C
HAPTER
12
“Janey, come on, we've got to get going,” I said, running up the stairs to her room. I had my coat on, and my car keys were dangling from my fingers. Our latest adventure was upon us, and where was Janey? Not in her room, it appeared.
Maybe she was playing a game of hide-and-seek with me? I checked her closet, but came up only with a big mess of clothes and toys. I'd been lax about keeping her room clean, but maybe I'd been too easygoing. When we came back, she had some work ahead of her. I called out her name again, and again I got back nothing but silence. Not even one of her famous giggles. So, she wasn't playing, was she?
Still, I crouched down, my knees cracking. I didn't find Janey, but what I did discover took me by absolute, stunning surprise. I peeked beneath the bed, and tucked behind the rear front post was a familiar-looking box. It was obscured by some other stray clothes and toys. This messy room was very unlike Janey. Perhaps she was using all these items to try and hide the box? It was supposed to have been stored in the attic, and it had gone mysteriously missing. Well, no more. I'd found the little box that contained my family Christmas ornament. All this time wondering what had happened to it, and here it was stashed under Janey's bed. What was it doing here? Why would she do such a ridiculous thing as to take the ornament and then not tell me where it was? A wave of fear washed over me as I reached under the bed for the box. The sound of footsteps caused me to pull back, and I returned to my feet just as Janey entered her room.
“Hey, where were you?” I asked.
“In the attic. Sorry, were you calling to me? Guess I got lost in time, just like you did that other night when you were at the windmill.”
“Yes, and what did we learn about that night?”
“Don't go wandering offâeither of us.”
“Right.”
“Sorry,” she said. But then her enthusiasm returned, a smile brightening her face. “But I was getting so excited thinking about seeing that big Christmas tree in New York, and that's when I started to feel bad because you never found that pretty ornament with your name on it. So I wanted to surprise you by finding it! I looked and looked, all around those boxesâMomma sure liked to keep everything, didn't she?”
I nodded, unable to use my voice for a moment. Finally, I said, suspicion in my voice, “And what did you find, Janey?”
“Nothing. Well, not the ornament. Sorry, we'll have to keep looking.”
“Yes, we will,” was my only reply.
She didn't react to that. She just said, “Okay, can we go, Brian? I'm really excited about the trip. Is your friend John as silly as you are?”
“We'll have to see about that,” I said, not feeling very silly at all at the moment.
“I bet he is. I never knew grown-ups could be silly. Not until I met you.”
But there was nothing silly about this moment.
I was sorely tempted to reach under the bed and retrieve the box. Confront her. But I couldn't do it, not now. We had too much ahead of us, today and throughout this holiday season. There would be a time for explanations later. At least I knew where the ornament was. I took cold comfort in such knowledge.
“Let's get out of here, we have a big day ahead of us,” I said, and led her from her room. Neither of us looked back, and before long we were buckled into our seats and on the road. Again, we passed by the windmill, today looking lonely against a gray sky backdrop. As though it felt my mood. Even the sails were quiet. It took all my concentration to follow the road as we wound our way out of Linden Corners and back into the big, bad world. Our Philadelphia trip had gone well enough, but this new venture was something different. I was taking Janey to my previous life, the one I'd left behind on such an impulsive whim. Yes, it was time for sharing some of my traditions with Janey. But among them was the very obvious fact that I had a tendency to run from my problems. I eventually faced them, however, and now again I had another dilemma before meâwhat to do about Janey and the ornament.
She seemed oblivious to my frown. She happily gave a running commentary on all she saw out the window, other cars and piles of snow and in one case, a deer standing on the edge of the woods. Gradually the traffic increased as we got closer and closer to New York. It was a place I now associated with betrayal, and how appropriate was it that Janey accompany me back into this embrace. Seeing as how I had found proof that Janey had lied to me.
“You're very quiet, Brian,” Janey suddenly said.
“Just nervous, I guess, about going home.”
She frowned up at me, eyes dark. Then she settled into silence, staring out at the road.
C
HAPTER
13
Thankfully those dark eyes didn't remain, as they were now as bright and alive as the sunshine that bathed the city. Janey's natural glow illuminated our day, shot off the glass buildings and reflective windows. And she accomplished such a goal with the utterance of one simple word.
“Wow.”
These streets never fail to amaze and capture the imagination, and pictures can only show so much of its wonder. Nothing does its sights and attractions justice like actually seeing it up close and personal. This town was, of course, New York City, with its magnificent skyscrapers and bustling throngs of people, the pace of a place that barely stops to catch its breath. I'd been dazzled when I first laid my eyes on its urban sprawl, and now came Janey's turn. She was no less enraptured than I had been. I might have been keeping an eye on the road ahead of me, but for certain out of the corner of my other eye I stole a look at her face as the skyline came into view. Wonder gave way to awe, and for the present moment the problems that existed between us melted away, like hot water thrust on ice. Despite the anxiety I was feeling, there was no way I was going to ruin this trip for her.
“Wow,” she repeated.
“Pretty neat, huh?” I asked.
“You lived here?” Her tone was one of incredulity, and actually at this moment I had to admit I felt similarly. Had I really called this steel and glass mountain home? I had, and for several years. Those years, though, seemed to have taken place so long ago, before the land of the windmill had swallowed me up and lifted me out of a stark reality and into its wind-fueled fantasy.
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
I hadn't been back to Manhattan since August, since before the storm that had nearly destroyed the windmill and had changed us all, and the feeling that washed over me now was one of unfamiliarity. So much had changed. The place I'd once called home now looked as foreign as my parents' new home. As though both my childhood and recent adult lives had been wiped away.
We were driving along the FDR Highway, and at Ninety-sixth Street I took the exit ramp. Our first stop was on the Upper East Side, which I explained to Janey was where I used to live.
“That's where John lives now, right?” she asked.
“You got that right.”
We had eventually done a lot of talking on the two-plushour trip down the thruway. I told her about John Oliver, how he became my best friend way back in our college days and still was my best friend to this day. He was my last remaining link to the city. I told her, too, how supportive John had been during my crisis earlier this yearâthe bout with hepatitis that had debilitated me and the changes that had occurred at the offices of the Beckford Group, my employer, both of which had precipitated my sudden and unexpected departure from the city. Last spring, life had seemed about as bleak as a Dickens novel, and just as lengthy, too. Distraction from wounded memories was exactly what I needed today, and no doubt John would provide that with his good humor and juvenile antics.
“You'll like him,” I said. “But he's not as silly as me.”
“No one is,” she stated.
“Yeah? And you like me, right?”
“Momma always said, âDon't say yeah.'”
“Oops,” I replied.
Janey giggled. “See? Silly. No grown-up says âoops.' ”
As much as the mood had shifted on the ride down, she seemed dubious at the idea of liking this stranger who held the envious title of Brian's Best Friend. (My interpretation of how Janey saw certain things: Everything capitalized.)
So we parked my battered car on Eighty-third Street, just down the block from the brick apartment building I'd once called home. It was Sunday afternoon, and there were plenty of spots available on the block. Some lucky Manhattanite would score tonight when I'd vacate the spot. For now, it was ours. I locked the car, grabbed hold of Janey's hand, and the two of us made our way down the quiet street.
“What are those black things on all the buildingsâwith the ladders?” she asked.
“Fire escapes.”
“They look like ways robbers could break into your apartment.”
“Well, there aren't any robbers around, so you don't have to worry.”
We rang John's apartment bell, heard his voice crackling through the intercom as he buzzed us in. How many times had I taken these stairs, how many times had I not even looked aroundâat the scarred walls, at the dog hair that gathered in clumps in the corner of the steps, at the brightly painted front doors of each apartment? Forest-green paint set against white walls. Nothing had changed, yet from my fresh perspective as a newly christened “farmer,” the boxlike living quality struck me as awfully confining. How had I done it?
John was standing in the doorway, all six feet two of him. He was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, not unlike Janey and me. All of us appeared ready for a day of adventure. I took care of the introductions, with John bending down so he was at eye level with Janey.
“Brian said you were cute,” John said. “He was so wrong.”
Janey tossed me a skeptical glance. I gave him a smiling look that said, “Go ahead, get out of this one.”
But John, smoothie that he is, masterfully recovered. “Because you're far too grown-up to be called cute. That's for babies. You're very, very pretty, Janey. I like your freckles.”
Janey blushed at John's compliment, and I laughed at his surprising level of charm. I edged past him with a knowing look, saying I wanted to see how he'd destroyed my place.
“Your place? I don't see any cows around here.”
“Nice,” I said, sarcasm apparent.
John's comment made Janey laugh, and suddenly it was like the two of them had been friends for years, poking fun at me their bond. John gave us the full tourâthe bedroom, the kitchen, the living room, three rooms in one, with barely a decoration on the walls. His old place had been adorned with posters of rock groups and movies, but he seemed to be in a transitional stage. John Oliver, growing up? Who was this woman he'd fallen in love with? Did she have magical powers? One thing I did notice, set atop his dresser, was the postcard of the windmill I had sent him months ago. Nice to know there was a sentimental bone amidst his cynical nature. The tour took all of one minute, with Janey asking, “Where's the rest of the apartment?”
John assumed it was a rhetorical question. So he grabbed his coat and escorted us out of his building. As we walked to the corner to summon a cab, I whispered to him, inquiring after the “love of his life.”
“Anna's meeting us at 30 Rock.”
I took a step backward as my smile deflated. “Her name is Anna?”
“Yeah, why, what's the big deal?”
“Nothing, nothing, John, sorry, don't worry,” I said, though a chill continued to run down my spine. Should I mention it? Had Janey even heard us? “It's just, well, for a second all I could think about was . . .” I indicated Janey.
“Oh shit . . . Oh, wait . . .”
“You said a bad word.”
“Oops,” John said.
Janey laughed, shaking her head. “Just like Brian.” “Sorry, Brian, you know, about . . . Annie.”
“Guess the similarity in names took me by surprise.”
“Man, it didn't even register, sorry,” he said. “She going be okay with that?”
I looked back down at Janey, to find her looking squarely up at me.
“What are you two talking about way up there?”
“Grown-up talk,” I said.
“Show me a grown-up,” she said.
All of laughed as a cab stopped at the corner of Eighty-third and Second Avenue. We hopped in, John telling the cabbie to get us to Rockefeller Center. Janey had been curious to ride in a cab, and now that we were inside one, she watched with caution as the driver began to weave his way through traffic.
“When do you pay?” Janey asked, leaning in close to me so the driver couldn't hear.
“When our trip is over.”
She seemed to accept this, but still she kept glancing over at the meter as the fare clicked higher and higher.
Fifteen minutes went by as we weaved our way down Fifth Avenue. We got out at Fiftieth Street. Janey watched as John paid the driver, and before he could get his change a young couple was taking possession of our cab. “Thanks,” they hurriedly said, practically closing the door on Janey's scarf. I pulled her out of the way quickly.
“You okay?”
“That wasn't very nice of them,” Janey said.
“Welcome to New York,” John offered.
The cab went dashing down the avenue, and we forget all about it. We quickly went in search of the tree at Rockefeller Center. Thing that size, it wasn't difficult to find.
There's no place like Manhattan for the holidays, Fifth Avenue in particular. The storefronts were extensively and, in some cases, excessively decorated, big red ribbons hung on the sides of buildings, a large wreath with gold and silver balls suspended over the intersection at Fifty-seventh Street and Fifth, its lights bright even in the blinding daylight. Janey guessed that it sparkled at night. At last we turned the corner and the tree came into full view. Standing nearly eighty feet into the air, covered with colorful lights, there was no denying its power, the hold it had over the assembled crowd of people. Probably thousands of visitors had chosen this moment to visit the tree, itself more than a traditionâthis was an institution for the city of New York and a symbol for the season. Janey grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, to where we virtually stood beneath the great pine branches. She craned her neck, trying to look all the way up.
“Wow,” she said with wide-eyed wonder, a word that would go overused this day. “It's so tall . . . but the buildings are even taller.”
Her wandering gaze was interrupted when a new person joined our little group. Janey took a moment's break from the tree to meet John's girlfriend, who had just showed up.
“Wow,” she said again, and this time, well, I have to admit I thought the same thing.
Her name was Anna Santorini, a nice Brooklyn-born Italian girl who was probably the very definition of beautiful. She was five foot six, had large brown eyes and short black hair that was flawlessly styled. It wasn't so cold that she wore a hat. Her lips were lightly coated with red lipstick. With her black coat and red scarf to match, colors that perfectly complemented her, she had caught more than our eyes. Envious men all over watched as John gave her a welcoming kiss on the lips.
Then he took care of the introductions.
“Wow,” Janey repeated. “You're so beautiful.”
“Thank you, Janey, what a very sweet thing to say. And quite the compliment, coming from such a beauty herself.”
Well, that did it. Janey dropped my hand and took hold of Anna's, and for the rest of the day they would be inseparable. Not only did Anna provide a mother figure, but she was someone new to talk to. Not Cynthia, whom Janey had known for so many years; not good old, reliable Brian Duncan, who knew as much about little girls and what they really needed as he did about farming (despite John's humorous claims). In any case, the two ladies walked ahead of us while exploring Rockefeller Center, watching the iceskaters below us, then across the street to the busy windows at Saks. Their new bond gave John and me a chance to reconnect. We talked nonsense, really, though I did concede my approval of the lovely Anna, whose personality matched her beauty. John positively beamed when I mentioned her, which made me wonder if Peter Pan had found an outbound flight from Neverland. I used to enjoy my visits to John's world.
Janey tugging at my sleeve stirred me from my reverie.
“Come on, Brian, let's go inside this store,” she said, pointing to the entrance to Saks.
I laughed. “Aren't you a bit young for diamonds?”
“Yes, but I bet they have nice Christmas ornaments. Maybe you can get a new one, you know, in place of the one that's missing.”
From this magical land I was transported back to reality, to the knowledge that Janey had taken the ornament and for whatever reason continued to lie about it. And here she was, suggesting we replace something that was irreplaceable. A shadow darkened my face as I realized I hadn't actually seen the actual ornamentâjust the box. Why was she so insistent that I get a new one? A horrible thought occurred to me, one I wanted to dismiss right there and then. No, there had to be some other rational explanation. She couldn't have broken my precious ornament.
“What ornament?” Anna asked.
“Oh, it's nothing,” I said, wishing to downplay it.
But John, who had known me the longest, knew its significance. “The one from Philip?”
“Later, John,” I said with pleading eyes. For once he actually listened to me.