Jane, what could Jane have thought? She looked hurt, Cecily remembered. She said, softly, “I’m sorry. So sorry.” And closed the door.
Cecily climbed off Gabriel and cried. She cried because Gabriel was leaving for Brazil and one of their last times making love had been ruined. She cried because now there was danger of being expelled, right before graduation. And she cried because she had yelled at Jane, frightened her, hurt her. Nobody yelled at Jane. No one except Cecily.
Jane didn’t report them. Of course not, Gabriel said, who was she anyway? An old woman cleaning up after a bunch of teenagers. Cecily made herself forget about the incident; she concentrated instead on the vodka parties, graduation, making a scrapbook for Gabriel. Cecily cast her eyes down when she passed Jane in the hall.
It was the world’s worst coincidence that Jane, the cleaning woman, whom Cecily hoped never to see again, was the only guest in the history of the hotel ever to stay in Cecily’s house. Cecily had half a mind to hide in the back office. But this was the behavior of the old Cecily. The new Cecily, the one headed for South America, faced adversity when it walked in the door.
Jane wore a plaid blouse, a pair of men’s denim overalls cuffed at the ankles, and shiny AirMax running shoes. Jane walked with her head down, every once in a while allowing herself to glimpse a quilt or a painting, when she gave a tiny gasp. She looked so painfully out of place that Cecily wanted to apologize a hundred times.
Vance came in the door behind Jane carrying two brown paper bags, like the kind they used at Stop & Shop. He set them down at the front desk, practically at Cecily’s feet. Those are her bags, Cecily thought. This is her luggage. She wanted to weep. They occasionally saw people like Jane Hassiter over the years, but Cecily was too young then to care or understand: Men and women who saved up their whole lives to splurge like this, just once.
“I’m Jane Hassiter,” she said to Love. “I have a reservation.” It was Jane’s voice. I’m sorry. So sorry.
“Indeed, Mrs. Hassiter,” Love said. “You requested a side deck room, but I’m pleased to inform you we’ve upgraded your room, free of charge. You’re going to be staying in the proprietor’s suite.”
“The proprietor’s suite?” Jane said. She looked at her shoes. “That’s wonderful.”
“Vance will show you to your room,” Love said.
“I’ll do it,” Cecily piped up.
“Okay,” Love said. “Mrs. Hassiter, Cecily here, the owner’s daughter, will show you to your room.”
Jane raised her head and looked at Cecily. Cecily’s cheeks burned. Jane smiled shyly. “It’s nice to meet you, Cecily.”
She was pretending. Cecily felt both relief and disappointment. In the last five minutes, Cecily’s guilt swelled like a blister that needed to be popped with sharp words of accusation. You little slut! You ungrateful, spoiled child!
When Cecily found her voice, it was very small. “Welcome to Nantucket.”
“Thank you,” Jane said. “This place, it’s yours? You lucky girl.”
Cecily would gladly have signed the deed over to Jane that instant. I don’t want this place. I don’t want it at all. “It belongs to my parents,” she said. She picked up the paper bags and allowed herself a peek at the contents. One bag held clothes and one held a second paper bag, twisted at the neck. Cecily made her way slowly through the lobby so Jane could enjoy it. The lobby was air-conditioned, but waves of heat rose from the asphalt out in the parking lot. It was a griddle. She let Jane through the lobby doors. “We’re going to the big house over there.”
“Forgive my asking,” Jane said, “but what did I do to deserve this? The proprietor’s suite, my God!”
“It’s just the way things worked out,” Cecily said. Her father was posted at the upstairs window, watching them swim through the waves of heat to the house. Earlier that day, he’d read Jane’s confirmation letter out loud. “‘We look forward to having you stay with us.’ Ha! Little did we know what we meant by that.”
Cecily didn’t enter the extra room very often. There was just a double bed, an empty dresser, a regular bathroom. When Cecily swung the door open, she saw her mother had fixed it up for Jane-a quilt on the bed, two of those idiotic miniature bicycles on the dresser, fresh flowers, and a box of chocolates from Sweet Inspirations, which were probably all melted together by now. A fluffy white robe hung in the empty closet.
Cecily closed the door in case her father should come wandering down. Now that they were alone, Cecily wanted to say something. She was about to burst.
“This is just lovely,” Jane said. “So lovely. I can’t believe my good fortune.”
“Jane,” Cecily said. “Mrs. Hassiter, Jane-”
Then there was a knock at the door and Therese stepped in.
“Hello, Mrs. Hassiter, welcome.”
Jane shook hands with Therese. “Thank you. This room is so fine.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Therese said.
“It’s my dead brother’s room,” Cecily said. Both her mother and Jane stared. Cecily wanted to kill herself. Why had she said that?
“Cecily,” Therese said.
“Your dead brother?” Jane said. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
Therese cleared her throat. “Go find your father,” she said. “Go right now while I talk to Mrs. Hassiter.”
Cecily stomped up the stairs to where her father was standing by the bay window watching Beach Club members pull up in their Range Rovers and unload beach bags, buckets and shovels, picnic lunches.
“I think we should let Mrs. Hassiter stay for free,” Cecily said. “She’s not even in the real hotel. Her room isn’t on the beach.”
“Has she complained?” Bill asked.
“No, she’s happy. But you can’t charge her. It wouldn’t be fair.” Cecily lowered her voice. “Besides, I don’t think she has much money.”
“We have fifty percent in a deposit,” he said. “I’d be happy to leave it at that.”
“No,” Cecily said. “You should return it all.”
“That’s what you’d do if you were running the hotel?” Bill asked.
The obvious trap. Cecily sniffed. “I’m just saying what I think you should do, as a decent person.”
“Decent person, huh?” her father said. He focused back out the window. “I can’t believe this heat. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“Dad?” Cecily said.
“Okay, we won’t charge her,” he said. “We’ll just pretend like she’s an old friend.”
Cecily tried to get a minute alone with Jane-to apologize, and offer this up-her stay at the Beach Club free of charge. But Jane didn’t emerge from her room, and Cecily was too timid to knock. Cecily spent an hour on the beach talking with Major Crawley, the Hayeses, and Mrs. Papale, who was turning herself into a human crouton. Cecily eyed the front door of her house for Jane, but Jane didn’t materialize. Perhaps she hadn’t brought a bathing suit. Cecily cursed guilt, the worst of all emotions, worse than hate and heartbreak put together. Cecily not only felt guilty about yelling at Jane and having sex with Gabriel when she should have been in the dining hall, but now she felt guilty about telling Jane she was staying in a dead boy’s room. It wasn’t even true, technically.
At eleven o’clock that night, Cecily’s usual hour to call Gabriel, she resisted picking up the phone. She had been lying on her bed for two hours, listening for any activity that might be going on in Jane’s room. She heard the water (a shower), the water (teeth brushing) and two toilet flushes. Every fifteen minutes, Cecily checked down the hall to see if Jane’s light was still on. If the light was on at midnight, Cecily was going down there. It would be impossible to sleep with this guilt hanging around her neck like a medieval shackle. Cecily replayed the awful moment in her room at Middlesex again and again in her mind, wishing she could somehow change the ending, change it so that it was not Jane who caught her screwing during breakfast, change it so that at the very least Cecily hadn’t screamed Get out of here! and hadn’t used Jane’s name, Get out of here, Jane!