Jane shook her head sadly. "No, I'm afraid it wasn't. But cooking is an art. It takes practice and experimentation. Sometimes for years. I had no idea how to cook anything at all when I married your father. I'd eaten what the staff of various embassies had cooked through my whole childhood. Then I ate in a dorm in college. And when I finished, I had a roommate who was a good cook and wouldn't let me near the kitchen. Your father nearly starved to death the whole first year we were married, I was so bad at cooking."
“I'd like to be good — at something," Katie said.
“You're already good at a lot of things, Katie. Your grades at school have steadily gotten better and better and I'm so proud of you for that."
“But you say I'm no good at driving."
“Because you aren't yet. You will be when you learn how important it is to keep your eyes and brain on the road instead of what you see around you. You might turn out to be a race driver. Though I pray not!" Jane added with a smile.
“So when do people get to know what they really want to be good at?”
Hard question for a mom who wanted to give good advice.
“Everybody knows when it comes along," Jane said. "I'm still working on being a writer, you know. I've spent a couple years on one book because it's not good enough yet. But like you with driving, the more I do it, the better 1 get when I focus on the right things. And I'm a pretty good cook when I feel like it, even though I started out badly. And I'm a better driver than Mrs. Nowack.”
Katie laughed. "Everybody's a better driver than Mrs. Nowack.”
Katie rinsed out her bowl, put it in the dishwasher, brushed the cracker crumbs into her hand, and washed them down the disposal before leaving the room.
That's progress, Jane thought.
Jane went to bed early. Mike was still out at ten, and she was fretting that he was getting seriously interested in the bizarre Kipsy Topper. How could he be? She was such a deliberately unattractive girl. And appeared to have no personality at all. Or, if the conversation she overhead when Shelley was grilling her was any indication, an unformed and insecure personality.
She crawled into bed, knocking her left shin against the cast. She'd had it on more than half a week now. In light of her talk with Katie, it was time to quit whining about it and learn to get around better. No more scooting up and down the stairs on her bottom, no more letting people help her in and out of vehicles.
After all, this was nothing. A broken bone in a foot was trivial. It wasn't on a scale with breast cancer or some other dangerous disease. She'd been a wimp and should have been thinking it was a good thing she had nothing worse wrong with her body and health.
When she comfortably settled into bed, she realized she'd brought the wrong book upstairs. It was The Arms of Krupp, not the mystery she intended to read tonight. She crawled back out of bed, picked up the crutches she'd dragged up‑ stairs, and with determination, got to the bottom of the stairs keeping upright. A small victory, but she was learning how to cope and was proud of herself. Starting now, she was no longer an invalid. She was a perfectly able-bodied woman who just happened to have a cast on her leg.
She got back up to her bedroom with only one scary moment at the top step, and started reading the mystery book she'd fetched from the living room. But ten pages into it, she realized she'd read it before and hadn't believed the ending. So what now?
She hoped to be awake when Mike came in. Should she tidy up the closet? It didn't really need tidying. She could strip the bed and wash the sheets, but that would take too long. She suddenly realized how terrific it would be to have something to watch on television. But she'd always resisted having a television in her bedroom for no good reason.
But now she was Woman, competent with crutches, and she deserved one. She'd order it tomorrow. That way she could listen to a program while she was taking a bath, or cleaning upstairs, or simply vegging out early.
Somehow this seemed to her to be a very grown-up decision. Inside, there was still a little of Katie in her. That remnant of insecurity that probably haunts every adult.
Except maybe Shelley.
Twenty-one
when Shelley came out of her house to fetch ·, Jane, she found her friend walking almost normally up and down the driveway.
“Good Lord, I think you've got it!" Shelley exclaimed, clapping her hands.
“I've been experimenting since six this morning," Jane said. "I finally caught on that I do better with one crutch. It substitutes for the bad foot, but I don't need the other one for the good foot. And I don't hang by my armpits with only one. Aren't I great? Watch this!”
She did a slightly awkward half pirouette. "Not bad, huh?" Jane said, grinning.
“What happened to you? Yesterday you were a sad sack, today you're Margot Fonteyn at her peak."
“Two conversations last night," Jane said, opening the door of Shelley's van and expertly hoisting herself up, with her left hand grasping the inside top of the door and hauling the rest of herself and the crutch into the front seat. "One with poor old Arnie — wait till you taste his wife's ham and three-bean stew — and one talk with Katie. Completely different topics, but it cured me of my hypochondria. Could you drive me to buy a television for my bedroom this afternoon?”
Shelley goggled. "I thought I'd never hear you say that. You must be the last person in the neighborhood to succumb. I thought you felt it was immoral or something to have a TV in the bedroom."
“I guess I did. It was stupid and I want one. I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to watch the morning news in bed."
“The pharmacies must be doing well," Shelley said.
“Amazingly well," Jane admitted.
When she'd married into a family-owned pharmacy, they'd had money problems and she'd contributed a smallish inheritance of her own to help them over the slump. Out of gratitude, a document had been drawn up saying if her husband died first, she'd still receive his one-third share of the profits. She'd hoarded the money for the kids' college funds in stocks that were also doing well.
“I see they're putting up another facility in that new mall," Shelley added.
“And they've gone on-line and are raking in Internet sales at a fabulous rate," Jane replied. "I'll never get really rich, but I finally have enough stashed away for college fees and can do a few things for myself. Being stingy is a hard habit to break, but the television for myself is a start."
“Is getting rid of that awful station wagon and filling the chasm in your driveway next?"
“The station wagon still has a few miles to go, but I really should get a new driveway," Jane said, her eyes lighting up at the thought of getting rid of the World's Worst Pothole.
Shelley shot out of the driveway, talking and looking at Jane. "So Arnie brought you some more food. I think maybe he's getting a crush on you."
“He'll get over it today, if he does. Now that I'm clearly mobile. He was just feeding me because I was acting so helpless. Don't you ever look at what's behind you?"
“I don't care what's behind me," Shelley said with a laugh. "You know, I heard that the first thing on a woman's body that starts to go is the back of her arms. I figure that's why God put them where we couldn't see them.”
Jane nearly toppled over laughing. When she finally caught her breath, she said, "I've noticed something else. I'm getting arm muscles. Look. But pull over first!”
Shelley obligingly did so. "Whaddya know. You are getting muscles."
“I like them," Jane said. "I thought we might drop in somewhere that I could buy some hand weights so I can keep them in both arms."
“Hand weights! You're going to exercise! I never thought I'd see the day!"