Saint Jane

Saint Jane

Copyright 2016 Susan Sandstrom Madison

Published by Susan Sandstrom Madison at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About Susan Sandstrom Madison

Connect with Susan Sandstrom Madison

Acknowledgements

I want to thank the students and professors at Marylhurst University for giving me the courage and ability to think, share my ideas, and survive writing two Master’s theses. I especially want to thank Dr. Sheila O’Connell-Roussell and Dr. Jerry Roussell, professors in the Master of Divinity program. I also want to thank Dr. David Scott Arnold, and Dr. Debra Bokowski, former Department Chair of the Interdisciplinary Studies program.

I also want to thank my friend and editor, Marian Pierce, for her eagle-eye editing and thoughtful feedback. Thank you, also, to Mike Skrzynski for the beautiful cover art.

Special thanks to my beloved friend, Cora Palazzolo, for her encouragement in writing this novel. When I felt discouraged, I would remember her telling me that she wanted to read this novel and she knew other people would, too.

The person to whom I am most grateful is my husband and best friend, Rod Madison. He allowed me the space and time to write, encouragement, feedback, and technical assistance in making this novel a reality.

Chapter One

She sat in the living room, still in her raincoat, and stubbed out the cigarette in an old mayonnaise jar lid. All those cigarettes had made her nauseous. She’d picked up a pack at the 7-11 on her way home from the morgue to identify the bodies.

She had not smoked since the last time she felt terrified: her wedding day 12 years earlier. On that day, she descended the stairs to the church basement. Racks of folding chairs sat in the shadows and black choir robes hung on a portable rack, dark as solemn crows on a telephone wire. In the corner stood a neglected bathroom whose toilet had a brilliant coppery ring on the inside and a shallow pool of water. She had stood on the toilet to open the grimy, tiny window and blew the smoke directly outside. She didn’t want to smell like an ashtray walking down the aisle. The room felt completely still. She heard not one sound for a very long time, not even her own breath inhaling and exhaling. Then a car horn broke the silence. She took one last drag and dropped the butt in the shallow bowl. She needed the quiet more than she needed the cigarette, she thought.

She got up from the living room couch, realized she still had her raincoat on, and slipped it off. She went in the bathroom and vomited in the toilet. There was no brilliant coppery ring there and no cigarette butts. She dumped the rest of the pack in the toilet and flushed again.

What would she do with the cake she ordered? It was a triple layer chocolate with raspberry filling and bittersweet frosting. She picked the design from the Safeway bakery catalog, although the catalog was really just a collection of Polaroids in a dime store photo album. On top of the cake, plastic toy dinosaurs were to be gently placed around the Happy Birthday, Ben in swirling blue cursive. She knew that Ben would have licked frosting from the dinosaurs and then devoured the cake and vanilla ice cream. The vanilla was a compromise. She and Mark agreed Ben could have chocolate cake with chocolate frosting only if he’d have vanilla ice cream. Mark had been nervous about chocolate getting everywhere. It’s a birthday party for a 10-year-old, she’d said. Of course they’ll be messy. We’ll eat outside. It’s September. The weather will be great. She knew Maggie, their golden Labrador, would snatch at least one dinosaur in her jaws and lie in the shade of the maple tree with the toy between her blond paws and lick the frosting residue like cleaning a newborn puppy.

Twelve years earlier she was afraid to get married, and now she was afraid of being alone.

Fifteen people, not counting parents, were going to show up at the house at two o’clock that afternoon for the birthday party of a boy who was now dead. How was she going to make all those phone calls to the parents of Ben’s friends to tell them the party was cancelled? The guest list sat in the desk drawer in the home office. She would have to look up most of the phone numbers. Although she’d met all his friends’ parents at school and neighborhood functions, she had never needed to call them. When he decided he wanted a party, Ben made a list of 15 friends and she helped him gather all the addresses and type them in a label template and print them out. He had put the labels on the envelopes and the stamps, too. He was very proud of the invitations in their little square envelopes. She and Ben had dropped them in the mailbox together the next day.

The house smelled like cigarette smoke. She opened the kitchen window and breathed in the dark, moist air. The clock on the stove read 3:59. She couldn’t call people at four in the morning. But she couldn’t have people showing up at the house that afternoon. She called her best friend, Gwen.

When Jane heard Gwen’s voice on the other line, she heard herself say, Gwen, . . . I . . . I . . .

Jane, what’s wrong? What time is it?

It’s . . . I can’t . . . I can’t . . .

You can’t what?

There won’t be a party today.

Why? Is Ben sick?

No, he’s . . . he’s . . . Oh, God, Gwen. Her voice croaked. There was a car accident.

Silence on the other end.

Jane . . .

They’re gone. They’re . . .

Where are you? Gwen asked, her voice steady.

I’m home, the sobs started to come.

Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming right over.

The two of them sat on the couch, surrounded by soggy, wadded-up Kleenex tissues. Maggie lay at their feet. Jane rested her head on Gwen’s shoulder.

I feel all cried out.

For now. There’ll be more later.

Jane started crying again and Gwen squeezed her shoulder.

When that wave of tears was over, Jane exhaled.

Gwen said, When I said ‘there will be more crying later’ . . .

Jane couldn’t help but laugh. You didn’t realize the crying would start ten seconds later.

Right, Gwen said, smiling.

I need to call people, Jane said, lifting her head from Gwen’s shoulder. I need to call people and tell them there’s no party today.

You’re not calling anyone. Gwen stood up. I’ll make the phone calls. Do you have phone numbers?

Jane told Gwen about the list in the desk drawer. But I don’t have phone numbers for everyone.

That’s okay. I’ll figure it out. Gwen said. How about if you take a bath and I’ll call people?

Jane smiled up at Gwen. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Gwen took Jane’s arm and pulled her up off the couch. Come on. Let’s go upstairs and fill the tub.

They started up the stairs, but Jane stopped. Should you tell people why there’s no party?

Gwen stopped too. Do you want me to?

Jane thought for a few seconds, chewing her lip. Yes. I don’t want to have to be the one to break the news to anyone. She paused and looked at Gwen. Sorry to pass the buck.

It’s okay.

They climbed the stairs with Maggie trailing them. Jane sat on the edge of the bed and took off her socks while Gwen ran the bath water. But what if you can’t reach everyone? Jane asked.

That’s what answering machines are for.

But what if . . .

It’s okay, Jane. I can handle this.

Jane unzipped her sweatshirt. What time is it? Don’t call people too early.

It’s eight o’clock.

People aren’t going to want a phone call on a Saturday morning.

Don’t worry. We don’t have any control over peoples’ reactions.

How are you going to phrase it: Ben’s not having any more birthdays . . . ever?

Gwen steered Jane into the bathroom. Come on. The water’s nice and hot.

As she lay in the tub, her mind still raced. What if people still showed up? She couldn’t answer the door. What if she left a sign on the door that said ‘Sorry, Party Cancelled’?

She tried to calm her mind and heard Gwen murmuring downstairs, talking on the phone with all those parents. Jane heard Maggie’s toenails clicking on the bathroom tile.

Hey, sweetie, Jane said, lifting a pink and shriveled hand to rub Maggie’s head.

When Jane no longer heard Gwen’s voice, she stepped out of the tub, got dressed, and went downstairs.

Gwen was filling two coffee mugs with water and putting them in the microwave. Boxes of tea sat on the counter.

Pick a tea, Gwen said.

Oh, crud.

You don’t want tea?

It’s not the tea. It’s my in-laws, Jane said.

What about your in-laws?

I need to call them.

Jane looked at Gwen with an expression that made it clear it was a call she dreaded.

Do you want me to call them?

No, I’ll call. It’s 8:30 here so it’s 10:30 in Chicago. That’s not too early. Jane picked up the phone and paused before dialing. What if they’re not there? Jesus, I can’t leave a—

Are you sure you don’t want me to call?

I can do this.

She dialed the number and felt both relieved and gripped with anxiety to hear her father-in-law Frank on the other line. When he said, How’s my favorite daughter-in-law? her own words caught in her throat, coming out as a muffled garble. She collected herself as best she could and then blurted out everything, the words tumbling out like gumballs from a machine.

Mark left work a little early to pick up Ben from soccer practice. It was Ben’s birthday. They were going to dinner and then to see that new animated movie about raccoons. The accident happened on the way home after the movie. The officers showed up at the house around 9:30 last night. They said there’d been a car accident and that I needed to identify . . . Jane shuddered and took a deep breath. Then the police drove me to the morgue.

Frank kept saying Oh my God, barely above a whisper. Then Jane heard Frank telling his wife, Louise. Jane heard Louise wailing, No no no no no no! My baby! My beautiful baby!

Jane vaguely remembered, after identifying the bodies, how she kept repeating over and over to anyone who would listen, But it’s my son’s birthday, it’s a special occasion.

Jane heard Louise’s voice on the other line. We’re flying out as soon as possible. Don’t do anything until we get there. Did Mark ever tell you what kind of funeral he wanted?

Yes.

Good. I’ll help you arrange the service. I have been to services that were so poorly organized—

Frank took the phone from her saying, Louise, this is hardly the time to go into that. Jane heard Louise in the background, My baby, my baby!

Jane thought, what about my baby?

After the phone call, Gwen scrambled some eggs for the two of them while Jane fed Maggie.

Jane found a sheet of paper in the desk and a thick felt pen. Sorry, Party Cancelled she wrote. The handwriting looked like it belonged to someone else.

What’s that? Gwen asked.

She showed it to Gwen. Just in case someone comes by.

The toast popped up.

Sit down. You need to eat something, Gwen said.

I’m not hungry.

I’m going to make you eat. Remember, I have two stubborn daughters.

Okay, okay.

The two buttered their toast and sipped tea. Maggie curled up on the floor in between them.

With her head in her hands, Jane said, At least Ben didn’t die on his birthday.

What day was his birthday?

The eleventh.

Gwen sipped her tea. Do you want me to stay with you tonight?

Would you? I hate to ask. I know it’s the first week back at school. Gwen was the principal at Evergreen Middle School.

It’s fine. I’ll call Jeff. I’ll stay as long as you need me.

How are you going to break the news to Jeff and the girls? Jane asked as Gwen pulled her cell phone out of her purse.

Not sure. Jeff woke up when the phone rang this morning.

Sorry I called you so early.

Don’t apologize for that. You did the right thing. Anyway, he was awake when I left and I told him something had happened to Mark and Ben but not to say anything to the girls. I’ll tell him what happened, but we’re going to tell the girls together. Are you going to be okay by yourself for a bit?

Yes, I’ll be fine. I have Maggie.

At the sound of her name, Maggie’s tail thumped on the kitchen floor.

Jane picked at her food and then her fork clattered on the table. Oh, crud.

What now? Gwen stopped dialing.

The cake. I ordered a cake for the party.

I can pick it up, or you could go with me. Do you feel well enough to go somewhere?

Jane sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. Yes, I need to get out of this house.

Finish your breakfast, we’ll pick up the cake, then I’ll get some things from home. How does that sound?

Jane nodded in agreement. I’ll wait in the car while you go inside and break the news to the girls. Please don’t tell them I’m in the car.

I won’t. Now you—eat.

Jane dutifully ate a few more bites and finished her tea. While Gwen was in the other room on the phone, Jane put the rest of her breakfast down the disposal. She closed her eyes as the disposal ground up the food.

At the Safeway, Jane caught her reflection in the bakery display. The half-moons under her eyes the color of pencil smudges made her gasp and blink, wondering who that haggard woman was. She looked away in time to see a tall, gangly teenager wearing a white hair net, a hangdog expression, and a nametag that said Andy, come to the counter and ask, Can I help you?

Gwen said, We’re here to pick up a birthday cake for Herrin. H-e-r-r-i-n.

He loped to the back room.

How did the girls take the news? Jane asked.

Cassie cried and cried. ‘But we’re in the same grade. His party was supposed to be today. How? How can this happen?’ Jeff and I just looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Annie cried, too, of course. But she’s only seven and I think she was mostly in shock. Judging by the expression on her sweet face. Gwen’s eyes teared up, which made Jane’s eyes tear up. Damnit, Janie, I don’t want to cry in the middle of Safeway.

Andy reappeared from the back carrying a light pink box. He sat the box on the counter, opened it, and wiped his hands on his apron. Jane and Gwen gasped in unison. The cake was unrepentantly garish. The dinosaurs and splashes of frosting were brighter in person than in the catalog. The frosting colors were orange and blue like a high school band uniform. Simultaneously, Jane and Gwen saw how the frosting on the cake perfectly matched the frosting on Andy’s white apron. Jane felt obligated to say, Looks great.

Gwen shot her a look and said under her breath, Are you really going to pay for this?

They went to all this trouble.

They can sell it to someone else. We’re not going to eat this thing. It will just go to waste if you buy it.

Jane sighed. You’re right.

Jane said to Andy, Look, I’m sorry about this, but there’s not going to be a party. I’m still willing to pay for it, though.

Gwen elbowed her and interjected, Although she’d rather not.

He shrugged without even looking at the cake. Sure, we sell stuff all the time that people don’t pick up. You’d be surprised how many people just don’t even show up. I mean, people come in here, pick out a cake, and then don’t show up. He shrugged again and shook his head. Weird, huh?

He shut the lid of the box and Jane caught a big whiff of the sickly-sweet frosting.

Jane’s eyes glazed over and she said, Uh-oh.

What’s wrong? Gwen asked.

I think I’m going to be sick.

A split second later, Jane threw up, the vomit splattering all over the display case.

Andy cried out, Hey! You can’t do that in here. This is a bakery! We have . . . food!

Gwen snapped, She didn’t do it on purpose.

A short, round woman, also sporting a white hair net and frosting-covered apron, appeared from the back room. What’s going on? she asked.

She hurled all over the display case! Andy cried, pointing at Jane.

The woman came from around the counter, looked at the mess and bellowed, Biohazard!

Gwen said to Jane, We’re outta here, grabbed her arm, and rushed toward the door.

I think I’m gonna be sick again. And then another round of barf splattered the floor.

While Gwen drove, Jane, with her head between her knees, managed to say, At least no one will see the cake.

Jane’s father-in-law Frank had left a message on the answering machine saying they were arriving in Portland early on Monday and maybe they could go out to breakfast and then to the funeral home. We’re renting a car and staying at a hotel. You don’t need to pick us up or play the hostess. We know you have enough to do.

Jane stared at the machine, a machine that recorded the voices of people one could listen to at some point in the future. Jane considered how the simple act of listening to the recorded voices brought the past into the present. Her in-laws didn’t know the truth until she told them. The technology of the telephone—all those wires crisscrossing the landscape—allowed her to tell them, allowed them to know the truth, as immediately as they did. In a past century, it would have been days or weeks until all affected parties knew. They would have read the words, words written on paper and delivered on horseback, possibly. Or they would have heard the news by word-of-mouth. Jane stared at the machine and wondered how are we affected by not knowing immediately when the drunk driver drifts into the wrong lane? For Mark and Ben, the truth was known at the moment of impact. It was a reality to them—to her husband and to her son, and to the drunk driver, to the birds and the insects and the squirrels, the opossums, and owls, and bats—when they heard the squealing tires and the metal coming together and glass shattering. Three hearts stopped beating within minutes of each other, maybe seconds or milliseconds. Maybe, in a single wing-beat of a bat, swallowing millions of insects, all the hearts stopped. But, at the same time, Jane’s heart, while it might have skipped a beat at the moment, a psychic skip, kept going. Perhaps she had looked up from the sink full of soapy water and gazed out the window to see the back porch light flick on because the neighbor’s cat skulked across the lawn and paused to piss and spray. Perhaps she looked up because only a few miles away there was a moment of impact between two cars. Perhaps she looked up because she knew Mark would complain about the stench of the cat urine. The tangle of cars and the dying people inside was a small circle of the reality that grew larger when someone called 9-1-1 and then larger when the paramedics arrived and then larger still when the police arrived.

Only disinterested strangers were participants in the reality until Jane entered the circle. She had to carry the torch from the disinterested strangers—people whose occupations meant they dealt with the reality of tragic accidents—to interested parties. She was the torch, the bridge between the two. She did not want to be the bridge. She hated, in fact, being the bridge. Calling her in-laws to notify them of their son’s and grandson’s death was the hardest thing she ever had to do in her 37 years on the planet. In earlier eras, she would have dealt with death numerous times by now. A hundred years ago, when people caught a cold and died of pneumonia two weeks later, death was a regular part of life. Telling this bad news was harder than getting through her wedding day. Sure, she had been stressed out and secretly smoked a cigarette in the church basement, but she didn’t have to tell anyone that a family member had died. Giving birth was excruciating, but at least she had a new son to show for all the pain. Now, she had no son and no husband, and a lot of pain.

Jane sank into the sofa and sipped from a glass of water. She heard Maggie drinking water from her dish in the kitchen, and then she plopped onto the living room carpet and lay down. Her chin rested on her paws and she looked about, her eyebrows twitching. Soon enough her lids grew droopy and her breathing steady. Jane laid there, her eyes drooping too, until she fell into a dreamless sleep.

Jane woke up hours later. Gwen was nowhere in sight. Then she heard movement upstairs. She went upstairs to find her. Gwen was cleaning the master bathroom.

What are you doing?

What does it look like I’m doing? Gwen said good-naturedly, kneeling at the bathtub, scrubbing vigorously. I’m cleaning. Your mother-in-law is going to be here Monday, remember? Gwen gave Jane a playful smile.

Jane sighed. What else needs to be done?

Do you feel well enough to help?

I don’t feel well enough to do anything, but I need a distraction.

Gwen handed her the toilet brush. Scrub.

Jane scrubbed the toilet and then started on the sink. Then she wiped down the mirror. When she saw Mark’s toothbrush in the cabinet in the holder, she lifted the lid to the toilet she had just scrubbed and vomited. Sweat broke out on her forehead, the small of her back, and the sides of her breasts. She vomited until only bile came out. Gwen held her shoulders and, when Jane was done, grabbed the plastic cup in the cabinet and filled it with water. But instead of taking a drink, Jane sank to the floor and sobbed. She sobbed so hard that her whole body convulsed and no sound came out at first. She cried herself out and rested her cheek on the cool tile. A dust bunny stirred just outside her reach.

Janie, honey, take a drink.

Jane propped herself on her elbow and drank. Then she put her head back down on the tile.

Things really look different from this angle. Maggie pressed her wet nose against Jane’s hand and Jane reached up and scratched Maggie’s neck. Maggie lay down next to her, resting her soft head on Jane’s arm.

Jane said, I’m gonna have to scrub that goddamned toilet again.

In a few hours, the house was clean, floor-to-ceiling. The two friends sat at the kitchen table eating crackers and cheese and drinking water.

Have you called work? Gwen asked.

God, no, I haven’t.

I’ll take care of it. Do you have Don’s home number?

Yes, it’s in the address book under ‘Webster’.

When Gwen came back, Jane asked if Don had been home.

Yes, we talked. He said of course to take as much time as you need.

Thank you for doing that for me.

They sat, buzzing with exhaustion from the cleaning.

Jane