Loving Jhanna

By Barbara Rawlins-Green

At forty-five years old, Jhanna Moore was a dedicated career woman, and a virgin. Romance to her was something only in novels. She didn't know she had the interest of two men. Would Jhanna finally find love or danger?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645317708

Book preview

Chapter 1

Her feet hurt. They didn’t take kindly to a sixteen-hour workday. You’d think that after twenty years on the job, she’d have better sense. But Jhanna Marie Moore wasn’t known for that. For her, burning the midnight oil was commonplace. It was ten o’clock in the evening, and she had two more hours of work to do at least.

The small hospital where she worked as the sole insurance specialist was quiet. This was the time she liked the best and got the most done. She was free to take out her notebook and enter her manual notes into the computer-held case files. Jhanna didn’t trust technology and the unexpected downtime that came with it. She meticulously kept a handwritten case file with each computerized one. Jhanna Moore had no downtime.

After two hours of data entry, she stretched her stiff back, yawning loudly. She jumped when the phone suddenly rang, disturbing the quiet. She smiled, knowing who was calling. Picking up the phone, she answered, Hello, Shera. What are you doing up?

Calling your dumb butt, Shera retorted.

I’m a lot of things, Shera, but I don’t count ‘dumb’ as one of them.

Don’t give me your backtalk, home girl. It’s too early in the morning, and I’m too tired to put up with it.

Gently, Jhanna said, Then go to bed.

I would gladly do that if I knew you were safe and sound in your own house! Shera replied in a high-pitched voice.

I’m just wrapping up. Thanks for checking on me. I’ll be fine. Now go after some much-needed shuteye. I’ll call you in the morning.

Wrong. You’ll call me when you get home.

Jhanna heard the finality in Shera’s voice and knew she was licked. She quickly agreed, hung up, and began prioritizing her work for the next morning or rather, later today. She saw a few odds and ends that could’ve been dealt with, but visions of a sleep-deprived Shera stopped her. That woman was both a godsend and a nuisance.

Chapter 2

At eight o’clock in the morning, Jhanna was at work behind her locked office door and an answering service that still had an hour to go, protecting her from interruptions. Her office hours were 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., but she habitually came in an hour early. She took a swig of the cold eight-ounce bottle of cranberry grape juice that she used for her morning fuel. She was not a morning person. Early on, she came in on time with people rushing at her with their emergencies and the phone ringing off the hook. On one such morning, she’d come in on only three hours of sleep. She had two calls on hold and four nurses in her office talking at once. She had famously—or infamously—shouted at her voice’s loudest, Will you let me put my purse down before you start messing with me? A pin dropped, and Jhanna heard it. She was immediately contrite, apologizing profusely. From that day on, nobody bugged her before 9:00 a.m. New personnel were taught this during orientation. Her locked door was a sign that, symbolically, her purse wasn’t down.

It was nearing midday, and Jhanna had three patients on the third floor that she needed to visit. Once again, the answering service was handling calls during the lunch hour that she was sacrificing to do her visitations. With notebook and pen in hand, Jhanna’s trek began. She had patients on the second and third floors, but she was too impatient to wait on the elevator. Here was where her Birkenstocks paid dividends. She walked the corridors at such a pace that she passed people with a lavender-scented breeze. Just ahead, she could see James, the building’s mechanical engineer. He repaired everything from generators, air-conditioning, and TVs. Even from a distance, she could see his wide, friendly smile. She switched her pen to the hand holding her notebook, so she’d have a hand to wave with. As she neared him, their eyes locked, and her hand flew up in greeting.

He said, Hi, Jhanna. Havin’ a good day? Smiling, she nodded and kept moving. She never engaged in conversation when she was on the move. Time was limited and precious. Behind her, she didn’t see the sad smile that replaced James’s warmer one. She didn’t see him inhale deeply to take in her scent. She didn’t see his lingering gaze that followed her until she was out of sight.

With cheeseburger and fries in hand, Jhanna entered her office to a sea of Post-it Notes all over her desk computer and phone. From her mini-fridge, she got a bottled water and sat down to eat half of her lunch. As she began taking calls, she wrapped her leftover lunch up tightly to finish after hours as her dinner. While holding for an inquiry, she put her stick-ums in priority order. To her surprise, she saw one from James. She glanced around her office to see what—if anything—needed his attention. Nothing that she could see. His note simply said, Please call me, James. Quickly, she put his request at the back of the pack then soldiered on through her day.

It was 5:50 p.m. when she found herself, once again, looking at James’s note. Deftly, she located his extension number on the employee directory. It rang only once before she heard his rich baritone.

Hi, James. It’s Jhanna. What’s up?

Hello, Jhanna. I’m glad you called. How ya doin’?

Confused, Jhanna replied, Busy, James. What can I do for you?

James could hear the mild irritation in her voice. He needed to get to the point. Fast. I was wondering what you were doing for dinner tonight.

Frowning into the receiver, Jhanna said, Eating the other half of my lunch. Why?

I thought…er…hoped, you would do me the honor of dining with me.

Silence.

Jhanna, you still there? James asked anxiously.

Clearing her throat, she croaked, Yeah.

Crickets.

James was at a loss. She always seemed so animated. He couldn’t wrap his brain around this coolness. Dejected, he decided to end their joint misery. Um, I know you’re always busy. I’m sorry I bothered you.

No prob. She reacted swiftly.

Okay, well, good night then.

Good night.

They both held the phone. Surprisingly, it was Jhanna who spoke next. Thank you for asking me out, James.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it go, relieved. Maybe this wasn’t a dead deal. You’re welcome. Maybe one day, we’ll get together, he said, hopefully smiling.

Jhanna said, Maybe. But to be honest, I have zero time on days that I work. I average fourteen to sixteen hours a day. I’m afraid that doesn’t leave much time for dating.

Can I translate that as I’ll have better luck if I try for a weekend instead of a weekday?

I’m usually not here on weekends, so you can’t reach me.

I could if you gave me your cell.

I don’t have a cell phone.

Huh? What?

This response was known to her. People had a hard time accepting she only relied on her landline in 2019! She talked on the phone almost every waking hour. The last thing she wanted was a phone that she could be reached at all the time. Her one concession, due to Shera’s insistence, was voicemail on her home phone so her messages, when she was unaccounted for, could be returned. James still hadn’t responded, which made Jhanna chuckle.

Relieved, James said, "Oh, I get it. You’re kidding, right?’

Laughing now, she quipped, Nope.

Confused again, he asked, Then why are you laughing? What’s so funny?

You are! At least, your reaction is.

Anybody ever tell you that you’re weird? he bantered back.

All the time.

I don’t doubt it, he said dryly.

Jhanna smiled, realizing she was having fun. A glance at her desk clock brought her back to reality. She had work to do. Well, James, it’s late, and I’ve gotta get back to it. Have a nice evening.

He panicked. She was signing off, and he was exactly where he’d started! Jhanna, wait!

Surprised, she asked, What for?

Are you actually gonna hang up without giving me your number?

Did I miss hearing you ask for it?

Realizing his blunder, James laughed, shaking his head. This woman had him back on his heels. He really liked her. He wanted to know her.

Jhanna Moore, would you please give me your number so that we can talk…at what time since you work so late?

If you call during the week, you won’t get me before one, most of the time.

A.m.? he gasped.

I’m afraid so, my friend. Weekends are better though. But I turn off the ringer so I can sleep in undisturbed. I’m people ready about one or two in the afternoon. Does that fit your schedule better?

Yes, thank goodness. I’ll try you then. What’s that number?

Jhanna gave him the number then told him she looked forward to hearing from him. They both ended the call in smiling anticipation.

Chapter 3

Jhanna stumbled to the kitchen where she stubbed her big toe on the yellow utility table. "Ow ow ow ow ow !" she yelled.

It was an overcast Saturday afternoon, and she slept so soundly and so long that she felt drugged. She had more sleep in her, but it was 3:20 p.m., and she didn’t want to sleep away the whole day. Sabbath service was at seven, so she had precious little time to get ready for her sisters.

She felt grumpy and antisocial. This would never do. She was on people overload, and the only way to snap out of it was usually to separate herself from humanity—to be totally alone. A hermit by nature, it was the challenge of Jhanna’s life to comfortably be around people for any length of time. Shera, her bestie, was the only person living that knew this secret about her.

An only child, her parents were grateful for her solitary nature. At their insistence, she joined them for meals and church, but little else. She still lived in the childhood home she grew up in. When her parents were killed by a drunk driver, everything of theirs was now hers. She paid off everybody’s debts and put the rest in a 401k. She didn’t have to work if she spent frugally, but Shera convinced her to take a job to get out of the house.

When she’d taken the job at the little understaffed clinic, she didn’t know it would end up being the work of a lifetime. Jhanna had found a cause that would occupy her for the duration of her working life. Through her chosen profession, she was able to help people. What a racket the insurance game was. They would take premiums from people for years at a time and then had the nerve to deny payout when illness or tragedy struck. She was a well-known warrior for her patients. She fought for their rights like they were family. Her tenacity was legend, both at the hospital and in the insurance community. The thought that people had to spend their energy on claims instead of healing drove her crazy. Peace of mind was what she offered her patients and their families. Intercessory prayer helped too.

Jhanna popped two frozen waffles into the toaster as she greedily downed her cran-grape juice. She still felt a little foggy and had to will herself to stay out of bed. She followed up a shower with prayer, meditation, and singing to praise music that left her spirit soaring. Lifting her head and arms heavenward, she thanked Yahuah for His blessings on this—His set-apart day. She felt great!

Chapter 4

Shera slammed the phone down. She let Jhanna’s phone ring twenty times to no avail. She knew she was home with the ringer off. She knew her friend well and accepted her as she was, usually.

When they were in seventh grade, Jhanna and her parents moved next door to Shera and her family. They became fast friends. At first, the kids at school didn’t know what to make of her. She was receptive and nice when approached, but quiet and unassuming when left alone. She was very short, under five feet, and of medium build from what could be seen under the colorful oversized clothes she wore. She wore sandals with socks year-round unless inclement weather forced her into sneakers. She loved to run, so she joined the track team. She won many ribbons and trophies—all while wearing ankle pants! She adamantly refused to wear shorts. No number of jeers or name-calling swayed her. When Shera asked her why she didn’t change into a uniform like everybody else so she wouldn’t be made fun of, Jhanna had said, People have to mean something to me for me to care about what they think of me. Are you under the impression that I care what people think about me who are mean to me?

From that day on, Shera stopped fighting in defense of her best friend. By the time they were high school juniors, Jhanna was popular. In her senior year, she was even a cheerleader! Refusing to wear the overly short skirt, she chose to wear the boys’ uniform instead. When it snowed, the other cheerleaders wore short jackets that matched the royal blue and white school colors; Jhanna wore her full-length brown midi-coat. She got so many demerits her report card had a C for physical education. She didn’t care; warmth was more important than a grade or looking cute. All through school, she was the teacher’s pet. Her sweet nature and willingness to help endeared them to her. She worked hard and graduated with honors. After all these years, Shera could still see the smiling faces of Mr. and Mrs. Moore as Jhanna walked across the stage to receive her diploma. They were so proud of their little girl.

Mark, Shera’s husband, wrapped his arms around her from behind as he tenderly nuzzled the back of her neck. She leaned back against him, relaxing in his warm embrace. He could feel the tension slowly ebbing from her body. She was standing by the phone, so he knew his wife was fretting over her best friend, Jhanna. In her ear, he whispered, What would Jhanna do?

She would wait to see me at worship service tonight. And she wouldn’t waste any energy worrying about me, she said ruefully. She felt his smile on her skin.

Can I have some of your famous pancakes for lunch? Mark asked hopefully.

Turning in his arms to face him, Shera hugged his neck with both arms. Kissing him lightly on the lips, she said, You bet.

Chapter 5

In his small neat apartment, James lay on his black leather couch, cell on stomach. It was still warm from his recent attempt to reach Jhanna. Instead of being angry or irritated, he surprised himself by being worried. What could’ve happened to her? He played their conversation repeatedly, searching for an answer. To him, their talk went well. He took his time placing that call to the much-loved, much-respected Jhanna Moore.

He first ran into her, or more accurately, she ran into him, about two years ago. He had been working on a troublesome thermostat when he was crashed into so hard he was staggered backward. He looked to see what truck had hit him and was floored to see this short, pleasingly plump woman holding onto his biceps for dear life. Reflexively, he grabbed her to steady her feet. Man, she smelled good. As he held her, he realized she was more clothes than body. Her pretty outfit was sky blue and at least two sizes too big. She wasn’t skinny, but firmly curvy. Her cornrowed hair was shoulder length, all hers; and looking closely, he could see a few gray strands. Her deep mahogany skin was unlined, from what he could see.

She smiled up at him, giggled, and said, Oops, sorry! and kept on moving.

Amazed, he watched her fast, very determined walk. Her stride was quick and short without hip sway. It was obvious she knew where she was going, and she wanted to get there in record time. He watched for her every day. He marveled at her energy. Unless the elevator doors were open, she bypassed them to hit the stairwell. If he was lucky enough to catch her eye, he got a smile and a wave. She didn’t speak or slow her stride.

Once, he saw her in line to get her lunch. He thought he’d have a chance to talk to her after she placed her order. But she called ahead so her food was ready for pickup. He started to run after her but talked himself out of it. He didn’t want to look desperate. At holiday parties or company get-togethers, she was always a no-show. She was always smiling, so he didn’t peg her as unfriendly. He couldn’t figure out why she didn’t mix with others; subtle inquiries had yielded a religious connection of some sort. He was a Christian man, but not fanatical about it. He hoped he hadn’t developed an interest in a cultist or a New Age something or another. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing that he couldn’t reach her. Maybe it was better for