Drummer Boy (3 page)

When Candy tried to comfort her with comments like, “You'll be back to your old self sooner than you know.” Jane stared pointedly at the wires and pins that looked, for all the world, like nails pushing out of her skin, and scowled until Candy glanced away.

Jane did call Sarah to explain her absence. Her mother answered, promised to relay Jane's message, and sounded very happy when she added, “I'm sure you'll get to visit Sarah, anyway. It looks as if she's sticking around for a bit. Just focus on getting well.”

On the first Sunday in February—a February that still felt like the dead-of-winter—Kaylie burst into the dining room holding her countdown to Christmas calendar. “Only 322 days 'til Christmas. Can you believe it?”

Jane pressed her face into her good hand. She was so ready to get out of the house that she would've happily gone to church no matter how much discomfort it caused.

The church foyer was crowded, and Jane found herself on the verge of tears several times as people greeted her. What on earth was wrong with her? She wasn't one of those weepy women. But it was just so touching-slash-irritating how many people seemed to care. OK. Not really irritating. She was just annoyed because she hated looking weak. Being feeble. She was embarrassed to be injured. How lame was that?

She followed after Kaylie but got her to pick seats near the back in case sitting got too uncomfortable. Midway through the praise and worship, she spotted Sarah. Hopefully, she'd be able to locate her again at the end.

She tried to focus on the music and sing along—usually this was the part of the service where she felt closest to God and received the biggest blessing, but also the most conviction if she'd pulled away from Him or had unconfessed sin or resentment or bitterness…but not today. She couldn't feel God anymore. Hadn't been able to since the accident. She was worried that she might never again.

The lyrics were all there, but they might as well have been jingles on the radio.

“Are you OK?” Kaylie whispered as the offering plate was passed.

“Yeah, why?” Jane looked down at her little sister's head and smiled. Apparently, she'd done her hair herself. Two large clip-on bows decorated a messy up-do.

“You looked mad or sad for a minute.”

The smile fled Jane's face. “Ah, it's nothing, doodle. Don't worry. I was just thinking.”

“Thought I smelled something burning,” Kaylie joked but slipped her hand into Jane's and gripped it tightly.

“Ha,” Jane said, squeezing back.

The pastor spoke on the second half of Proverbs 31, and though he read the whole thing, and usually Jane found the scripture both inspiring and motivating, today her mind got caught on the seventeenth verse. “She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks.” The whole passage was about working hard and being a blessing to your family, and here she was, useless. More than useless.

“You're doing it again,” Kaylie muttered.

“Doing what?”

“Scowling.”

“I'm paying attention to the sermon. Maybe you should try it.”

Kaylie rolled her eyes.

Jane sneaked out during the last song and positioned herself by the entrance to the cloakroom because it gave her a good view of the sanctuary's doors.

She forced cheery smiles and hellos and thank yous to a few people who made their way over to greet her and inquire about her health. Finally, she didn't have to fake her smile.

“Jane.” Sarah's voice was her trademark whisper, but it was filled with audible excitement all the same.

“Hey, Sarah.” Jane propped her crutch against the doorframe, hugged Sarah in a one-armed embrace, and then steadied herself and stepped back. “It's so good to see you. I was ecstatic when I got your message, and your mom told me you moved back home.”

Sarah's face, extra pale beneath her raven-black fringe, turned baby pink. “Yeah, it's going OK actually.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I've been clean for three months.”

Tears smarted in Jane's eyes. “I'm so happy for you.”

“Yeah.” Sarah pulled her sleeves over the heels of her hand and slid her thumbs through the factory-designed holes in her sweater. “I still want to get high, but I just don't.”

Jane nodded. “It's weird how our heads work against us sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Sarah said again. “It's like it says in Romans. We have to renew our minds daily. I'm careful about who I say that to, though. Right now I find it encouraging. Before it would've made me want to kill myself.” Sarah wasn't being facetious.

Jane marveled at how she could joke about it. She'd come so far.

“I actually, well, I have this hope right now…” Sarah looked down at her feet.

“That's lovely—and what is it? If that's not too personal.”

“No, no, it's just I don't want you to think it's silly.

“I won't.”

“Do you know 2 Corinthians 1:3 and 4?”

Jane wracked her brain. “Um, wait—yes. I think so.”

“‘Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God'—that's what I hope. That one day I'll be able to comfort other people with what I've gone through.”

“I think you already are.”

Sarah smiled.

Again Jane was awed by the transformation in her young friend. If she hadn't met up with her infrequently since her release from the hospital that last time, she never would've recognized her.

Sarah was about to say something else when her eyes lit up. “Hey, it's my uncle. You came!” she said to someone behind Jane.

Jane turned, and her mouth fell open in surprise. The cute CD guy from the hospital stood there. Today, he wore a long-sleeved black t-shirt, with a renaissance-style angel emblazoned across the front—a renaissance angel
playing drums.

“I said I would, didn't I?” His eyes crinkled, and Jane was shocked by how familiar the expression already seemed to her. She loved how his face smiled before he did. His gaze fell on Jane and his forehead creased. “You're the woman from the hospital—outside emergency.”

Jane liked that he referred to her as a woman, not a girl, but she didn't have a chance to confirm or deny it when he continued, “And you're
Jane
—small world!”

“I'm sorry?” she said looking from him to Sarah and back to him. “Um, do I know you?”

“No, but I feel as if I know you. Sarah blathers about you, the angel-nurse she met when she was hospitalized, non-stop.”

“That's so not true, liar,” Sarah said, but her tone held only affection.

The cute guy held out his hand. “Timothy James Steady,” he said.

For some reason, Jane didn't want to take his hand, so she waved her crutch at him.

“Oh, yeah—sorry. That was dumb of me.”

“It's no biggie,” Jane said. “And, yes, I'm Jane.”

“Just Jane?”

“For now.”

“Oh, so it's like that, is it?”

She grinned and gave a little shrug. “Maybe it is, Timothy Steady. Maybe it is.” As she said his name, something in her tweaked with recognition. “Timothy, Tim…Steady. Wait a minute.” The drumming angel on his shirt took on sudden significance. “Wait, Tim Steady, as in
the
Tim Steady? The drummer for Pick Axe?”

Sarah started laughing. “I can't believe you even know who Pick Axe was, Jane.”

Tim turned red and responded to Sarah, not Jane. “Yeah, she's probably the only person in the world who does—or did.”

“Oh, whatever.” Jane laughed. “You guys were huge for a few seconds. You had your five minutes of fame.”

“Five minutes? Well, I could see you're gorgeous, but you're generous, too?”

“Oh, how corny can you get?” Sarah groaned. “Just because you're desperate,” she teased, “doesn't mean you need to broadcast the fact.”

Jane laughed again, but it was forced this time. On one hand, she found it refreshing to not have either Sarah or Tim comment on the fading bruises on her face or ask questions about the ugly cage on her arm. And what girl didn't want to be called gorgeous? But did she really fit that description?

She'd never be able to wear anything sleeveless unselfconsciously again. Even if she did somehow manage to stop being so dang shallow, no one in public would be able to be cool with it. Her scars and the damage to the lymph nodes would be permanent.

Ugh. She shook her head and gave herself an inner scolding. The scars didn't matter. They didn't change who someone was on the inside.

And on some level, she knew that was true. But saying it was easier than living it. She wasn't just a pretty face anymore. It was questionable whether she'd be able to do her old job again. And these days, she definitely wasn't the life of the party or fun and easy going…So who was she? What did she have to offer? And if she didn't know the answers to such basic questions, how could any man really be interested in
her?

Tim was only flirting with her because he didn't have a clue how messed up she was—inside and out. Then, again, maybe she was assuming interest that wasn't there. Maybe he was being funny and nice because she was friends with Sarah, and he was concerned about his niece. That made sense.

Tim started to respond to Sarah's gibe, but Kaylie popped her head around the corner. “There you are. Candy's having a hernia. She thought you walked home in ‘
this
.'”

“Who's Candy?”

Jane caught a glimpse of Candy hovering just beyond the door. “My mother,” she said.

“Har, har,” Candy replied.

“Well, this is turning into quite the party, eh?” Tim said.

“I should go,” Jane said. “I'll call you soon, Sarah. Maybe we can hang out?”

Sarah nodded.

Jane clomped toward Candy, Kaylie trailing after her.

“Hey, just Jane—could I buy you a cup of coffee or something sometime?” Tim's question stopped her.

She turned to face him. He really was cute. “No. Sorry.”

He looked a little hurt, but she resisted the urge to try to explain why or soften her short response. “OK, well, see you around, maybe. I'll pray you mend quickly.”

She nodded. And wondered how many other quirky, fun drumming t-shirts he had.

 

 

 

 

4

 

As Jane sprinted away, Tim was struck by three things: how quickly she moved on her crazy crutches, how fast she wanted to get away from him, and how badly he wanted her to stay and chat longer.

Stop being such a loser, a critical voice said inside his head. You just met the woman. But Tim couldn't stop smiling, and as he replayed their banter, he thought—he hoped—he'd managed to quip back at least semi-intelligently. He couldn't believe she recognized his name and knew he played with Pick Axe back in the day. Normally, he'd be mortified, except she didn't seem put off at all. She'd just kept smiling—or had, until he ruined it by asking her out, that is. And, wow, had she ever been decisive about turning him down. Not even a flicker of hesitation. Which made sense. After all, Sarah had probably told Jane all about him.

“Wow, that was odd, hey?” Sarah said.

“Uh, what was?” Tim pulled his focus off of Jane's departing figure and back to his niece.

“I've never seen you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you were totally into Jane.”

Tim's cheeks heated again. Awesome.

Sarah patted his arm. “You guys would be a good pair. She's the real thing.”

“OK, whoa, whoa, we just met. Don't you dare say something like that to her. She'll think I'm a freak.”

Sarah smirked. “She'd be right.”

Tim put her in a light headlock, as if she were eight again instead of sixteen.

She shrieked and squirmed. “I'm just saying Jane's not like your old fussy-pants-princess, and she cares about people. She'd love to help out at the soup kitchen.” Sarah never would call Natalie by name.

“Nat wasn't that bad. And anyway, it's better she discovered we weren't a good match before we got married than after, right?” He marveled at how casual he managed to sound.

“Gag,” Sarah said and then smiled. “I'll let you take me out for lunch if we can get pizza.”

“You'll
let me.
How kind of you. Thanks.”

Sarah giggled.

“And will you tell me how things are going with you?” he asked.

“Meh, meh, meh,” Sarah said. “I guess.”

Tim drummed on his steering wheel while he waited for Sarah to organize herself and get her seatbelt on. And he wondered. What was Jane's phone number? Did Sarah have it? And how had she ended up so badly injured? Was there a boyfriend in the picture?

“Earth to Tim,” Sarah said, as he turned onto Main Street.

“Yeah, sorry, what?”

“Jane's bored out of her mind. I know she shot you down, but I bet she'd love it if you called her. Invited her to help at the soup kitchen or something.”

Tim shot Sarah a look as he pulled out. “I'm that obvious?”

Sarah snorted. “Yep, it's kind of pathetic, actually.”

“Thanks, thanks a lot.”

Seated at a red-checkered-clothed table, Tim and Sarah debated olives or no olives. Tim's stomach was growling at the scent of garlic and fresh dough wafting through the swinging kitchen door.

“You honestly think the soup kitchen is the first place I should invite her on a date?” Tim asked.

“Well, I don't think you should call it a date, but yeah, I think she'd enjoy it, and I think it would be good for whoever you date next to meet the real you.”

“Good advice,” Tim said and meant it, though a small sinking feeling sneaked into his stomach. The real him was likely the furthest thing from good enough for anyone, let alone a girl like Jane.