Plain Jayne (25 page)

My family came here every year for Beth's birthday, and often drove down for lunch after church.

It wasn't too busy inside—we managed to slide into a table before an onslaught of diners entered on our heels.

The waitress kept looking at me while she took our order. It probably had something to do with the fact that she graduated a year before I did, and we had geometry together.

She brought the food without saying anything about it, and that was fine with me.

As I ate my potatoes, I remembered all the reasons I'd stayed away.

I didn't like small towns. I didn't like being remembered. Trouble was, people in small towns remembered you because there was little else to do.

Not only did they remember you, but they had an opinion on you, or whatever you were doing. Or not doing. Living in a small town was like being followed by a Greek chorus who lamented your latest mishap. Maybe that was why God and I weren't close. He paid too much attention.

I didn't need a chorus. I didn't want a chorus. I wanted everyone to mind their own business. But I, of all people, knew that was simply too much to ask for.

“Looks like there's a nice view,” Shane said, when we pulled up to the Sea Gypsy.

“And a close walk to the beach, if you don't mind the cold. Or the wind. Or the rain.” Secretly, I didn't mind. But it hurt my anti-home image to say so.

Shane offered to carry my suitcase; I declined, choosing instead to lug
it up the stairs myself. After sitting in the car for so long, the idea of physical exertion appealed to me.

“Reservation for Tate,” I told the receptionist once we'd managed to schlep our belongings inside.

“First name?” the receptionist asked, looking to Shane.

“Last name,” I corrected. “First name Jayne.”

The receptionist bobbed her head and clicked her mouse. “Jayne Tate. Two double rooms.” She left the computer to retrieve the keys from the back room.

“Two rooms?” Shane asked.

“Mm-hmm,” I said, distracted by the one key on my keychain that refused to slide into the side pocket of my shoulder bag.

“I thought…”

“What was that?”

“I thought this was a getaway weekend.”

“It is, kind of. We're seeing my family, but we're also away.”

“I thought we'd be sharing a room.”

“We'd be…oh.” I stiffened. “But we've never…”

“I thought you might—”

“On a weekend to see my mother?”

“At the coast!”

“That's where she lives!”

“So who's paying?”

“What?”

“What if I wanted a different room?”

“I'm paying for it. I figured it was the least I could do for bringing you with me. If you want a different room, that's up to you. You just can't have mine.”

“Shall I show you to your rooms?” The receptionist returned with our keys and either hadn't heard our conversation or should have been sent to Hollywood.

I grasped my suitcase. “Lead the way.” I looked back to Shane. “What are you going to do? I can rent a car if I need to.”

He frowned but shook his head. The receptionist started walking and he followed.

But he wouldn't look at me.

E
ven after we found our rooms, Shane had no desire to speak with me. Maybe car rentals were in my future, not that I cared. I wasn't in the mood for one of Shane's tantrums.

Granted I'd thrown my own earlier…but if it's unflattering for a woman, it's worse for a man. Especially when it was about the subject of sex.

I hadn't slept with Shane. Ever. Even more, I had no intention of doing so unless we at least went through a legal civil ceremony first. Thing was, I'd spent the first eighteen years of my life living with my parents. And for better or for worse, my mother's voice resonated through my cranium whenever things became a bit…involved.

Why buy the cow when he can get the milk for free?
If there's any sort of passion dampener, it's your mother comparing you to a cow. Until I was married, that voice wasn't going anywhere. Truthfully, I had concerns about it even then.

And here I was, back in Lincoln City, trying to make amends with the keeper of that voice.

I fished my phone out of my tote bag and dialed the home number.

No answer.

I tried her cell, bearing in mind that I had a fifty-fifty chance of her not hearing or noticing the ringing of her phone.

Nothing.

I hung up and chewed on my lip in frustration. Would Beth be around? I tried her number, which rang until a voice message announced that I could leave a message for Steve as long as I left my name and number.

Beth wasn't married to a Steve. She was married to a Gary.

Wow. I didn't even have my own sister's current number.

I didn't feel like sitting at the motel all day, and I had no deep desire to putter around and see the sights. I grew up here. The sights had been seen.

The reason I came was to see my mom. If I was serious, then I would do exactly that.

I got off the bed and left the room, walking down the corridor to Shane's door.

I knocked. He opened his door, still looking grumpy, his cell phone crunched between his ear and shoulder.

“I'll call you back,” he said before hanging up.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” His voice sounded wary.

“I can't reach my mom or my sister over the phone. I don't want to sit around here all day. I'm just going to go to the house and see who's home.”

“How are you getting there?”

“That's up to you. You can calm down and we can go together. Or you can go home and I'll rent a car.”

“Harsh, Jayne.”

“I don't think so,” I said with a frown.

“Come inside. I don't want to argue in a breezeway.”

I shrugged. “Up to you.” I stepped inside and he closed the door.

“I've asked you this before.” Shane pulled up a chair, sat, and leaned forward. “Are you serious about us?”

“I told you that I was. I asked you to come, to meet my family.”

“I mean, are you wanting to take us to the next level?”

“‘The next level.' Makes us sound like Donkey Kong.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You're asking if I want to sleep with you.”

“Well, yes.”

“Haven't we already talked this to death?”

“I thought you were saying no because you weren't ready to commit to us.”

“No, I was saying no because…” I sighed. “I was raised to believe in certain things, Shane. Even though I'm no longer that person, some of those concepts stuck.”

“Concepts like…”

“Unmarried sex.” The words came out in a whoosh. If he pressed any harder, I'd spill about my mother's voice and the whole thing could get very ugly.

His shoulders tightened. “Oh. You could have just said that.”

“It makes me feel like Emily Brontë.”

“And you won't change your mind?”

“Positive.” My mother's voice could be very insistent.

“Do you want to get married?”

A vein of panic welled up inside me. “Ever?”

“In the nearer future.”

“To you?”

“You think I'd ask you about someone else?”

I fought to keep Levi's face from my mind. “I don't know. I would like to get married, I think—someday. I haven't spent a whole lot of time thinking about it.”

“We've been dating for six months!”

“I didn't know you were wife shopping!”

“I'm not—” he exhaled hard. “I'm not wife shopping.”

“That's good, because I didn't mean for this trip to be an opportunity for you to offer my mother an assortment of goats for my hand in marriage.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, I think you're worth at least a couple camels.”

I may have kicked him.

“Stop checking your hair,” Shane said, a minute after we pulled up in my mom's driveway.

“Her car is here.”

“Good. That means she's home.”

“And because she's here, she'll see me.”

Shane's head quirked to the side. “Am I missing something?”

“She'll see me. She'll see if my hair is in place—or out of place. If I have excessive lint on my clothes or if I'm missing a button.” I tugged on my blouse to inspect the front.

“You've got to relax, Jayne.”

“This is my mother we're talking about!”

“Right. Your mother. She's not going to throw anthrax in your face if you've got a scuff on your shoe.”

“There's a scuff? Why didn't you say so earlier?”

“Your shoes are fine. That was just an example.”

“
Why
would you say something like that?”

“You're really worried about this.”

“Now that you mention it, yes, I am.” I rolled my eyes.

“I've never seen you this dramatic.”

“You've never met my mother.” I gave my hair a final shove behind my ear and opened the car door, moving more on impulse than anything else.

I had decided this was the best course. I would move forward. Even if it was hard.

Even if it hurt.

I strode up to the front door, Shane trailing behind me. He reached for the doorbell but I slapped his hand back. “She doesn't like the doorbell being used.”

“Then why is it still there?”

“Because it would look funny to not have a doorbell.” I knocked on the door.

And waited. Nothing.

I knocked again.

Shane cleared his throat.

I folded my arms against my chest. “What?”

“Maybe you should ring the doorbell.”

“She's home. She's somewhere.”

“And you're going to knock until she hears you? Why wouldn't she have answered the phone?”

“Sometimes she doesn't hear it.”

“But she hears knocking?”

“Not hearing her cell phone is because she leaves it in her purse and forgets about it. It's not like she carries it from room to room.”

“But she has a landline, doesn't she?”

“If she's in the garage, she can't hear it.”

Shane blinked. “So if she can't hear it, how will she hear you knocking on the door?”

“If she were in the garage, she wouldn't hear the doorbell, either. Do you need to go sit in the car?” I knocked a third time. Seriously. She had to be in there somewhere.

“Jayne—”

“Do you hear that? There's music playing. She's home.”

And to prove it, I heard footsteps. The bolt creaked back and my mother unlocked the door.

“Jayne! This is a surprise,” she said. “Have you been here long?”

She looked different since the last time I'd seen her. Grief still clung to the edges of her eyes, but her hair was shorter now, and blond instead of gray. Had it been that way at the memorial and I hadn't noticed?

“We've just been a few minutes,” I answered, hedging.

“I'm sorry I didn't hear you. I had the Kitchen Aid on. Come on in, both of you.” She opened the door wide and extended her hand to Shane. “We haven't met—I'm Nora Tate.”

Shane shook her hand, a bemused expression on his face. “Nice to meet you.”

She patted his hand before leading us to the living room. “Sorry you were standing outside for so long—it's awfully drizzly out. You should have rung the doorbell.”