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  Brian picked out Paul Revere and the World He Lived In. It was thick and somehow exciting, with its chapter headings and scholarly notes and bibliography.

  Jodie and Janie eyed his purchase. “When did you decide to be a historian?” said Janie.

  Brian was relieved to hear her speak at last. “I’ve always been a closet historian. I was just keeping up with Brendan for a few years before I came out.”

  Janie smiled. “What will Brendan do to you when he finds out?”

  Brian wanted to hug her smile, he was so glad she could still produce it. “I’m hoping to get points for being his twin,” said Brian, “but he’ll probably be ashamed to be seen in public with me. I’ll be carrying a book and it won’t be Stephen King.”

  “You could put a fake wrapper on it,” suggested Janie. “We can hide Paul Revere inside Pet Sematary.”

  “I’m impressed, Janie,” said Jodie. “Joking, after last night?”

  “I don’t think it’s me. I think it’s my other self.”

  Jodie nodded. “I’ve always wondered if everybody has a twin inside. Brian and Bren really became twins, but some of us don’t; we just carry the other self around.”

  “Whoa!” said Janie. “That’s a little spooky for me.”

  For me, too, thought Brian. And believe me, my twin is not my other self.

  “I didn’t mean I really have another personality.” Janie paused to consider what she did mean. “I mean that I can be stronger if I have to be.”

  They walked on brick sidewalks and slate side-walks, cracked sidewalks and cobblestones.

  Brian read aloud from Paul Revere and the World He Lived In. “There were heroes then,” said Brian. “Now there are just sleazy people being sleazy on the radio.”

  They were silent with their thoughts. Who—anytime under the sun—would have thought Reeve could fall under the heading of sleazy?

  They got directions for taking the T to Simmons College for Jodie’s interview. “Why am I going on this interview, anyway?” said Jodie.

  “So you have something to tell Mom and Dad,” said Janie. “So you don’t have to lie about everything when Mom and Dad ask how Boston went.”

  A siren screamed. Traffic did not move over for it.

  “Janie?” said Brian, trying to be casual. But oh! how this question mattered. “You meant our mom and dad, didn’t you?”

  Lights changed. Red was gone. Green shone.

  And for Brian, Janie changed. She looked amazed, and uncertain, and finally—glad. “Yes, I meant ours,” said Janie, and she stepped back from Brian and Jodie as if she thought they might refuse this.

  Brian’s chest tightened. Surely he could tell his mother that, without giving away the Reeve part.

  “My mom, my mom, my dad, my dad,” said Janie.

  Equal, thought Brian. Could she mean that? Could we mean that? Can we set aside knowing that we were just clutter?

  The lights changed again, and they stayed on the corner, and to Brian it was an intersection of life, not traffic; he studied the rushing cars and wondered why they didn’t collide more, since in life you were always colliding with everything.

  “They have enough to worry about, all my parents,” said Janie. “They think everything is okay. And so we’re going to leave them at the okay stage.”

  Jodie took her sister’s hand, and Brian had the funniest idea that she was going to kiss it. But of course she didn’t. She said, “Sounds like a Western. Leaving on the Okay Stage.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  “Did you have a lovely time, darling?” said Janie’s mother, scrunching Janie up against her. “I thought of you all weekend,” her mother said happily. “How’s Reeve? How’s Boston? How were Jodie and Brian? Wasn’t it wonderful they asked you along? Don’t you feel like a country that’s had bad international relations, and now they’re normalizing? We can normalize with the Springs.”

  The Okay Stage was not going to be an easy ride.

  Because her parents were not okay to start with. Janie loved them: loved them so completely that within her love was pity.

  Janie gave her mother another hug to buy time. That, too, was awful—using a hug to hide in. Janie ached to tell her mother about rotten Reeve. But she put her parents first. She hated Reeve right then, for putting himself first. She schooled her face, to keep rage off it. She had not expected rage in herself. I hate him! she thought.

  “Boston was fabulous. We walked and walked. Brian had read up on everything and knew exactly where we should go, and was full of history.” Janie busied herself with coming-in-the-door activities: hanging up the heavy coat, folding the scarf, shelving the gloves, taking off the boots. She was so fiercely angry that when she had the boots off, she wanted to beat the walls with them. Dent the whole house with those heels.

  My parents never asked me to grow up, she thought. Is it fair for me to ask them to grow up? Or do I just go on by myself?

  Truly, the last thing on earth Janie wanted to do was to go on by herself.

  She set the two boots neatly next to each other.

  “Brian’s a sweet boy,” said Janie’s mother. “What’s the story between Brian and Brendan?”

  “Brendan is athletic and Brian’s not.”

  “That’s it? That’s the whole story?”

  Janie did not want a conversation about anybody’s whole story.

  People didn’t deserve to have their whole stories told.

  “Hi, kitten,” said her father, coming in and pretending to box with her. He was having a snack and handed her a corner of cake, cold from the refrigerator. A refrigerator from which Reeve had probably taken as many snacks as Janie over the years. She wanted to slam Reeve’s finger in the door. No. That wouldn’t even bruise him. A host of good ideas came to her, like a violent movie: the ways in which she would see that Reeve found out what it was like to get hurt.

  “We missed you,” said her father. “Three whole days! I hope Boston was worth it.” He wore a wheat-colored turtleneck with an oatmeal wool blazer. He looked like a prep school dean.

  Down in New Jersey, her other father would have on navy sweats, and whoever hugged him would be scraped by his beard. I love them both, she thought.

  The sentence was incredible.

  I love them both.

  Her rage drained away.

  If that was true, if she had come at last to the place where she could love both sets of parents, then yes. Boston was worth it.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said, struggling to speak over the lump in her throat. She managed a couple of college campus stories and then retreated to her bedroom and the privacy she desperately needed.

  “That’s interesting,” she heard her father say. “No mention of Reeve. I wonder if that’s going to peter out now that he’s in college.”

  It didn’t peter out, thought Janie. It crashed.

  She closed her door, and nothing got better. She had actually thought that once she was alone in her own room, things would be better.

  Oh, Reeve! Why? To be popular? But you’ve always been popular! You’re the kind of guy everybody likes on sight and likes even better once they get to know you. How could you have needed more popularity?

  Perhaps you can get greedy for popularity, she thought, the way people get greedy for money. Perhaps it’s like a slot machine. One taste of being important and you go on and on, throwing your quarters in, greedy for more.

  Boston had been worth it.

  But to learn that Reeve—her beloved, perfect Reeve—was not worth it…

  She had never wanted to learn that.

  “Tell us all about Boston!” said Mr. Spring eagerly. The family was in the new kitchen, sitting on pale pine stools. The semicircle of white counter was big enough that they could leave the Sunday newspaper spread out and still serve dinner comfortably.

  They were having spaghetti and meatballs. Jodie was a spoon-whirler; Brendan was a slurper; Mom was a cutter; Dad was a masher. Brian could not co
mbine spaghetti with anxiety, so he was not eating at all. Nobody noticed.

  “You should have stayed home and come to my games,” said Brendan. “They were really exciting.” Brendan told them about his games.

  What had happened to the silent communication between twins? Brian wanted to know. He might as well have been a plate of meatballs for all Brendan was tuning in.

  Discussion of Brendan’s success lasted until the salad. Brian was not fond of lettuce. It seemed to Brian his mother should have picked up on this during the past thirteen years, but no, night after night, there was lettuce.

  Mom and Dad faced Jodie eagerly. They spoke at the same time. “Is Boston a great town?” asked their mother. “I always thought it would be.”

  “Which college did you like best, Jo?” said their father.

  Jodie shifted herself around. She had to have her entire body in place before she could talk about important things. “I liked them all,” she began.

  Brendan, however, interrupted to announce what college he would go to and what athletic scholarships he would get.

  Brian actively disliked his twin. He wanted to push Brendan’s face into his spaghetti.

  “You think you’ll apply to any of the Boston schools, Jodie?” asked their mother. “You were right, we don’t have much time. You have to get applications out by the first of the year.”

  Boy, when these guys set aside worry, they really did it. Mom and Dad weren’t aware of anything wrong. Brian was offended. Somebody should be asking what had happened to his appetite.

  Jodie did see that her brother had eaten nothing, and she was envious of his good judgment. She was sorry she’d eaten so much. The meatballs had been an especially bad choice. She was heart-sick about Reeve; she was eager for college; but college was damaged; she was thrilled about her new sisterhood with Janie; she was worried whether Janie could hold together. These combined like indigestion.

  After the required college and Boston discussions, Jodie said, “We had a great time with Janie. Mom, she was really a sister. Maybe it was the car, you know? In a car you’re so close, and it’s so easy to talk.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Mom was beaming.

  There, thought Jodie. That’s as close as I can get to letting Mom and Dad know that Janie cares about her mom, her mom, her dad, her dad. Any closer and I’d have to touch Reeve.

  “You know what, Mom?” said Brian, throwing away his oil-and-vinegar-stained lettuce and moving on to Mrs. Smith’s Apple Pie. “With Janie? At the hotel?”

  Jodie eyed him tensely. There were no good hotel stories to relate.

  “You pulled it off, Mom. We really have been protected. I mean…I was thinking…seeing her…that nothing damaged us. You loved us. You were there.” He struggled with what he wanted to say. “But Janie—even with four parents to guard her from harm—Janie gets slugged every time she turns around.”

  “What do you mean?” said his father. “What happened to Janie now?” Child in trouble. Instant anxiety. Brian was pleased that his father could still get uptight about one of his kids.

  “She and Reeve are having problems,” said Jodie.

  “Is that all,” said their father. “Okay with me. They were way too close for my taste.”

  Jodie glared at her pie wedge. She would have given anything to be that close to a boy. What was with parents? Always insisting that you could be popular, but the minute you got popular, you were “way too close.”

  “Do you think Janie would come down for Thanksgiving?” asked Mom.

  “Not Thursday,” said Jodie. “But I bet Friday and Saturday she would. I’ll call her tonight and ask.”

  Jodie was tempted to phone Stephen.

  She was desperate to hear her brother’s voice. Somebody who knew anger so well could tell her how to be angry, or how not to be so angry. But Stephen had found safety in a distant place, and Jodie owed him that privilege. Stephen should not have to carry the kidnapped sister burden any longer.

  Janie was not making her Johnson mother and father carry the burden either but was carrying it herself.

  Jodie helped clean up the kitchen. A little slave labor to go along with the new house would be ideal. Finally she got up to her room. She sprawled on her bed, loving the silence and the space of it. Then she phoned Connecticut.

  “Jodie, he called me,” said her sister instantly. “He’s called three times.”

  “Reeve has? Too bad you can’t electrocute a guy through the phone line.”

  “I was so glad to hear his voice.”

  “No! Did you make up with him? I’ll kill you.”

  “I hung up on him, but I was still glad to hear his voice.”

  “He does have a great voice,” admitted Jodie. “Of course after we stick a knife through his ribs and puncture his lungs, he won’t.” She wasn’t sure Janie even heard this contribution. Janie needed to talk.

  In fact, Jodie hardly spoke again. From her sister poured out fury and pain and love and sorrow. Reeve’s voice had tipped her past control. Jodie was surprised that Janie had not said all these things to Reeve. Then she realized that Janie had said all these things to Reeve, all during the previous year.

  No wonder Reeve sold it, thought Jodie. Pure agony, all raw—and all fascinating. If you were the kind of person who believes other people are just material—boy, is this ever material!

  “Reeve knew I was trying so hard to do the right thing,” said Janie, “and the right thing was so hard to figure out, Jodie, because every choice was only half right. I kept looking for whole right. And then he sells it. Without blinking. I can’t decide if he’s a rattlesnake, or just a turkey.”

  Janie needs me, thought Jodie. It took the betrayal of her boyfriend to make that happen.

  Janie’s Call Waiting beep sounded.

  “If it’s Sarah-Charlotte, tell her you’re busy,” instructed Jodie.

  But it was Reeve.

  Even hoarse with misery, his voice was beautiful. Janie hated him for not being a person who matched his voice. “Jodie and I were just saying that you’re either a rattlesnake or a turkey.”

  “Turkey,” said Reeve. “Janie, please, I’m having a hard time, too. I’m trying to—”

  “How dare you ask me for sympathy? Reeve, don’t call me again.” Janie thought of all the nights she had prayed for the opposite: Please, God, let cute Reeve next door think of me and call.

  “Who else am I going to call? Janie, please. Over Thanksgiving weekend, we have to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “Janie, there is. I’ve thought so much about what I chose to do, and tomorrow I have to face the guys at the station and let them know that I’m through, and if I could just talk to you—”

  “No. It hurts me. Stop hurting me.” Janie hung up.

  The chilly white of her bedroom was not comforting. She wished she still had the room of her childhood.

  She wished she still had her childhood.

  She clicked back to Jodie, and wondered who she would have been if Hannah had never coaxed her into a stolen car.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Monday morning.

  Bleak and gray and wet and raw. Reeve felt the same. The only thing November had going for it was the upcoming family holiday. A holiday Reeve decided to skip.

  His mother was shocked. “But Reeve,” she said, trying not to cry, “Todd is coming home. We’re going to meet his fiancée. Heather. You’ll be your brother’s best man at their wedding. You have to come home and meet Heather. And Megan and Lizzie both managed time off. The whole family will be here. You have to be home!”

  He was still sick with knowing himself. Mom, I can’t visit. What if you find out what kind of person I really am? It’s bad enough that I found out. I want to see Janie more than anything, but I don’t want that meeting to happen in front of you.

  “Mom, I’ve made friends up here, and I’ve been invited to spend Thanksgiving in”—he thought for a momen
t—“northern New Hampshire, and—uh—it sounds like fun.”

  One of the more annoying things about his mother was that she had brought up four children. Therefore she was an excellent guesser. “Miranda Johnson told me Janie was in Boston for the weekend with the Spring children and hasn’t mentioned seeing you. Did you have a fight with Janie? Are you worried about running into her?”

  Reeve couldn’t think of a denial fast enough.

  “I’m glad,” said his mother. “You two have been far too serious. This is good. You’ll both branch out, meet other people. You need to date girls in Boston and she needs to date boys here in town. I’m sure it will hurt for a while, but you’ll get over it. It’s for the best. Take the Wednesday evening train, Lizzie will pick you up.”

  The radio station was like a firehouse, or a neighborhood bar. People who loved WSCK showed up to talk, watch each other in action, do the gritty paperwork that was miserable when you had to do it alone but fun when you had company.

  Vinnie did not seem to have been informed that tapes were missing. Perhaps he had not been serious about syndicating the janies, or perhaps he hadn’t gotten to it yet.

  “Can we go into your office, Vin?” said Reeve.

  Vinnie’s hard eyes bored into Reeve. Vinnie had become bald while still in his teens. His personality was like his skull: undecorated by anything soft like hair. “No,” said Vinnie.

  Okay, fine. He’d say it here, with Derek and Cal and the new crew milling around. “I’m not going to be able to come back to the station after Thanks-giving.”

  He had their attention now. He tried not to look at anybody but Vinnie. “I’m not doing well with my studies.”

  “Possibly because you’re not studying,” said Vinnie. “What does that have to do with WSCK?”

  “My parents are on my case.”

  “So what?” Vinnie’s gaze was short and hard. Vinnie was as bad as Reeve’s mother. “Janie found out,” he guessed.