person would ever have guessed he'd be the one to break it off. Luckily, Verity isn't a small town anymore; you don't have to run into anyone you have a history with. You can avoid him just about forever if you try. And if you ever start to think about him, all you have to do is go into the shower and let the hot water fall down on you for ten minutes or so, and by the time you're done you're almost through remembering.
Today when Janey woke up she couldn't even decide what to wear.
Usually she throws on jeans and a T-shirt; this morning she stood debating for a good fifteen minutes before she finally chose a white dress and sandals, and she took a little too long messing with her hair, as if it made a bit of difference whether or not she clipped it up with a barrette. She didn't have to worry about Shannon's waking on time; Shannon was as responsible as Janey had been flighty.
She always fixed herself an English muffin and orange juice, then washed the dishes before she walked to school. Still, Shannon seemed out of sorts lately, and Janey worried about her as she headed toward the golf course in her Honda.
Beneath the black sky, she kept a careful eye out for turtles in the road. Her mother has always said Janey is hypersensitive. She feels more than other people do. She can't even kill a mosquito because she knows just how bad it would feel to have your wings all smooshed together and your legs bent in half. She can't remember the last time she went to a high school football game, even though Shannon is head cheerleader, since she can't stand to see all those little Gators so excited and pumped up when she knows they're going to lose. Whenever she senses that something bad is going to happen, she feels all panicky and confused, the way she did on the night of the accident. She just knew something terrible was ahead. She was sitting alone in her room, late at night, and suddenly it felt as if she were nothing more than little bits of things-light, air, atoms, flesh-instead of a whole person.
At four-thirty this morning the streets were empty, but Janey stopped for the red lights anyway. She still got to the Hole-in-One by a quarter to five, surprising Fred and Maury, both of whom have been frying doughnuts since long before Janey's divorce, long before she came to work the counter or ever imagined buying the place.
"Hey!" they greeted her when she walked in the back door. Their hands were already white with flour.
"Early bird," Fred called.
"She may be early, but she still looks pretty good." Maury grinned.
"For a boss."
"Thanks," Janey said, as she grabbed a fresh cruller. "You know it's not from following Weight Watchers."
Janey could hear the men laughing as she went out front to start the coffee urns. Her appetite for sweets was famous. Shannon always had balanced meals, Janey made sure of that, but Janey herself eats two sugar crullers for breakfast and a jelly doughnut for lunch. Some days she fears she'll lie down and gain a hundred pounds in her sleep when all those doughnuts add up. That hadn't happened yet, so Janey took neat bites of her first cruller as she got the coffee going. Then she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and went to stand by the plate-glass window. There were still some stars in the sky. By six-thirty the parking lot would be filled; on Sunday mornings there was often a line out the door, but this morning, at a little after five, there was only a thin streak of light in the eastern part of the sky. Tiny green lizards were scattered across the parking lot, searching for drops of dew.
Nearly twenty years ago somebody broke Janey Bass's heart. Not that it matters anymore. She could have any man she wanted in Verity, married or not. There are actually some women who won't allow their husbands to come down to the Hole-in-One on Sunday mornings, as if Janey would look at them twice. She figures love and heartbreak are best suited for teenagers; she's got enough on her hands with raising
Today when Janey woke up she couldn't even decide what to wear.
Usually she throws on jeans and a T-shirt; this morning she stood debating for a good fifteen minutes before she finally chose a white dress and sandals, and she took a little too long messing with her hair, as if it made a bit of difference whether or not she clipped it up with a barrette. She didn't have to worry about Shannon's waking on time; Shannon was as responsible as Janey had been flighty.
She always fixed herself an English muffin and orange juice, then washed the dishes before she walked to school. Still, Shannon seemed out of sorts lately, and Janey worried about her as she headed toward the golf course in her Honda.
Beneath the black sky, she kept a careful eye out for turtles in the road. Her mother has always said Janey is hypersensitive. She feels more than other people do. She can't even kill a mosquito because she knows just how bad it would feel to have your wings all smooshed together and your legs bent in half. She can't remember the last time she went to a high school football game, even though Shannon is head cheerleader, since she can't stand to see all those little Gators so excited and pumped up when she knows they're going to lose. Whenever she senses that something bad is going to happen, she feels all panicky and confused, the way she did on the night of the accident. She just knew something terrible was ahead. She was sitting alone in her room, late at night, and suddenly it felt as if she were nothing more than little bits of things-light, air, atoms, flesh-instead of a whole person.
At four-thirty this morning the streets were empty, but Janey stopped for the red lights anyway. She still got to the Hole-in-One by a quarter to five, surprising Fred and Maury, both of whom have been frying doughnuts since long before Janey's divorce, long before she came to work the counter or ever imagined buying the place.
"Hey!" they greeted her when she walked in the back door. Their hands were already white with flour.
"Early bird," Fred called.
"She may be early, but she still looks pretty good." Maury grinned.
"For a boss."
"Thanks," Janey said, as she grabbed a fresh cruller. "You know it's not from following Weight Watchers."
Janey could hear the men laughing as she went out front to start the coffee urns. Her appetite for sweets was famous. Shannon always had balanced meals, Janey made sure of that, but Janey herself eats two sugar crullers for breakfast and a jelly doughnut for lunch. Some days she fears she'll lie down and gain a hundred pounds in her sleep when all those doughnuts add up. That hadn't happened yet, so Janey took neat bites of her first cruller as she got the coffee going. Then she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and went to stand by the plate-glass window. There were still some stars in the sky. By six-thirty the parking lot would be filled; on Sunday mornings there was often a line out the door, but this morning, at a little after five, there was only a thin streak of light in the eastern part of the sky. Tiny green lizards were scattered across the parking lot, searching for drops of dew.
Nearly twenty years ago somebody broke Janey Bass's heart. Not that it matters anymore. She could have any man she wanted in Verity, married or not. There are actually some women who won't allow their husbands to come down to the Hole-in-One on Sunday mornings, as if Janey would look at them twice. She figures love and heartbreak are best suited for teenagers; she's got enough on her hands with raising
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