Jane's Harmony (Jane's Melody #2) (27 page)

“So,” he finally said, setting the clipboard aside to look at her, “you have one child now.”

Jane shook her head. “She passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. Then he cocked his head slightly and asked, “And you don’t want another?”

“I shouldn’t be pregnant,” Jane said.

“Were you using birth control?”

“I take the pill. I’ve taken the pill for years.”

“Which one were you taking?”

“Ortho Tri-Cyclen.”

He wrote this in her chart but didn’t say anything.

“I missed a few days after I moved here. My pharmacy in Seattle had to fax my prescription down. But I doubled up. I read that you could do that. You can double up and it should work, right? I shouldn’t be pregnant.”

“Sometimes these things happen.”

“But I shouldn’t be pregnant, right?”

“I understand you’re under stress, but I can confirm that you’re pregnant. Have you stopped taking birth control now?”

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter. I want to have an abortion.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sure and I don’t want to be lectured or talked out of it either.”

He nodded gently and talked with a soothing voice. “We’re not here to talk anyone into or out of anything, Miss McKinney. It’s your life and it’s your right. We’re only here to promote your health.”

“Good. Can we do it today?”

“No, we can’t do it today.”

“Why not?”

“Our scheduling, for one thing. But also the state of Texas requires you to undergo a sonogram and view the image at least twenty-four hours before the procedure.”

“Can we do that today, then? The sonogram?”

“Yes, we can do that now if you’d like.”

Jane said that she would, so he brought her into an exam room where they were joined by the girl who had taken her
sample earlier. She gave Jane a gown and asked her to undress from the waist down.

“But don’t you do the ultrasound on my belly?”

The girl shook her head. “It has to be a transvaginal sonogram at this stage.”

Jane reluctantly undressed and put on the gown. Then she climbed onto the table and lay down with her knees bent as she was instructed. The nurse covered a probe with a condom, applied a coating of gel, and then handed it to Jane. Once it was in, the nurse helped guide it. The doctor stayed on the other side of Jane’s knees and worked the machine.

“Texas law requires me to show this to you,” he said, “but nobody here will tell if you’d rather keep your eyes closed.”

“No,” Jane said. “It’s fine. I’d like to see.”

He turned the monitor to give her a clear view. “It looks like you’re about six or seven weeks.”

“How can you tell?”

“The fetus is thirteen millimeters,” he said, pointing. “And if you look close, you can see the heartbeat already.”

Jane gazed at the black-and-white image on the screen, but it looked to her like little more than a clump of cells that she found hard to connect in any way with herself. But she could see the flutter of its tiny heartbeat. The ticking clock of a life just begun. And she knew in some strange and certain way that this little life, left to grow, had both the absolute power to bring her more joy than anything else on this planet, and the absolute power to bring her more pain than she could ever bear.

No, she thought, she couldn’t bury another child and live. She could not and she would not.

“How does it work?” Jane asked. “The abortion.”

“We’ll give you a mild sedative to calm your nerves. And antibiotics and something for pain. Then we’ll enter the uterus through the cervix and vacuum out the fetus.”

“Would I have to watch then too?” Jane asked.

He shook his head and turned the screen away. “No, you won’t have to watch.”

Jane rested her head back on the cold table and looked up at the ceiling lights. The room seemed to be spinning and her mind was spinning with it. But it was her life, her choice.

The bus dropped Jane three blocks from the impound lot and she walked the rest of the way. The man behind the glass handed her a bill for almost two hundred dollars, even though they had towed the car less than a mile away and had had it less than a day. She paid with her credit card, signed away her rights, and went out into the lot to claim it.

It was dark when she arrived at the apartment building and Marj’s lights were on. She went up the stairs to her door and knocked. Marj answered with a huge smile on her face.

“Hi, Jane! I saw the car was gone and thought you might be back. At least I hoped it hadn’t been stolen. Come on in.”

Jane entered with Buttercup close at her heel. She sat in a soft chair and invited the dog onto her lap, and sat running her fingers through his short fur.

“Would you like tea?” Marj asked.

“No, thank you,” Jane said. “I drank two cups of coffee waiting on the bus.”

“The bus?”

“It’s a long story.”

Marj took a seat next to Jane. “I need to apologize. I’m afraid your plants are dead.” Despite looking apologetic about the plants, Marj was grinning like a schoolgirl in love.

“Those things were on their last legs anyway,” Jane said. “But tell me what’s new with you. You look so happy.”

“Buttercup and I have been staying with a new friend.”

“A friend?” Jane asked.

“Well, two friends, really. He has a Boston terrier named Hercules, and he and Buttercup get along like long-lost twins.”

“Oh, Marj. This is great news. Where’d you meet him?”

“I owe it all to you,” she said. “I’ve been hiding away in this apartment for years, but you got me out and going to that meeting, and we met two weeks ago Saturday. He’s a widower too. I know it’s kind of fast to be shacking up, but neither of us is getting any younger, if you know what I mean.”

Jane smiled. “Yes, I do know what you mean.”

“But what’s going on with you? You look upset. I hope it’s not the plants.”

“It’s not the plants,” Jane said, looking down at the dog in her lap. “Marj, I need to ask you a big favor, but you can’t tell anyone about it. Especially not Caleb.”

“Okay. Sure. Anything.”

“I need you to drive me to the clinic tomorrow.”

“The clinic. Oh dear Lord, Jane. Are you sick?”

Jane looked up at her and shook her head. “I’m having an abortion.”

Marj seemed to be caught completely off guard by Jane’s statement and she sat with her lips trembling slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t get it out. When she did finally speak, it wasn’t what Jane was expecting to hear.

“But . . . but . . . I’m Catholic, Jane. I can’t do it.”

“Catholic? I’ve never seen you once go to church.”

“That’s neither here nor there. I was baptized.”

“So you’re judging me?”

“I’m not judging you, Jane. I just can’t take you.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jane said. “You’re not the one having the abortion, Marj.”

“I said no. And that’s final.”

Jane felt Buttercup tense beneath her hand at the change in tone of Marj’s voice. Then he scurried off of Jane’s lap and ran and jumped onto Marj’s. Jane rose from the chair, hesitating long enough to dispel any hope she had that Marj might change her mind, then she turned to leave the room. She was halfway down the hall when she stopped and came back.

“It isn’t fair of you to even think you can judge me, Marj. I don’t care if you’re the pope. You’ve been to meetings. You know what this disease does to people. My father, my mother, my brother. My sweet little girl. I buried my daughter, Marj. I dropped the first handful of dirt on the casket myself. You’ve been hiding in this apartment here for years because you lost your husband. I saw you when you thought you were going to lose your precious dog. Well, imagine losing your child . . . your baby. Imagine it, Marj. Can you even? You do that and if you still think I’m some sinner, then you can take your judgment and go to hell for all I care.”

Jane was crying by the time she finished, and Marj and Buttercup were both staring at her with wide eyes. Jane turned and marched from the apartment. She pulled Marj’s door closed behind her and stood for a moment in the hall. She considered briefly going back in to apologize, but she decided now wasn’t the time. Instead she went into her own apartment and sat down on the bed and had a good long cry.

An hour or more had passed when she heard a tapping on her door. She rose and went to the bathroom to wet a cloth and wiped the running mascara from her eyes. Then she went to answer the door. Marj was standing there in her robe with an apology written on her face and Buttercup cradled in her arms.

“What time should I be ready to take you tomorrow?”

Chapter 22

C
aleb barged into the rehearsal room with three copies of his song that he had typed up and printed in the hotel business center. He handed one to the music director and one to Jordyn.

“What’s this?” the music director asked.

“It’s the song we’re singing tomorrow.”

“But that’s not what Garth—”

“I don’t care about Garth,” Caleb interjected, cutting him off. “It’s this song or no song.”

“But this is just lyrics and tab.”

“That’s why I brought you a copy. Jordyn and I can either sing it acoustic, or you can write sheet music for the band.”

The music director turned to Jordyn. “Are you on board with this?”

Caleb watched her to see if she would fight it or go along. She glanced down at the song he had handed her, and then she looked up at the music director and smiled.

“I think it would be nice with at least some keyboard on the bridge.”

The music director threw up his hands and walked out of the rehearsal room with Caleb’s song. Jordyn placed her copy on the music stand and picked up her guitar.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Romeo?” she asked. “We had better get to rehearsing if we’re going to have this song down by tomorrow’s show.”

Caleb smiled and grabbed his guitar.

They practiced harmonizing for hours, and when their time in the rehearsal room was up, Carrie Ann strutted in with her
rhinestone-encrusted guitar and her backup band. They could hear her yodeling almost all the way to the elevator.

“I don’t really care if we win or not,” Jordyn said, “as long as she doesn’t.”

“You really don’t like country, do you?” Caleb asked.

“Oh, I love country. I just hate Carrie Ann.”

In the elevator, Caleb took his phone from his pocket to check for messages from Jane, but his phone battery was dead.

“What’s the matter?” Jordyn asked after he sighed.

“Jane accidentally packed the wrong charger when she left, and hers won’t fit my phone. Now I’m out of juice.”

Jordyn took Caleb’s phone from his hand and glanced at the plug. “You can use one of mine.”

“You’ve got an extra?”

“Are you kidding me? Paige is a social media pro on the road. She packs me backups for my backups.”

When they arrived at Jordyn’s room, Paige was working on one of the laptops. Jordyn asked her for a phone charger, and she retrieved one from a bag and handed it to Jordyn without even glancing at Caleb. Then she scooped up her iPad and her purse and left the room.

Caleb watched her go. “I get the feeling she really doesn’t like me.”

“It’s not you she’s mad at,” Jordyn replied. “It’s me.”

“Well, you two should make up so she can stop throwing daggers my way. She hasn’t even said two words to me. What did I ever do to her anyway?”

“I’m guessing she’s tired of responding to tweets about you all day,” she said. “We’ve got a few hours yet before our fittings. Let’s rehearse.”

“I should go charge my phone.”

“Just plug it in here.”

Caleb plugged his phone into an outlet to charge. Then he sat next to her on the bed to run through the song again. When they had finished, he noticed Jordyn staring at him with a curious look on her face.

“What?” he asked, embarrassed. “You don’t like the song?”

“I’ve never seen you insecure about your music before.”

“This one’s important to me. That’s all.”

“You really love her, don’t you, Caleb?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling, “I do.”

“Well, it’s a great song and I’m proud you’re letting me sing the harmony with you.”

The way she was staring at him made him feel shy and he looked away. Then he noticed the Skype home screen up on one of her laptops, and he got an idea.

“What do you need to Skype someone?” he asked.

“Just an e-mail or a name.”

“Could you do me a favor? You remember my roommate, Sean, from the preshow? He was madly in love with you, and I know he’d just die if you Skyped him.”

“Sure,” she said, getting up from the bed and sitting down at the computer. Then she looked up at Caleb and grinned. “Should I go topless and really shock him?”

It was the day of the live show and they were on the studio soundstage doing a dry run when Caleb got to the chorus line of his song and froze. He looked at Jordyn, but she just shrugged and shook her head as if it were news to her as well.

“Who changed this?” Caleb asked.

The music director took off his headphones and looked up from the sound booth at Caleb. “What’s that?”

“I asked you who changed this.”

“If you’ve got an issue, take it up with Garth.”

Caleb took the sheet of music off the stand and carried it backstage. He found the producer going over the evening’s shot sequence with the director, and he reached between them and slapped the sheet of music down on the folding table they were using as a desk.

“What the hell is this?”

“Looks like your song for tonight,” the producer said.

Caleb glared at him. “Did you change it?”

“What does it matter who changed it?” he asked. “This is what you’re singing.”

“This is bullshit, Garth. And you know it. The song is ‘Jane’s Harmony,’ not ‘Jordyn’s Harmony.’ ”

The producer picked up the song and held it out to Caleb. “Yeah, well, get over it, kid.”

“I’m not your kid, pal, and if you think I’m singing this tonight, you’re dead wrong.”

The producer’s expression changed from annoyance to anger. He glanced at the director, and the director took his list from the table and walked away. When the director was out of earshot, Garth looked back to Caleb.

“You listen to me, you little punk. I’ve been putting up with your attitude since day one and I’m sick of it. Now, if you want a shot at winning this thing, you had better just suck it up and start going along with the program.”

“You can’t change my song,” Caleb replied. “It isn’t right.”

“You had better read your contract again, young man. I’m the producer and I can change anything I want to.”

“Fine, then,” Caleb said, half surrendering, “let’s go back to the other song. The one we originally rehearsed.”

“Sorry, kid. It’s too late for that. We’ve already recorded the backup track and timed the show. This is the version you’re sing
ing now.” He forced the sheet of music into Caleb’s hand. “And don’t forget it’s live on a twenty-second delay, so if you try any fancy stuff onstage, I’ll cut it and overplay the backup vocals singing Jordyn’s name.”

Caleb looked at the producer’s fat face, at his beady eyes darting left and right in their deep sockets like some sadistic narcissist sizing him up. It was the same look he’d given Caleb when he had pulled him from the table and told him Jane had to leave the charity dinner. She had looked so disappointed that night leaving the banquet hall, even though she had done her best to cover it up. And he knew this public charade of him and Jordyn being a couple must be taking its toll on her. The thought of her hearing a song he’d written especially for her sung for Jordyn instead was just too much.

Caleb held the sheet of music up in front of the producer’s face and ripped it in two. Then he turned to walk away.

The producer laughed. “I’ll just show photos of you two rehearsing and have Jordyn sing it herself live,” Caleb heard him say.

He stopped, turned, and walked back.

The producer had a queer little smile on his face, but it disappeared instantly when Caleb kicked the folding table next to him and sent it flying on its side across the floor. Papers were still fluttering to the ground where the table had been when Caleb stuck his finger in the producer’s face.

“You dare play even one bar of that song and I’ll hire a crackerjack attorney and spend every penny I earn for the rest of my life suing you and this show. You got that?”

Garth looked more than a little frightened, although Caleb wasn’t sure if it was because of his threat to sue or because his finger was just inches from the man’s bulbous nose.

“You signed a contract waiving your right to sue,” he finally squeaked out.

“Yeah, and I signed a nondisclosure agreement too. But you can shove your contract up your ass because I’m sure the media would love to hear about how you made all this shit up between Jordyn and me just for ratings.”

The producer stood there looking at Caleb’s finger and trembling with rage, but it seemed he had nothing left to say. Caleb turned and walked away, this time without stopping. Jordyn and the sound engineer were waiting at the edge of the stage, and it was clear they had been listening. Jordyn followed Caleb as he collected his guitar and closed it up in its case.

“Are you really leaving?” she asked.

Caleb stood up, guitar case in hand, and looked at her. “I should have left a long time ago.”

“But what will they say?”

“They’ll think of some lie, I’m sure. They always do.”

“Not the show, Caleb. The fans. What will they say?”

Caleb looked at her there and she suddenly seemed a sad spectacle, standing on that big empty stage. All that poise, all that sex appeal, and none of it real. It was all nothing but an act she put on to please the cameras and some nameless crowd of fans in some virtual world.

“Maybe you should try telling them the truth, Jordyn. You might be surprised how accepting people can be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Caleb?”

“It means I’m sick and tired of these lies. Of hurting the one woman in my life that I really love. And you know what? You should be too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes, you do.”

And with that, he left her standing there, walked off the stage, and crossed the studio, heading for the main exit. Before he walked out the door, he stopped and looked back one last
time at the fancy Hollywood set and at the empty seats that once held his fake but adoring fans. Jordyn was still on the stage, just watching him, but he was too far away already to make out the expression on her face. He had expected to be sad when he left, but now that he had decided this was it, all he felt was relief. He had been caught up in the glamour and the lights and he had let himself hurt the one person he loved more than anything in the world. Now it was time to make things right.

Caleb turned away from Jordyn and the stage, pressed the door open, and walked from the dim studio into the golden glow of the bright Los Angeles sun. And he knew then that things were just as they should be again—just him and his guitar on his way home to make love to his best friend.

Caleb dialed Jane from the terminal while he was waiting on his plane, but it went straight to her voice mail before it even rang. He had no idea what they’d say on the live show about his being gone, and he didn’t want her to find out that way anyway. But it didn’t seem like the kind of thing you could get across in a text either. He knew once he was in the air he wouldn’t be able to get ahold of her at all, so he dialed her again and settled on leaving a voice mail.

“Hi, babe. I just used the credit card you gave me to buy a ticket home. I’m at the airport waiting to board. It’s a long story, so call me if you get this. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

Twenty minutes later, he was still sitting there staring at his phone and hoping it would ring when he heard the call to board his flight. He stood and hoisted his duffel over his shoulder and got in line. A man tapped him on the back.

“Hey, fella,” he said when Caleb turned around. “Aren’t you that guy from the singer-songwriter show?”

Caleb nodded. “Yeah, I’m him.”

“Man, oh man, I knew that reality TV was all bullshit. They
say it’s live, but here you are standing in line with me at the airport and the show’s starting right now.”

Caleb followed the man’s eyes over to the waiting area and the bank of ceiling-mounted TVs just in time to see the burning sheet of music fade to the
Singer-Songwriter Superstar
logo. He stepped out of line and walked over so he could watch and hear above the chatter in the terminal.

The announcer bounded onstage with his usual charisma to start off the show. Then, before introducing the finalists, the camera panned close in on his face and his expression turned so suddenly somber it was hard to imagine anyone anywhere believing it wasn’t scripted.