Page 26 of Jane Deyre
“It’s going to be a tell-all. Reveal things people never knew about her.”
“Are you her nephew?”
“No, we’re not connected by blood. Ward—actually W.W.—Rochester is my pen name. But it’s what I mostly go by.”
I wonder what his real name is. When I get Wi-Fi, I’ll google him and find out. “I bet your godmother’s lived an extraordinary life.”
“She has. With a lot of ups and downs. It’s been as magical as it has been tragic.”
On top of her filmography, I know a few other details about her life. The loss of her child. Then her husband.
“The book is almost finished. The plan is to have it ready in time for my godmother’s tribute. For her to sign copies with the proceeds going to Gone Baby.”
“What’s Gone Baby?” It sounds like one of those thriller books.
“It’s her foundation; she’s devoted to it. I’m doing final edits and deciding on what photos to include. Maybe that’s something you can help me with.”
“I’d love to if I have the time.”
He pauses again to take another sip of his coffee. “My daughter is a handful. I’m sorry about this afternoon.”
“You mean the lunch incident?”
“Yeah. She’s been like that all week. Throwing tantrums. Talking back. Having nightmares...”
The poor thing lost her mother. I certainly know how not having one feels like. “She probably just misses her mother and is acting out. I think she’s a darling little girl. What Ms. Fairfax did was inexcusable.”
Ward’s eyes narrow and his lips tighten. “You let me know if that woman comes anywhere near my daughter...”
His daughter stops him in his thoughts. She skips up to the table.
“Papa, Jane... can we go shopping now?”
Ward’s brows lift to his forehead.
Time for my eyes to glint devilishly. “Target is right across the street.”
CHAPTER 15
Jane
Target. I feel like I’m a contestant onSupermarket Sweep.That game show John Reed’s mother used to love to watch while downing her cardboard box of wine. I knew to stay away and not ask to watch my favorite movie channel. Usually she passed out on the couch, but sometimes a drunken rampage ensued. Usually accompanied by a fight with her husband with things flying off the walls.
We race from one department to the next because Ward, aka Mr. Rochester, is having a meltdown and wants to get out of the mega store like a jailbird trapped behind bars. It helps that I know the store well, having worked at one while I was in high school. They’re basically all the same.
We start off with one big red cart. The kids’ department. Adele throws everything she covets into the basket. Jeans, T-shirts, hoodies, and lots more. All size 6. Not a single dress. With Ward’s impatience, there’s no time to try anything on. We make a quick stop in the shoe department where Adele picks out a pair of red sneakers that looks like mine. She insists on wearing them right away. I lace them up for her while Ward throws some flip-flops into the cart. “In case you go to the beach,” he tells me.Unlikely... unless you’re taking us.
Next, the toy department. Adele cavorts down the aisles and loads the cart with a Wonder Woman action figure, an interactive Baby Yoda, some tiny dolls that sprout from flowerpots, and a haunted house playset that eerily reminds me of my guesthouse. Not a single Barbie among her picks. From her climb up the tree, I surmise she’s more of a tomboy than her delicate looks let on. I add in some puzzles and board games. We move on to the sports department where we get a badminton set and some toys for the pool. I ask Adele if she knows how to swim. She shakes her head and I grab a cute inflatable tube and some floaties. I think about Ms. Fairfax’s words at lunch and a chill runs through me. God forbid Adele falls into the pool and drowns. The chill intensifies. I won’t be able to save her because I don’t know how to swim either.
Another cart later, Adele and I pushing the new one, an exasperated Mr. Rochester pushing the filled-to-the-gill original one, we whisk through the food section. I load our cart with kid-friendly items. Mac ‘n’ cheese, Pop Tarts, Frosted Flakes, pasta, deli meats and sandwich bread. I also add some healthy things like veggies, string cheese, and assorted juices. Oh, yeah... and a log of Nestle Toll House chocolate chip cookies... the kind you bake in the oven. Maybe later Adele and I will make them. About to move on, Mr. Rochester throws a random bottle of wine into the basket. I’m sure for himself.
“Are we done yet?” he grunts, heaving his heavy cart.
I suppress a laugh. “We’ve got miles to go before we sleep.”
I quoted Robert Frost... more or less. Sure he’d appreciate the literary reference.
He rolls his eyes.