Free Plain Jane by Fern Michaels Page B

why she did what she did.
    Beached whale.
    Miss Piggy.
    Fat tub of lard.
    Was it her own humiliation that had kept her quiet?
    Jane squeezed her eyes shut. She had always been afraid to answer that question. “And I’m not going to answer it now,” she said to Olive, who was spread out like a frog on the floor next to the tub. Olive opened one eye to look at Jane. “Go back to sleep. I’m just talking to myself again.”
    Years after Connie’s death, Jane had wondered what kind of person Todd Prentice was that he would call off his engagement to Connie because she’d been raped. After meeting Todd at an alumni fund-raiser, she understood Connie’s reasoning a little better. Todd had been there with his wife, his “trophy” wife was the way Jane had come to think of her. Jane remembered her dress—backless, strapless, and halfway up her ass. A scant quarter yard of material at best. What was her name? Melody? Melanie? Melanie. Melanie Petitjean of Petitjean Pharmaceuticals, according to the listing for the Alumni Association’s Board of Directors, of which Todd was a member. Jane knew the company well, even owned some stock in it.
    She scooted farther down into the hot water. It had been two or three years since the fund-raiser, and she still didn’t know what to make of Todd coming up to her and introducing himself. They hadn’t known each other in college. Never even met. She lathered her shoulders and neck. “Help me out with this, Ollie. Talk to me. You woof if I say something that strikes a chord, okay?”
    â€œWoof!”
    â€œOkay,” Jane said, satisfied that Olive was paying attention. “I’m a shrink and a pretty good one so—”
    â€œWoof!”
    â€œThank you, but you interrupted.” The fact that the bathwater wasn’t hot anymore was of no consequence. Jane was thinking, clearly for once. And objectively. There was something about standing beneath a shower or lying back in a bathtub that freed the mind. Trixie always said her best ideas came to her in the shower. “Okay now, where was I? Oh, yeah. I should be able to figure this out.” Olive’s ears perked. “I’ve already ruled out that Todd was just a really friendly guy because he didn’t bother to introduce himself to Rose, who was standing right next to me. He wasn’t interviewing me for the alumni newsletter. And although he gave me his business card, he never called me later, so he wasn’t trying to sell me anything. And, with a wife who looked like his, he wouldn’t have been trying to hit on me.” She sighed, thinking she’d covered all this ground before. “What if,” she said, using the phrase Trixie and Fred used to come up with plot twists for their books, “he already knew who I was, wanted to meet me, and see if he could establish a rapport because he was looking for a psychiatrist?” Olive cocked her head to the side. “No, huh? What then? You tell me since you’re so smart.” Olive was silent.
    She closed her eyes. “This is making me crazy. I need to come to terms with it. I’ve been carrying around this guilt for twelve years. It’s ruining my life. I wish you could talk, Olive. I need some feedback here.”
    â€œWoof woof!”
    Jane nodded as if she understood. “You’re right. If I was the patient, I would tell myself to call Todd up, make an appointment to see him, ask him why he introduced himself to me, and tell him what happened that night.”
    Olive bounded to her feet when thunder cracked overhead. Jane hopped out of the tub and pulled the drain plug. She hated and feared thunderstorms as much as Olive did. “Hit the light switch, Olive!” Water gurgled down the drain as Jane wrapped herself in her ratty flannel robe. She ran for the bed, jumped in, and covered both her and Olive’s heads.
    There hadn’t been any signs of a