Once when Jane had been in grade school, she overheard her teenage cousin Teresa talking about an experience she'd had at confession. Teresa had felt overcome with guilt and sobbed out her confession, and received penance from a very calm and soft-spoken priest. She said she thought it would have been better to get yelled at. She wished he had gotten loud and angry for her transgression; his calmness and quietness only made her feel worse.
Jane had never understood that. Maybe it was because she grew up accustomed to yelling parents, and she had always hated that loudness. Often times she would have given anything for a quiet conversation, a more understated reproach.
But sitting here in Maura's room, with Constance's aggravated whisper, Jane finally got it.
"You didn't trust me enough to protect you. And in doing that to Garrett just now? You didn't protect her, either."
She wanted Constance to yell. That was the type of anger she knew how to deal with. She wanted Constance to be red in the face, be wide-eyed and hysterical and loud. This anguished whispering? How in God's name was Jane supposed to react to that? It hurt worse than a slap to the face, and she had no full understanding of why. Maybe it was because the loud type of anger was so often self-centered: her parents would use it when they felt their authority had been undermined, when they felt disrespected, when it was all about disregarding the child's feelings.
A whisper was genuinely hurt. It was at a loss for how to make things better.
"I—I'm sorry, Mrs. Isles," Jane choked out, and for once Constance did not feel the need to ask Jane to call her by her first name. "But you don't get it, you don't understand."
"I understand that boy gets under your skin, Jane, but you should not have attacked him like that!"
Jane hadn't been expecting Constance to praise her actions, but she felt a defensive flare rising up at the woman's inability to realize what had led to them. Accordingly, Jane's tone took on a bit of an edge: "Garrett followed us, he led those cops right to our club, and you weren't there! You didn't see Betty and the others getting the tar taken out of 'em for trying to buy the rest of us time to get out! Garrett Fairfield is the reason they're sitting in jail this weekend and the reason your daughter almost got herself caught! He wanted me behind bars!"
"Jane, I told you I underst—"
"You don't!" Jane insisted, ignoring Maura's light but desperate tugs on her arm. They were both still sitting on the bed, looking up at Constance, too weak to stand. "You don't understand! I could tear that guy limb from limb with my bare hands right now and wouldn't feel sorry—I'd do it as many times as it takes to get him off my back and out of Maura's life! And that—that scares me, Mrs. Isles, it does!"
Constance pulled over the chair from Maura's desk and sat across from Jane, taking hold of her arm with both hands. "Listen to me, Jane," she said in a level voice, looking her dead in the eye. "You are not a brute. That's not who you are. I know why you wanted to hurt Garrett, but beating him up is not going to solve the issue. All its done is…" She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, trying again to calm herself. "Raise more questions. For one thing, my girls, I think I need to explain everything to my husband."
"What? No!" Maura cried. "Mother, please! He'll…"
"Your father is not an unintelligent man, Maura. He is observant, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before he started wondering what was going on. I will not tell him anything without your—both of your—express permission. But please keep in mind that if Garrett makes any insinuations in his presence, there goes the cover. I am the best person to break this to him."
"What about me, wouldn't I be better to do it?" Maura asked.
"No, darling. I really think it ought to be me."
"We—do you mean right now?" Jane asked.
"I do think the sooner, the better. But that's just my advice. I'm leaving this in your hands. It's your business."
Constance left the room to give them space to talk, and as soon as the door shut behind her, Jane asked Maura, "What d'you figure? Think your dad could be reasonable?"
"I have a hard time imagining that," Maura said. "From what I've heard him say on the subject before, he's not at all fond of gay men, and I should think that would extend to gay women, as well."
"Didn't you say once that your mother had friends who were…?"
"Yes, and I never knew that bothered him until this year. A professor at BCU was found out and fired, and my father did not respond well." Maura was all but wringing her hands, taking a breath to steady herself and make sure her words were coming out comprehensibly, enunciated, as she often had a tendency to slur them together when she was agitated. "I mean, he was glad the man was fired; he didn't respond well to learning he'd been working alongside someone like that."
Jane shrugged. "Well yeah, but your father loves you."
Maura turned surprised eyes on Jane. "Not nearly as much as your father adores you, Jane. But can you say that his love for you would keep him from being upset? From being disgusted?"
"I think he already knows," she mumbled, and from the corner of her eye, she could see Maura straighten up with a small gasp. "I mean, I can't say for sure, but I could swear he does. You know how my Ma works at the café in the police station? The two of them were there when Betty and the others got hauled in, and boy did I get an earful about it. He said he knows we've spent time together, and he doesn't want me getting pulled in with a bunch of 'bull dykes.' It's the way he looks at me when he talks about it… like he knows, Maura, and he just wants to make sure I understand how filthy it is to him and how he'd… oh… and Frankie."
She slumped over, putting her face in her hands, and was silent and still for so long that Maura felt the need to see if she was even breathing. But she couldn't just stop there; the possibilities of what she could be inferring were endless and driving Maura to distraction. "What about Frankie?"
"He's figured it out," she sniffed. "Last night, he told me—after Pop went on and on about how freaks like Betty deserved to be locked up in mental institutions, I'd just sort of had it and ran up to my room, and Frankie could tell I was real upset, and… he said he knew. He could tell how I felt about you. And I didn't tell him he was wrong."
Maura felt that her breath had been stolen from her like water wrung from a sponge, but given Jane's expression and tone, Frankie's response was clearly not as open-minded as Constance's had been. "What did you say, then?"
"I can't hardly even remember. I just know he was trying to tell me how it was something that could be cured, y'know? He was so anxious to tell me about it," Jane sighed, almost laughing a little. "Like he was Santa Claus and he was giving me this great gift by saying 'it's okay, Jane! Look at dad's old fairy army buddy! You can get your brain fried and that'll fix everything, hunky-dory!' God… and I just told him it didn't need to be fixed, I told him how there were some scientists who thought it was natural."
"How'd he take that?"
"He didn't. I told him to get out of my room, and he did."
"Has he told Tommy, or your parents?"
"Didn't seem like it. At breakfast, he didn't even look at me. And I just…" Another heavy sigh, and this time Maura put both her arms around Jane, allowing her to lean sideways into an embrace. "I have this stupid fantasy where I'm wearing that leather jacket you got me, and the collar's pulled up, and I look my parents in the face and tell 'em…" She lowered her voice a little, as if trying to imbue it with the swagger she had when she walked: "'Hey, I drink beer and smoke cigarettes and I kiss girls.'" She slumped over a little more. "Well I mean, you're the only girl I kiss, but I thought it sounded better with the best of the sentence to make it plural."
"It does flow nicer that way," Maura agreed. "And I'm sure if I weren't in the picture, there'd be no limit to the girls you could be kissing. Oh, don't be modest," she said, trying to go with it when Jane offered a weak laugh. "You must've noticed the way women drool over you when we're at the club?"
"Ah, I'd hoped you wouldn't pick up on that," Jane joked, and they indulged in the brief opportunity to chuckle before remembering that their sanctuary had just been severely violated. "The point, Maura—my point is that I know I act tough and I walk around everywhere like I own the place, but I'm not brave enough to face my father."
"It's not about bravery," Maura whispered, still holding tight to Jane. "It's about being smart, and about being safe."
Some part of her knew that Maura's point was a good one, maybe even a valid one, but Jane just shook her head. "I'm a coward."
"You're not."
"I wish I hated him. I wish I hated him, and then I could almost see myself telling him," she said, her words stalling as she choked back tears. "Don't you think there's something screwy about that? That I know he'd despise it, and I still don't want to disappoint him?" (There was no answer, because as much as Maura understood that family relationships could be complex, she couldn't follow Jane's idolization of her father.) "He's always been my hero, y'know? And not just 'cause he fought in the war. You know how much he had to take from some guys in the army? His old man was born in the old country and they threw him in an internment camp. 'Enemy alien,' they called him. If Pop hadn't already been enlisted before the war started, who knows if they'd have let him in? Even then, there were guys who used to call him w…" By peering over, Maura was able to see Jane's lips form the word wop, a slur that drove Frank to rage faster than any other word. "But he didn't give up and go home, y'know? He stuck it out, and he fought hard, like a hero. After the war he left the service so he could be around for me and my brothers. He's worked so hard every damn day of his life for us, Maura—don't I owe him something?"
Maura clicked her tongue and gave Jane a squeeze. "I can understand your wanting to be grateful for how he brought you up, Jane. But should your happiness, should your entire future be the price of your gratitude?"
It never occurred to Jane to think of it in that light, and it made her head swim. She shook it again, as if that would help clear her thoughts. "Maybe he never got a medal for his service and maybe plumbing's not such a glamorous job, but he's my hero, Maura. He taught me everything I know, and he—he's a good man. He's always been in my corner. Everything I've ever done in my life, it was—well, it was sometimes to get on Ma's nerves, but mostly every choice I've made has been to make my father proud. I know your family doesn't operate on a system like that, but mine does. I respect my father. I don't wanna let him down."
"Jane, he isn't one of your canonized saints. He's human, he he's not perfect! I mean, are you telling me he's never let you down?"
"No, he hasn't," Jane answered immediately. "I mean, not except for… you know, how he talks about Betty and everything. But even with that, he… he's just doing what he thinks is right. He's a moral man, he—"
"He's cheating on your mother!"
The words spilled out in a desperate, scrambling gasp—words Maura had been torturing herself over ever since seeing Frank with his mistress at the club. Gossiping was the one vice her mother had strenuously instructed Maura never to indulge in, and she had worried what the fall-out might be in this case if she were to thoughtlessly pass on what she had seen to Jane. It felt wrong to keep it from her, and while she didn't want to go around protecting Frank's dirty secret, she was unsure of the best way to break it to Jane. She hadn't intended to just blurt it out like this, not when they were dealing with what seemed to be much bigger issues, but she could not keep it inside her another second while she had to hear Jane go on worshipping the man.
For about half a second it looked as though Jane was going to reproach Maura for lying, but she couldn't bring herself to make the accusation she barely believed when she knew it was impossible for Maura to tell anything but the truth. Maura's already-aching heart stung all the more at the little-girl-lost look that glossed over Jane's expression; when Maura tried to hug her closer, Jane stood up fast. Her hands were clasped together as she paced a small line back and forth, her whole body trembling with rage that did not remain suppressed for long.
"How do you know?" she choked out.
"I saw him," Maura whispered. "He was at Skylark with her, acting very… couple-like."
"A-and you're…you're sure?"
Maura could only nod.
"Who even…" Jane pursed her lips together, deciding she wasn't ready to know or even want to know who her father had been with.
That's why he was so eager for me to stop working there. Not because he felt sorry for me having to answer to the beck and call of my spoiled brat classmates, but so he could carry on with some ritzy woman there without my seeing it.
She wanted to yell and she wanted to throw up and scream and punch someone's lights out at the same time. How dare her father insinuate such awful things about standup people like Betty McRae when he was violating the principle that he and Angela had always taught their children to be the most sacred vow on earth? Jane grabbed hold of either side of Maura's dresser, and for a brief moment, Maura believed Jane looked capable of picking the entire thing up and throwing it out the window. Instead, she let out a strangled yell and kicked the side of it as hard as she could. Once was not enough, and Maura couldn't help flinching each time Jane's boot made contact with the hand-carved oak, but she wasn't about to get up and stop her. It wasn't until she started pounding the top of the dresser with her fist that Jane finally registered that this tantrum was more destructive than she'd intended, not to mention childish.
"I'm sorry," she stammered, smoothing her hand over the top of the dresser.
But before she had time to choke out another apology, Maura was on her feet and had her arms wrapped around Jane from behind. Jane twisted around for a proper embrace, and before long, had engaged Maura in a rough kiss. It didn't last long, though, which was frankly fine with Maura as Jane's body shook in anger and suppressed sobs. She had never been held this tightly before, as if she were life itself that Jane was clinging to. What hurt most of all was knowing that there wasn't a thing she could say to console Jane right now, and she loathed the fact that in her sixteen loquacious years of life, words had chosen this point in time to be empty.
I'm sorry it'll be okay I'm here don't cry I love you He's not worth it we'll get through this I'm not leaving you've got me I've got you I won't let anything bad happen to you
It seemed that Jane didn't know quite what to say either, although she could think of a few choice swear words she'd like to hurl out in reference to her father. But she wasn't sure that would help her feel any better, and didn't even know where to begin anyway.
After what might have been several minutes of this continuous tight embrace, Maura found her voice and some words to go with it: "Jane, this is why you can't put anyone on a pedestal. Not even your parents. This is why you can't live your life for someone else."
What do you do when you are let down by the person you never wanted to let down?
"I'll fight him if I have to," Jane growled. "If he tries to slap it out of me, I'll give him back two for every time he tries to hit me."
"Jane, please don't talk like that," Maura whimpered.
Jane pulled back, releasing Maura but still keeping her hands firmly on the girl's shoulders. "Maura? Your father's a gentleman. He doesn't try to make problems go away with his fists. Mine does." She shrugged, accustomed to the fact that this was how life was, this was how fathers behaved, this was something she had always overlooked in light of how good it felt when her father was pleased with her. "Ma goes over her allowance? Smack on the ass. Tommy doesn't do his chores? Belt to the back. I want to be your girlfriend? Electric-shock therapy if I'm lucky. If I'm not, I mean, you might have to drag the river for me."
"Jane, don't do that!" Maura yelled, pulling herself free from Jane's grips. "Don't make jokes like that, it's horrible!"
"Who said I was joking?"
"You can't be serious." When this garnered no reply, Maura went on just as sternly, "Your father wouldn't …he wouldn't—he loves you, Jane, and I can understand that he'd be angry but he wouldn't put you at the bottom of a river."
"Who cares," Jane muttered. "I'm gonna be eighteen in March. I've been saving up. I'll find a cheap apartment, I'll move out. I always kinda figured I'd stay home till I went to school—if I go to school—but if this all comes out, I'm not gonna bother. I'm not gonna stay someplace I'm not welcome."
Her determination was clear, and Maura couldn't deny feeling a certain odd sense of hope at hearing it. This fearlessness was what she had always loved about Jane, and though the future scared them both, it was bolstering to hear Jane was at least prepared to think about it this way.
She took a step back towards Jane and stroked her cheek with the back of her fingers. "You could stay here," she offered. "We've got a guest room and everything."
"Think your father would be okay with that?"
"He doesn't have to know we…"
"C'mon, Maura," Jane said, and the defeat was back in her voice. "Your mom said it's only a matter of time before he figures it out. And I mean, who knows? Maybe she can bring him around."
"Then why do you still look as though you'd like to punch a whole through a brick wall?" Maura asked, feigning calmness.
Jane did her best to unclench her fist. "You mean aside from that bomb you dropped about my dad? Oh, God, Maura…" She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Do you remember the first time we kissed?"
"Pretty well, yes."
"I borrowed one of my dad's shirts," she went on. "And you got lipstick on the collar. I got all panicked 'cause my parents came home outta nowhere, and I threw the shirt back in their hamper and Frankie said Ma found it the next day and chewed out Pop because she thought he was having an affair, and…" Tears were piercing at her eyes again, and she paused to suppress another sob, furious with herself. "I was real worried, 'cause I thought Pop was so innocent and he'd never do something like that, and I didn't want him getting in trouble with Ma because of what I'd done with you. So I had Frankie tell her he'd borrowed one of Pop's shirts and gone a little too far with Riley one night, and have that be that. I bet he was with this whore back then, too, and I let him get away with it. I'm such an idiot."
"No you're not," Maura assured her. "You couldn't have known, Jane. None of this is your fault."
Jane kept talking like she hadn't heard the interjection: "So yeah, that kinda makes me wanna punch my hand through a wall. And I wanna punch my other hand through a wall when I think of how pathetic I feel not being able t-to stand up for myself the way I want." Tears made their way through again, and she was ashamed, moving her gaze up to the ceiling, the wall, anywhere but Maura's face. "I hate that your mother's the hero of our story. I'm grateful for everything she's done and I know it's a miracle she's on our side, but I hate that we need her help. I hate that we can't do this ourselves, or at least that it couldn't be someone like Betty or Camille helping us fight these battles."
"Someone like Betty or Camille."
Someone in the family, was what Jane intended, and was what she didn't voice out loud for fear that it wouldn't make sense for the literal-minded Maura. Because of course Constance was family, and she had gone out on about every limb she could for them but would never know first-hand the fear they were experiencing, or the bliss they were fighting for the chance to keep.
"We all need a little help," Maura said. "Everybody. And I hear you, Jane, I do. But we need to appreciate what we have, which is that my mother has more clout than we do and that she wants to do everything she can for us. You need to let go of your pride, Jane. Someday, when we're older, our voices will be enough. They'll be more than enough. But right now, please, don't be upset about it."
Jane shook her head, but at least now there was a trembling smile to go with it. "Maura Dorothea Isles, you are scarily wise beyond your years."
This time when she pulled Maura in for a kiss, it was gentle and long. This was not the time to be getting carried away, but Jane just wanted to do what she could to express at least part of what Maura felt like to her: a lighthouse in a storm; a special, familiar place. Jane's pride was no match for Maura's advice, for her convictions. As serene an escape as this kissing was, Maura forced herself to pull back.
"Shall I go get my mother, then?" she whispered, leaning her forehead against Jane's.
The implication hung between their clasped hands like tinsel, not quite as heavy as they might have expected a few minutes ago: so she can tell my father what's going on.
Jane nodded slightly. "Mm-hm."
After sending Constance to Desmond's study, Jane and Maura remained in her room, silent for almost a full five minutes. Eventually Jane's nerves got the best of her, and she stood up off of the bed. She had to get home, she explained. It was too hard sitting here waiting, not knowing what was going on, and worrying about what might be a blow-up.
"So you want me to face it here alone?" Maura asked in disbelief.
Had there been any hint of an accusatory bite to Maura's tone, Jane might've been ready to argue, but her heart ached at the fear and pain evident in Maura's voice and expression. She sat back down, taking one of Maura's hands between both her own and whispering an apology.
"We could go listen," Maura suggested after a few more moments of agonizing silence.
"Are you sure that's something you wanna do?" Jane asked. She had wanted to follow Constance out the door, but had stayed behind, wary of Maura also coming along and having to listen to the argument her parents were bound to have.
"They're talking about us," Maura said, and though her voice wavered with fear, she sounded sure enough. "Us, and our lives. Our life. I think we have the right to know what's going on. If you want, I mean."
Less than a minute later, they were standing outside Desmond's closed study door, not able to hear as much as they'd hoped. Jane had imagined more shouting, but Maura had known that wasn't really her father's style, and they had to strain to hear the Isles' low and very serious voices. Desmond was pacing.
"You know what this is," he said, and there followed a long silence, during which both girls could imagine Constance offering him a blank stare. "She's confused, Constance. The poor girl's never had any close friends, we both know that. So Jane Rizzoli shows up and starts worshipping the ground she walks on, and she gets conf—"
"She is not. Confused." Constance's voice was firm, not angry, but definitely had a dangerous edge to it, daring her husband to keep going in this vein. "Have you met the girl, Desmond? She's as sharp as it comes."
The reply was fervent: "Regarding academia, yes. But again, we both know that socially, she's never been too, well, bright."
A heavy sigh. "All right, yes, that is true. Maura's never been fast at making friends. But do you not see how disrespectful it is to make out that she's ignorant of what constitutes friendships and what constitutes romantic feelings? Oh, don't make that face!" she said loudly. "Desmond, you're acting like a child!"
"I'm acting like a child? I'm acting like any reasonable parent who doesn't want his daughter throwing her life away!"
"I've never understood this about you, Desmond, never. You are one of the least conservative men I know, but when it comes to this—"
His voice was a little harsher now. "I put up with your friends in Paris, Constance, and look what happened! Being around them probably influenced Maura, made her feel like this was an acceptable—"
"Well which is it?" Constance asked, and Maura realized she'd never heard her parents cut each other off like this before. "Did my friends make her this way, or is she just confused about what love is because she's never had a good friend before?" She paused, presumably to give Desmond the chance to say something, but there was only a long silence. "And that's what it is, you know, Des. It's love. It's not make-believe, it's not some little girl crush. She's in love, and Jane feels the same way."
"She's sixteen, she doesn't know what love is."
"Would you be saying that so determinedly if Maura was dating one of Jane's brothers? Or better yet, one of those darling Fairfield boys? All right, maybe you would think it was just cute or a little sweet that Maura thought she understood love; you'd think she was too young to know the depth of it for what it is—but the point is that you'd be happy for her because she knew how she felt, and from her perspective, she's in love. Those two have gone through a lot together, and they're going to have to go through a lot more hell."
"How can you not see—how can she, brilliant girl that she is—not see that that's a sign to stop this?"
"A sign, Desmond?"
"You know what I mean! There's a reason they'll go through hell. This isn't natural, Constance. You have to know that."
"I do?"
"Yes, you do!"
"I didn't realize religious convictions were so important to you, Des. You've been holding out on me."
"This has nothing to do with religion! It's biological!"
Maura had closed her eyes, as if that might help her better envision what was going on behind the closed doors. It was amazing how much it heightened her sense of hearing: in addition to her father slapping his open palm with the back of his other hand as he often did when trying to make a point, she could make out the sound of his shoes wearing into the old carpet as he paced. Her mother had always been harder to figure out aurally; she was much more still, more calm, by nature. Maura knew she had to be imagining the sound of a cigarette being disposed of in an ash tray.
"You know, I have an idea you may be right?" Constance said. "You and Dr. Kinsey, that is. It is biological. Maura can't help having these feelings, and neither can Jane."
"First of all, you know I think Kinsey and his perverted theories can go to hell," Desmond grumbled. "Second of all, you know that isn't what I mean. Biologically, there is no sense in two men or two women being together!"
"I swear to God—any God you want—that if you're about to say something about offspring, I will extinguish my next cigarette on your mother's face when she comes to visit," Constance said, and Jane almost felt able to laugh. (She couldn't tell if Constance was trying to be lighten the situation by being funny, or if that was intended as a serious threat. Maura had a strong feeling it was the latter.) "How could you suggest something so phenomenally stupid when one of the first things we agreed on was that we had no interest in having children? Sex is something that brings us together, something to bring us pleasure!" A short silence ensued, and whether Constance needed it to take a breath or was giving Desmond a chance to rebuke was not clear. "And what about men and women who can't have children together for biological reasons? Hell, what about your sister?"
"What about Ruth?"
Footsteps again; this time it was Constance walking across the room to her husband. "She wasn't married until she was in her fifties, and her husband was in his sixties! And she's told me—not that I asked, mind you—that she was sorry to have missed her birthing window, but does that make their relationship any less valuable?"
"I don't like your tone," Desmond said shortly, "and I don't like what you're insinuating about Ruth. You always have."
"Oh, Des."
"You think she's interested in women. She's not! How many times does that need to be made clear to you?"
"Well your sister may not be, but your daughter is and you have to deal with that."
"Maura is not my daughter."
Maura drew a breath so sharp, it hurt almost as much as the slap that punctured the silence following Desmond's remark. Constance seemed so shocked or horrified by his assertion that she had no verbal comeback. Jane held Maura as tightly as she could not only to comfort her but to keep herself from barging into that room and delivering something to Desmond far more painful than a solitary slap.
"All I meant by that," Desmond said, his voice forcedly more calm, "was that it isn't Isles blood running through her. For God's sake, Constance, there's an evil in those veins, and you know it! That's Patrick D—"
For the first time, Constance raised her voice to what could be considered a yell: "I told you never to say that name in my home! Never! And how dare you imply that her feelings are innately wicked?!"
Just like that, Desmond's calmness was gone and he again sounded agitated: "I haven't wanted to bring this up, but since when have you started caring so much about Maura's feelings? Only since you found out this dirty little secret, and she became one of your pet projects? The objectification of women, discrimination against the blacks—all issues you have taken up fighting against as causes, and I have been right there with you. I just find it telling that you never seemed to take any interest in your daughter until she became another cause you could get indignant about!"
That was the last straw for Maura. Before Jane could quite follow what was happening, Maura had launched to her feet and yanked open the study door. Jane stood up as well, but faltered outside, deciding to keep out of sight in the hallway.
"Daddy, I never asked you for anything!" she shouted. "You or mother—I never asked you for anything! All I ever wanted was for you two to love—to love me!" (She hates that she's burst into tears, she hates that she is coming off like a wounded little girl and that she can't think of a more mature way to go about this in the heat of the moment. She lets Constance take her arm, but ignores her mother's gentle words trying to calm her down.) "I understand you didn't want children, either of you, but I still don't understand why you adopted me, or why you couldn't make me at least feel like I could talk to you!"
"Maura, listen to me," Desmond said quietly, putting his hand on her shoulder.
She veered away from his touch. "No, you need to listen!" she yelled. "You don't get to harass me like this! Maybe you're right that mother and I haven't always been so close before all this, but I happen to think that speaks well of her! She could have pretended like I hadn't said anything, or she could've wanted to kick me out, and instead she opened her arms to me and made me not feel so afraid! Don't you dare try to make her feel guilty for that!"
Maura had to stop to collect her breath, inhaling deeply, and Desmond saw his chance to get back into the conversation: "Sweetheart, I care about you, too. Can't you see that? That's why I—that's why you can't be this way. I don't mean to sound dramatic, but… the world won't accept it!"
"Maura isn't the one we need to change," Constance said. "We need to try and change the world. Can you really not see that?"
What Constance could see and what Maura had no reference for was the fact that given Desmond's expression, this statement left more of an impression on him than anything else that had been said. His mouth fell open, but no response came out as he looked from his wife to his daughter.
"Jane, I think you might as well come in now," Constance said.
She had assumed that if Maura was there, Jane would've been too, and was not surprised to see the girl walk guiltily inside. Desmond was not so cool about it and once he had recovered from the surprise, took an automatic step in front of her, blocking her from getting to Maura. Though he looked Jane in the eye, he spoke to Constance:
"We are not having this conversation in front of other people."
"What people?" Maura said, pulling herself free from Constance's grip and walking around her father to take Jane's arm. "That's Jane!"
"Be that as it may, Maura, this doesn't concern her."
"It concerns me, and that means it concerns her."
"Sir, may I speak?" Jane asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling as much as her body was. "I'm not gonna beg. I'm not gonna try and get you to like me. I just think you ought to understand. Two nights ago, Garrett Fairfield called in a police raid of a club Maura and I went to. He followed us there, see, because he has this nasty habit of stalking your daughter. The cops took away one of our best friends and three other girls, and beat 'em up something terrible. Our friends are sitting in prison right now, waiting to post bail after the weekend. And I just …I probably just about signed my future away less than an hour ago when I really let Garrett have it. But Maura's safety means more to me than anything, and I'm not gonna let anything happen to her that might happen to me as a result of my rash behavior." There was not a pause as she switched gears, because she feared stopping for even a moment would mean Desmond would try to muscle his way in. "Sir, you're not like my father. You're educated and you respect your wife. You love her. I've been able to see that very plainly. Please, sir, if I'm right, listen to her. I don't care if you respect me—although I really hope you do, or can learn to—but please respect Maura and continue to respect your wife."
Even if two of the people going up against him were minors, Desmond could appreciate that he was outnumbered. He avoided looking at Jane when he finally said, "Thank you for your input. But if you would be so kind, I would really appreciate the opportunity to talk this through with my family. Can you respect that?"
Jane managed to nod. "Yes, sir. I can." When Constance didn't argue this, Maura offered (a little indignantly) to see Jane to the door. "Babe, it's okay," Jane whispered once they had gotten there. "Your dad's just in shock."
"Did you hear the things he said?!"
"Yeah, and I mean… yeah, they weren't great. But he took the time to listen, too, and I think that really says something. Your mom stood her ground, and that says a lot. Maura? You and I… I feel like our relationship is just one big contradiction. You make me feel more vulnerable than I ever have in my entire life, but you also make me feel really… really strong." She raised their intertwined hands to her lips, kissing Maura's. "I feel like I've jumped head-first into a black hole, but it wasn't so scary as I thought it might be because I know I've got you."
"No matter what," Maura agreed with a certain sense of urgency. "No matter what, Jane, you've got me."
"Then that has to be enough to get us through this. I'm not gonna let you down, Maura. I promise."
Maura just nodded her assent this time, and stood at the door with her arms around Jane until she lost track of the time.
