Adam’s voice had sounded different today, Jane thought to herself, as she let her mind drift back over his visit. He’d sounded a little less depressed, and it made her happy to hear it. It was the nanny that seemed to have cheered him up. He’d talked about her almost the entire time he was here. He hadn’t said what she looked like. Which meant she was pretty, Jane knew. Pretty, and she could sing. To be fair, he’d had his share of female protégées during his days as a coach on The Voice, and he’d never gotten romantically involved with any of them. It wasn’t the singing that worried Jane about this nanny so much as the rest of the picture he had painted. Young, pretty, and good with children. And she made him laugh. And she made him less depressed.

He had left the iPod playing when he left, and a Maroon 5 song interrupted her thoughts. It was a song from the third album, I Can’t Lie:

I can't lie, you're on my mind,
Stuck inside my head.

Stuck inside my head – that’s what I am, Jane thought. Probably stuck here for the rest of my life. She wondered if that were true. Sometimes, lately, it seemed like she might be making a little progress. She could feel the pressure from Adam’s hand now when he touched her. That was new, wasn’t it? And yesterday, she could have sworn she’d felt the cool, flat surface of the sheet brushing against the fingertip she was struggling so hard to move. Had she actually moved it? Had she imagined it?

If only she could make her finger move while Adam was here, maybe he would see it. But it had been hopeless during his visit today. All she could do was lie there in silence and listen to him talk about the nanny.

Jane wondered if he would fall for her. It would be such a cliché: single dad falling for the nanny. And that’s what he was, after all – a single dad. She couldn’t be jealous. She mustn’t be jealous. It was what she’d told him she wanted, after all.  

Jane thought back to a conversation they’d had just before they were married. Like any good lawyer, she’d insisted on all the proper paperwork. Prenups, Wills, Powers of Attorney. . . .  He’d gone along with it, signing all the documents without comment, until they’d arrived at the Living Wills.

“What the fuck is this shit?” he’d demanded, his eyes going wide as he skimmed the unfamiliar legal verbiage.

She’d explained it to him in plain English. “It’s a document spelling out our wishes for medical treatment in the event either of us is unconscious and no longer able to give informed consent.”

He’d stared at it silently for a long time. “This is stupid,” he’d said at last.

“You can change it if you want. This is just standard language.”

He’d shoved the document away from himself with a shudder and shook his head at her. “I don’t want to think about this.”

“Adam, I know it seems morbid, but it’s important.”

She’d forced him to talk about it – what they would want in the event either of them were on life support. “If there’s no chance of recovery, pull the plug,” she’d told him bluntly.

“I don’t want to think about this,” he’d insisted again.

She’d ignored him and plowed on. “And then get on with your life and go fall in love with someone else.”

“ Jane—“

“I mean it.” She’d taken his hand and squeezed it, smiling at him coyly to lighten the mood. “You’re too good looking to spend the rest of your life alone. For the sake of all womankind—“

He’d grimaced at her in distaste as he’d interrupted her mid-sentence. “If I say OK, can we stop talking about this?”

She’d let the subject drop, and he’d signed the documents without further comment.

For the sake of all womankind, Adam. That’s what she had told him. Those were her wishes. She was stuck here in this prison inside her head now, but there was no reason he needed to be. Maybe he still had a chance at happiness.

Now the bitter chill of the winter
Still blows through me like a plague,
Only to wake up with an empty bed
On a perfect summer day.

It was only a matter of time before he would break down and find someone else to fill his bed. She knew her husband well enough. He couldn’t survive without someone to keep him warm at night. Honestly, it was a testament to his love for her that he’d held out this long. At least Adele loved this woman. That’s what he had said. It would be the best thing for Adele if he remarried.

Her line of thought brought back the familiar tug of longing for the little girl whose childhood she was missing. If only Adam would bring Adele here – at least she would be able to hear her daughter’s voice. She knew he wouldn’t do it though. He’d brought the baby a few times when she was a newborn, but he’d stopped once Adele was old enough to understand. It would be too hard on her, Adam had explained. Too hard for a child to see her mother like this. When she was older, he’d tell her the truth and bring her to visit. For now, he was telling Adele that her mother was away on a trip. 

I can't lie, you're on my mind…

He could lie to his daughter easily enough, but she was his wife. She knew him better than anyone. He couldn’t hide the truth from her. It tore at Jane’s heart to think of her child in another woman’s arms, but she had to find the strength to accept it. It was for the best if Adam and Adele both fell in love with this nanny – if they found someone who could plug the gaping hole she’d left in both their lives.

My world just feels so cold,
And you find yourself
Walking down the wrong side of the road.

Jane listened to the song lyrics and couldn’t deny the chill of fear that washed over her. As cold and empty as this existence of hers was now, at least the sun still came out for a little while when Adam came for his visits. But what would happen to her if he remarried?  Just how much cold could she endure if he fell in love and went away, and left her all alone in one long, never-ending night?

***

Adam reached for the truck’s dashboard and switched off the radio in annoyance. This is what he got for moving out to the middle of nowhere. One shitty radio station with a DJ who seemed to play the same creepy ‘80s song on repeat all day long.

And I find it kind of funny.
I find it kind of sad.
The dreams in which I'm dyin'
Are the best I've ever had.

I find it hard to tell you
'Cause I find it hard to take.
When people run in circles,
It's a very, very…

He glanced at the girl sitting in the passenger seat beside him, but she wasn’t paying attention. She had her neck craned around, watching as the buildings of the old mental hospital receded into the distance.

It had been a close call, Adam thought with a shudder. He was growing careless, leaving his truck parked at the side of the road when he went to visit Jane instead of pulling up inside the gates. The whole point of setting up a mini-nursing home here, in this long-abandoned old asylum, was that no one would ever think to go looking around for an actual patient. No one would alert the media to the presence of Mrs. Adam Levine. No celebrity-obsessed sickos would get their morbid jollies at his wife’s expense. The thought of what the gossip magazines would write if they got wind of the story – it turned his stomach.

No, as distasteful as it was to have to deceive this innocent girl, he couldn’t risk trusting her with the truth. If things went south with the nanny job and she went to the tabloids, he’d never be able to forgive himself. But if he was going to keep up the lie, he needed to be more careful. It was sheer luck that he’d only been a few yards away just now when he’d heard the creak of the old metal gates being pulled open.

 “Hey!” he’d yelled, as he’d jogged out from around the last overgrown row of hedges to find the nanny peering back at him curiously. “What are you doing here?” 

“Just out for a walk,” she’d called back. “What are you doing here?”

 “What? Oh, I—“ He’d shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked the dirt with the toe of his shoe, playing for time, as he came to a stop in front of her. He’d cast about in his mind for a believable lie. Eventually, he’d gestured back over his shoulder with his thumb and given a little shrug. “Just taking care of some dead tree branches before they fall down and kill someone.”

She’d tried to look past him into the unkempt hospital grounds, but he had positioned himself to block her view of the one occupied building. “More gardening?” she’d joked with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he’d laughed. “Just trying to be a good neighbor.” He’d nodded toward the truck with his head. “Come on.”

“Is it OK if I check it out?” she’d asked, still trying to get a better look at the hospital grounds.

“Yeah. Um, it’s really not a great idea.”

“Why?”

He’d shot a nervous glance at the building behind him, trying to think of the best way to get her off the property without further questions. She’d misinterpreted the reason for his hesitation.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared!” she’d teased.

He’d broken into an easy grin. “Hell yes, I’m scared!” He’d gently taken her by the elbow and eased her back toward the parked truck as he spoke, pulling the gates closed and clicking the padlock shut. “This place is spooky as shit.”

She’d cocked her head at him and scowled playfully. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to find the first Mrs. Rochester locked up in there?”

The words had made him freeze for just a moment. He’d had his face turned away when she spoke, fortunately, or his expression probably would have given the game away. It was only a joke, he’d reassured himself, taking a second to recover his composure. “Is that another of your literary references?” he’d smirked back at her over his shoulder.

“You really need to read Jane Eyre.”

“No, you really need to watch American Horror Story!”

She’d given him that blank look that he’d found so disconcerting when he first met her. “If that’s a pop culture reference,” she said, “I honestly don’t know why you even bother.”

“It was a show a few years ago. My illustrious acting debut.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug.

“I should have known,” she’d retorted. “Not just a pop culture reference – an Adam-Levine-pop-culture reference. “

He’d chuckled. “Are you calling me self-centered?”

“You might want to read something that isn’t about yourself. That’s all. You might learn something.”

“Oh, are you going to teach me, little girl?” He’d led her over to the truck and opened the door while they bantered.

“You think you know everything there is to know, old man?” she’d shot back at him as she ducked into the passenger side.

“I know enough,” he’d said as he clicked the door closed. Yeah, he knew things that would turn that flaming red hair of hers stark white, he thought grimly, as he snuck one last glance at the closed hospital gates. The smile was back in his eyes though by the time he had climbed up into the driver’s seat. “Tell you what,” he’d said. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

“What’s that?”

“I will read your beloved Jane Eyre, but you have to do something for me.”

“You want me to wash the truck?” she’d said with a grin. “Because God only knows it could use it.” She’d wrinkled her nose as she’d looked out at the dust-caked front hood.

“Wow. Didn’t realize you were one of those girls who judged a man by his ride. I’ll pick you up in the Maserati next time.”

He’d seen the color rise to her cheeks at his jibe, and she’d turned her head away from him for a moment before she spoke again. “So, the deal?” she’d prompted.

“Huh?”

“You read Jane Eyre, and I do what exactly?”

“Right,” he’d responded. “I read the book and you listen to some music that was recorded after the turn of the 21st century.”

She made a face. “You’re going to make me listen to Maroon 5, aren’t you?”

He’d clapped one hand to his chest, pretending to flinch in pain at the wound she’d inflicted. “Damn. You really make that sound like a fate worse than death.”

She giggled.

“Any artist,” he’d continued. “I’ve got a whole library full of music. Just pick anything recorded after 2000. OK? Is that a deal?”

She’d shrugged. “Done.”

They’d driven in silence after that. He’d fiddled with the radio dial, while she gazed wordlessly at the passing landscape. She hadn’t commented when he’d turned the truck away from the house and headed towards town instead. Now she merely looked at him curiously as he pulled off the road again and eased the truck into the parking lot of the town’s only diner.

“Hungry?” he asked as he switched off the ignition.

She looked back at the restaurant and then at his face, trying to assess his intentions. Was he taking her out to lunch? Was this a date? Or was she supposed to pay her own way? “I don’t have my wallet,” she responded after a moment.

“You don’t need your wallet,” he said as he hopped down out of the truck. “Come on, Jane Eyre. Have lunch with me. My treat.”