“When's the last time you had your heart checked?”
Jake glanced at her. “What?”
“Your heart.” She swallowed and tried to find a neutral tone. “When's the last time you had it checked?”
“Jamie …” Understanding flooded his eyes. “I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with my heart.”
“I'd rather have the doctors decide.”
“Honey, heart attacks are part of life.” He worked his fingers a little more tightly between hers and kept his eyes on the road. “Not just for firemen.”
She stared out the window again and let the air ease from her lungs. Did he always have to read her mind? Couldn't she keep even a little fear to herself? He would never be honest with her as long as he knew she was afraid. Every time he sensed her concern, he had the same answer. Not me, Jamie … I'll be careful … nothing'll happen … And now this. There's nothing wrong with my heart …>
They pulled into line at the Whitehall terminal and inched their way onto the ferry. When they'd driven up as far as they could, Jake slipped the truck into park and faced her. His voice was a gentle caress. “I'm sorry.”
She turned to him. “For what?”
“For the funeral.” He bit his lip. “I know how much you hate them.”
A cavernous pit of sorrow welled within her, but she wouldn't cry. She never did, not in front of him, anyway. “It's not your fault.”
“You could stay home next time.” He reached out and loosely gripped her knee. “Lots of wives do.”
“No.” She gave a quick double shake of her head. “I'd rather go.”
“Jamie …” The ferry gave a slight lurch and began to move across the harbor.
“I would.” She gritted her teeth. “It reminds me what I'm up against.”
“Come on, baby.” A chuckle sounded low in his throat, one that was weighted in empathy. “When are you going to stop waiting for something bad to happen?”
“When you work your last shift.” Their eyes met and desire stirred within her. They'd been married nearly a decade, but he still moved her, still made her want to hold on to him an extra minute or two every time they came together.
He leaned over and kissed her, the slow passionate kiss of a love that didn't happen in spurts, a love that colored every page of a life they'd written together. He moved his lips along her cheekbone toward her earlobe. “Ten years is too long to worry.”
“Nine.”
“Nine?” He drew back, and his little-boy expression almost made her laugh.
“Yes. You're almost thirty-six, Jake. You said you'd retire at forty-five like your father. That's nine years.”
“Okay, nine. It's still too long to worry. Besides … I love what I do.” Without waiting for a response, he worked his fingers up beneath her rayon blouse and pressed his thumbs against her ribs. “Almost as much as I love you.”
She squirmed and couldn't contain a giggle. “Stop it!”
“Anyway, you're worrying about the wrong thing.” He tickled her once more, and when she twisted free, he held his hands up in surrender.
“Oh yeah.” She caught her breath and straightened her shirt. “What am I supposed to worry about?”
“Beating me at tennis.”
“Okay.” She forced a sarcastic laugh. “I could try to worry about that.”
“What? Is that arrogance in my fair damsel's voice?” He stifled a grin. “You beat me in three sets last week, and now I'm no challenge? Is that it?”
She let her head fall back and she laughed, this time without reservation. “Okay … I'm worried, Jake.”
“Good. And don't forget—today's Sierra's first lesson.”
“Here we go.” Jamie could feel the sparkle in her eyes. “She's four, Jake.”
“Martina Hingis was probably four when she picked up a racket.”
Jamie's laughter rang through the cab. “You're crazy.”
“About Sierra, yes.” Jake's smile faded some. “I don't know what I'd do without her.” He took her hand. “Or you.”
“Me either.” She settled against the door of the truck, still facing Jake. “Sierra's perfect, isn't she?”
Jake stared out at the harbor, and his eyes grew distant. “Being a dad has given me these feelings …” He angled his head. “A love I can't describe.”
Jamie smiled, slow and easy. The cry of the bagpipes faded from her memory, and one by one the clouds of fear lifted, breaking up like morning fog over the water. Jake was right. Worrying did no good. Especially when every day held so much life for their little family.
“Come on.” Jake opened his truck door and motioned for Jamie to follow. She did, and the two of them walked to the front of the ferry, found a quiet spot against a railing, and turned to face the receding New York skyline.
“It's breathtaking every time.” She stared past the Statue of Liberty and lifted her eyes to where the World Trade Center towered over the rest of lower Manhattan. “You've been on every floor, haven't you?”
“Of the Twin Towers?” Jake squinted and gazed up at the tall buildings. “Probably. Jammed elevators, chest pains, faulty wiring in the office coffeemaker.”
“And the bombing.” She lifted her chin and studied his face. “Don't forget about that.”
“Yeah.” He lifted one shoulder. “But the fire was out before we got there.”
“Still … it was scary. I remember it like it was yesterday.”
“The towers are safe, Jamie. Stairwells run down three sides.” He narrowed his eyes and looked back at the buildings. “It's the old warehouses and abandoned factories. Those are scary.”
“I know.” She gripped the railing behind her and studied the city again. After a moment she shifted her gaze to him. “I'll try not to worry so much. Okay?”
He slipped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Okay. Besides, who of you, by worrying, can add an hour to his life?” He paused. “That's from the Bible.”
Jamie let the comment pass. Letting go of her fear was one thing. Claiming some sort of help or understanding from an old leather-bound book of ancient letters was another. But to say so would only upset Jake. And the day was too beautiful, their time together too short for that.
“I love you, Jake Bryan.” She slid her arms around his neck, letting herself get lost in his embrace. “I'm sorry for being afraid.”
“I know.” He kissed her again, this time more slowly. The ferry was less crowded than usual, and they had privacy in the place where they stood. When he pulled away, he searched her eyes. “I'm not going anywhere, Jamie. God and I have a little deal, a secret.”
“Is that so?” She tilted her face and batted her eyelashes at him. “I don't suppose you'll share it with me.”
“Nope. But I can tell you this much. God isn't finished with me yet.” He brought his lips to hers once more. “And He's not finished with you, either.”
They held hands as they returned to Jake's truck and climbed back inside. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into their tree-lined neighborhood and the same familiar street where they'd grown up. This was home. The quaintness of the island, the way she knew every front yard, every family that made up this part of Westerleigh.
The old house was gray now with white trim, but it was still much the same as it had been when Jamie grew up there. They pulled in the drive, and the moment they walked inside, Sierra ran to them, her eyes lit up.
“You're home!” She stretched her hands up toward Jamie. “Oooh, Mommy. You look pretty.”
“Thanks, baby.” Jamie swung her up into a hug and nuzzled her cheek against Sierra's. She smelled nice, like baby powder and maple syrup.
Jake paid the sitter, and when she was gone, the three of them moved into the living room.
“Did you and Daddy go to church?”
The question poked pins at Jamie's good feelings. Before she could answer, Jake came up alongside them. “Hey, little girl.” He took Sierra into his arms. “How was your morning?”
“Sort of.” Jake twirled one of Sierra's curls around his finger. “It was a special church meeting for one of the firemen at Daddy's work.”
“Oh.” Sierra searched his eyes. Her golden hair shimmered against her blue T-shirt. “Did he do something good?”
Jake tilted his head and hesitated long enough for Jamie to read his heart. “Yeah, baby.” He pursed his lips and nodded, and Jamie felt the familiar ache from earlier. “He did something real good.”
Sierra brought her chin to her chest and placed her hands on either side of Jake's face. “Is Mommy going with us next Sunday?”
Jake gave Jamie a quick smile. He never pushed her, just left it open. In case she ever changed her mind. Jamie cleared her throat. “Mommy has her painting class next Sunday, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” Sierra blinked at Jake. “But you'll take me, right, Daddy? Two times a month?”
“Right, honey.”
“Because Mrs. Ritchie looks for me two Sundays at class time.”
“Yep. Mrs. Ritchie won't be disappointed. You'll be there next week for sure.”
“Goodie!” Sierra jumped down and made a quick wave in Jamie's direction. “I'm gonna check on Brownie. She sleeped in my bed this morning.”
Brownie was their faithful lab. Eight years old and graying around her jowls, she was wonderful with Sierra and didn't mind wearing baby bonnets. The two of them were best friends. Jamie watched their daughter scamper off, and a thread of guilt sewed itself around the perimeter of her soul. She looked at Jake and gave him a crooked smile. “Thanks.”
“For what?” A lazy grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He crossed the room into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.
She followed, her voice quiet. “For not making a big deal out of the church thing.”
“I'll never push you, Jamie.” He took a swig of water and studied her. “You know that.”
“Still …” She felt uneasy in a way she couldn't quite pin down. “It means a lot.”
“No big deal.” He set the glass down. “I'm gonna change clothes. Tennis in half an hour?”
She leaned against the counter and felt her gaze soften. “Okay.”
“You over the fear thing?”
Jamie smiled. “For now.”
It wasn't until she went upstairs to change that she caught sight of the mirror and stopped short. Who was she kidding? The worry wasn't gone; as long as firefighters were dying it would never be gone. They had Sierra and each other and a life sweeter than she'd dared to dream. Jake's job loomed as the single threat to everything that mattered.
Sometimes where Jake and Sierra were concerned, Jamie felt like a little girl again, building sandcastles on the beach, desperate to stretch the day, to make the sunny hours last as long as she could. Jamie could still see herself the way she'd been on sandcastle Sundays, giggling and skittering back and forth on the sand, chasing back the waves, believing somehow she could stop the tide from claiming her precious creation.
But in the end the waves would come. Always they would come. And when they did, they would wash away all she'd built. There hadn't been a single thing she could do to stop them.
Her father's long-ago words came back to her. Look at Jake's mother. She lives with the danger every day. It's in her eyes, part of who she is. That'll be you one day if you marry Jake Bryan.
Jamie leaned closer and scrutinized her eyes. Her father had been right all along. When had her eyes stopped being the light-filled carefree speckled brown of her childhood? Now they were dark and deep, and they'd taken on a new color, one that bore an uncanny resemblance to that in Jake's mother's eyes. The same color Jamie had seen in the eyes of a dozen other firefighter wives.
The color of fear.
READERS' COMMENTS
Karen Kingsbury's writings are truly amazing! When I pick up one of her books, I can't seem to put it down until I have read it all the way through. I don't believe I will ever read another book unless it is written by Karen! You are awesome! Thanks so much for what you do!
—Anita, Wichita, Kansas
[Karen Kingsbury's] book was an emotional journey for me to read. I found it very inspiring and would recommend it to everybody. Karen has written a beautiful yet poignant story about life, love, and forgiveness.
—Jennie, Dallas, Texas
I believe Karen Kingsbury is the best fiction writer I have ever read! I never have been able to put one of her books down until I finish it. Thank you from a teacher and a mom for writing fabulous stories that remind me to focus on my relationship with God.
—Robyn, USA
Adjectives fail me! I literally drive my family nuts talking about when the next book is coming out! We all love your writing! Thanks a bunch!
—Canadian reader, Vancouver, British Columbia
It's hard to pick a favorite book by Karen when all of them are so great! Keep writing, Karen. The talent that God has blessed you with is truly a gift from God.
—Kristi, Sacramento, California
I love Karen Kingsbury! She has become my favorite author. If I wasn't already a believer, Karen's books would have made me one. If it wasn't for having to get up in the morning to go to work, I would stay up all night reading. I get so involved with the story line that I start feeling like I'm part of it. Awesome work! Don't ever stop writing!
—Deidra, Sanger, California
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