Tomorrow's Sun (Lost Sanctuary)

by Becky Melby

  “Because of me and Adam. Jake was crazy about her, and Adam and I adored her, but Jake thought spending time with Heidi took time away from us. And planning a wedding so soon after my mom died wouldn’t be cool.”

  “But you’re sure he still loves her?”

  “Oh yeah. He keeps a box of her letters under his bed. I’ve seen it sitting out tons of times.”

  Emily sat up and hugged Jake’s pillow.

  “Wow. Unrequited love.” An angst-filled sigh accompanied the wistful statement. “Beautiful, but so sad.”

  “I know.” Lexi sniffed. Her voice was tight. “I just wish there was something I could do. I hate to see Jake so miserable.”

  “And think how Heidi must be feeling. Do you think she resents you for coming between them?”

  “She’s way too sweet for that. I know she only wants the best for us, but she has to be sad. They were MFEO.” Lexi whooshed a sigh louder than the one before. “Let’s go to sleep. Maybe we’ll dream of something to do.”

  “Maybe. ‘Night, Lex.”

  “‘Night, Naomi.”

  MFEO? Emily’s sleep-fogged brain processed slowly. And then a scene from Sleepless in Seattle came into focus. Meg Ryan reading a letter… “Can’t wait to meet you in New York and see if we’re MFEO.”

  Made for each other.

  To which the other character replies, “It’s like a little clue.”

  Moving as stealthily as the injured cat that probably slept in the tent outside her window, she eased back onto her knees on the black rug. Stretching in the middle of the night was sometimes necessary after a long day on her feet. Reaching up toward the ceiling, she curved her neck to the right then the left. Had she locked the door? No. Why would she?

  She hadn’t planned on snooping through Jake’s things.

  After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the blackness. The tiny blue light illuminated outlines, enough to keep her from banging her hip into the desk or knocking over the wastebasket. She padded across the cool floor and felt for the door handle. The button in the center of the handle slid in and turned without a sound and she tiptoed back to the rug.

  On her knees again, an ethical battle ensued. She had no right to rifle through his things. Besides, what could she possibly gain from reading old love letters? She laughed at the irony. She’d been reading and rereading old love letters so often in the past week she’d memorized them. And she’d bought a small fireproof safe to protect them. The letters under the bed were a piece of Jake’s history. If they still existed. And wasn’t that all she really wanted to know?

  Her hand slid under the bed and came out with a dirty sock. She wouldn’t read the letters. She just wanted to know if he really still kept them. Her fingers skimmed a book. Bound in soft leather, it had to be a Bible. If she found the box, what would it tell her about Jake? That he still had feelings for the woman? That he was simply sentimental? Or maybe all she’d learn was that he never cleaned under his bed. She flattened on the rug. One fingernail scraped cardboard. Strange that she could tell it was a box just from the sound. Her chest tightened. This was Sierra’s every waking moment. Had her senses heightened in this short time? Did she hear and feel things sighted people didn’t?

  Hooking her finger under the lid of the box, she pulled it toward her. In a week she’d know more about Sierra’s world than she wanted to. One week to steel herself, two days in a hotel to pretend it was a patch of ice that changed both of their lives forever.

  She slid the box over to her computer. The miniscule light brightened then faded. She tucked the computer in the crook of her arm and pointed the light at the box. It only needed to be bright enough to confirm there were letters inside. She lifted the cover. A thin purple ribbon fluttered into the box. Her stomach flipped.

  She’d used the trick herself. In junior high, whenever she suspected Susan of reading her diary, she marked a page with a thread laid just so through a particular word. The thread wouldn’t move unless someone opened the book.

  So Jake had assumed she’d be nosing around. And now she’d have to face him. Should she ‘fess up or wait until he found out? She picked up the ribbon and spread it across the open top. Shiny side up or down? A woman would always put it up. A man wouldn’t care. She put it down. Her gaze skimmed the top letter. It was typed. That made more sense. Maybe they were e-mails he’d printed out. Who wrote letters these days? She thought of the “love” texts from Keith: HEY. THINKING OF U IN BLACK DRESS.

  Hannah had no idea how fortunate she was to be born in an era where men used pens and weren’t offended by flowery answers.

  She didn’t mean to read the first line. Or the second. She hadn’t expected the light to be this bright.

  Jake, my sweet darling,

  My lips still burn from your kiss. My heart beats like a herd of wild horses, and I can’t wait until tomorrow when you hold me in your big, strong arms again.

  Emily’s upper lip curled. Eeww. The box was heavy. Were they all equally sappy? Hannah Shaw might have gotten away with it back when melodrama was the norm, but in this day and age it was simply weird. If this was the kind of woman Jake was after, she didn’t stand a chance. She put the tampered box back in its place. Instead of crawling back into bed with jealous tears, she pulled the black sheet over her head and stifled her laughter. In Jake’s pillow.

  She fell asleep in seconds, but her eyes shot open after what seemed like only moments. Not a noise this time. A thought. A word. Tomorrow. The sappy letter said, “I can’t wait until tomorrow when you hold me…”

  When was tomorrow?

  Kicking the covers aside, she eased out of bed and rewound her last few steps. Sliding the box, moving the ribbon, lifting the letter. No date. She set it aside. A picture lay on top. Jake, nuzzling the cheek of the dark-haired woman she’d seen at Chances. She turned it over. “Heidi and Jake forever” was scrawled on the back. She jammed it along the side of the box and looked at the second letter.

  My sweet Jake,

  I’m so happy you changed your mind about liking that Foster lady. I know we can only meet secretly until you finish her house. Because I know how much you love me, I will wait patiently for the day when we can be together always.

  All my love, Heidi

  Emily threw the purple ribbon into the box, slammed the cover, and kicked it under the bed.

  Floating houses, the Golden Gate Bridge, art studios, sailboats, houses nestled into the side of the hill overlooking the bay—Emily looked up from her laptop, took a sip of latte, and breathed in the smell of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. Artwork by a local artist covered the coffee shop walls.

  A perfect setting for planning a future.

  The time in the bottom corner of her screen gave the go-ahead. It was eight-fifteen in California. She’d catch Cara on her way to work.

  The voice that greeted her was much perkier than yesterday’s. “Hey, Em. Sorry about yesterday. I was a mess. Don’t know why we got cut off.”

  Emily smiled at the surfer silhouetted on her screen, backlit by a twenty-four-karat-gold sunset. “No problem. Did you know Otis Redding wrote ‘Dock of the Bay’ in Sausalito?”

  The squeal hurt her ear. “You’re going to take the job?”

  “I’m going to apply. Maybe she’s already found someone.”

  “She hasn’t. I was serious when I said I told her to stop looking. I guess you should send her your résumé and references, but honestly, I don’t think she’ll even look at them. The job’s yours, girlfriend.”

  Emily leaned her chin on her hand. If she closed her eyes, she’d be on that beach, reclining in the sand, watching the last rays of California sun kiss the muscled bronzed back of the surfer. He’d turn and smile and say, “Hi, I’m Fabio. I don’t want children, but I do want you.” Relief giggled up in her like a shaken soda bottle. Anyone in the coffee shop who couldn’t see her headset would label her a nut case.

  No more concerns about the housing market. No more moving to a town and trying to
figure out how to live in it without becoming part of it. The most obvious “no more” she’d have to deal with soon. But not until she had a guarantee in writing from her future employer whose name she didn’t yet know. “E-mail all the info.” She crossed her legs and a sudden familiar spasm grabbed just below and to the left of L4. She stood, stepped behind the chair, and pushed down on the top of the chair back with both hands. Emergency decompression. “Do you know the ages of the kids?”

  “Yeah. Cute kids. She has a whole wall of black-and-whites of them at the gallery. They’re on her website. She planned them exactly two years apart. Can you believe it? They were all born in the business lull right after Christmas. How’s that for planning?”

  “How old are they?”

  “Oh yeah. The girl is five. One boy is three, the other’s a year and a half.”

  A year and a half. Born right after Christmas. They could have been in the hospital at the same time. Straightening her arms elongated her spine. The spasm weakened along with her resolve. Flipping a house on her own—wielding a sledgehammer and carrying eight-foot slabs of Sheetrock—might be easier than pretending to parent someone else’s children. Eighteen-month-old children needed to be picked up. And read to. And rocked. And snuggled. Massaging her low back, she slid back onto the chair. “Send me the info.”

  But not a picture.

  CHAPTER 24

  There’s a new twist, Jake.” Wayne Luther leaned against Emily’s new countertop and pulled an envelope from the pocket of his sports jacket.

  Jake’s gut tightened. “What do you mean?”

  “Ben started adoption proceedings before Abby died.”

  Steel bands wrapped around his skull. He took the paper. “If it wasn’t final—”

  “It could still work in his favor. Shows he was serious about being their dad, that he cared about securing their future.”

  Jake slammed his fist on the counter. “It shows he knew Abby might not make it and he wanted to secure the money!” He ran a paint-spotted hand over his mouth. “I don’t need to be taking this out on you. You know how grateful I am for your help.”

  “Forget it. Kids still aren’t talking?”

  “I’m not asking. They’ve been poked and prodded like voodoo dolls. Family’s supposed to be their safe place.” Jake opened the fridge and handed Wayne a soda. “Don’t we have enough evidence that the guy’s a psycho?”

  “Not necessarily. Every parent has bad days.”

  “He shot a cat!”

  “With a toy gun.”

  “Come on.”

  Wayne popped open the can and took a drink. “Without the kids’ testimony, it may not be enough.”

  “This wasn’t the first time the neighbor called the cops.”

  “All Madsen’s been cited with in the past is disturbing the peace. He hasn’t caused bruises or broken any bones.”

  “Nothing we have proof of. “Jake walked to the window, banged it with the heel of his hand, and shoved it open. Even with the front and back doors wide open, the kitchen was stifling. “I’ve seen bruises. It makes me sick to think what the slimeball threatened them with.”

  “Have you told them you’re fighting for permanent guardianship?”

  “No. I don’t want to get their hopes up.”

  “Might loosen their tongues. Like you said, you’re the safe place. They may feel more like talking if they know there’s a plan.”

  “And what if the plan fails?”

  Wayne ran a hand through short gelled hair. “I know. I’ve got kids. But you may have to risk disappointing them to make this happen.”

  A fat cardinal landed on a branch of the broken oak tree. Jake stared at the gash where the limb had ripped. The tender inner wood was no longer pink. “Maybe.”

  “Hey, I have to get home. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” Wayne wrapped him in a quick hug. “Take care of yourself through all this. You doing anything for fun?”

  Jake shrugged. “Trying my hardest to go out on a date.”

  Wayne’s eyebrow rose. “Anyone I know?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, let me know how it goes. A wife could definitely help your situation.” Wayne laughed and waved. As he walked out the back door, something fell in the dining room with an echoing thunk followed by an even more sickening splash. A paint can. Spitting out a word he no longer used, Jake whipped around.

  In time to see Lexi running out the front door.

  He didn’t see her. He couldn’t have. Lexi stopped before she reached the corner and turned around. If Jake had seen her, he’d be screaming for her to get back and clean up the mess. She ran through backyards until she reached the pup tent she’d been living in since Emily moved in. It wasn’t a foot away from the basement window anymore. She’d moved it to the middle of the yard the morning after Naomi stayed over.

  Their mission had succeeded. Emily had read the letters and just this morning Lexi heard her talking to Grandma Blaze about going to a hotel. Probably couldn’t stand being in the same room with the love letters. At this very moment, she and Grandma Blaze were trying out a new cookie recipe for Emily to take to the hotel. That was the reason Lexi had run to Emily’s house in the first place—to tell Jake how awful Emily’s toffee bars were. The bars were awesome, but Jake didn’t have to know that. It was just one more step in a plan that was working. In the nick of time, apparently.

  She unzipped the tent flap and crawled in. It was so hot she could hardly breathe, but it was a good place to hide and think over everything she’d just heard. Putting in her earbuds, she listened to Jesse McCartney singing “Body Language,” a song Jake said she shouldn’t listen to. Maybe that was why the music didn’t calm her the way it usually did. She stretched out on her sleeping bag. In spite of the heat, it felt damp and clammy. Or maybe it was her skin. She got that way sometimes when she was scared or excited.

  Right now she was both. Jake was trying to get guardianship! She hadn’t even told him her dream and he was making it happen. Unless “you” meant Jake and Grandma. But then the other part, the part that scared her, wouldn’t make sense. “A wife could help your situation.” Did that mean Jake was interested in Emily just because if he was married, or looked like he was going to get married, the social workers or judge or whoever decides those things would be more likely to let her and Adam live with him?

  So maybe he didn’t really like Emily after all. Maybe he just needed a woman, any woman, to agree to marry him. She thought of something Naomi had said about wishing her mom and Jake would fall in love and get married and then they could be sisters. Mrs. Benner wasn’t Jake’s type, but if he was desperate to find someone, he might consider her. She was an awesome cook. Her house was always superclean. And she was funny, too. One time she got glasses with fake noses for herself and Naomi and Lexi, and they drove around Burlington wearing them and watching people’s faces. Jake needed somebody to make him laugh.

  And it sure wasn’t going to be Emily. Not if she could help it.

  Her fingers fumbled with the zipper. She had to talk to Naomi. Fast. Sweat beading on her face, she popped out of the tent.

  And came face-to-face with Jake.

  “What did you hear?”

  Jake sat in a lawn chair drinking a no-longer-cold soda. He’d waited in silence, planning his questions, rehearsing a lecture. What was it about the red-faced girl with hair the color of her mother’s that made him forget it all? He pointed to the empty chair across from him and Lexi sat down. He waited for her to answer.

  She played with the fringe around a hole near the hem of her shorts. “I’m sorry I spilled the paint. I just turned around and—”

  “It all went on the drop cloth.”

  Finally she looked up, sunlight sparkling on unshed tears. “You’re trying to get permanent guardianship.”

  Jake nodded.

  “Just you, or you and Grandma?”

  “Just me. You know Grandma would love to have you.”

 
“But it would be hard on her. I know.”

  “I haven’t told you guys because I didn’t want you to get your hopes up. We don’t know how things will turn out.”

  “What if we just say we want to live with you and not Ben? Won’t they listen to us?” A tear spilled from each eye and rolled slowly down freckled cheeks. Lexi swiped them away.

  “They might. It sure won’t hurt. But you’re not quite old enough to appoint your own guardian.”

  “How old would we have to be?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “What if Ben gets us and adopts us before that?”