ON JANUARY 6, 1969, THE day before exams, things were going much better with Jim. He had been back since just after Christmas, and the chilliness that she’d felt from his Thanksgiving letter had dissipated. In fact, Bill Rathje, who had been with Jim just before he had written her the letter, was sure that what had come out as frostiness was just Jim’s reluctance to dive into something headlong. Jim needed Generals out of the way before he could have the clarity of mind to fully commit. But Bill was sure that Jim liked Jane very much.
Other people noticed, too. In early January, when Jane dropped by her friend Ingrid’s place to congratulate her and her husband on their recent marriage, Ingrid couldn’t remember Jane ever looking so good. Jane unloaded the armful of books she had been carrying, plopped down on Ingrid’s bed, and talked happily about how she was going to go over to Richard and Jim’s place that night because they were going to cook her dinner. Even Sarah Lee Irwin, who tried to date Jim in the spring, had to admit that things seemed to be going well between the two of them. Later, she would tell the police, “There has been a great change in Ms. Britton in the last two months, and for the first time I think she has achieved a measure of security, or peace.”
The evening of the sixth, Jim arranged dinner at the Acropolis on Mass Avenue for Jane and himself and three friends—Richard Meadow, Kent Day, and Bill Rathje—because all five of them were going to be taking Generals, and a little distraction would be good to calm the nerves. Jim, who was in a coat and tie and the maroon rugby sweater he wore when he skated, showed up early with Richard. Jim left his skates by the cigarette machine at the front of the restaurant, and they reserved a table in the back while they waited for the rest of the crew to arrive.
Rathje had agreed to pick up Kent and Jane. Kent had to ring her buzzer repeatedly to summon Jane from her room, and she eventually yelled down at him from the stairwell to knock it off. She had been napping—Don felt bad when he had woken her up earlier that afternoon to get some London broil from her freezer for dinner—and she hated that buzzer.
Don heard the commotion and went out of his apartment to talk to Jane.
“Are you going out?” he asked. She said yes. He could tell she was in a bad mood. He asked if she’d be back at eight because she always came over on Monday nights to watch TV. She said no and didn’t offer any more details.
“Here I am. Let’s go,” Jane said when she opened the door to Rathje’s car. She was wearing a skirt and her auburn fur coat. Her mood eased over the course of dinner—she and Jim and Rathje split a bottle of retsina, and they all made it a point to avoid talking about Generals—but Jane looked happiest, Rathje noticed, when they split off at 7:30 p.m.: Richard to his girlfriend’s place, Rathje and Kent home to watch TV, and Jim and Jane to walk by themselves down Mass Avenue back to the Square.
Jim checked to make sure Jane still felt like skating, which she did, so they went back to her place so she could change out of her skirt and grab her skates. Jim waited in the kitchen while she got changed. He smoked a few cigarettes and was relieved that her apartment was warm. He knew she had been having trouble with her heat the weekend before. He thought to himself, At least she’ll be okay for tomorrow. She left her fur coat at home and wore her blue ski parka instead.
The sky was still mostly clear when they reached Cambridge Common. It wasn’t a cold night, but it was cold enough for solid ice. They only skated for twenty minutes before they were both tired. A pint of beer sounded like a better idea. They walked the ten minutes back to the Square and had a pint at Charlie’s Kitchen down the block from Jane’s apartment. By the time Jim walked Jane home, around 10:30 p.m., a little sleet was coming down.
At Jane’s, they took off their coats, and she made hot cocoa while Jim kept her company in the kitchen. Then they sat on her bed, over her fur throw spread like a coverlet. Books were scattered around them. They cupped their metal enamel mugs while they talked. He stayed for long enough to smoke four cigarettes. The lightness of Jane’s mood from earlier in the evening had clouded back over. She was in one of those states that her friend Ingrid knew well: “She would get very depressed about work. The thing about Jane was you would try to tell her she was a great girl. You know, you try to mention all these talents of hers and her accomplishments and so forth, and she’d just sit there and stare at you, you know. If she was depressed, you could not get through to her. And she let herself get completely inundated by negative thinking.” Jim tried his best, reassuring her about the exams and about Iran.
It was nearly midnight when Jim stood up to put his coat on. Jane said she would drive him home. She didn’t normally—Jim liked the cold air after an evening spent inside smoking—but it had started raining heavily while they were talking. He said no. Jane said she wanted to start her car anyway; it had been a while since she’d driven it. He still didn’t let her. There was no point in dragging her all the way out. He didn’t want her to get cold. He kissed Jane good night and started the fifteen-minute walk home, lugging his skates in the pouring rain.
After Jim left, Jane, still in her slacks and sweater, knocked on the Mitchells’ door. “Have you got my cat?”
“Sure,” Don said, and invited her in.
Jane sat on the floor, and Don poured her a small glass of sherry.
At about the same time, Richard Meadow heard Jim walk in. Richard noticed the time because, true to character, he had been planning to go to bed exactly at midnight to get exactly eight and a half hours of sleep. He was hoping that Jim would be back by that time, so he could turn off the light and not be disturbed by Jim fumbling around in the dark. Their mattresses were in the same bedroom, about eight inches apart, and Jim slept on the one near the window, farther from the door.
Jim took off his coat and hung it in the closet.
“Is it raining out?” Richard called to Jim, who walked into the bedroom where Meadow was in bed reading. Looking up, he saw Jim was soaked.
“Where have you been?” Richard asked.
“Over cheering up Jane,” he said. “It’s very difficult sometimes calming people down and making them feel better about something that’s coming up.”
“It is a rather thankless task, isn’t it?” Richard said, but Jim didn’t answer. He dried himself off and changed into his pajamas and walked to the bathroom.
At the Mitchells’, Jane didn’t appear to be in a hurry to get to sleep, though she was vague about who she’d been out with, and Don didn’t press. When she finished her glass, Don offered her another. She declined. It was already after midnight. “I think I’ll go to bed,” she said.
Jane took her cat, and Don saw her to the door. Jill wished her good luck and said she’d see her tomorrow.
Fifteen minutes away, Jim crawled into the far bed, set the alarm, and turned off the lights.
“If I don’t remember tomorrow, best of luck on the exam,” he said to Richard.
“The same to you,” Richard said, and he slept soundly until the morning’s alarm.