Jane Actually

But all she could do was let loose the tears Jane was unable to summon.
    For a few seconds then, Mary and Jane remained silent, Mary for the reason that she didn’t know what she could say without making the situation worse and Jane because she thought she must harden herself or else she would be undone by grief. Finally Mary could not abide the silence.
    “Jane, are you all right?”
    “Yes, and thank you for being such a dear friend, but I cannot afford to indulge in sadness. As you remind me, and as I am sure Melody … oh, I do not relish telling her of this.”
    “Maybe we should keep this between us,” Mary suggested. “Even with Prilosec, I don’t know that her stomach could withstand … all of this.”
    Despite her sadness, Jane wanted to smile at the thought of Melody’s high dudgeon at the discovery that not only did Jane Austen have a boyfriend, but also that he’d ended his suit just before the keynote. “I agree. I think we should keep Melody in the dark.”
    “So what do we do now?” Mary asked.
    “Do?”
    “Yes, to … uh, respond.”
    “I had hoped to explain to Albert about … everything, when I received his email.”
    “Oh, that’s bad timing. But what do you do now?”
    “I honestly don’t know. Perhaps nothing.”
    “But you’ve got to make him understand you were going to tell him.”
    “I cannot ‘make him’ do anything. If he thinks that I care so little for him that I would not tell him such an important matter … then perhaps he is right.”
    “Oh please, don’t be fatalistic about this,” Mary said. “I know you love him.”
    “Do you? You hardly know anything about him.”
    “No, but I know you, and I know you wouldn’t let someone be this close to you if you didn’t care for him. Don’t throw it away.”
    “I think you’re too much of a romantic.”
    “I didn’t use to be, at least not until I met you. And if anyone is a romantic … I mean why didn’t you tell him about you.”
    “It doesn’t matter now.”
    “Yes it does. Tell me.”
    Jane walked away from Mary, as far as the terminal would allow.
    “I enjoyed being his Jane. Not that Jane from so long ago. With him, it felt new again. I cannot explain it.”
    “That sounds pretty romantic to me.”
    “Again, it doesn’t matter. My only thought can be the keynote tomorrow. If I allow my worries to consume me …”
    “But if you love him …”
    “What poor love can two ghosts have? Love is for the living, for people like yourself and your young man.”
    That surprised Mary. “What, Stephen? I don’t love Stephen.”
    “Perhaps not yet, but in the future.”
    Mary was about to further object but thought better of it. She didn’t want to explain that while she enjoyed Stephen’s company, she didn’t expect anything more than a friend with benefits.
    “Whatever, but back to you and Albert. Why are you so afraid to admit you love him?”
    “Kindly refrain from presuming to know my feelings, Mary.”
    Say something
, Mary thought.
Tell her what an incredibly stupid mistake she’s making. Tell her it’s thinking like this that made her into the world’s most famous spinster.
    But then she thought of her larger responsibility to Jane, especially as she had agreed not to inform Melody of the affair. She decided, for the moment, not to antagonize Jane any further.
    “OK, sorry for speaking out of turn. If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. Anyway, we have to get ready for the autograph signing and then the portrait.”
    The shock of receiving Albert’s letter had driven all thought of her duties from her.
    “Oh, I had forgotten. Would you very much mind, Mary, attending to that alone? Only, I am … I would like some time to compose myself. I’d rather not endure … ”
    “Uh, sure, but what if I get a question I can’t answer?”
    “You can always send me a text with your terminal, although I suspect there is little you don’t know.”
    After a few more protestations, Mary agreed to the scheme. She realized that preserving Jane’s equanimity was paramount and resigned herself to the task.
    . . .
    Mary’s smile faded after the last person in line left with
Sanditon
in her hands and Jane Austen’s signature with personalized note. She was utterly tired, even though the organizers had limited by lottery the number of people who would get an autographed copy. She assumed it was because she didn’t have Jane in her ear to entertain her, offering her little criticisms of