She walked along Erie Street, unconsciously noting what was going on behind the lighted panes of glass without staring at them. She probably knew the occupants of every third house in the little city. Her parents had known more of them, and her grandparents still more, because they could have told her who was related to whom for generations back.
Jane felt so good about having these sidewalks under her feet, so glad to breathe the air in a place that made sense to her, that she allowed herself to think about what it would be like never to leave again. For the first time in two weeks, when her mind was drawn to Carey McKinnon she did not goad it away from him. He was going to ask her again if she would marry him. That would be in six months, and that was not much time to get ready. It occurred to her that if she had been someone else, getting ready would probably have meant worrying about trivia: dresses and china patterns. But what Jane Whitefield was going to have to worry about was how to make the bride invisible.
Jane let her eyes settle on her house as soon as she had turned onto her block. There were no lights, no curtains that had been moved since she had left, no cars parked on the block that she had not seen before. The reading lamp near the corner window in Jake Reinert’s house next door was on, and she took a couple of steps along the sidewalk in front of his house until she could see a slice of light under the blind of the porch window. She saw the book on his lap and his thick, pink, callused right hand tilting it up a little as he read, to keep the lower segment of his bifocals on it.
He and her father had been raised side by side in these two old houses on this quiet street, and by now he seemed to be able to sense subtle changes in the atmosphere—a footfall on the porch next door would bring him to the window. She had even seen him stop what he was doing to stare if he heard the engine of a car going by that he didn’t recognize. She had her house wired with a very good burglar alarm, but she had met people who made a living fooling better ones than that. She went to her car in the garage and took her house key out of the lining of the rear seat, then walked back to her front door, unlocked it, and slipped inside quickly to punch her alarm code into the glowing keypad before it could go off.
She stood in the doorway and studied the signs. The air in the house was stale, so no window had been broken. Before she had left the house she had vacuumed the carpet, leaving a pattern and the pile pushed upward. The carpet had no indentations from heavy feet. She walked to the table beside the couch and lifted the telephone off the cradle. The dial tone was clear and distinct, so nobody had disconnected the phone line to isolate the alarm system. She was home.
She set the telephone back on its cradle as the bell rang, vibrating her fingertips. “Hello,” she said into it.
“Hi, it’s me.” His voice had a smile in it, as though his throat were tight. “Welcome home.”
“Hi, Carey,” she said. She blocked the little laugh of pleasure that almost escaped. Then she wondered why she had to and remembered that she didn’t have to anymore. She was home, and this was Carey. “How did you arrange this?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re so full of—”
“Wait,” said Carey. “I’m getting a psychic image. Take about five minutes to unpack that black bag you’ve got over your shoulder, take a shower—and I wouldn’t mention anything so indelicate if I weren’t a board-certified physician—but I sense you have to pee. Then the archetypal little black dress. And matching underwear: you might get into an accident, and the gang in the emergency room is very critical. Nothing too flashy, but not the jeans-and-sneakers ensemble you’ve got on now.”
“Jake saw me come home and called you.”
“Old people are so prompt. I guess it’s because their dance cards aren’t quite as full as they once were. You didn’t eat dinner on the plane, did you?”
“I wasn’t on a plane.”
“The broomstick, then. Whatever.”
“I haven’t eaten. But what brings on this sudden manic outpouring? Did a rich hypochondriac move into town while I was gone?”
“No,” said Carey. “But I’m hungry, and I keep seeing these ‘Lost Dog’ posters near the hospital cafeteria.”
“Suspicion is a sign of a devious mind,” she said. “I mean a big sign, not like all the other signs.”
“I knew I could develop a quality that would appeal to you. So get ready. I’m on my way.”
“I’ll be listening for the sirens.”
She dressed in a few minutes and left her front door open while she walked up on Jake’s porch and rang the bell.
He opened it and smiled at her. “Hello, Janie. I’ll bet you came for your mail.” He stepped backward to let her in and pointed to the pile of mail in the shoebox on the coffee table.
She lifted the shoebox, shook it beside her ear, and listened. “Six bills.” She shook it again. “Only three checks, all small.” She frowned. “And my subscription is about to run out.”
His sharp old blue eyes focused on her. “You’re dressed like a girl for once,” he said. “To what do we owe this honor?”
“You called him, so don’t pretend you didn’t. And it’ll be on your conscience if I’m sweet-talked into doing anything.”
“None too soon, either,” said Jake. “If you’re going to have anything to live down, you’d better get started on it.”
She looked at him slyly. “Tell me something. When did he ask you to call him?”
“Some time ago. And I won’t apologize. Judging from that get-up, the attention isn’t unwelcome.”
“How long ago?”
“I guess it was the day after you left. He came over here with that look they get when they’re telling you that whatever they’re going to do to you might be a little uncomfortable. I was sorely relieved when I found out it was something that was none of my business, so I jumped at it with enthusiasm.”
“I thought you weren’t going to apologize.”
“I’m explaining.” They both heard Carey’s car pull up in front of her house.
“I accept your explanation.” She turned toward the open door. “But don’t let it clear your conscience, because you didn’t apologize.”
He sat down in his chair and picked up his book. “Tell him he owes me a favor. I know you won’t admit you do. And close that door. There’s a draft on my hind legs.”
Carey was standing beside the passenger door when Jane stepped out onto the porch. She held up her hand, hurried to her own door, tossed the mail on the couch, set the alarm, and locked the door, all the time thinking about the first glimpse of him. He was wearing a dark gray suit that must be new, and it was one she might have picked for him. His long legs and arms seemed comfortable in it, somehow, and the fabric along the lapels looked so soft and smooth her fingertips wanted to touch it. The color made the thin sandy hair that never seemed to stay where he thought he was supposed to put it look almost golden under the streetlamp.
As she came down the steps she gave him a little smile. “You’re not trying to impress me, are you?”
“Not me.” He opened the door for her. “The only reason I’m bringing you along is I’m trying to make the car look good. I’m trying to sell it, and I notice they always use young women in the commercials.”
“No flies on you,” she said. “You’re what Jake calls a ‘go-ahead young man.’ ”
He drove slowly and carefully up the street. She liked that. It was something that only people who had been raised in places like Deganawida seemed to have the sensitivity to do. If people had to look up from what they were doing to see if someone was running over the kids or grandma they didn’t forget whose car it was, or who was in it. Whoever it was forfeited part of his claim to being solid and respectable. In Deganawida that respectability meant that people would strain to put a benevolent interpretation on anything they saw, and a third party who asked prying questions would be enveloped in a fog of laudatory generalities that applied to everyone and no one.