Jane, Age 11

During Jane's sixth grade year, her parents' arguments at once grow more severe and frequent. They argue about anything and everything. If it's the housekeeper's night off, they argue about whose turn it is to cook dinner. If they decide to go out to dinner, they argue about which restaurant they should choose.

Even the holidays aren't safe. On Christmas Eve, they're about to leave for church. Jane can hear Bill trek down the stairs, and before she follows, she stops to swipe on a light coat of lipstick.

Jane gets to the first floor just behind her mother. When he sees Jane, her father smiles.

"You look lovely, Jane," her father offers pleasantly.

Before she can open her mouth to reply to the compliment, her mother breaks in.

"Jane looks lovely?" Her mother demands. "Jane!? What about me? Don't I look nice? Or am I not worthy of your attention anymore?"

Fists clenched, her mother stalks away and storms back up the stairs.

"Oh, for the love of Christ," her father says. Jane's not sure if he's talking to her or himself. "I don't see why I have to put up with this- Elissa, Elissa, wait a minute-" Her father brushes past her to chase after his wife.

In the end, they don't go to church at all that Christmas.


"I think my parents are going to get a divorce," Jane tells Trixie and Diana at recess while waiting in line for the swings.

"You think so?" Diana's violet eyes are wide.

"Why?" Trixie asks, ever the inquiring mind.

"They argue all the time. Little arguments and big arguments. Bill and I are the only ones to ever really talk at dinner anymore. And I don't think they like me much these days, either," Jane admits.

"Why not?" Trixie questions.

"I'm the reason they argue, sometimes," Jane confesses. "They were in a huge argument over Christmas because my dad told me I looked nice. My dad has never liked me, really."

"Would you stay in Sleepyside, if your parents divorced?" Diana seems distressed by Jane's prediction.

"I don't know," Jane tells them wearily.

The conversation leaves her mind when the bell rings to signal the end of recess, but others aren't as ready to forget.


A few weeks later, Trixie spends a Saturday at Jane's house to work on a social studies project. For class, they're building a diorama, and the process goes easier than Jane initially expected.

From the large bay window in Jane's room, Trixie can see her mother's car driving up the long, winding driveway.

"Moms is here," she announces, and she and Jane begin to clean up the supplies they've used.

"Anything else I can do?" Trixie asks, once they've replaced all of the art materials into their respective boxes.

Surveying the room, Jane shakes her head. "It's going to take a while to clean everything up. There's no point in making you stay for that."

Jane and Trixie bound down both flights of stairs. Mrs. Belden is in the entrance hall, speaking in a low, serious tone to Jane's mother. She stops when Jane and Trixie reach them, and with a hello for Jane and a goodbye for her mother, ushers Trixie out the door.

A stack of new library books awaits her in her room, and Jane is about to return upstairs when her mother stops her.

"You might as well stay down here, Jane," her mother says in an odd, strained voice. "I think your father will want to talk to you."

"Oh." Jane is taken aback. Her father "wanting to talk" to her never brings anything good.

Her mother walks to the back of the house where Jane's father has his office. Jane waits in dread, wondering what her father has in store for her. Almost an hour crawls by, and since it would normally be dinner time, Jane vacates her watch in the living room to make herself a sandwich.

Just as she's pouring herself a glass of ice water, her father stalks into the kitchen. "Come with me," he orders. He glances at the sandwich on her plate. "You can go back to worrying about your stomach later," he adds snidely.

Though she feels her face heat at her father's jibe, Jane stands tall as her father leads her into the basement. It's been renovated to include a living room and kitchen area, including a bar.

She leaves the door open as she follows him, but he doubles back to make sure it's closed. He walks down the stairs again slowly, keeping his eyes glued on Jane. Silently, he approaches her, never breaking eye contact, continuing towards her until he's well in her personal space.

"Why would you tell a good family like the Beldens that your mother and I were getting a divorce?" Her father's voice is deceptively controlled.

"I didn't tell them," Jane says, trying to keep her voice steady. "I said I thought you would, because you two argue so much."

"Next time, just keep your wild speculations to yourself," he father growls, anger seeping into his voice. "Do you even know how much you've embarrassed your mother? She stakes the world on what people think of our family, and now you've gone and upset her."

The words fly from Jane's mouth before she can think. "Like how you always upset her?"

Her father's face contorts in rage. "Listen to me, young lady! Your mother and I are not getting a divorce, and we will not get a divorce, ever! So if you keeping whining at school about what a horrible and tormented life you lead, you're going to be recognized as the liar you are!"

Furious at her father's accusations, Jane shouts back at him. "I just wanted someone to talk to!"

"You know what I think?" Her father snarls. "I think you never once thought your mother and I would divorce. I think you saw an opportunity to be the center of attention, and you seized it so you could be a drama queen and posture about how depressed you are and how badly we treat you! You just want to be a martyr!" He storms away from her and up the stairs, turning off the light and closing the door, leaving her in darkness.

Remaining there, standing stock still for several moments, Jane counts to five hundred in her head, and then dashes up the three flights of stairs to her room. Once there, she hurriedly locks the door behind her.

Rage, embarrassment, frustration, and sadness war for dominance within Jane. She can't believe Trixie told Mrs. Belden Jane's private business, and that Mrs. Belden repeated it to her mother. Jane liked Mrs. Belden, and Trixie was one of her best friends until now. One thing's for sure: Jane's not going to call Trixie any time soon.

With a heavy heart, Jane notices her library books are gone, no doubt removed by one of her parents as a punishment.

The large table in her room is still covered with art materials, and with a sigh, Jane starts to gather them. Unfortunately, she stacks the boxes too high, and they topple over, their contents scattering.

Abjectly miserable, Jane goes up the hall and knocks on Bill's door. "Can we make a blanket fort?"

Bill answers, looking tired and ill, likely a side effect of living with their parents' ongoing war. "We're too old for that, Jane," he tells her, and closes the door in her face.

Utterly defeated, Jane resigns herself to tidying the mess on the floor by sorting the materials again. Reaching for a box, she discovers it's still sealed, likely lost in the mix when she and Trixie were gathering materials.

Curious, Jane pierces the tape with a long thumbnail, and unfolds the flaps. What it holds is nothing exciting, merely uncut pieces of felt, but when she moves to cast the carton aside, she feels its weight shift, as if its contents were heavy and loose.

Rummaging through the fabric again, Jane is shocked to find the Cleopatra entry in the Royal Diaries series, a book she thought she lost a long time ago. At first she thinks finding the book is a happy coincidence, but the more she thinks about it, the more unsettled she becomes. She would never bury the book in a fabric box and then seal it shut and put it away. But if she didn't, then who did?

Dread stirs within Jane, and she does her best to concentrate on cleaning up the art supplies. However, when she returns the book to the bookshelf, she hides it back behind the other rows.


In the middle of the night, Jane awakens, and is overcome with a sense of danger. She lies in her bed, keeping still.

Then, she hears it. Footsteps across her floor, trying to be very quiet. They travel past her bed, and then she hears a soft scraping sound. A moment passes before she realizes the person has opened the drawer of her jewelry armoire.

Rustles and clinks of metal sliding over metal for what seems like forever, and then the drawer scrapes shut again. She can't distinguish any more noises for a few moments, but then there's the distinctive smack of the rubber-coated rug underside landing against the hardwood floor. Then the footsteps recede, her door opens and shuts, and the footsteps travel down the stairs where she can't hear anything more.

In her head, Jane counts to five hundred, making sure it's safe, making sure the footsteps don't return.

Once she's sure the intruder is gone, Jane inches out of bed and flicks on the lights. Cautiously, she approaches the carpet closest to her jewelry armoire, an area rug with a sculpted floral pattern. Drawing back a corner, Jane finds several of her favorite jewelry pieces hidden beneath, including the cameo owl pendant her father gave to her.


The next morning, Jane dresses and goes downstairs to breakfast to find another jewelry box waiting by her place at the table. Again, it has a note from her father.

She leaves it there, unopened.