his strong, stubby fingers shoving them into the dishwasher with ominous vigour.
“I know, Terry. I know. I just … forgot, okay?” Sunlight kissed the suds in the sink, bright and glistening as seafoam, seducing her eyes, wafting her thoughts onto distant voyages.
“You forgot? Why am I not surprised?”
Pulling her gaze from the bubbles, Jan stared at him instead. Tanned face, brown curls, strong neck, sturdy torso in a Search and Rescue T-shirt. He looked like Terry, but his expression was hard. Why was he objecting to this prescription? He had supported her through dozens of other treatment trials over the years, in full knowledge that there were no guarantees. This was the only one that cleared up her mental fogs. Maybe he just didn’t understand that.
“When I was crashing down there alone on the stairs, it seemed like the only way to get enough energy to keep going. And they really feel wonderful. They give me back my old self for a few hours. My old brain.”
“You’ve said that about other treatments. So much for your old brain.” Terry flung cutlery into the dishwasher. A fork missed the basket and bounced through the racks to rest by the heater element. He bent to retrieve it, his shoulders as wide as the countertop. His muscled arms easily reached the dishwasher’s back corner. “You could have phoned Rob for help. He was right there in the building. He’d have come for you.”
“I forgot my cellphone in the van.” Jan swiped suds over a lid, holding on to her temper as tightly as she gripped the wet dishrag. If Terry realized she’d been too messed up to remember that her phone was in her pocket the whole time, he’d never let her go down to the museum again. “And yeah, before you say it, I know I should have had it with me. It was just a bad day, okay? They happen. And one of the workers phoned him for me. No harm done.”
No need to mention that the worker had called her a drug addict. Terry was already against the pills. She was sure he had come right out and said that at some point, even if she couldn’t remember exactly when. If it was important her super brain would fling it up to visible altitude any moment now. What was altitude in brain terms? What artists painted the inner workings of the brain? Likely Picasso onward. Nobody before that had believed much in an inner consciousness. Except maybe Hieronymus Bosch? Her mind clicked through its mental catalogue of art images until something else crashed into the dishwasher, sending her heart racing.
Terry was halfway across the room before her head turned. “I’ve got to get ready. Have you seen my hiking boots?”
Jan’s head reeled from the sudden shift back to snarky reality. “In the garage, right where you left them last week.”
Terry padded sock-footed toward the mudroom. “Where’s Rob with that van? He said he’d be right up twenty minutes ago.”
“Probably some last-minute emergency at the museum. He was uncrating exhibits when I left this afternoon. Maybe one of them was damaged, and he’s got to mess around filing insurance claims and getting photographers out there and stuff. Fine art insurance is killer.”
He turned at the door. “I know you’re really wired when you talk about art as if you still had a job.”
“You shit!” Jan slammed the last pot into the sudsy water.
After a pause he said, “Sorry. That was insensitive.”
While he was in the garage getting his boots, she forced herself to breathe in deeply and then breathe out slowly to a four count to temporarily calm her raging brain and ragged nerves. Why was he hating these pills? Or maybe it wasn’t the pills, just the situation. Terry’s SAR gear was in the van, which she had abandoned because she hadn’t managed her energy or medication properly this afternoon. He already ran his life around her needs, and this one night a week he liked to go out and test his fitness, away from her endless small requests for help. No wonder he was irked about not having his gear. Not about the pills at all, but about maybe missing his one night out. And he thought her brain wasn’t working. Hah.
When he came back she said, “You’re right, Rob’s late. And I’m sorry I left the van this afternoon. Will you miss anything important if you don’t get there right at seven?”
He looked at her warily for a moment, then accepted her peace offering. “Just the rope-and-harness review, and I’m not leading it tonight, thank god. Some of those bozos couldn’t tie a knot to hang themselves with. Heaven protect any lost climber who depends on them for rescue.”
She squinted once more out the window. “I see the van now.”
Soon Rob came scrambling in the patio doors, his artful dark hair still frosted with construction dust. “Sorry I’m late. Absolutely fatal day at the museum. Jan, honey, how are you doing? I expected to find you comatose on the sofa.”
“She took a magic pill,” said Terry, yanking his second bootlace tight. “You coming, or will you walk down to your car later?”
“Almost there, dear boy. Honey, we have a crisis. Since you’re wide awake and thinking straight, can you please bend your mind to how we can hang the opening show when our insurer won’t sign off until the vault is ready? I can’t bring paintings in without insurance, and you know it’s disastrous if the donors and loaners don’t see their darlings on the walls on Friday.”
“The vault’s not done? I thought it was finished today.”
“You were crashed when the bad news hit. Not only is the temperature control still not working, but the racks are hypersensitive. Wayne put the bottom floor on lockdown for safety reasons.”
At the door, Terry cleared his throat.
“Oh, coming,” said Rob. “Anyway, call Dee if you have a light-bulb moment. I gave her the inside scoop this afternoon, although Camille got to her, too.”
“That woman is a menace.”
“That she is. I’m utterly thrilled you’re standing tall, hon. Dare I hope you’ll come finish your tour tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow,” said Terry. “She’ll be sleeping off the magic pill. And you’ll be the test subject in a noose demonstration if you don’t get your ass back in the van.” He walked out. Rob gave Jan a bemused quirk of his eyebrow.
She shrugged. “He’s on a hair-trigger today. At first I thought it was the pills, but now?”
“Could be he’s just tired of getting his hopes up, honey. You’ve been around this treadmill so often since you got sick.” Rob darted across the room and kissed her temple. “Cheer up. If it works, it works. Even if it works part of the time, it’s better than before. Right?” The van’s horn tooted and he hurried out.
Quiet descended. Jan sloshed at the last few dishes, but could not get drawn in again by the play of light on bubbles. No matter how wired her brain was, her body was using up energy her cells couldn’t replace quickly enough. She dragged her afghan out to the deck and nestled down on a lounger to watch the sunset. Bird calls trickled up from Dee’s treetops below. The fragrance of roses drifted down from Jake Wyman’s gardens up the hill. The evening ahead seemed alternately a beautiful dream and unbearably slow. Every time she thought she was comfortable, some muscle somewhere would twitch or tense up and she’d have to shift position. Her mind ran over and over the same old things. Could she have handled Terry better? Why was it on her to handle him, anyway? But could she have said something nicer? He was clearly at the end
