Page 28 of Jane Deyre
The dozens of Target bags are packed in the spacious trunk. Adele is seated in the back, buckled into her new car seat. Wearing her new red sneakers and playing with her new Wonder Woman doll. I’m seated in the front, next to Ward, who’s silent and impassive.
I turn my head and look back at Adele.
And for a fleeting second I feel like wearethe perfect family.
CHAPTER 16
Jane
While Grace stocks the kitchen with the groceries we bought, I help Adele put all her new things away. She’s happy as a clam in her new jeans, striped T-shirt, and red sneakers. And she looks absolutely adorable. She wants to go to the pool, but I convince her it’s too late—that we’ll go tomorrow—and talk her into baking the Toll House cookies with me.
The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is frozen in time. The seventies? There’s a hodgepodge of dark wood cabinets, mustard yellow tiles, and well-used copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. With its old industrial stove, refrigerator, and butcher-block island, it’s clearly a cook’s kitchen despite its age. A place where Grace can prepare her gourmet meals.
While I’m no cook, the cookies are super easy to make. You just slice up the log of dough into half-inch-thick rings and put them into the oven on a baking sheet for ten minutes until they’re golden brown. As they bake, the smell of the kitchen grows mouthwatering good. After the timer goes off, we let them cool and then devour them each with a glass of milk. Even skeptical Grace has one and gives us a thumbs-up.
I do not see Edwina, Ms. Fairfax, or Ward for the rest of the afternoon.
Through handwritten notes, I learn from Grace that dinner, unlike lunch, is not a formal affair. Edwina likes to take hers in her room; Ms. Fairfax prefers to dine alone in the dining room, and Mr. Rochester usually works through it. While I wouldn’t mind seeing Edwina and her godson, I’m happy not to have to contend with Ms. Fairfax.
Though I’m perfectly capable of whipping up some mac ‘n’ cheese, Grace insists on doing it. She actually makes it way better than I would, adding some fresh milk and grated cheddar cheese to the prepared mix. She includes a side of broccoli that she makes tasty with a light lemon and butter sauce. The three of us sit down at a small round table by a window. To my delight, Adele wipes her plate clean and even asks for a second helping of the greens. The main course is followed by a scoop of vanilla ice cream and another cookie. By the time dinner is over, Adele’s eyelids are drooping. She can barely keep her eyes open. I think I may have to carry her up to her room, but she manages to get up the staircase. One slow step at a time. It’s been a big day. Forgoing a bath, I get her into her new Scooby Doo pajamas and tuck her into bed, her new Yoda doll tucked in her arms.
Her eyelids almost sealed, she looks up at me. “Jane...” Her voice is tiny.
“Yes...?”
“Would you check on the snails and tell thembonne nuitfrom me?”
“Of course, honey, and tomorrow, let’s give them names.”
She smiles. “That’s a good idea.”
Before I can make some suggestions, her eyes shut. I brush a few stray hairs off her face and plant a kiss on her forehead. A feeling that I can’t put into words surges inside me. I feel a visceral connection to this child. A need to protect her and take care of her. Maybe it’s love. I’m glad I purchased the monitor. God forbid something terrible happens to her in the middle of the night. Like if she woke up from a nightmare. Or a kidnapper broke in. I quickly banish that unfathomable thought. At least I’ll be on top of things. I just need to set the device up.
Though I’ve never had a formal discussion about my responsibilities and hours, I’m ready to retire. It’s been a big day for me as well and I’m beat. Leaving Adele’s nightlight on, I tiptoe out of the room.
Still light outside, a gray quilt of fog is rolling back in. I check on the snails—relieved they’re still nestled in the potted shrub—clinging to a leaf and sleeping in their shells. “Goodnight, snails,” I say aloud and scurry to the guesthouse. My Converse crunch on the pebbled path. The chirp of crickets accompanies me along with the tap, tap, tap of a woodpecker. Other than that, there’s a disquieting silence. I sure wouldn’t want to run across this yard late at night by myself. Moving quickly, I glance once over my shoulder and I see Ms. Fairfax on the veranda, eyeing me. A smirk on her lips as if she’s silently deriding me. She returns inside and I look away. Why does this skeletal woman scare me?
I pick up my pace, segueing into a jog, and reach the guesthouse in no time. Something disturbs me. The lights are on. I swing open the unlocked door and close it behind me. I swear when I dropped off a bag of groceries and my tools earlier along with the monitor, I turned off all the lights. I’m a creature of habit. A product of fear. My foster families were always all over me to turn out the lights. Sometimes I’d forget and would have to pay the price. John Reed’s father would whack my knuckles with a ruler—until they bled—if I dared leave a light on and cost him money.
Has someone been inside? Maybe Grace came by to replace a light bulb? My eyes circle the room. Expecting theScreamslasher to jump out from behind the curtains. I already envision his ghastly, hooded face. It’s the way my mind works. I’ve never felt safe. Taking a deep breath, I convince myself I’m just imagining things. Or there’s something wrong with the electrical wiring. I head to my bedroom. About to enter it, I’m drawn to a sliver of light coming from under a door down the hall. It must be a second bedroom or some kind of storage space. Cautiously, I pad down the hallway until I come to it. My eyes grow wide. Hanging from the doorknob is a bold red and white aluminum sign:
KEEP OUT
Exactly like the one John Reed had nailed on his bedroom door. If the sign says “Keep Out,” why is the light on inside? I knock on the wood door.
“Is anyone in there?”
I’m met with silence. Deadly silence.
My pulse quickening, I curl my fingers around the tarnished knob and twist it left and right several times. It makes a low, grating groan and doesn’t give. The door to this mysterious room is locked. From the outside. Unlike my bedroom door, there’s a keyhole, the skull-shaped kind for one of those long skeleton keys. I give the knob another sharp twist, then give up and pad back to my bedroom, wondering what can be inside the locked room. Again my mind plays horror games. Maybe there’s some dead, rotting cadaver inside it. Though I’m sure if that were the case, I’d smell something awful. All I smelled was the faint scent of incense. It’s probably just some storage room that’s dangerous to enter because it has loose wires or a crumbling ceiling. Or it’s just too stuffed with things to be able to move around in safely. The Reeds had a room like that in their house. Filled with all kinds of junk. As well as Mr. Reed’s rifle collection.
Screw Freddy Krueger. About to return to my room, I get another jolt.Brriing. Brriing.The burr of a phone, but it’s not mine. It’s coming from the phone in the living room. It rings and rings. Who could be calling? I honestly didn’t think the old phone was in service. With a shiver, I hurry to it and manage to pick it up before it stops. An unfamiliar voice greets me.
“Congratulations! You have been selected to go on an all-expenses-paid trip to—”
One of those annoying solicitation calls. I slam the receiver on the cradle. And head to my room. Frazzled. From the mysterious lights, mysterious room, and even from the stupid phone call. With all this nervous energy, I’m too wound up to go to sleep. I eye my vision board propped against the wall next to the bureau. The hammer and package of picture hangers are sitting on top of the brown wooden chest of drawers. Hanging it up was a project I intended for tomorrow when I caught a break. I might as well do it now. My ever-changing vision board has always been a source of solace. Comfort. And hope.
Wasting no time, I open the pack of hangers and get to work. My three-by-four-foot vision board is rather heavy and will require two hooks to securely anchor it on the wall. Once, I only used one, and the board came crashing down on my head during an earthquake. I think I concussed, but I couldn’t wake up John Reed’s parents (who slept through it) in the middle of the night. A much greater harm would have come to me.