Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [12]
“I’d better not come back to find you’ve replaced all the self-help books with graphic novels,” Jane warned.
Lucy grinned. “I was thinking more of putting them where the religion books are,” she said. “And installing a cappuccino machine.”
Jane groaned. “Why do I think I’m going to regret this?”
Lucy rubbed Jane’s shoulders. “Oh, relax,” she said. “It’s New Year’s week. Nobody buys anything anyway—they just return the stuff they got for Christmas.”
“That makes me feel much better,” said Jane. “Thank you.”
She hadn’t told Lucy the reason for her trip, at least not the real reason. Lucy thought she was going to New York to meet a friend and see a show. Although Jane badly wanted to share her news, she felt it would be a mistake to talk about it until everything was in order.
“Some time away from here will be good for you,” Lucy informed her. “You’ve been so … tense lately.”
Jane shot her a look. “Meaning what?” she demanded.
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Meaning that,” she said. “You’ve just been a little snippy.”
“I have not been snippy,” Jane objected.
“Okay, okay,” said Lucy, holding her hands up in defeat. “You haven’t been snippy. My bad.”
“Go shelve something,” Jane said, trying not to laugh. She could never get mad at Lucy.
Lucy walked away grinning. “I get to be in cha-aa-aa-rge,” she said in a singsong voice.
The phone rang and Jane answered it. “Flyleaf Books.”
“Yes, could you please tell Miss Jane Fairfax that there’s a gentleman caller on the line for her?”
“Hello, Walter,” Jane said. “What can I do for you today?”
“I’m just calling to confirm your presence at tonight’s New Year’s Eve gathering,” he answered.
Jane groaned silently. She’d forgotten all about Walter’s party. She’d said she would go, but now that it was upon her she dreaded it. She considered telling Walter that she couldn’t make it, but she was suddenly unable to think of a believable excuse. “Of course I’ll be there,” she replied. “What shall I bring?”
“Nothing but your fine sense of humor and your smiling face,” Walter told her. “That will be more than enough.”
“You’re satisfied with so little,” Jane joked. “What time do the festivities begin?”
“Nine,” said Walter.
Nine, Jane thought. That means at least three hours with those people. She shuddered. “I’ll see you then.”
“Got a date?” asked Lucy when Jane had hung up.
“It’s very rude to listen to other people’s conversations,” Jane told her. “And no, it is not a date. It’s that party.”
“Don’t you just love New Year’s Eve?” Lucy asked. “I do,” she added, not waiting for Jane’s answer. “It’s like you’re getting another chance to get it right.”
“Get what right?” said Jane.
“Everything,” Lucy answered. “Your life. It’s a new start. You can be anything you want, do anything you want.”
“You don’t need a new year for that,” said Jane.
“Of course not,” Lucy agreed. “But it’s symbolic. A new year, a new you. What are your resolutions?”
“I learned long ago not to make any,” said Jane. “They only set you up for failure.”
This was true. As girls she and Cassie had always made New Year’s resolutions. They wrote them on pieces of paper that were then folded and sealed with the wax from their father’s study, and gave them to each other for safekeeping. They did not open them until the next New Year’s Eve, when they looked at what they had written and debated whether or not they had achieved their goals. Too often Jane had failed, although admittedly this was generally because her resolutions were along the lines of “stop gossiping about the neighbors” and “try to pay more attention in church.” Cassie, who was much more likely to have accomplished her goals, never made Jane feel small. Regardless, her lack of success chafed, and she had eventually stopped altogether.
“Well, I have some,” Lucy continued, undeterred. “I’m going to go to yoga three times a week, learn French, run a marathon, and get at least two poems published—and not online, in real magazines. Oh, and I’m going to volunteer helping underprivileged kids learn to read.”
“Very admirable,” Jane