Peter was at work and would be there until closing.
Of course, she thought as she hung up. It was Saturday afternoon, where else would he be? She reached to pick up the phone and call the store—then hesitated. Then she smiled. She would ride her bike down to the store and surprise him at closing time.
She looked down at her injured foot. It was still heavily bandaged but she was sure she’d be able to ride her bike. And besides, she was still tired and sweaty from the trip back and she desperately wanted a nap and then a shower. And then after dinner, she’d put on something pretty and go to him.
When she peered in through the store window Jane saw an older man behind the register and assumed that was Mr. Nevin, whom Peter had mentioned from time to time. But where was… Ah, there was Peter, over by the wall, reaching up for a book and handing it to a portly, middle-aged woman. Jane’s heart swelled as she watched him smiling as he spoke to the woman, and she longed to fling open the shop door and run to him.
Limp to him, you mean, she thought ruefully.
She looked down at her bandaged foot and grimaced, not with pain—although it was throbbing a little from the unaccustomed exercise of riding a bike—but at how it spoiled the effect of the lovely sleeveless print dress she was wearing. She had gotten dressed and carefully made up after dinner, then decided there was no point in going to the bookstore until it was nearer to closing time. She wanted him all to herself.
However, by eight-thirty she had been overcome with impatience to see him and hopped on her bike. And now she’d have to wait more than half an hour for the store to close.
She thought about going away and finding someplace to sit down for a while but put that thought aside. If she had to wait for Peter she wanted to be able to look at him. She watched him lead the woman he’d gotten the book for up to the register, nod politely, and turn back to wait on someone else. While he was still looking the other way Jane slipped into the store.