10

Spencer had left for work by the time Jillian awoke. She was pleased to realize that she had no hangover, no effects from the evening before except for a slight soreness between her legs. That, she knew, would go away.

Bright sunlight flooded into the apartment and it raised Jillian’s sprits just enough to get her out of bed, into the shower, dressed, and ready for work.

As she was about to leave for her job, she noticed the radio, still sitting on the table as it had been the night before. Jillian walked over to it, stopped, and looked at it for a moment, then took a deep breath and reached out and turned it on. From the speaker came some tinny-sounding pop music. Just pop music…

“So much for that,” she said aloud in the empty apartment. She turned the radio off and left. The second graders sat at their desks hanging on Jillian’s every word. It was the best time of the day—it was story time. Jillian read beautifully, putting real emotion behind the story. And today’s story was a favorite, a real crowd pleaser because it called for a considerable amount of audience participation.

“…Then she began to guess the little man’s name.” she read, making her voice sound sad and far away. “ ‘Is it Conrad Pepper Mill?’ she said. And the little man said…” Jillian glanced expectantly at her students.

“No!” they shouted in unison.

“ ‘I know, I know!’ ” Jillian read aloud. “ ‘Is it Sir William Doorknob?’ And the little man said…”

“No!” the class yelled again.

“ ‘I have it,’ ” Jillian said, clapping her hands. “ ‘Your name must be Little Ribs of Beef.’ And the little man said…”

“No!” they all shouted.

“ ‘It couldn’t be Rumpelstilskin could it?’ ” Jillian said. “ ‘What did you say?’ cried the little man. ‘I said, it couldn’t be—’ ”

And the whole class shouted. “Rumpelstilskin!”

“And the little man screamed,” Jillian said.

The entire class screamed with glee.

“And he stamped his little foot,” Jillian concluded.

Pandemonium erupted in the classroom as two dozen second graders screamed and stamped their feet. Jillian did not do either. She sat on her little chair, the book closed in her lap, her mind far away, thinking of other things.

School was over by two o’clock and Jillian was faced with returning to her empty apartment. In order to delay the inevitable, she lingered in the teachers’ lounge, working through the few papers that been placed in her cubbyhole.

As she absentmindedly scanned a school calendar, something changed in her mind. The words vanished and all she could see was a street, a street unknown to her. It looked like New York City, but she couldn’t be sure. And she had no idea why the image had sprung, unbidden into her mind.

Jillian had no idea how long she had stood like that, transfixed by this image. She heard someone speaking to her.

“Jillian? Jillian?”

It did not break the spell.

“Jillian? Jillian? Earth to Jillian.” Then she slid out of it. Another teacher was peering at her curiously.

Jillian shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling foolish. “My mind was a million miles away. ”

“At least,” said the other teacher. The bright sunlight was gone and the dark sky did nothing to make Jillian feel any happier. It was getting later and later and still Spencer had not come home from work. She did not think about eating or anything else. Then, impulsively, she picked up the phone and called her sister Nan, back home in Florida.

Nan caught the nature of Jillian’s mood immediately. “Oh God, Jill,” she said, “you sound so sad.”

Jillian sighed and without thinking about it, reached out with her free hand and touched the radio.

“It’s just this city, Nan,” she said. “It… it just gets inside you. Under your skin.”

“Well, don’t let it get inside you,” said Nan firmly. “That’s how you got into trouble after Mom and Dad died. To be honest, you sound now the way you did then.”

Jillian did no answer. She realized that she was holding the radio and she stared at it.

“You know, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea,” Nan continued. “The two of you moving up there to New York City. Maybe it’s too much. Culture shock; you know?”

Jillian looked away from the radio. “Spencer needed it,” she replied. “And I wanted to do it.”

“How is Spencer?” Nan asked archly. “Is he taking good care of you?”

Nan had always been slightly jealous of her sister and her apparently perfect relationship with her apparently perfect astronaut hero husband. She did her best to conceal her jealously, but both sisters knew it was there. By unspoken agreement they never talked about it, though Nan was not above making some sly jokes about it from time to time.

Jillian was silent for a moment. “Well…, you know, it’s not easy for him, either. A new job, so many new people. But you know him, Nan, he never complains.”

Nan laughed. “You want me to come up there and kick his ass?” Then she was silent a moment. “Oh, Jil1y,” she said sorrowfully, “you seem so sad.”

“No,” Jillian answered quickly, trying to force some the brightness she did not feel into her voice. “No, not at all. I’m okay, Nan. It’s just so different up here. It takes some getting to used to. I guess we underestimated how much.”

Nan appeared to believe this or decided to pretend that she did. “Have you found made any friends up there? Have you found someone to talk to yet, at least?”

“Oh yeah,” said Jillian. “The doorman is a real chatterbox. Can’t get him to shut up.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Nan replied, “and you know it. Have you found a doctor to talk to?”

“No… Not yet,” said Jillian slowly.

Nan sounded deadly serious now. “Promise me, Jill. If things get bad. If they get the way they were before, you have to promise me that you’ll find someone to talk to.”

Jillian turned as she heard Spencer’s keys sliding into the lock in the front door.

Nan was insistent. “July? I want you to promise me that? Okay? Promise?” Because if you don’t—”

Jillian cut off her sister. “I have to go. Can I call you tomorrow, Nan? I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

But Nan would not be put off so easily. She tried desperately to keep her sister on the phone. “No, Jillian,” she said quickly, “don’t go, okay? We have to talk.”

Jillian looked down at the radio on the table, then toward the front door of the apartment.

“Jillian?” said Nan.

“I really have to go now, Nan,” said Jillian.

She heard the front door open and the tap of Spencer’s footsteps in the hallway.

“Jillian,” he called. “Where are you?”

Jillian put down the phone as Spencer walked into the room. “Spencer,” she said. “You’re so late… I was beginning to get worried about you.”

Spencer looked surprised. “Didn’t you get my message?” he asked. “I had a dinner meeting tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” Jillian replied. “I didn’t check the answering machine. I didn’t think of it.”

“My fault,” said Spencer. “I still haven’t got this corporate thing down yet.” He kissed her warmly on the lips. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Will you wait up for me?”

She nodded and he kissed her again. “I won’t be a minute,” he said, making for the bathroom. Jillian lay in bed. The light in the bedroom was off, but the door to the bathroom was open. The light was on in there and clouds of steam rolled out from Spencer’s shower. Suddenly the water stopped pounding in the shower and Jillian could see her husband toweling off. He was a spectral form in the steam. As she looked into the bathroom, his shadow fell across the bed, across Jillian’s body.

From inside the cloud of steam, Spencer called out to her. “You feeling okay?”

Without thinking about it, Jillian placed a protective hand on her belly. “Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”

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