Janie Face to Face (16 page)

“And you’ll be one of my bridesmaids? Please? Will you accept being a bridesmaid?”

“Oh, Janie, you know there’s nothing I want more!”

“And I just thought of it this second, but it’s also Reeve’s wedding! I totally forgot. He has two sisters and a sister-in-law. Maybe they have to be in the wedding.”

The girls were giggling now.

Sarah-Charlotte said, “Have you ever even met the sister-in-law?”

“Yes. But I forgot her instantly. I’m sure she’s a fine person.”

“Do you think she’s a fine person who’s going to be free in seven weeks? Perhaps she’s a fine person with a commitment. That’s what happens when you jam a whole wedding into a minute.”

“Sarah-Charlotte, the bus is taking the exit. I can see my dad. He’s standing next to his car. He’s jumping up and down! He’s blowing me kisses! Oh, good! At least one person thinks my wedding is great.”

“Then quick, we have to plan the bridal shower. I’m giving it. It’ll be in Connecticut. I’m already thinking of the theme and the colors.”

“Everybody’s scattered all over the country,” said Janie doubtfully.

“Planes? Come across one lately? Got a marriage proposal while waiting for one lately? Think your high school friends are bright enough to board one?”

“But who would come to a shower? They have to fly to the wedding, which matters more.”

“Everybody will come. People will drive all night or hock their ten-speeds for plane tickets. I’ll call Katrina and Adair and you’ll bring Jodie and your New Jersey mother and you’ll send me a list right now of your girlfriends at college. I only know about Eve and Rachel and Mikayla. What kind of stuff do you want for your shower? What does Reeve already have?”

“Reeve has some plastic forks from Chick-fil-A.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Sarah-Charlotte. “That means you get to design his whole life while he just stands there. Don’t ask him for an opinion because it would just be clutter. Are you thinking modern, classic, frilly, French, stainless steel, silver …?”

“I haven’t thought yet.”

“Come on, girl. You and I spent middle school listing stuff like this. We even chose your kids and their names. Remember Denim and Lace?”

“Reeve wants to get me puppies and we’ll call them Denim and Lace.”

“Straighten him out. You’ll be living in two rooms in a mountain of gift boxes and ribbons. You do not have room for puppies. Be firm. This is an important precedent.”

Reeve’s sister Lizzie got through to him next.

Reeve had no choice. He answered the phone.

Lizzie was a piece of work. She was a lawyer for a corporation that did nothing in particular Reeve could figure out, but they sure had a lot of litigation. Lizzie loved it. She strode around in her stern, sober suits as if she were being filmed or else facing the Supreme Court. Lizzie said, “Reeve, what is this nonsense about getting married? You are too young.”

Reeve never argued with Lizzie. “I am young,” he agreed. “So is Janie. But we’ve set the date. July eighth.”

“That’s too soon,” said Lizzie. “That’s ridiculous! At least wait until she’s graduated from college. Give her two more years, Reeve.”

“It is too soon,” he agreed. “But can you come? We want you there, Lizzie.”

There was silence. Lizzie was never silent. Then there was an odd snuffling sound.

“Lizzie? Are you crying?”

“Oh, Reeve,” said his sister shakily. Lizzie was never shaky. “I want you to be happy, Reeve. But Janie Johnson? Reeve, Janie is high risk. Don’t do it.”

Fourteen years after that day in New Jersey, Hannah was working in a coffee shop. The owners of the Mug were all chummy and gushy. Everybody pretended to be friends. They never pretended to be friends with Hannah.

She wasn’t a waitress. She didn’t pour coffee. She didn’t get tips. The waitresses were supposed to share but they didn’t.

The Mug had a promotion. After you had come ten times and gotten your Mug ticket stamped, the owner painted a coffee mug just for you. You chose your colors and spelled your name, and the owner had those plain fat mugs you could decorate at a paint-it-yourself pottery place, although Hannah never had, and the next time you came, your very own mug was hanging on a peg on the wall.

The customers simpered over their mugs. It was a pain to hang them back up on their stupid little pegs, because the pegs were just barely long enough. Once Hannah had dropped a mug and it broke and the customer actually cried.
The owners said if Hannah broke another one, she’d have to leave.

It was hard to find jobs where they didn’t ask questions. Jobs where you didn’t need a car. It was time to demand more money from Frank. Thanks to the publicity and the Internet, she knew Frank’s address and phone number. Fear of the FBI had stopped her from calling. But so much time had passed! The FBI was too stupid to find her. And since Frank would be in plenty of trouble if Hannah got caught, because he could have turned her in, Frank would have no choice. He’d have to give her more money.

He still had a landline. She’d call until she got him. He was old and had to be retired by now, and he ought to be home in the evening.

Hannah did not recognize the voice that answered the phone. “This is Barnette Bank and Trust,” said Hannah firmly, using the name she generally chose for scoping out tricky situations. “May I speak to Frank Johnson?”

“I’m sorry, he isn’t home. May I give him a message?”

The female voice didn’t sound like her mother. But it was years since Hannah had heard her mother’s voice. “Is this Mrs. Johnson?” asked Hannah.

“No, I’m their daughter, Janie. How can I help?”

Even though Hannah had known that her parents loved the Jennie/Janie more than they loved her, she had not really understood that the Jennie/Janie thought it was
her
house, and that these people were
her
parents! She probably thought their money was
her
money.

Frank still had money, Hannah could tell. The girl’s voice was all soft and serene, the way people’s voices were when they had everything they needed and more.

Just because Frank hadn’t turned her in didn’t mean the girl wouldn’t! And even though the girl was so grasping she even snatched
parents
, she wouldn’t show any decency toward Hannah. She wouldn’t be grateful that Hannah had given her these parents. She would want Hannah locked up.

“I’ll email,” said Hannah, proud of her superb self-control. “Can you give me his email address?”

“Sure. Who is this, please?”

Wait. The girl would tell Frank that the bank had called. Hannah often used her grandmother’s name and had wrongly used it this time. There might be a Barnette Bank, or Frank or even the girl might be smart enough to make the connection. Hannah had no email address she could give the parent thief. Nor would it be safe to blackmail Frank by email.

Hannah had only one option now. She had to see Frank in person. Two thousand miles stood between them. When you did not have a car, could not afford a train, had no ID to get on a plane, and could not miss work or you would be replaced, how could you make such a journey?

It’s her fault! thought Hannah. She kept the rage out of her voice. “I’ll call again,” said Hannah smoothly. “Good afternoon.”

“Thank you for calling,” said the sweet little voice of the vicious little parent thief.

Stephen did not think he had ever phoned Janie before.

“Stephen!” cried Janie. Her voice was exactly like his mother’s. He had never noticed that. Perhaps Janie and his mother had never before been equally happy and excited.

He summoned all the affection he could. “Hey, little sister. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.” And he was. He had always liked Reeve in spite of it all, and he thought Janie would be okay in Reeve’s hands. Janie was not an independent sort, foraging for herself, striding out to conquer the world. Janie wanted her hand held.

Stephen loathed holding hands.

After Jennie had disappeared, Stephen’s father had escorted Stephen and Jodie to school every morning. Not once had they been allowed to walk in or out of elementary school without their father tightly gripping their little hands. These days, Kathleen often reached for Stephen’s hand and he often shoved it in his pocket and he never explained.

He said to his sister, “You’ve always wanted to be married.”

“You’re right. I want to be married just like all my parents. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health.”

“I have to admit,” said Stephen, “that when the worst came, our real parents and your Connecticut parents stuck to each other. I’m not there. I love being with Kathleen, but part of me never wants to connect like that.”

Janie considered this. “If Kathleen feels the same, you’re okay.”

“I wouldn’t ask. I might end up having to make a commitment.”

Janie said, “I’m making more commitments than just to Reeve. Outsiders wouldn’t realize just how much of a commitment.”

Stephen could never predict Janie. She could go in any direction. He hoped she did not intend to hurt their parents. However, with Janie, intent didn’t matter. She hurt them all the time anyway, just by choosing to be with the other mother and father.

His sister said, “Our wedding will be in church, Stephen. With God as our witness. I’m not actually Janie Johnson, even though I graduated from high school as if I were, and I’m at college as if I were. But in church, for my wedding, I will be married as Jennie Spring. Father John will say ‘Do you, Jennie, take this man, Reeve, to be your wedded husband?’ And I, Jennie Spring, will say ‘I do.’ And a minute later, I will be Jennie Spring Shields. Janie Johnson will be finished. I’m retiring her.”

Stephen said something he had never expected to say. He would have signed up for the Marines and made a commitment to them rather than use these words. But he used them. He said to his sister, “I love you.”

Reeve was on the phone with his older brother, Todd.

“Wow, man,” said Todd. “It took me years to work up to a marriage proposal, and then only because Lindsay gave me a deadline. I didn’t even know you were still seeing Janie.”

“Me either. She had a catastrophe. A true crime writer doing a book on the kidnapping hired a researcher and instead of being honest and just asking for an interview, the researcher pretended to be a grad student and he was dating Janie.”

“So she’s marrying you on the rebound, huh?”

“No, she’s marrying me because she’s loved me since middle school. And her name is going to be Jennie from now on. I don’t know how that’s going to work. I don’t personally know anybody named Jennie. I’m thinking of writing her name on the back of my hand so I have ready reference.”

“Speaking of hands, did you get Janie a ring?”

“No. It wasn’t a ring situation in the airport.”

“It’s a ring situation now. Trust me. I know women.”

“He doesn’t really,” said another voice. Todd had the phone on speaker, and his wife was talking. “I know women,” explained Lindsay. “Congratulations, Reeve. Now go buy a ring.”

“I don’t have any money. Can’t we just tattoo them on our fingers?”

“No,” said Lindsay. “And if you don’t have any money, get a loan. It doesn’t matter how tiny the diamond is. She wants one anyway. Do you know her ring size?”

“I do, actually. Sarah-Charlotte dragged us to a craft show once and my job was to carry the junk they bought, and they spent like half an hour trying on rings at a goldsmith’s booth even when they couldn’t afford a single thing there. But Janie and I are going to be engaged for only seven weeks. She doesn’t need a ring.”

“You know nothing,” said Lindsay. “Years can roll by and your bride will still be waiting for her engagement ring. Better you should buy it right now and when she flies back to Charlotte for her next visit, you’ll do something incredibly romantic and give it to her.”

“I already did something incredibly romantic,” said Reeve. He was thinking—Janie’s coming back down? Of course, I want her to, but I have to work. I just got assigned my first college baseball game. The College World Series is coming up. I can’t be thinking about rings. I’ll be putting in twelve-hour days. I’ll be out of town half the time.

“And you have to come up here several days before the wedding,” said Todd, “because you have to get a tuxedo.”

“I have to wear a tuxedo?”

“Yes,” said his brother. “You’re in a church in the afternoon with your bride. You’re going to see her at the far end of the aisle, all in white, the most beautiful princess in the world. She deserves to look down that aisle and see the handsome prince, not some slob in an old team jacket.”

“That opinion doesn’t sound like you,” said Reeve.

“It isn’t like him,” said Lindsay. “It’s like me. I dictated that sentence.”

“Want to back out now?” teased his brother.

But Reeve found that he wanted a situation where the woman in his life would know how to handle stuff, the way Lindsay knew. Would give him instructions about what to wear and what to say. A woman who knew the puzzles of church aisles and tuxedos.

He and Janie would have an excellent division of labor. He would concentrate on sports stats; Janie would handle their lives.

Jennie, he reminded himself. I’m marrying somebody named Jennie.

Kathleen usually dressed in two minutes or less. It was one of the things Stephen appreciated about her. But she was not back yet. Obviously dresses, especially borrowed dresses, were not as fast. Mandy might even be suggesting makeup, and a special hairdo, and even stockings, which Stephen had never seen on Kathleen’s legs.

Stephen’s cell rang. It was Brendan. He hadn’t heard Brendan’s voice in months. Had Brendan broken a leg? Was his athletic career over? Did he need money? Surely Brendan didn’t want to discuss weddings. “Hey, Bren. What’s up? You okay?”

“I kind of wanted to talk about the book. You know. The true crime thing. I gave the guy a couple interviews. I read a few pages in a chapter.”

“I decided to get involved too. We’re meeting with the
researcher in half an hour,” said Stephen. “Kathleen’s coming with me.”