Protector - Laurel Dewey [142]
“I know. I figured he’d never die.”
“Yeah.”
“When I saw him . . . Lisa and I went over there and, ah, we went into his room. He was lying there with no tubes or nothin’. He looked peaceful. For the first time, Janie, I wasn’t afraid of him.” Mike broke down. “I talked to him. I told him that I forgave him for everything and that I hoped he’d find peace.”
Jane couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What the fuck?” Jane’s voice rose. Unbeknownst to Jane, Emily woke up and watched her.
“It was an important step for me, Janie,” Mike said, gaining control.
“Step?”
“We talked about it at the meeting last week. If you can forgive those who hurt you, you can begin to find peace.”
Without realizing it, Jane rubbed her finger against her scar. “Jesus Christ, Mike! You can’t forgive someone like that!”
“Yes. You can. You have to.”
“No! God won’t forgive him and neither will I!”
“I don’t wanna fight with you, Janie. Look, Lisa’s here. I’m gonna be fine.” He paused briefly. “You get the message about that guy trying to break into your house?”
“Yes,” Jane said subdued.
“Okay. I’m glad we could talk. You be safe wherever you are.” Mike hung up.
“Mike?” The sound of a dial tone droned. Jane stood stunned and then hung up the receiver. A few drops of fat raindrops fell on her face as she stared at the telephone. Within seconds, the clouds broke open and a torrent of rain poured from the sky. Jane closed her eyes and bent her head backward. Pellets of water bounced off her face and saturated her hair. She felt someone take her hand and rest their head against her body.
“Hey,” Jane said, looking down at Emily, “get back in the car.”
“You come, too,” Emily stated, sensing something was very wrong.
“Get outta the rain, Emily!” Emily didn’t move. “Go on,” Jane said.
Emily reluctantly headed back to the car. Through the rain swept front window, Emily watched as Jane walked into The Pit Stop and stood at the counter, pointing at an object behind the cashier. The cashier placed a bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Jane passed him the money. He bagged the liquor, handed it to Jane and she exited the store. Emily cautiously regarded Jane as she got into the car, stuffed the bag between her legs and stuck the key into the ignition.
Emily fastened her seat belt. “What happened on the phone?” she quietly asked.
“My dad died,” Jane replied, her eyes fixated on the bag of booze.
Emily was stunned. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Jane said brusquely as she backed out of The Pit Stop and sped down the highway away from Peachville.
Emily held tightly onto the chest strap of the seat belt as Jane shifted gears. The two-lane highway was pitch black and blanketed with puddles of rainwater. Jane reached into the bag and brought out the Jack Daniels, tossing the paper sack into the back seat. Emily quietly watched, her heart beating like crazy.
Jane drove another several hundred feet and slammed her hand hard against the dashboard. “Fuck it!” she screamed as she crossed over the center yellow line and brought the Subaru to a skidding stop on the left side of the road between two large trees. She turned off the engine and flung the keys onto the dashboard. With the headlights on, she got out of the car, Jack Daniels in hand, and slammed the door shut. Emily watched as Jane twisted off the top of the bottle and pitched it across the road. “Fuck you, you son-of-a-bitch! Fuck you!” Jane screamed into the darkness. Standing in the blinding glare of the headlights, she drank a hefty gulp of whiskey. Shaking off the bitter taste, she winced as the whiskey burned her throat. “You fucking go to hell!” she screamed, thrusting the bottle into the cloud-dappled night sky. She took another significant swig, allowing the booze to drip down her chin and onto her blouse. After another sip, she began to choke and cough. Swallowing hard, Jane fought her body’s reaction to the whiskey, drawing the bottle back to her lips. But before she could take another mouthful, her gut cramped and she doubled over