Settling: A Novel

By Rachel Michael Arends

What if the real you was the one person your husband couldn’t ever meet?
 
Jane Johansen has carefully crafted a seemingly perfect life. She’s blessed with an adoring husband, Edward, two unwavering best friends, a powerful corporate job, and a high-security penthouse.
 
Then one day, Jane is unceremoniously fired, Edward’s father abruptly dies—and Jane’s painstakingly-built world starts crashing down around her. Edward decides they should move to his North Carolina hometown, and settle into suburbia surrounded by his large, extended family. But Jane knows that she can never truly fit in to this happy world, for she has never explained the truth of her life to Edward.
 
Jane hopes moving south will allow her to escape the shadows of her past: her time-warped mother, the trauma of her college years that has left her scarred, and her terrifying ex-boyfriend, who has been recently paroled. Most haunting is Jane’s oldest and worst friend, who has been trying to track her down with the determination of a bloodhound . . .
 
Weaving the defining moments of a woman’s past into the suspenseful unraveling of her present, this is a thought-provoking novel that will have readers enthralled from start to finish.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jan 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781626818262

Book preview

Chapter One

April, 2007

Jane opens a bottle of wine at ten-thirty on a Tuesday morning. Here’s to seven years wasted, she says in a hollow voice, carrying both the glass and bottle into the living room.

She sits on the edge of a leather chair with her heels still on, allowing the merlot’s mellow warmth to linger in her mouth. She considers calling Edward or Rex… but no.

Leaning back, she stares at the ceiling and sighs.

A faint line in the plaster catches her attention. Jane traces its almost invisible presence above her. It’s a whisper, a mocking reminder that chaos threatens beneath the clean surface of her life, like a sea’s calm façade conceals a brewing storm.

Though she is usually the first executive at the office each morning, the president was there when Jane arrived today. Odd, she’d thought. His greeting was stilted and he didn’t make eye contact. Shit. Though Jane had been told not to worry, she knew what was coming.

The high-tech consulting firm was as untried and uncertain as Jane was when she hired in seven years ago. There were eight enterprising men plus a handful of support staff then, occupying only one suite of offices. Day by day, year by year, contract by contract, she proved herself. She earned a corner office when the company overtook the top three floors of their building four years ago, in another phase of the expansion that seemed like it might never end—they would surely fill their tower and conquer the one next door.

This morning, Jane told herself she didn’t care that Pete Carlson would likely have smug family photos strewn all over her credenza by noon. She started packing.

Alice came in with Jane’s daily cappuccino an hour later and pointed to the boxes on the floor. What’s all this? she asked.

The phone rang in the special tone reserved for the president. Both women stared at it. Jane Brighton’s office, Alice finally answered. The small conference room? I’ll let her know. She hung up and sighed at the steaming mug.

As Jane walked down the narrow corridor, she tried to push away memories of early mornings, late evenings, hard-earned kudos, and bonuses that had built her confidence and trust. The idea of starting over again, somewhere new and unfamiliar, made her stomach drop.

The smallest of the wood-paneled conference rooms had always been Jane’s territory. Its round table was perfectly sized—intimate enough to gauge everyone’s thoughts at a glance, enabling her to alter tactics, maintain control, and bring swift resolution to all matters at hand. Yet it was still large enough to accommodate Jane’s necessary barriers, put out like yellow caution tape: coffee and sharpened pencils to the right, a neat stack of papers to the left.

Everyone else was seated when Jane arrived. The head of the table, her usual spot, was occupied. Jane faltered, wondering if she could remain calm as a large chunk of her identity was politely stolen.

She sat unflinchingly through the sickeningly slow review of her severance package. She was the first to offer handshakes, looking every former colleague in the eyes when it was over.

Over.

Jane kicks off her shoes and pours more wine. Looking past the gleaming hardwood floors to the wall of windows framing an enviable view of the river and the city beyond, she reminds herself how lucky she is. That she’s sitting on top of the world.

She sweeps one bare foot across the carefully-selected, soft wool rug beneath her. Jane had dwelt upon every detail in this penthouse. She tested four shades of silvery beige on the walls before she finally felt comfortable enough to commit to one, tentatively trusting the way it held onto the often-dim light that sifted in, not becoming dreary and judgmental when night fell. It’s a discreet color, predictable. The bookshelves and fireplace stone, the clean-lined cabinetry, and the reliable shapes of furnishings help quiet her unsettled mind.

This scene is only complete with Edward here, though. Without him, it always feels too sparse, a bit hard. His presence makes the rooms instantly kindle with laughter and warmth.

Though she hates to be alone, Jane is relieved that her husband isn’t here now. She needs time to adjust, to think, to lick her wounds in private until she can pretend she doesn’t have any wounds at all.

By the time the bottle falls from her lap onto the rug in a dull thud, Jane is simultaneously relieved and ashamed that there’s nothing left to spill. She stumbles forward and trips over her shoes. She’s drunk. Not tipsy; tipsy was two glasses ago. The telephone’s third ring reminds her why she stood at all.

There you are. Edward’s normally cheerful voice is barely recognizable. It sounds broken.

The color drains from Jane’s face. Are you all right? she asks.

Mom just called. Dad had a stroke this morning.

Oh no…

It sounds really bad, he says, and something else, too, but the latter words aren’t fully formed. Nor do they matter. They’re only words, swallowed up in the strange sound of Edward crying.

Leaning heavily onto a side table, Jane knocks a picture to the floor. Will he live? she asks, staring at the black-and-white photograph.

God I hope so. I’m on my way to the airport.

Should I meet you there? Jane prays that he’ll say no.

I got the last seat on the flight. I’ll call with news.

Her relief is tinged with guilt. She finds the line on the ceiling again.

"Please be safe," she whispers into the phone when Edward is gone. She picks up the faded likeness of her own fallen father and touches it gently. Instead of placing it back on the table, she carries it with her.

Jane calls Rex at his office regularly, but his number escapes her memory now. She fumbles through caller ID and finds him.

I’m due in court, he says in a rush. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m free.

Her reply is unintelligible.

Whoa, he says slowly, as if he’s taking her hand and attempting to slow her down, too. What’s going on?

Edward’s dad had a stroke and I think he’s dying.

Christ. Are you headed down there?

Jane tightens her grip on the silver frame she still holds. It feels cool and substantial, more real than the world around her. No. Edward is on his way. I’m supposed to wait.

Rex hesitates. You sound like you’ve had a few drinks, Jane.

I also got downsized this morning.

What?

Yup. Jane tries to laugh while fending off the alternative. The result is a loud hiccup.

Oh good lord, Rex says with a sigh. Well, I can’t get there for… just a sec. Jane hears a muted conversation and papers shuffling. I have to be in court until two o’clock, but then I’ll come right over.

OK.

Firmly: No more drinks.

"I know. I won’t."

Softer, All right, I know you won’t. Try and take a nap now and I’ll let myself in when I get there.

Closed velvet drapes block the morning light like a guilty conscience. Jane lies in the darkness. Stripped of her power suit and all it represents, she’s wearing one of Edward’s T-shirts, hugging his pillow. Jane didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, but the pain in the pit of her stomach is for her husband. The strongest man she knows, her rock, was crying.

With all the subtlety of a wrecking ball, unwanted images crash into her brain. Jane tries to stop them, reasoning that she has control of her own damn thoughts, but it’s futile.

She sees her husband driving distractedly to the airport in his shiny black BMW. He loses control and spins frictionless, skidding like a doomed skater toward deep, black water. Upended by unseen forces, his car rolls over and over and over in a horrendously soundless, slow-motion ballet, until it crashes into a wall that appears for the purpose. Violently. Hopelessly.

The smoke clears to reveal him clinging to an airplane wing. Inevitably, he falls…

Jane watches the scenes silently, scientifically almost, as if she’s analyzing footage for an academic documentary. Though she hates it, she can’t seem to stop contemplating the worst. Over the years Edward has died a million deaths in her mind. Jane realizes it’s messed up, but it’s a habit she can’t seem to kick.

Add it to the stack.

How do you feel, darlin?

Jane hears Rex’s voice through a sleep-stolen fog, but she can’t see him. His dark suit, dark hair, and dark skin are all swallowed up by the audacious sunshine he let in by opening the drapes.

I have a headache, she says, shielding her eyes.

I saw your empty bottle. Don’t tell me you drank an entire bottle of merlot before you called me at eleven-thirty this morning.

I didn’t mean to.

That’s not a very sound defense.

It was before I heard about Edward’s dad. Jane sits up in bed, squinting. I only meant to have a glass because of my damn job.

And the others poured themselves?

She puts her arms over her head like she’s back in grade school, practicing a tornado drill. She hunkers down to wait him out.

OK, enough about the wine. You’ve picked up too many of my empties over the years for me to complain. Just promise you won’t make a habit of morning benders.

Scout’s honor. Now please close the curtains before I go blind.

Rex adjusts the sheers only, diffusing the light, but not shutting it out. He disappears for a minute and reappears with a glass of water and two Tylenol. Here.

I knew that lavender shirt would be amazing on you. Jane reaches out.

Rex takes her hand and sits beside her on the bed. Any word yet? he asks.

Jane shakes her head. She reaches under Edward’s pillow and retrieves her prized relic, holding it out so they both can see her dad. Rex pulls Jane closer, lightly resting his chin on the top of her head.

After a few comfortable minutes of silence, he moves back to see her again.

I’m sorry about today, darlin.

Me too. Poor Edward.

Jane’s many shades of blond hair, like a little girl’s at the end of summer, falls in tousled disarray around her face and shoulders. Rex hooks some stray strands behind one of her ears.

Let’s hope it turns out all right.

It won’t.

It might. Do you want to tell me about work? He raises his eyebrows, prompting her. I’m sure you’ll feel better if you talk it through.

No, I won’t.

Come on, he coaxes. What happened?

Jane leans on him and they speak without looking at each other, her head on his shoulder, his arm resting lightly on hers. I told you we’ve been restructuring. Well, it was my turn to sit on the other side of the table.

What are they going to do without you?

I don’t know and I wish I didn’t care.

They’ll kick themselves. By the time they realize their mistake, you’ll be too happy somewhere new to listen to their apologies and offers. Rex hands her a tissue from a box on the nightstand.

It took me seven years to get comfortable there.

Rex hugs her closer. Did you at least get a nice severance package?

The best of anyone. Jane blows her nose.

Well that’s something. And it was just a job. You can get another one, Rex says.

That’s like saying you’re just a friend and I can get another one.

"Now that’s crazy talk. Have you eaten?"

No.

Let’s get you fed, then.

I’m not hungry, she says.

So? He leads her to the kitchen by the hand.

When Rex’s mother died five years ago, Jane took the week off work and moved right in to take care of him. She brought Rex meals in bed when he said getting up was just too damn hard. He still lost eight pounds, and Jane worried over him. She read to him, and listened, and cried with him. He said he only wanted to sleep then, to forget his broken family history. He said he wanted to forget that his mom had turned him away, even at the end. Especially at the end. When he finally got up and resumed his twelve-hour workdays, his eyes were heavier.

It had seemed so lucky that Sean came into Rex’s life soon afterward.

Six months ago, when Sean left for good in a torrent of chaos and pain, Jane planned to take another week off. But Rex only missed two days before he resumed his full case load and merciless schedule. He wasn’t ready to go back to work, Jane could see. But he still went.

Since sixth grade, when Jane met Rex in middle school, he’s been like a big brother to her. She can barely remember a time without his support, without the affirming responsibility of supporting him.

When Rex came out as a high school sophomore, his parents couldn’t handle it. His dad took a job back in their native Florida, where Rex was supposed to attend a Christian boarding school. Jane relentlessly begged her mom to take him in, and soon their little household grew by one. For a few years, it was more cheerful and hopeful than it had been for a long time before, or after.

Rex puts vegetables and a cutting board in front of Jane. You chop, he says.

The cookware is the finest available, unblemished granite countertops gleam, and the ovens heat with top-of-the-line precision. But material luxuries don’t comfort Jane today. Sometimes they do; sometimes fine things feel like a validation, an implication that she’s worthy of them because they’re hers. This afternoon the accoutrements of success strike Jane as silly frills. Trappings. In this life-and-death time, things just look like things.

After Jane has finally eaten enough to satisfy Rex, they clean up together, until all the surfaces shine as purely as if they’d never been used.

You better go pack, and buy your plane ticket, Rex says. He takes the dishtowel from Jane’s hands and folds it neatly; she has already polished the countertops twice.

The suitcases are in the basement storage room, Jane says, wrinkling her nose.

You’re such a baby. Rex takes her keys from their hook near the door, but he leaves her with an assignment: Call Bess.

Is that you, sweetie?

Yes, Mom.

You don’t usually call on Wednesdays, Bess observes in her usual, foggy manner.

Jane tries to sound upbeat, Well, I wanted to tell you I’m leaving town for a bit.

Are you going away on business?

Not quite, Jane’s voice catches slightly, but she makes herself continue. Edward’s dad is in the hospital. He had a stroke.

"Oh no…"

Yeah, Jane whispers. She hangs her head, closes her eyes, and listens intently, for exactly what she couldn’t say. Maybe air escaping a balloon, or a dam bursting, or a whole freaking wall tumbling down. Her mother is fragile when the conversation only encompasses the weather or menu options. The topic of sudden death reduces Bess to an open wound.

Rex returns and hauls the bags inside.

Your adopted son is here, and he wants to say hi, Jane says. I’ll call when I’m back in town, Mom…" Rex takes the phone before Jane’s voice crumbles into nothing.

Jane’s hard-learned pessimism tells her that Thomas Johansen is going to die, if he hasn’t already. But even if her father-in-law miraculously improves, Jane knows Edward will want to stay close to help his mom. He’s that kind of son, that kind of man.

She sits down to buy her plane ticket online. Taking a credit card from her wallet, Jane pauses a moment to study the photograph she carries behind it. It’s stained, by time and blood. Within the weathered and withered print, two babies gaze at each other. The image makes Jane think of potential, and of heartbreak, and pain. After purchasing her ticket, she puts the practical MasterCard back in front.

I can’t believe it’s in the sixties there this week, Rex points to the Raleigh forecast on Jane’s computer screen. He crosses the room and stares out the window at the late snow drifting down over the city streets. At least today was sunny here for once, but still so damn cold. I wish I could fly south, too.

Will you come with me? Jane asks.

I’m too swamped at work to tag along to your husband’s father’s hospital bed. Sounds mighty tempting, though. Rex rolls his eyes.

I wouldn’t let you near Edward’s family anyway. They’d all fall in love with you and you’d make me look even worse. I’m still struggling with names after four years.

Rex pats her arm in mock consolation, "And you try so hard."

The telephone rings. Jane takes a deep breath and lets it out before she answers. Edward?

Hey, he says.

How’s your dad?

I’m sorry to have to tell you over the phone, but Dad’s gone. Despite his news, Edward sounds stronger than he did this morning. More resolute, tougher. He sounds a lot like his dad.

I’m so sorry, Jane manages to say.

Shhh, it’s all right. When are you coming?

First thing tomorrow.

Good. Will you send me your flight information before you go to bed? he asks around a yawn.

I will. You must be exhausted.

I’m tired, but it’s good to see everyone. It’s a regular reunion.

Edward’s close-knit family members idolize him in everyday life, but as the oldest child and only son, Jane is sure they’ll all be leaning on him more than ever. What do you need me to bring? she asks.

All I have is the suit on my back. Another suit, some casual clothes…

Got those, Jane says.

Can you toss in some running gear for me, too? My sisters say I’ve gotten fat. But I have to go now, Caroline just walked in.

I love you.

I love you, too, Edward says.

When he’s gone, Jane whispers after him, "Please be safe."

She pushes away the dark images that flash into her mind, like errant sparks from an unruly fire. Since Rex is here, Jane doesn’t ponder what the death of his father might mean for her husband, or what effects today’s losses may ultimately have on her.

When everything is neatly arranged and lined up in the foyer, Rex whistles low. That’s a lot of baggage, but I think you’re ready.

Am I? she asks.

You can handle what comes your way, Rex says, but he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, too.

Smooth ivory sheets coolly caress Jane’s bare legs as she climbs into her king-size bed. It’s much too big without Edward. She closes her eyes tight and hugs his pillow.

From the living room, Rex sings the lullaby he promised. Jane pictures him lounging in the corner of the cream-colored sofa. His elbow is likely resting on one bent knee, crooked up beside him on the cushion, heel to butt. His forehead might be in his hand; that’s how Rex sits when he’s tired, and his melody is a bit muffled.

You’re the best, she calls out, sounding sleepier than she realized.

Rex works, Tell me something I don’t know, into his lyrics.

His eyes are surely closed; he’s probably half asleep, poor baby. Jane worries that the hours he keeps are making him old before his time.

Will you lock the door when you go? she calls.

Of course I will, Rex manages to rhyme it with the previous line, which has already blurred in Jane’s sleepy mind. His smooth, low voice carries through the open door, making Jane more relaxed with every breath.

The muscles on her forehead relax, and her expression softens. Carried along on the rise and fall of Rex’s voice, Jane drifts out to a smooth sea of rhythmic blamelessness. She smiles as her destination becomes clear. She’s heading back to the safest place she’s ever known.

Chapter Two

July, 1984

It’s another day in a seemingly endless summer of sunshine for eight-year-old Jane. She takes her time and enjoys the little things in her small world. She smells sunbaked herbs growing on the sill of an open kitchen window, picks off a sprig of oregano, and chews it. She pets Phil, the hearty tabby cat, who purrs loudly in appreciation and rubs his face on hers with gusto.

Jane giggles and kisses Phil goodbye, dragging her hand along the cool orange countertops on her way outside. As she passes through the aluminum screen door, the embossed-flowered linoleum floors give

Reviews for Settling

[boudicca123 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Jane loses her high flying job, husband Edward's father dies and he wants them to go live in the small town where his family are. Then there is Chastity, a rough kid from a rough trailer park who Jane was briefly friends with when she was younger. Now Chastity is looking for her and so is Mick, Jane's thuggish ex. Jane was exasperating - a high flyer at work yet rather a weakling when it comes to home life and then makes an astonishing decision which was completely out of character. The style of writing was a lot of the time like a YA book which jarred a bit, especially at the beginning of the book. I did like the idea of this story and the description of how suffocating it could be in some neighbourhoods where everyone knows everyone else. I would read something else by this author at a future date.