“Godammit, would you give it a rest already?”

Jane slipped the headphones over her ears and turned up the volume on the stereo, doing her best to drown out the sound of Adam yelling in the next room. Whatever they were arguing about, it was none of her business. She was trying to work on this problem she had with nosiness. It only seemed to bring her grief.

The other night in the library, spying on him and then watching the DVD of his old television interview – that had been the last straw. She’d felt so sick afterward she’d run to the bathroom and spent ten minutes retching over the toilet. She felt the queasiness return again even now, just thinking about it. But what was she so upset about really? What did she expect? Of course he was in love with his wife. That shouldn’t have come as a shock. Honestly, it was sweet, seeing him like that. It would speak worse of him if he hadn’t been in love with her, right?

Jane still wasn’t sure how long ago his wife had passed away, but clearly it was going to take him some time to get over something like that. It was perfectly understandable. Sure, she would rather know that her feelings for him were fully reciprocated, but their relationship was still new. She just needed to give him time, that’s all. She needed to be there for him when he wanted her – and keep her nose out of his private affairs when he needed space.

She’d woken up the next morning feeling full of renewed purpose. No more spying. No more pushing him to talk about things he wasn’t yet ready to discuss. Instead, she would rededicate herself to being all the things he wanted her to be: a loving maternal presence for his daughter by day, and his musical protégée by night.

He wanted her to listen to Motown, and she’d decided to surprise him by choosing some songs on her own that might work for a demo. She’d found his Marvin Gaye albums and one title on the track list had jumped out at her right away. I Heard It Through the Grapevine. What better song for her to cover, out here in the middle of an overgrown vineyard? She thought he would get a kick out of it – a little inside joke between the two of them. She even wondered if she might convince him to record it with her as a duet.

Jane listened to the song again now, turning up the volume in an effort to drown out the sound of the argument in the kitchen. He and that woman, Marcy, had been at each other’s throats ever since she’d shown up at the house yesterday evening.

It had been late – nearly 10 PM – and Jane had already been dressed for bed in a t-shirt and a borrowed pair of Adam’s boxer shorts. They’d been sitting together at the piano, and she’d been trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on the melody she was playing while he ran one arm around her shoulder and gently pressed his mouth to the sensitive spot behind her ear. They’d both been startled by the sound of someone tapping at the window. The piano must have drowned out the sound of the doorbell ringing. Jane had looked up to see a woman’s face pressed against the glass, peering in at them. “Shit,” was all Adam had said, as he went to open the front door.

Jane had come up to the door behind him and saw a woman with short, curly brown hair and bad eye makeup, dressed in a purple velour track suit.

“Marcy, this is—uh, Adele’s nanny,” Adam had said by way of introduction.

“I’m Jane,” she’d added, holding out her hand to shake.

The woman had raised her eyebrows and shot Adam a funny look before responding. “Jane,” she said slowly, ignoring the hand that Jane had extended. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

Whatever she’d been insinuating, Adam had ignored it. “Come in,” he’d said. “I’ll take your bag.” He’d led her to one of the guest rooms, and Jane had gone up to her own room and shut the door to block out the sound of their bickering.

At least Adele had been happy to have a visitor. “MAAARRRRCCCCYYY!” the little girl had cried gleefully this morning, throwing herself into Marcy’s arms. Jane had been in the middle of preparing Adele’s breakfast, but Marcy had dismissed her abruptly, taking the spatula right out of Jane’s hands. “I’ll take it from here,” she’d said with a dismissive wave. “Take the day off. And for God’s sake, put on some clothes.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Adam had responded when Jane told him what happened. “Marcy can be—well, it’s about me, not you.”

“Who is she exactly?”

“She's a friend of—" he'd broken off mid-sentence, changing his mind about what he was about to say. "She's Adele’s godmother,” he’d replied instead, before turning his attention back to the laptop he was working on. Jane had to bite her tongue to stop herself from asking anything further. “It’s about me, not you.” What did that mean? He and Marcy had left the house together later, driving off in Adam’s pickup truck, and they’d been gone together for hours. Where? Was there some history between them? Marcy certainly seemed to be acting like a jealous ex, the way she kept directing that evil glare of hers at Jane every time their paths crossed.

Now Jane overheard a snatch of their argument as the Marvin Gaye song she was listening to came to an end.

“If you’re going to stay in this house,” Adam was saying at a decibel level that fell just short of a shout, “You will damn well mind your own business!”

“Believe me, I’d happily stay anywhere other than this house, but it’s not like I can go down the street to the Marriott!”

“What do you want me to do, Marcy? Construct a hotel for you?”

“It wasn’t my decision to move her out here to the middle of bumblefuck Idaho, was it?”

“Nope, not your decision. That’s exactly right, Marcy.”

“It wasn’t my decision to move her out here…” They were fighting about Adele, obviously. Jane tried to give Marcy the benefit of the doubt. It spoke well of her that she would come all this way to visit her goddaughter when she clearly detested the girl’s father. Jane just hoped Adele wouldn’t be upset by their fighting. They’d just sent the little girl upstairs to get ready for bed, and Jane knew that Adele must be able to hear them arguing from her room. She considered for a moment whether she should go in and ask them to lower their voices. But, no, she told herself with a firm shake of the head. Not her problem. None of her business. Marcy had given her the day off, hadn’t she? Jane hit play on the stereo again and tried to focus on the music. She’d have to change the lyrics about “guys” to “girls,” but otherwise it should work.

I bet you’re wondering how I knew
About your plans to make me blue
With some other girl you knew before.
Between the two of us girls you know I love you mor—

Jane nearly jumped out of her chair as she was interrupted by the loud bang of the door being flung open. “Oh, it’s you,” Marcy said, rolling her eyes as she caught sight of her. “Don’t you have a room of your own somewhere?”

Jane took off the headphones and fought the urge to glare back. “Adam doesn’t mind if I sit in here at night,” she said, summoning up her most polite tone of voice.

“No,” Marcy smirked back. “I’m sure Adam doesn’t mind a lot of things you do at night.”

“What is your problem with me exactly?”

 Marcy chuckled at her bitterly. “Listen, I get that he’s man candy, but have a little respect.”

“Excuse me?”

“You really think this is healthy for the kid, this little arrangement you have going?”

Who the hell was this woman to dictate what she and Adam did in private? Jane stood up from her chair and drew up her shoulders. “I think Adele desperately needs a woman in her life, if that’s what you mean.”

Marcy’s eyes narrowed, the look on her face changing from a smirk to pure venom. “She already has a woman in her life.”

“Who, you?” Jane shot back. “How often do you come to visit?”

“No, not me. Her mother!”

The words hung in the air between them as Jane looked at her, perplexed. The Marvin Gaye song was still playing on repeat and, in the silence, Jane could just make out the lyrics of the chorus coming from the headphones.

Don't you know that I heard it through the grapevine.
Not much longer would you be mine.

“What mother?” Jane said at last, feeling her anger and defensiveness giving way to confusion. “Her mother is dead.”

Marcy said nothing, staring back in disbelief and then throwing back her head and looking up at the ceiling. “That asshole,” Jane heard her whisper. “That goddamn piece of shit.”

Without further comment, Marcy spun around and strode angrily toward the door. “Wait—“ Jane called after her.

Marcy stopped dead in the doorway and stood with her back to Jane for just a moment before turning to face her once again. The hostility on Marcy’s face was gone now, and she shook her head silently before she spoke. Jane struggled to interpret her expression. Was that resignation? Even pity?

“Oh honey,” Marcy spoke at last, sounding suddenly very tired. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but his wife isn’t dead.”

“His wife isn’t dead.” Jane felt her own heart stop beating as the meaning of the words penetrated.

Oh I heard it through the grapevine,
And I'm just about to lose my mind…

“She’s alive,” Marcy continued in that low, flat monotone, “And she’s living half a mile up the road.”