Confucius Jane (37 page)

After her first beer, she ordered a second. And then a third. The waitress looked at her sympathetically but never said a word. Jane watched her own handwriting grow sloppier under the influence of fatigue and alcohol, but only when predawn light began to filter through the windows did she switch to coffee.

As the caffeine banished some of the haze from her head, she tried to figure out what to do. Sober up for another hour, maybe, before walking home? Better yet, she could spend the early hours of the morning helping out at Sue's before slipping into her aunt and uncle's apartment during the middle of the day, when they would both be working. She couldn't avoid them forever, of course. She'd have to tell them sometime.

But telling them would make it real. True. Final. And that was the last thing she wanted.

 

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

J
ANE BIT INTO A
dumpling as she watched two workmen struggle to raise the large pane of glass into the empty frame of Red Door Apothecary's front window. Outside, tourists looked into the store with mild curiosity as they passed. They probably thought this was a normal renovation—something the shopkeeper was doing to improve her window display. They had no memory of destruction to fall back on—of the shards that had been scattered across the floor and the pungent aroma of herbs crushed underfoot that had filled the air.

What a day that had been. And she still didn't understand why Sutton had made a point of stopping by the store, only to leave before seeing her. Ruthlessly quashing the memory of her, Jane focused on chewing and swallowing.

“Oh, I hope they don't drop it,” Sue murmured, her spoon poised halfway between her mouth and the plastic carton of miso soup. She had been busily restocking one of the wooden cabinets until Jane made her take a break, but she'd barely eaten any of the lunch Benny had delivered a few minutes ago, free of charge despite their protests. Jane was glad he didn't mind dropping off their food, even though Noodle Treasure didn't have a delivery service. She hadn't been back in the restaurant since Sutton's declaration, and she doubted she'd be able to force herself to go inside anytime soon.

“They'll be fine. They're professionals.” She looked at her watch. “You know who is not a professional? Giovanni. He should have been here half an hour ago.”

Sue frowned. “That's right. I lost track of time. And he is usually punctual.”

Jane watched as Sue finally ate another spoonful. She had clearly lost some weight over the past several days. Jane wasn't the only one who had noticed—Giancarlo had pulled her aside yesterday to confess his concern.

“Good soup, isn't it?” she said, hoping the reminder would encourage Sue to eat a few more bites.

“Yes, always.”

She was just dipping back into the carton when the door opened to reveal Giovanni. “I'm so sorry for being late,” he said urgently, revealing his uncle behind him as he limped inside. Each step made him wince in pain.

“Oh no,” Sue said. “What happened to you?”

“I fell off my skateboard on my way to school.”

“We've been in the emergency room all day, waiting.” Giancarlo's baritone was scratchy, and he sounded exhausted.

“What did they say?” Jane asked.

“It's just road rash. They cleaned it up and put bandages on. I can work.”

Giancarlo shook his head. “He has one large patch on his left shoulder and the other on his thigh. But he refused to go home without coming here first.”

“I can work. I mean it. I know how much there is to do.”

Sue patted him gently on his good shoulder. “It's all right. Go home and rest.” Her face fell. “There is a poultice I could make for you, but the thieves destroyed my entire supply of linseed flax.”

Giovanni looked at her blankly, and Giancarlo quickly jumped into the silence. “There's something else. While we were waiting at the hospital, I asked a nurse about this rash on my neck.” He gestured toward an angry patch of red skin that hadn't been there yesterday. “She says it might be shingles.”

“Shingles!” Sue's eyes went wide. “Oh, dear. Let me see.”

He held up one hand. “Have you had the chickenpox?”

“No, but—”

“Then you have to stay back.”

“But I want to help!” Sue sounded genuinely distraught.

“I'm going to the doctor in a few minutes. The nurse said there is medicine that will make it go away quickly, if I get it soon enough.”

Sue looked to Jane. “When will the new inventory arrive?”

“Tomorrow or the next day, I think.”

“Good. I feel so helpless without all my herbs.”

“Feel better, both of you,” Jane said as they turned to leave. “Cornelia woke up with a cough this morning and had to stay home from class. I guess it's just that time of the year.”

Once the door had closed behind them, Sue turned to face her. “How are you feeling?”

“Me? Healthy as an ox.”

“That's not what I meant.”

Jane set down her half-f container of dumplings. “Sue…”

“I know you said you didn't want to talk about it. But it's been over a week now. You need to talk. You can't keep it bottled up forever.”

“Yes, I can.” Jane felt her temples begin to throb.

“That isn't healthy.”

“Look.” Jane paused and took a deep breath, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. “It's over. It's done. That's what she wanted. I'm trying to put the whole thing behind me, okay?”

Sue shook her head and clucked her tongue as she unwrapped the fortune cookie that had come with her soup. Jane glanced at the remainder of her lunch, but she had lost her appetite. If she finished the portion for dinner, she could also avoid eating with her family. Aunt Jen's pitying looks and Min's uncomfortable questions had been driving her crazy.

“‘Love is a disease.'”

Jane glanced down as Sue read her fortune out loud. Feeling stubborn, she shrugged. “I was having a bad day.”

“It's more than that.” Sue smoothed the paper between her fingers, looking up with an almost fearful expression. “Everything is connected. Now I understand.”

Jane didn't have the mental fortitude to patiently endure Sue's cryptic comments. “Understand what?”

“You are upset. Justifiably so. But you must be careful. Your chi is very powerful, creating ripples that echo throughout the community.”

“What does that mean?” Jane packed the food and her chopsticks back into the delivery bag, intending to use the excuse of putting her meal in the fridge to escape Sue's extremely odd mood.

“You wrote about love being a disease and then Giancarlo and Cornelia took ill.”

The bag almost slipped from Jane's fingers. “What? I'm sorry … what? You think they got sick because I wrote that fortune?” She couldn't believe what she was hearing. “In what universe does that make sense?”

Sue stood and put her hands on her hips. “In this universe! You are a poet. A smith of words. And when you bend your will to writing the future, who can say what will happen?”

“Sue.” Jane closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Viruses make people sick. Not my writing.” She indulged in a humorless laugh. “Not like that, anyway.”

“You are a contributing factor.” Sue stepped forward and took Jane's free hand between hers. “Which is why you must be cautious.”

“In that case, I'm going to cautiously put my lunch in the refrigerator. Excuse me.”

Jane sidestepped her and walked quickly toward the back office, struggling to keep her temper in check. Sue's life had been plunged into so much turmoil—it was no wonder that she was grasping at straws to explain the vicissitudes of recent events. The problem was, Jane didn't have her usual reservoir of patience right now. She needed to get that back. Pronto. Sue didn't deserve to be snapped at, no matter what crazy things she believed.

“Jane?”

She turned around to find Sue standing in the doorway, clearly hesitant—as though she didn't belong in her own store. Guilt moved in like a summer storm front, blowing her irritation out to sea.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you.”

Sue waved off the apology. “It's been a difficult week for everyone. Maybe you're right to try to put Sut—her … behind you. A change of scene, perhaps? A change of pace?”

Jane managed a weak smile. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“Of course not. But sometimes we can't find peace where we are.”

“Yeah. That's true.” Suddenly feeling like an interloper, Jane gestured toward the back door. “Speaking of which, I was thinking I might take a walk. Clear my head. But I can stay if you think you'll need me.”

“Go ahead. I'll be fine.” Sue sounded almost relieved, and Jane didn't know whether to feel amused or wounded.

“All right. I'll see you later.”

As soon as she stepped outside, she took a deep, grateful breath. The temperatures had been mild all week, and some of the trees were beginning to bud. Even so, she shivered when a light breeze ruffled her hair. The cold was inside her—a band of deep freeze around her heart that remained unthawed by the advent of spring. For the first time in her life, she found herself wishing she had worn a jacket.

As she reached the corner of Canal, the crossing signal flashed white. Maybe that's what she would do—take whatever path through the city fate provided. It was easiest, she had found, to look up at the façades of buildings as she walked, keeping her eyes focused just high just enough so that she didn't fixate on people who looked like Sutton or notice awnings of restaurants that seemed like they might be perfect date spots. True, she had tripped over an uneven curb once or twice, but that was a small price to pay for her relative sanity.

Instead of flashing back to Sutton's kisses, she concentrated on the conversations around her, waiting for a gem that would demand to be written down. Instead of wondering where Sutton was at each moment, she brainstormed possible themes for her next piece. One additional poem would make her fellowship application complete. She was determined to work, to produce, to transform her pain into something … else. Something positive and real and enduring. Unlike her relationship with Sutton.

So preoccupied was she in admiring the architecture, that she somehow glossed over the sign informing her she had turned onto Second Avenue. The P
OMMES
F
RITES
placard, however, was impossible to miss, and the sight of it punched the breath from her lungs. That night returned, flashing before her mind's eye like a strobe. Walking through the park holding hands and listening to the city; Sutton's blissful expression as she savored her frites; the mix of pride and panic she'd felt when Sutton invited her to family dinner; the tender good-night kiss shared in front of Sutton's building. The memories split her open like a surgeon's knife. Suddenly dizzy, she stumbled toward a place to sit, only to find herself on that very same bench in front of St. Mark's where they had cuddled together just a few weeks ago.

Maybe Sue was right, she thought dimly as her heart pounded and her breaths whistled. The city was conspiring to remind her of Sutton at every turn, and her emotional response to those reminders was off the deep end. Trying to heal from Sutton's rejection in New York felt like trying to free herself from a pit of quicksand—each effort only mired her more surely than the last. She was losing her mind. Maybe she did need to get away. If she put herself in a setting that didn't resonate with memories of Sutton, she might finally be able to find some peace.

Pulling out her phone, she scrolled through her contacts list and tried to ignore the jolt in her chest when she bypassed Sutton's name. Her parents were always saying she didn't visit them enough. Maybe it was time to take them up on their standing offer of a plane ticket. Rio de Janeiro would be nothing like New York. With any luck, the hot sun and warm sand would melt the ice inside her.

*   *   *

BY THE TIME JANE
returned home, her parents had used their stockpile of frequent flier miles to purchase a ticket to Rio in her name—leaving tomorrow night with an open-ended return. She felt terrible for inconveniencing her aunt and uncle, especially without any warning. But instead of resenting her sudden departure, they reacted with sympathy and understanding, extracting a promise that she would rest and enjoy her time in the tropics.

Min was off at a sleepover, for which Jane was thankful as she threw clothes into her faded duffle. Since the breakup, her emotional state had become Min's favorite discussion topic. Still, she would miss her roommate, and it wouldn't do to disappear without a note. Once her bag was packed, she sat down at the desk.

Minetta,

I'm off to Brazil to see my parents. Sorry for leaving so suddenly, but I'll be back before you know it. Do me a favor and fill in as the resident poet while I'm gone, will you? Remember: less is more when it comes to fortunes.

Love,

Jane

As she was folding the sheet of paper, a gleam of gold caught the lamplight. Sue's pendant, which she had taken off before the ill-fated dinner with Sutton's parents and never put back on. Scooping it up, she dropped it in the envelope and then added a postscript to her note:

P.S. When you next see Sue, could you give her back the necklace? I'll repay you in ice cream.

There. She had explained her absence and responsibly delegated her tasks. But what about the fellowship application? Its postmark deadline was only a few days away, and she still needed that last poem. Should she pull an all-nighter, or take everything with her to Brazil and pay an arm and a leg for international express postage?

But as she looked between the neat stack of papers on the desk corner and her poetry notebook on the nightstand, a wave of exhaustion came crashing down. Who was she kidding? Hundreds, if not thousands, of emerging poets would be applying for the award. It didn't matter that Anders would have wanted her to have it—he was dead, and the board would choose someone with real talent and potential.