Jan's Families

By Barb McIntyre

A widow discovers that there are many definitions of the word family.
It takes her a few years, but Jan succeeds in making a new life for herself after her husband dies and she loses the hair salon she has owned and operated for over twenty years. With the help and support of her long-time employees, who have become close friends, she finds rewarding work, and becomes part of a new family,
Years of often painful, but eventually successful, treatment for leukemia turned Nancy into a dependent, withdrawn stranger, and robbed her twin, nine-year-old Jan, of her closest friend and constant companion. When, at forty-seven, as orphans, and childless widows, their lives intersect again, Nancy insists that, a very reluctant, Jan take care of her. But Nancy finds a different protector, and Jan's life is changed in ways that she could never have imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667861906

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Jan looked down through the December night sky as the plane approached Toronto. The one-hour and twenty-minute flight from Montreal had been much shorter than the trip from her sister’s house in Longueuil to the airport in Dorval because of a three-car crash on Highway 20. Jan had missed her five-thirty flight and caught the six o’clock only after a panicked run through the airport.

Jan felt as though she might start to cry but wasn’t surprised when nothing happened. There was only one place where she could cry, and she planned to go there later tonight when she’d done what she had to do.

She leaned towards the small window and stared down at the panorama of twinkling lights. They brought back vivid memories of her father burning household trash in the backyard of her childhood home in Longueuil. Of course, that was a long time ago, she thought, when you could have backyard fires.

After the trash had burned and only embers were left, her father would rake them flat. Then Jan and her sister Nancy were allowed to come close, and they’d draw lines in the embers with the ends of branches. The lines were streets, and the glowing embers were houses. The big embers were big houses where the rich people lived, and the really big embers were apartment buildings. When an ember went out, it meant that the people who lived there had gone to bed. The girls would make up stories about the people who lived in this make-believe city, and their stories grew more and more detailed as they grew older.

One night a plane flew overhead just as the last ember went out. Nancy pointed to it and pretended to be the little girl who lived in that house. This little girl couldn’t talk. She could only whisper. She was lying in bed in her dark room, looking out the window and up at the plane. In a loud whisper, Nancy started telling stories about the people on the plane. They were important people who were flying to important places to do important things.

Jan had loved listening to Nancy’s stories. She’d never have thought of telling stories about the people on the plane. She could never have invented a little girl who could only whisper. She was a little jealous of Nancy. No matter how hard she tried, Jan knew that her stories were never as good as Nancy’s. Her make-believe people were just too ordinary. They were boring.

The plane landed, and the pilot announced, apologetically, that there would be a fifteen-minute wait before they’d be able to open the doors. Jan sat back and closed her eyes. A feeling of anger at the thought that if Ian hadn’t died, he’d have driven them to Montreal, and she wouldn’t have to put up with this. The anger was almost immediately replaced by a wave of guilt.

The guilt was equally quickly replaced by a heavy sadness as she remembered how much she’d enjoyed their car trips. Jan heard herself exhale a long slow sigh as she realized she’d never again listen to audiobooks while sitting contentedly beside Ian and watching the passing scenery.

She added listening to audiobooks to her already too-long list of things she’d have to do alone from now on. Travelling had already been added to the list of things she’d have to do differently. In the past two months, Jan had added to both lists more than she could ever have imagined possible.

She tried to ignore the irritated voices around her and thought about her last conversation with Ian. She’d been sitting on the sofa, he’d been stretched out on the leather recliner, and they’d been watching the evening news. They always watched the evening news just before going to bed. A commercial had just come on, and they’d started talking about when to make their next trip to Montreal. He’d asked, So, do you think we should go this weekend or next?

The truth was that neither of them wanted to go to Montreal. Spending time with the now widowed Nancy was an uncomfortable obligation.

Without taking her eyes off the screen, where a thin man was devouring an appetizing-looking pizza, Jan answered with her usual, I don’t mind either way. When do you want to go?  She was wondering whether or not to heat up one of the leftover slices of pizza in the fridge.

Ian didn’t answer. Jan didn’t think anything of it. He was probably just trying to make up his mind. The screen changed to a laundry room where some demented woman was dancing while stuffing clothes into a washer. Jan made a mental note that she had to sew up the hem of her gray slacks before washing them. The commercials ended and Jan became engrossed in a report on a local robbery.

When the next commercial came on, Jan had asked Ian if he’d decided about the trip. When he hadn’t answered, she’d looked over at him and seen that his head had fallen forward. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep while watching television. It hadn’t happened all that often, but it had happened.

It wasn’t until the news was over and she hadn’t been able to wake him up that she realized something was very, very wrong.

The next few hours were a blur of strangers coming into and leaving her house.

She couldn’t remember dialling 911. She had vague memories of a soft-spoken policeman guiding her into the kitchen and making her a cup of tea. She remembered wondering how he knew where she kept the teabags.

She remembered hearing the voices of the paramedics and the sounds of their equipment coming from the living room. She remembered very clearly the roughness of the pretty young paramedic’s skin when she took Jan’s hand in hers, told her that she was very, very sorry, and sounded like she meant it. She remembered a man carrying a well-worn leather bag. He’d arrived after the paramedics left, and he looked like he should have retired years ago. She heard him talking softly to the policeman before coming into the kitchen and assuring her that Ian’s death had been instantaneous. He hadn’t suffered.

The policeman stayed with her until the ambulance left to take Ian’s body to the funeral home. She didn’t remember choosing the funeral home. Luckily, the policeman had attached their business card to the fridge with one of the spare magnets. He was the last to leave.

Jan locked the door after him and went down to the basement. Ian’s workshop was in one corner, and they’d spent many hours there together. Jan would sit in the rocker, knitting, and Ian would work on his projects.

She could sit with him while he worked because Ian didn’t use power tools. He’d confessed, after extracting her promise to never tell anyone, that he didn’t like the noise they made. Somehow, he thought that made him less of a man, so he told everyone else that he enjoyed the challenge of doing everything the old-fashioned way. It wasn’t a total lie.

Jan picked up one of Ian’s carving chisels, sat down in the rocker, and rubbed her thumb along the handle where she knew Ian’s thumb had touched it many, many times.

She sat in Ian’s favourite spot, holding one of his favourite tools, wondering what was she going to do now? Who was going to take care of the house, the car, the furnace, the lawn, or the bills? Who was going to take care of her?

Jan spent many hours alone in the workshop during the next few weeks. Sometimes she just rocked and knitted. And sometimes, she worked on Ian’s last project. He’d found two metal dowels at a flea market, one with the impression of a crown at the end and one with concentric circles. He decided that his next project would be a checkerboard and checkers. Ian had cut a wooden dowel into pieces to make the checkers. He’d finished sanding and stamping only a few to go with the checkerboard, which he’d meticulously glued together, sanded, and polished to a glossy finish.

She’d watched Ian put the sanded circles into the little frame he’d nailed to the table, hold the metal dowel with one hand, and hit the top of it with a hammer. But she was afraid of hitting her hand, so she’d looked around the workshop and improvised.

She’d attached the heavy pipe wrench to a brick with layers and layers of duct tape so that it didn’t move no matter how hard she tried to budge it.

Then she’d attached the brick to the edge of the table with a clamp. Luckily, the little frame that held the sanded circles of wood was near the edge of the table, and she’d been able to position the metal dowel, held securely in the jaws of the pipe wrench, directly over it. She’d carefully adjusted the tension so that the dowel moved up and down but not at all sideways. Then she’d put a well-sanded circle of wood in the frame, held the hammer with both hands, and pounded the top of the metal stamp. The impressions she’d made in the little circles of wood had been as good as Ian’s.

The other thing that Jan did in the workshop was cry, really cry. Her body would take over and try to empty itself of the misery that gnawed at her insides. It was still the only place where she could.

Jan opened her eyes and realized that most of the passengers had left the plane. She stood up and rushed after them.

CHAPTER TWO

Jan hadn’t told anyone she was going to Montreal today. People, even people she didn’t know all that well, had finally stopped smothering her with sympathy. If they knew her father had been buried today, not only would they think she was a terrible person for going to a party tonight, the smothering would start again. And she wasn’t planning to stay at the party for very long. Other than talking to Mabel, she’d only stay long enough to keep up appearances.

Mabel and her cheating husband Paul owned and ran the upscale men’s clothing store three doors down from Jan’s beauty salon. This party was the only time Jan would be able to corner Mabel alone and tell her what she had to know. Jan had rehearsed what she was going to say and how she was going to say it several times.

The Christmas party was in full swing when Jan arrived. She’d stopped at home to change into one of her three party dresses and refresh her makeup. The new roll-on under-eye concealer worked well, she thought as she glanced in the large hall mirror on her way into the crowded living room. Jan helped herself to a glass of wine and stood pretending to admire the Christmas tree. After more polite chatter than she thought she had the stamina for, she and Mabel were finally alone in the kitchen.

Mabel. Jan kept her features and voice as friendly and as animated as she could manage. I saw you and Paul at Chez Jean Pierre on Thursday night. Sorry I couldn’t stop and chat. Well, I was facing Paul, so I couldn’t really see you, but I saw that new teal blue dress. It’s lovely. And you should wear your hair down more often. It looked beautiful. Jan grinned, leaned closer, and spoke softly, You lucky thing, the look on that man’s face. After all these years, I’m impressed.

Then Jan pretended to notice that her glass was empty and held it up. Oh! Time for a refill. Jan hoped her smile was convincing. Can I get you something?

No, thanks. The expression on Mabel’s face hadn’t changed, but Jan was sure the message had been received. I need to use the washroom.

Jan’s shoulder muscles relaxed as she watched Mabel rush away. She’d agonized over whether or not to tell Mabel about seeing her husband with another woman. In the end, she’d decided to follow the golden rule, and Jan would have wanted someone to tell her.

And Jan was quite pleased with her strategy. She hadn’t wanted Mabel to know that she knew. Now, if Mabel wanted to do something about Paul’s behaviour, she could. If she didn’t, or already knew about it and wanted to keep it a secret, she didn’t have to worry about her friends knowing.

On the way home, Jan leaned back in the taxi and remembered her afternoon.

Nancy had barely looked up from her cup of tea when Jan told her she was leaving for the airport. Everything was over. Their father was in the ground. The house had been tidied. Everyone except Moe and Sarah had left.

All afternoon, Jan had alternated between Nancy’s kitchen, where she’d helped Sarah keep plates stocked with food, and her living room, where she’d helped Moe make sure that Jan’s parents’ old friends, the few that were still alive, were well taken care of.

While Moe and Jan helped their guests into taxis and Sarah finished cleaning up, Nancy sat as quietly as she had for most of the afternoon, looking down into a cup of herbal tea and sighing heavily.

Moe and Sarah Brodsky lived next door to Nancy in their Montreal suburb. After Nancy’s husband, Bill, died in a freak accident, they’d taken Nancy on as a mitzvah.

A mitzvah, Moe had explained to Jan, is an act that helps someone else. It’s an act of kindness that’s above and beyond the normal acts of kindness.

They’d consoled Nancy, taken care of the house, and regularly consulted with Jan when bills needed to be paid and decisions needed to be made. They’d also driven Nancy to and from the nursing home to visit her father every Tuesday and Friday for the last two and a half years. Their patience with Nancy’s whiny voice and constant sighs was beyond Jan’s imagination.

While waiting for the taxi to take her to the airport, Jan thanked them for all of their help and told them how amazing she thought they were.

Sarah confided, Our Rabbi tells us that we should go looking for mitzvahs, that we must exert ourselves. She smiled a motherly smile.

Moe continued the explanation. He’s a little, you should excuse the pun, ‘unorthodox,’ but we all love him. This isn’t the standard interpretation you understand, but according to him, the effort of finding someone needing help is as important as the act of kindness itself.

Sarah took over. But we’re old, and maybe a bit lazy, and your sister’s care allows us to fulfill our duties without going too far from home. On television, they’d call it a win-win. Sarah gave Jan a motherly hug. We’ll take care of her. Go! Don’t you worry.

When Jan got home, she changed into her nightgown and went down to Ian’s workshop, where she began rocking quickly, almost violently, and sobbing loudly. The painful spasms in her abdomen and throat always surprised her with their renewed intensity. In a strange way, she welcomed this pain. This time, she knew it wasn’t only for Ian. It was for her father as well. Jan had been feeling guilty about not feeling sad enough over her father’s death. But she reminded herself that he’d really died a long time ago.

It had taken several years for the man she knew as her father to disappear. His memories had evaporated along with his muscles. He hadn’t recognized his children for over six months. For the last three months, he’d hardly reacted to what went on around him.

Burying his body had been a formality.

And then there was the bucket theory. She’d read about it in one of the many books on grief she’d devoured since Ian’s death. The book said that we all have our own bucket of water to carry. The water is our problems, our stresses, and our sorrows. Our buckets can only hold so much. No matter how much life tries to overfill them, the extra always falls to the ground.

Ian’s death had filled Jan’s bucket. There was no room for her father.

After a while, Jan went upstairs, brushed her teeth, and took a sleeping pill. She stretched out in the Jacuzzi and let the hot, swirling water do its magic. The pill took about a half-hour to work, and fifteen minutes in the tub was all she needed.

Finally, Jan was lying in bed and sinking gradually into what she knew would be a long, dreamless sleep, and wondering if this gradual letting go, this pleasant heaviness that was taking over her body and mind, was anything like dying. She hoped that it was.

CHAPTER THREE

Jan woke up early the next morning. Her alarm wouldn’t ring for another hour, so she rolled over, closed her eyes, and thought about Nancy. She wondered, as she often did, how the little girl her sister had been could have turned into the adult she was.

Nancy Jane and Janice Lynne were fraternal twins. Janice was born nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds after Nancy. The average time between the births of twins is nineteen minutes, the happy parents kept reminding everyone.

And Janice never seemed to stop trying to catch up to Nancy. Whether eating solid food, walking, talking, or learning to read, Nancy had always been ahead of her.

One day, when they were four, somebody had called Janice, Jan, and Nancy had decided that she liked that name better. It had taken less than a week for everyone to stop using the name Janice.

They were active, smart, and outgoing little girls. They were about the same height, but Jan was a little stockier and had straight hair. Nancy often bragged about her curly hair. They both loved reading, riding their pink bikes, and dressing up in their mother’s clothes. They both hated tomatoes, cleaning their room, and sitting still in church – especially sitting still in church.

Nancy was the daring one. My tomboy, their father called her. She was the one with the ideas that often got them into trouble. And Jan never needed any encouragement to follow her sister into whatever mischief they were heading. Jan would never have thought of tying a towel around her neck and jumping off the back shed pretending to be Superman. Nancy’s jump had been flawless. Jan had worn a cast on her leg for most of the summer.

Three days before their ninth birthday, everything changed.

Nancy started complaining about having a headache and then about feeling dizzy. When she started vomiting, and they found that she had a fever, her parents took her to the hospital. Instead of a bad case of flu, they were told that their daughter had leukemia.

Two years of treatments, some of them much worse than the original symptoms, changed Nancy, and their family, forever. They left Nancy with mild osteoporosis and stunted her growth. The doctors tried growth hormones, but the treatments didn’t help. The osteoporosis, the doctors had repeatedly told them, was mild and shouldn’t limit her activity levels in any way. But their mother had wrapped Nancy in a smothering blanket of protection that Nancy had never shaken off.

The adult Jan realized that her mother had become overprotective while Nancy was so sick. And she understood, more or less, how her mother had never lost the fear of losing Nancy and how she hadn’t been able to stop protecting her. The fun-loving little girl who bounced into rooms with a wide grin, eager for whatever was going to happen, turned into a slow-moving, quiet, withdrawn child who spent most of her time safely inside the house with a book in her hands.

Jan had asked Nancy to go bike riding with her a few weeks after the treatments had stopped.

I’m not strong enough to ride a bike, Nancy had told Jan in a serious, almost whisper. I might hurt myself. I have to be careful.

She seems so old, Jan had thought as she left the room. It’s like she’s even older than Mom and Dad.

There was no more friendly rivalry, no more giggling at secrets, no more riding bikes or playing ball. There was no more Nancy.

Jan finally went out and found new friends. She gradually stopped missing the sister she’d had for nine years, but she never stopped being irritated by the sister she still had.

Many years later, Jan finally stopped blaming her mother for the loss. What she hadn’t understood at the time was that Nancy’s treatments hadn’t cured her. The leukemia was simply in remission, and the cancer might recur at any time. It hadn’t, but her mother had lived the rest of her life with the fear that it would.

Despite being a small, fragile woman, Nancy’s health had always been good. But, as a child, she’d found that exaggerating every little ache and pain resulted in immediate attention, and she’d never lost the habit. Her husband doted on her and took over the protective smothering once they were married. In fact, Jan remembered, while Nancy and Bill were engaged, Bill and their mother seemed to compete for the right to cater to Nancy.

And Jan found Nancy’s voice extremely irritating. The woman always spoke so softly that you had to lean closer to be able to hear what she was saying. There was often a tremor in her soft voice, as if she was weak with fatigue. She rarely participated in general conversations, and when she did, she always managed to bring the topic back to herself, her house, her pains, or her husband. And her comments would almost always end with a sigh. Nancy was the mistress of long, deep sighs.

Nancy spoke even less after Bill died. In fact, her silence could be eerie. If pushed to comment, her response would always be preceded by My Bill thought that or My Bill always said.

More than once, Jan had wanted to shout at Nancy, Don’t you ever have an original thought in your head? But she’d either change the subject or leave the room.

One of the many things Jan couldn’t understand about Nancy was the way she accepted how taken care of she was. When Jan mentioned how nice the Brodskys were to help out so much, how their acts were above and beyond what she could expect of a neighbour, Nancy’s brows furrowed, and she said, They don’t mind. Why would they mind?

And Jan was convinced the woman had OCD. You didn’t change Nancy’s routines. You wouldn’t think of trying to. Ever since Jan could remember, Nancy had eaten the same breakfast: oatmeal with a teaspoon of brown sugar and a quarter cup of milk. The weekend after Bill’s death, Jan and Ian stayed in Nancy’s house, and Jan had prepared breakfast for the three of them. Nancy slowly, silently, and without facial expression, tipped her serving of pancakes into the garbage bag under the sink and prepared her oatmeal.

Nancy had been working at the hospital, transcribing tapes dictated by doctors and other professionals, ever since she graduated from her community college course. Somehow, despite her generally slow movements and hesitant voice, Nancy had the highest output in the department.

After they were married, Nancy and Bill bought a house only a block away from her parents’ house. The only change in Nancy’s routine was that she now turned left instead of right when she left the house to walk the short distance to work.

It had been Bill who organized his mother-in-law’s funeral and eventually got his father-in-law into a nursing home. And he took care of their finances. Her father had a substantial annuity that paid for top care in the nursing home, and Bill had sent Jan half of the proceeds of her parent’s big, old house.

Nancy had had her mother and then Bill. Now she had the Brodskys. Nancy went to work, sat at her kitchen table, complained softly in a quivering voice, and sighed. Everyone around her took care of everything else.

Ian had once told Jan that Nancy must have a personality change every time she walked through the doors to her office building. The woman they knew couldn’t possibly get the excellent performance appraisals Nancy always left lying around for everyone to read.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jan had told everybody she was moving to Toronto to get away from having to speak French. She hadn’t added that being that far away from Nancy would be a huge bonus.

Both Jan and Nancy had enrolled in community college courses after finishing high school. While Nancy