Free Drummer Boy by Toni Sheridan Page B

me to be OK with that—and help me to be the friend she needs, without any selfish, romantic agenda.
    Tim waited for a feeling of release, some sort of confirmation that he would be OK without her, that it wasn’t meant to be, but his mind was filled with her smile, and he couldn’t hear what Conrad went onto say because Jane’s laughter bounced through his memory.
    She really seemed happy when she was with him. And she appeared to love the work they did together just as much as he did.
    Was he imagining all that just because he wanted it to be true? Even on the best days with Natalie, Tim had never experienced the feeling he had when he was with Jane: like all was right in the world, like he was all right—that things were as they should be.
    Wait.
    The word almost seemed audible, but as Tim opened his eyes, he was sure it had only been spoken in his head.
    “OK,” he whispered, but inside he couldn’t help but ask, “Wait for what?”
     
     
     
     

13
     
    Jane opened the window over the kitchen sink, and a light breeze danced into the room, sweet and fresh, with an edge of crispness hinting that autumn was coming. As she washed the few pots that wouldn’t fit into the dishwasher, she looked out into the yard. The big maple’s leaves were starting to blush, and she smiled.
    Fall was Tim’s favorite season because it “harkened changes.” Who said things like “harkened” anymore? The more she spent time with him, the more she wanted to spend time with him. She’d never been around someone who didn’t bore her eventually. She loved that he was always doing something, planning something. She loved that he always looked at her as if she were the only person in the room when she talked. And he was so cute it made her crazy with want to touch him.
    Things had changed since her stupid date with Edward though. If anything, her feelings for Tim had clarified, but now he tried to have someone else with them at all times, avoiding one-on-one time, and he worked the words “my friend Jane” into too many conversations…
    She gave the stove a final vicious swipe and threw the dishrag at the sink.
    Candy, just entering the room, fished the cloth out of the sink, rinsed it, and then hung it over the faucet to dry. “What’s eating you?” she asked.
    Jane shot her a look and then refocused on the cutlery drawer she’d banged open. She finally understood one of Candy’s ongoing laments. It was ridiculous how garbage accumulated unless you kept on top of it. “This is not a junk drawer,” she said, removing a couple of loose elastics, a wad of expired coupons, and, of all things, a bike lock and a broken fortune cookie, still in its cellophane.
    “You’re preaching to the choir, sister,” Candy said, but her grin quickly faded. “Seriously, Jane. Dinner was amazing, the kitchen is sparkling, the drawer is fine—what’s wrong?”
    “I cooked and cleaned, so there must be something wrong, right? Because under normal circumstances I’d never tidy or help out, right?”
    Candy had been about to grab a cookie, but she dropped her hand away from the big glass jar and gawked. “That’s not what I was saying, or what I meant, at all.”
    Jane plunked into a chair, propped her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her clenched fists. “I know it’s not. I know.”
    Candy took a chair across from her. “I’m starting to get really worried. I’m used to being the morose, moody one. You’re the life of the party, can’t-nothing-get-me-down one—”
    “That’s just it. I am down. And I don’t seem to be able to get myself up again.”
    “It totally makes sense if you’re a bit down. You’ll feel better when things are back to normal—”
    “And what if ‘things’ are never back to normal? What if I’m never normal again?” Jane jumped to her feet, began to pace.
    “You will be.”
    “You don’t know that. And I’m sick of waiting. I want to drive again. I want to work. I hate sitting