Plain Jayne (30 page)

Kim and Gemma showed up shortly after. “Where's this food I was hearing about?” Kim asked, seeing that I hadn't really taken anything out.

“I was waiting for you. It's in the freezer.”

With Gemma's help, I had dinner on the table in fifteen minutes.

“I just can't believe how clean everything is,” Kim said between bites.

I rolled my eyes. “It's not like this place was a safety hazard or anything.”

“But it wasn't this…this
spotless
,” Gemma said. “The backsplash of the sink is clean, and the ridge around your sink has been cleaned with a toothbrush.”

I grimaced. “How can you tell?”

“That's the only way I know of to get the ridge to look that way, unless the Amish know something I don't. I'm assuming Martha—was that her name?”

“Yup.”

“I'm assuming Martha was cleaning up. Unless you decided to hire someone.”

“You don't think I'm capable of being this clean by myself?”

Gemma, Kim, and Joely broke out into simultaneous laughter.

I rolled my eyes. “Flattering. Thank you.”

“It's just not your style,” Gemma said. “You're more comfortable. Lived in. You've never been obsessive about tidiness.”

“And that makes me a slob?”

“No,” said Kim, “cluttered.”

“We're only pointing it out,” Joely said. “It's not like my place is all that clean. There are parts of my bathroom that will probably get up and walk away someday.”

Gemma grimaced. “Gross. That's why I never use the bathroom at your place.”

I clapped my hands over my ears. “Too much information!”

“Changing the subject,” Kim said, holding out her hand. “Have you seen Shane since you got back?”

I shifted in my seat. Now was as good a time as ever to tell them.

“I did. We actually went to visit my mom this weekend.”

“That's nice. A little weekend getaway?” Kim asked.

“Something like that. But we, ah, we broke up.”

Kim put her fork down. “You broke up at your mom's?”

“On the way back.”

“So who dumped who?” Joely asked.

“Whom,” Kim corrected.

“It was mutual.” I swished the water around in my glass. “Anybody want anything else to drink?”

“I never liked Shane,” Kim offered.

“Well, not dating him anymore.”

“Any plans, now that you're free?” Gemma had a glint in her eye.

I knew exactly what she was referring to, even if she wasn't going to come out and say it.

“Oh, catch up on work.” I kept my voice light and vague. “I've been gone so long, things will be crazy.”

Gemma's eyes danced with questions, but she didn't say a word.

Which was fine, because I wasn't about to tell.

I
actually made myself breakfast the next morning before work. Before I went to stay with the Burkholders, I seldom ate a morning meal.

Martha had spoiled me with biscuits and hash browns and bright yellow eggs. In her absence I fed on leftovers and cereal.

Since my little dinner party the night before, I'd made a decision. I was going to try to keep the apartment in its post-Amish state.

Along with that, I was going to learn to cook, bake, and quilt. If the Amish could do it, I could do it.

I had to stop myself from clapping my hands over my ears as I sat at my work computer. Since when was the newsroom so loud? People talking, people working. Brian typed loud. Laura, two cubicles away, was still complaining about her sunburn and the resulting peeling skin on her face.

I jumped when my phone rang. It was Sol, wanting to see me in his office.

In five.

The whole thing felt very familiar.

“Jayne,” Sol said when I walked in. “You look good. Rested.”

I sat down. “Thanks.”

“How are things?”

“Broke up with my boyfriend.”

He winced. “But you're fine?”

“It was mutual.”

His face relaxed. “Good.”

For a second there I think he was contemplating firing me. I mean, it's
not like I was going to take two mental health breaks in one month. That's what unemployment was for.

“While I was gone,” I said, “I stayed with an Amish family in Albany.”

“Really.” Sol leaned back in his chair. There are days I'm surprised he doesn't fall over altogether.

“I thought there might be a story there.”

He shook his head. “I put you on mandatory leave and you went story chasing?”

Um, yeah.

“I should be surprised,” he said with a sigh. “But I'm not. Go on. Did you get a story?”

I reached into my briefcase, retrieved the printout of the story I'd written, and plopped it on its desk.

The pages splayed with a satisfying
slap
.

Sol lifted them from his desk. “Did you pick up your flair for the dramatic from the Amish?”

“Just read it,” I answered.

“I don't have my reading glasses.”

I saw them at the corner of his desk and handed them over.

“Thanks.” He settled them on the bridge of his nose and started reading.

He didn't talk while he read. When he finished, he flipped through the pages again before tapping them onto the desk to align the sheets.

“Aside from a split infinitive near the end, this is good.” He tapped the pages against the desk once more. “Really good.”

“Thank you.”

“You've got your groove back, Tate.”

I grinned. “I'd hoped you'd say that.”

“We'll run it Saturday after next. Human interest. You changed the names, right?”

“I did.”

“Good. Don't want any issues with Legal.”

“There won't be.”

“Until then, there's an urban garden southeast of town that's been vandalized several times despite security upgrades.”

“Security at an urban garden? Aren't those things pretty open?”

“They are until people dig up plants and spray paint racial slurs on the fencing.”

“I'm on it.”

“Your piece looked good. Glad to see you're back.”

“I'm glad too,” I said before retreating to my cubicle.

I collapsed on my couch after work. The busyness of the day had sapped every last bit of energy from my body. I fought the urge to pull the afghan over my head.

Because that would just be silly.

Instead, I channel-flipped for a while until I realized I'd left my jacket, purse, and keys in the entryway, and if Martha had seen it, she would have cleaned it up by now.

I hoisted myself up from the couch, hung my jacket up in the hallway closet, and looked around for a place to put my purse.

There was the chair, and I could place it there to look artful, but then it might lead to other things being dumped on the chair.

I needed a hook or a shelf of some sort. Or a shelf with hooks under it. Maybe Levi could make me a shelf with hooks underneath. Nice, large hooks, suitable for women's motorcycle accessories.

After all, he'd promised to make me a bookcase. Maybe he could make me a shorter bookcase and a shelf.

With hooks. Couldn't forget the hooks. They were the most important part.

But until that day when such a shelf magically appeared (whether through Levi or Home Depot), I set my purse on the floor of the hallway closet, tucking my keys inside my jacket and removing my phone before I closed the closet door.

I flipped my phone open. One missed call. One new message. I lifted the phone to my ear to listen.

I almost dropped the phone when I heard Levi's voice.

“Jayne,” he said, sounding (let's face it) devastatingly sexy in the process, “two things. I wanted to talk to you about the bookcase. It's almost done. Wondered if there was any way you'd be able to give it a once-over before I finish up. Or I could send pictures, I guess, so I'd need your email address. Secondly, Sara would like to write to you but realized she doesn't have your mailing address. I think I remember what street you're on, but
not the apartment number. Give me a call if you have a moment and I'll pass that on to her. And your email address, if you want pictures. Or let me know when you can stop by, if that works out. I know it's a long drive. Just let me know.”

I snapped my phone closed.

Levi had called.

I flipped it back open.

Closed.

Open.

Closed.

Open. Who was I to deny Sara my mailing address?

“Jayne? Thanks for calling me back!”

“You're, um, you're welcome. Anytime. I mean, I got your message. And I'd love it if Sara wrote to me. That'd be great. Really great.”

Wow. When was I smacked with the idiot stick? Before I could say anything else that was completely inane, I recited my address while he wrote it down.

“Are you going to be able to see the bookcase anytime soon?”

“The bookcase? Sure. I can come down. That's no problem.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I, um, have some time this weekend.”

“This Saturday?”

“Okay.”

“What time?”

“Noon?”

“Great.” He sounded unreasonably happy. I mean, I was just going down there to inspect his carpentry. Nothing to get excited about.

The week sped by. I called Gemma Saturday morning.

“I'm so glad you're back in town,” she said after she picked up. “Things were much too quiet without you.”

“Glad you thought so. What are you doing?”

“Right now? Working on a few freelance pieces.”

“Little tired? Little cross-eyed? Need a break?”

“What's up?”

“I'm driving back to Albany.”

“Oh. Are you doing some more Amish research?”

“Um…”

“You're not going to go see Levi, are you?”

“Maybe.”

I held the phone away from my ear as Gemma squealed. “And you, all broken up with Shane, you're so available! Wait—Levi isn't a rebound, is he?”

“He's not an anything. I'm just going down there to look at a bookcase.”

“A what?”

“He's been building me a bookcase as a thank-you for housing his family while his dad was in the hospital.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. And he wanted to know if I could come by and take a look before he finishes it.”

“He couldn't send pictures?”

“Pictures wouldn't do it justice.”

“Your words or his?”

“Mine.”

“So you're going to Albany. What's my part in this?”

“I don't know what to wear.”

“Oh. And what's my part in this?”

“Gemma!”

“Just kidding. I'll be over in a few minutes. Do I need to bring anything?”

“You've seen my wardrobe. You tell me.”

“I'll bring a few things.”

“Thought you might.”