Janice was dressed in two towels, one on her head and one covering her body, when she heard the knock. As she ran towards the door, the towel on her head kept slipping off her short hair, giving her the choice of taking one hand off the towel covering her body or one hand off the handrail. Her stairs were metal and she was still dripping water; she needed that handrail. She let the towel on her head drop.

“Hello,” she said, with a tone of what the hell’s so urgent? Is there a fire?

The slim young man in a suit made her stifle a groan. Really? She looked around and saw the second one; they always traveled in pairs. It looked like he had been giving up, already turning back to his bike. If only she had stopped to gather herself, put on a robe, they both would be gone by now, gone to her neighbor’s, preferably the ones with the German Shepherd.

She had the urge to flash them her starting-to-sag, menopausal, 55-year-old body. Maybe it would excite them? Or appall them. Why did she want to shock these young men or have them be chased by a dog? Maybe it was because she was shocked by them. She thought the knock on the door was about to deliver news. News she didn’t want to hear. She had no idea what she thought that news would be. None of her family lived in town. Her friends would call. Her dog, Buttons, was probably somewhere cowering under a bed or sofa. And, of course, Richard was gone. Her husband of twenty-eight years had departed six months ago into the arms of Lucy, the grocery store clerk. Ah well, the missionaries were here now. They were at her front door with their benign smiles as if she weren’t dripping in front of them with a scowl on her face, clothed only in a towel. Maybe she was not scowling. Perhaps as she imagined them being chased by the dog or scared by her body, she had allowed some odd smile to creep across her face.

“Hi, Ma’am. Would you like to hear about the Lord Jesus Christ and what he can do to make you happy?”

Do I? She thought that any happiness God would bring her she’d have to earn by giving up her ability to think for herself. Now more than ever, she needed to think for herself. All the structure her marriage had provided had left with Richard. Janice had started to reinvent her routines, like cooking her favorite meals and eating when she wanted to. She didn’t need to wait until Richard came home late from work to eat—those late nights that she was now suspicious about. She had been happy to give up most of their couple friends— they were mostly his friends from work anyways. It gave her more time with her best friend, Becky. Becky was bugging Janice to make more friends. She was worried that Janice would get lonely. But Janice never considered herself lonely; she felt more independent than lonely.

While Janice considered if she was lonely or not, she’d apparently invited the two men in. She was on the sofa and they were in the chairs across from her. She swore one began to look between her legs. Was she flashing them? No. It was Buttons. Feeling Buttons’ wet nose on the back of her knee, she compared the sensation to what it would feel like to be nuzzled by this young man, the one with the warm brown eyes. They were talking again about their God and Janice’s mind began to wander. She thought about the recurring dream she had the last few nights. She couldn’t quite remember the details, but she recalled the feeling of being lifted up. Floating. And now these guys were talking to her about the resurrection. Was there a connection? Her mother always told her that there were no coincidences; she warned Janice not to believe in magic, the supernatural. For her mother, that included religion and the Lord Jesus Christ. But Janice was curious why the dream and then the rushing to the door for no good reason? Why did she let them into her house? She was drawn to them. She didn’t want to be. She knew she shouldn’t be. But she was. And that thrilled her a bit and frightened her even more.

The telephone rang. Janice ran to it, to create a space for herself. It was a sales call.

“I have to go. I have company,” she said, almost whispering. Had she really referred to these intruders as company?

“I know you want to hang up, but please don’t. You really do want to hear what I have to say,” the telemarketer said.

“No. I already have two men in my house telling me what I don’t want to hear. I can’t handle you as well,” she said, all politeness drained from her voice. She slammed down the phone.

It was loud enough that the dog peeped out again from under the sofa and the men turned to stare at Janice, the shorter one raising an eyebrow. Were they just now noticing that she was wearing only a towel? Janice turned toward the stairs and ran up to get her worn, striped robe. The last time she had worn it was just after Richard left, when Becky came over and they had a PJ party. They had watched a movie and eaten popcorn. If someone had told her to make a wish right now, Janice would have wished for Becky to be there with her, kicking them out of her house, and making her feel safe, as she had on that night. But Becky was gone on vacation.

The crisp fall day was darkening. Five minutes later it thundered and started to hail. Janice wondered if the turn in weather would make the men stay longer. Did she wish they would? Janice thought about what Becky would do, channeled her, re-entered the living room and abruptly asked the two young men to leave. They left without protest. Janice sat on the stairs and watched out the front window as they peddled away in the hail.

A week later, Janice drove over to the Kingdom Hall. Maybe the two men would be there? The shorter one had a twinkle in his eye she couldn’t stop thinking about. But she wasn’t here for that, though she hadn’t nailed down why exactly she was here. As best she could figure she was here for the music, for the choir. She had never asked if there was music, but all churches had music, right?

As she stepped out of her car, she caught a glimpse of her boots and wondered why she had chosen her one pair of heels over her Dansko clogs. The boots made her peasant skirt, the long brown one she always wore, almost look stylish. Not that anybody would be looking. They’d all be too transfixed by her cleavage, readily visible in the deep V-neck of her oversized beige sweater. She went around back and saw that the door was open. Peeping in, she spotted a middle-aged woman cleaning up the last of some refreshments. The woman reminded Janice of herself, except for her lack of cleavage. Janice glanced around. There were a few of those small waxed paper Dixie cups with the faded pink flowers, cheap napkins with a straw pattern— napkins that did not match the cups— an empty cookie package and a few cookie crumbs. The woman looked up.

“Can I help you?” she asked

I don’t know, can you? Janice thought. “No, I don’t think you can help me,” she said.

“What is it you were after? I can see if someone else is around.” Janice just stared at the table, the crumbs. She kept thinking of the shorter man’s eyes.

“Sorry again, all the cookies are gone. Were you here for the meeting?”

“I didn’t even know there was a meeting. How could I be here for it?” Janice didn’t know why she was irritated.

“Let’s start over,” the woman said. “Hi. My name is Lynn.”

Janice tried to relax. “Hi Lynn. I’m Janice.”

“Nice to meet you, Janice. Would you like to sit down?”

Janice sat on the metal folding chair. Her legs were slightly parted, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She stared at the floor. Why am I here?

“I am not sure,” Lynn said. Damn. Janice had been thinking out loud again. Why did she always do this in front of these people?

“What people?” Lynn asked.

Janice sat upright and looked at Lynn. She was resolved that if she was going to talk she might as well sit up straight and make eye contact. She smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and began to tell Lynn the story, starting with the knock on the door and the running downstairs dripping wet wearing only a towel. Finally, Janice said, “And then it started to hail and I asked the two young men to leave. And they did—surprising me in a way because you know you folks have a reputation for perseverance.” Lynn smiled. Janice plundered on, “Well, that was a week ago and all I’ve been able to think about since is those two young men. Well, not only them—but why I let them in. Why I was a bit disappointed when they left.”

“Why do you think that is?” Lynn asked, reminding Janice of the therapist she had seen when Richard first left. The therapist never actually made suggestions or had ideas. He just kept asking questions.

“I don’t know,” said Janice. “If I did, I probably wouldn’t be here. Or I’d at least know why.” And then she tried the same trick she used with her therapist to see if Lynn would bite.

“Why do you think?”

Lynn did bite. And predictably Lynn was true to her evangelical roots. “Well, maybe you are seeking? Maybe you liked the comfort Jonas and Michael gave you?” Janice smiled. At least now she had their names. Lynn seemed to take the smile for agreement and kept going, being more direct. Janice noticed the change in her intensity but stopped listening to the words.

“So do you?” Lynn repeated.

“Do I what?” Janice asked.

“Do you believe in Jehovah?” Janice looked confused. “The Lord Jesus Christ?” Lynn clarified, “Have you been saved?”

Saved? Saved from what? Saved from an ambivalent marriage soon to end in an emotionless divorce? Janice had to get out of there. Standing, she asked Lynn if the shorter man was Jonas or Michael.

“Jonas,” Lynn said.

Janice looked at her watch, mumbled something about needing to walk her dog, and left.

Janice sat in her car in the large empty parking lot, staring out at the orange leaves of the maple trees in the church’s yard. What made her do these crazy things? She had always been so stable—that’s what all her friends said: Stable Janice. The one you can rely on. The one who will never surprise you. Somehow they meant this last line as a compliment. Janice and Richard were supposed to be a stable couple. Janice would never have said that her marriage was exciting, stimulating, or full of love. It plodded along. Janice thought that was the implicit agreement: to plod and not surprise each other. It seemed to give structure to both of their lives. When Richard left Janice for Lucy, it was clear that agreement had been one-sided. Janice only knew Lucy from the checkout counter at the A&P, the town’s only grocery store (if you didn’t count the new Walmart). Janice had always looked forward to shopping so she could see Lucy, or more specifically, Lucy’s hair. She swore that every week it was a new color.

When Richard announced that he was leaving Janice for Lucy all Janice could think to ask was if Lucy dyed her pubic hair with the same flair and frequency. Richard was indignant and told Janice that that was an incredibly inappropriate question. Janice burst into such a hysterical laughing fit that she couldn’t inquire further. She wished now she had pressed for an answer.

It was sad that after all those years together, pretty much the only emotion she could conjure was curiosity about the pubic hair of her husband’s lover. She wondered if this lack of emotion spoke only of her and Richard’s relationship or of her overall inability to feel. Richard dominated her romantic history, since age twenty-three. She didn’t want to repeat their safe, simple, almost remote relationship. What she had thought of as comfortable love turned out to be two people living independent lives in the same house, with their most intimate sharing being their budget. Is that why she was starting this relationship with the Jehovah Witnesses?

Ten days later, as she ordered a Scotch, she knew she was done with the Jehovah Witnesses. It startled her to think this way, since being done with them meant that she had somehow been with them—no matter how unintentionally. Maybe she had made that decision at the same time she decided to come to Brodie’s. There wasn’t much remarkable about the pub; it was neither seedy nor classy. It was just a Scottish pub that had been less than a mile from her house for over ten years. Richard had been there once without her and told Janice it wasn’t their type of place. This was the first time Janice had entered it. It had the long dark wooden bar that she both expected and craved, and as she pulled up a stool, she had realized that she had to order a Scotch. She felt like she was in a movie set, with the only caveat being her clothing. She was dressed better than usual: her sweater was a nice deep blue to highlight her eyes and was a full size smaller than what she was used to wearing. When she tried it on in the store, she thought it was too clingy, but the sales woman convinced her it was classy. Janice wore one of the two lipsticks she always had with her; she had opted for the bronze one, not yet ready for the bright red that she never wore.

Janice ordered her Scotch neat, as she felt anyone in a movie would do. She took her first sip and coughed slightly. It felt good going down, but not easy. As she stared into her glass, wondering how long she had to wait for her throat to be ready for the next sip, she felt a hand on her back. The hand startled her but was somehow so reassuring that she didn’t jump. She turned and found a nice man—probably ten years older than her —standing beside her. She didn’t know what she meant by nice, but it was her first impression. Maybe nice looking? He certainly wasn’t ugly. Perhaps “safe” was the better word. Or maybe that was the Scotch. She looked up at him—directly at him in a way she never remembered looking at a man before.

“First time with Scotch or looking for answers in a glass?” he asked.

“Neither. Both,” she answered, keeping her gaze on his eyes.

“May I sit?”

Janice just kept staring, so he sat down and ordered. “What she’s drinking.” When he took his first sip he made the same cough. She chuckled.

“I am not used to drinking it straight,” he admitted.

“I just thought it fit the scene,” she said.

When he asked, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Janice knew it was a typical opening line. But it didn’t feel typical to her. She hadn’t been chatted up in a bar since college. Back then she was drinking beer and none of it felt classy. She admitted her recent separation and explained how she was trying new things, which seemed to mean trying the pub that had been down the street for ten years. He nodded and made supportive guttural comments and disclosed very little about himself. He told her his name was Mike and he, too, was single, without any context. As they chatted, they had another drink, and then another. After three Scotches, Janice decided she no longer wanted to be perched on a bar stool and made motions to leave.

Mike took her car keys off the bar saying, “Neither of us are in any condition to drive. I’ll walk you home, we could both use the fresh air.”

Janice, suddenly alert, asked, “How did you know I lived in walking distance?”

He laughed, while paying the bill, and said, “You told me on your second Scotch.” And then helped her on with her jacket, took her elbow, and walked her out the door. “Which direction?” he asked.

Janice nodded left with her head, as she wasn’t sure she could speak.

Was this really happening? Was she allowing it to happen? As they walked, she pulled her jacket close, breathed in the crisp air and realized the man beside her smelled good. She leaned into him, and he grasped her elbow harder.

As they walked, she kicked the fallen leaves like a child. When they approached her gate, he opened it and let her in, as if it were his house. They walked the few steps to the front porch and Janice understood she had a decision to make. While she wanted this man—badly wanted this man—she decided she couldn’t let him inside. When she told him, he said, “Of course,” and asked if they could sit on the front porch bench. They sat down and Janice saw they were completely hidden by the vines as well as the darkness—the result of a streetlight that had recently burned out. Without thinking, Janice took his face in her hands and kissed him hard. It was awkward; Janice really didn’t know what she was doing. Their teeth hit at almost the same moment their noses did. Mike pulled away. Janice looked down, ashamed, and Mike put his hand under her chin and pulled her towards him, looking into her eyes. He grasped her face in his hands and gently began to kiss her, with no clashing teeth, no bent noses. She felt like a teenager, although she had never felt like this as a teenager. She closed her eyes and stopped thinking. He laid her down on the bench while he slowly continued his kissing. His hands were under her sweater, undoing her bra. She made a mental note to buy a better bra, not another beige one. He caressed each nipple. She could feel her pelvis rise. For a moment she thought she may do a bridge like in Pilates class, but her body did not betray her. She allowed his fingers to travel up her thighs, past her large cotton underwear. She let her body relax. Of course, it was right then that Buttons began to bark. Mike pulled away. Pulling down her skirt, Janice asked Mike if he wanted to walk Buttons with her.

“No,” he said, “I need to get home.” Janice offered to walk with him back to the pub to get his car. He said “hmmm,” which Janice took for a “yes.”

She went inside to get Buttons and his leash. When she came outside again, Mike was gone. Buttons pulled Janice towards the gate, where Janice hoped Mike was waiting, but he was not. Alone, Janice told herself it was okay, that Mike was nothing special and that his eyes were not nearly as attractive at Jonas’s were.

Janice was unsure whether last night had been a good choice. She was even unsure if it qualified as a choice. Did she ever actually say, “yes” or “please do” last night? Or, like the last six months of her life, did she simply let the actions unfold, following her body rather than directing it. Ever since Richard left her, she had felt like this. Maybe it started before Richard left. Maybe that’s why he left. Janice decided she didn’t want that anymore. Last night turned out to be harmless enough, but it could have gone wrong. Mike could have been dangerous. Her momentary gut instinct that he was safe could not be how future decisions were made. No. Janice was ready to think about what she wanted ahead of time and then to pursue that. She grabbed her coffee and sat on her front porch bench—the same front porch bench—and tried to decide where to start. As her mind drifted to the previous night— the heavy petting between her and a total stranger—she inventoried her past love life, looking for clues. There was so little to go on. She looked out, noticing as she took the last sip of coffee, that she actually wasn’t as hidden as she thought she had been last night. The vine was anemic and the bench was plenty visible to the street. She thought about the trellis on Becky’s porch—how beautifully the vines grew—and she imagined building one of those. She decided to go to the bookstore and see how hard it would be. Anyway Becky’s birthday was coming up and she needed to get a card.

At the bookstore, Janice went straight to the Home Repair section. It took her less than five minutes quickly flipping through three different books to realize that she should forget about building a trellis and just buy one. Moving to the card section, which was right next to the cookbooks, she saw two young women, both with short, boy-ish haircuts. They looked alike but the blonder one had more piercings—on her eyebrow and nose—and more tattoos along her right arm. They were so cute that Janice caught herself staring at the couple, hiding behind the cards she was sorting through. The two women—Janice had to correct herself not to think of them as girls—were browsing cookbooks. They were browsing separate books, but every few moments one would nudge the other to look at her book. And the other woman would look, with great interest. One woman would read the recipe and turn the page, while the other would hold the book and stare at her girlfriend. When the reader was done, they would look at each other and nod and smile. Once, as soon as the other looked up, they broke out in laughter simultaneously. This would be worth striving for, Janice thought.

On the way home from the bookstore, she stopped at the light on Greenville Avenue, the one that seemed to take forever to change. She caught herself again staring at a couple, this time in the car next to her. They didn’t notice. Janice tried to decide if they were fighting or just incredibly enthusiastic. Hands were flying so much that she didn’t trust that the man’s hands—the driver’s hands—would go back to the steering wheel when the light changed. The couple was turned towards each other so Janice could only see the woman’s face. The woman looked angry, and then she would half smile, twice allowing it to develop into a full smile. But quickly, each time, her face went back to anger. As the light changed, the woman crumpled against the side of her door, her face turned both down and away. Janice sat there considering if this kind of intensity, even if it were angry, was better than what she and Richard had had. Then the car behind her swerved into the lane beside her and into the spot the other car had just left. As he passed Janice, he beeped and flipped her off.

Janice breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth until she finally arrived home. She went inside to make herself a cup of chamomile tea. Waiting for the kettle to boil, she considered the alcove off to the side where Richard used to grow his plants. He loved those plants. He loved this alcove. Janice had wanted a breakfast nook, but Richard thought the plants were better. He meticulously grew each one. He transplanted and cut. He fertilized and watered. He spoke to the damned plants more than he ever spoke to her. He built the shelves, carefully making room for the small black drip hoses where you could not see them, tucked in behind the plants. He bought pots all the same palette: fall colors of burnt orange, deep yellow, a few greens. He even bought matching saucers. Richard never paid this kind of attention to his own clothing, barely getting his socks to match. Richard had again surprised Janice by leaving the plants behind, never mentioning them when he packed for his move to Lucy’s apartment. The plants really were beautiful. There were tropical plants, ferns, and ones with large fig-like leaves. There were plants with spines that Janice guessed were desert plants. Each plant had its place, and Richard moved them with the seasons. For the last six months, Janice hadn’t given them much attention and a few of the plants had begun to brown.

She put down her mug and walked over to the plants. She started taking off the dead leaves, pulling off the ones about to fall. Then she started with the ones showing signs of death—a little yellow in the leaf. It became a kind of meditation. Janice felt more at peace than she had in months, until something startled her—maybe Buttons was barking—and she noticed the leaf currently in her hand was perfectly healthy. Or at least it was healthy seconds ago when it was still attached to the plant. And yet, she kept picking. She picked every tiny leaf off the oregano and thyme plants. She had to sit for this; it took over an hour. She sat there, cross-legged, smelling the pile of herbs that surrounded her. She thought for a moment that maybe she should gather these to sprinkle on dinner tonight, but then she canvased the room with her meditative gaze and realized that pile belonged exactly where it was, under its mother plant. Just like all the other piles now gathered in the alcove. The biggest pile was under the banana plant—at least that’s what she thought it was. She had to really tear those off, putting muscle into it. There wasn’t much of a mother plant left there, just a stub where the plant used to be. She admired the fig tree—now just a skeleton, tall and thin and proud and very naked. The alcove was slowly being denuded, and she liked that new stark beauty. She admired her piles, the shattered lives of the plants that were still beautiful. She thought there must be some parallel to her own life.

The next morning Janice walked to the lawyer’s office to finalize her divorce. The meeting was supposed to start at 10 a.m. It was only 9:45. She arrived first and sat on the big sofa. Next to arrive was Richard’s lawyer who sat in one of two smaller chairs across from the sofa. The lawyer was much taller than she was and seemed squished in the chair. His elbows overflowed onto the armrest, his feet were extended well in front of him. On the couch, Janice barely used any space. She was positioned on the very edge of the sofa, feeling swallowed by the crack between the cushion and the arm of the chair. She wiggled out, trying to center herself on the cushion. Her feet didn’t quite reach the floor and with all that wiggling her left Dansko fell off. She looked down and could see the hole in her sock, revealing her big toe and her chipped red nail polish. As Janice reached down with her right hand to replace her clog, she accidentally swung her purse off her arm and spilled the contents onto the floor. Now she was on the floor on all fours. She still had only one shoe on as she reached for her red lipstick—the one she never wore—which had slipped under the sofa. She heard her husband’s lawyer offer to help. She kept her head down and shook a silent no. As her hand groped for the lipstick, she found three coins and several dust balls before landing on its familiar shape. She put the lipstick back into her pocketbook and grabbed a tissue to wipe off her hands.

As she readied herself to stand, her soon-to-be ex-husband walked through the door. Janice stared at Richard, trying to see him objectively. He wasn’t bad looking, but she could see no sex appeal. As usual, he was dressed appropriately for an insurance agent, a light blue pinstriped shirt, a darker blue tie with white dots, his jacket probably left behind on his desk chair. Visually he was exactly what she had always thought of him: steady, predictable, dependable. She smiled to herself that he had proven them all wrong. He had another layer: he was capable of having an affair and throwing his predictability to the wind. He settled into the chair directly across from her, clearly uncomfortable, and asked how his plants were doing. Maybe she had more layers too.