Setting the drink aside, Jane eyed the rolled newspaper on the seat, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt to get an early start on the personals. She opened the paper and had just read the first ad when Mr. Green Taurus opened his door and stepped out, facing the bay, away from her. Jane’s hand froze.
This was revolutionary. In nine months the guy had never set so much as a toe out of his car. Not here in the parking lot when there were twenty minutes to spare, and not even on the ferry.
She glanced at her door locks and then around the lot, relieved to see a truck in lane one and two more cars pulling in. Lowering the paper, Jane nonchalantly returned her attention to the man standing a dozen feet away. Still thinking of the personals, she sized him up. Single White Male? Maybe. She was too far away to see the ring finger of his left hand. Or perhaps he was a DWM, his fixation for arriving early having driven a sane wife away.
He stood still, looking out toward Seattle. Jane continued her perusal.
Approximately six feet. Hair—sandy blond, over the collar, a little shaggy. Eyes? Maybe blue. Always went well with blond hair. Athletic? Not particularly, Jane thought, noting the slight build of his shoulders. Yet there was something alluring there. Something familiar . . .
“Got it.” She grinned. He looked like Westley from The Princess Bride—currently number thirty-seven on her list of favorite romantic movies. Okay, so the white shirt and navy slacks didn’t exactly fit the bill, but that hair told the whole story. Jane leaned back in her seat, imagining.
Westley looked across the shimmering lake, his heart breaking as he watched his beloved Buttercup drift away, a captive of evil Prince Humperdinck. Pity Westley didn’t realize that the real love of his life, Jane, was ever-so close—parked behind him in the ’94 Corolla, a 700-calorie shake in her hand . . .
Green Taurus/Westley turned sideways, watching the ferry approach Bainbridge. He glanced back toward her car for a moment, and Jane gave him a hesitant smile, which he did not return. Embarrassed, she quickly looked down at her paper. Picking up her mug, she took a long drink of smoothie, nearly choking as a chunk of berry came through the straw.
Apparently it wasn’t a morning for fairy tales.
* * *
Being second in lane three pretty much guaranteed she’d get her favorite seat on the ferry. Nevertheless, as soon as she’d parked, Jane got out of her car and hurried toward the nearest stairwell. She took the stairs two at a time—not only because it was faster, but she’d read somewhere it was good for your thighs too, kind of like those lunges on her Tae Bo video.
Her favorite seat by the window was waiting. In fact, the entire row was empty. Jane sat down and put her purse and mug on the seat beside her. Chances were the ferry wouldn’t be full, and if no one sat next to her she wouldn’t have to feel embarrassed about reading the personals.
It wasn’t as if it was something she did every day. It was a first-Friday-of-the-month-only indulgence, one she looked forward to with hope and anticipation. After all, it was her mother who’d said one never knew where true love might be found. Though at the time, she’d been referring to the singles’ conference she’d signed Jane up for.
Remembering that conference, Jane grimaced. The speakers were good and the activities enjoyable, but that was as far as it went. Dancing with men twice her age or twice divorced hadn’t made for a stellar weekend. It was shortly after that she’d decided it was time to broaden her scope and start thinking about meeting and dating guys who weren’t LDS. Of course her parents didn’t approve, but they also didn’t understand what it was like to be single in a church of families.
Jane pulled a red pen from her purse and tucked it behind her ear—prepared just in case today yielded more than the usual. Starting at the top of the page, she read carefully, her finger moving down the first column.
DWM, mid forties seeks . . .
Too old.
SWM seeks SWF for a great time, a few laughs, nothing permanent . . .
Nothing new.
SWM looking for fit SWF, preferably blonde, 5’7” . . .
“Yeah, I’d prefer it too,” Jane muttered as she toyed with a strand of her brown hair. She frowned as she finished reading the first several, shallow ads. Wasn’t there anyone out there interested in a real relationship? With a sigh she set the paper down.
“Hey, Jane.”
She froze at the sound of the familiar male voice.
“Been a long time.” A guitar case swung into view followed by telltale black boots.
Without looking up, Jane snatched her purse and turned toward the window as she felt the jostle of the connected seats. It can’t be. Heart racing, she watched the whitecaps on the water, the nightmare she’d lived two and half years earlier replaying in her mind.
“Aren’t you even going to say hi to an old friend?”
“Friend?” Jane turned to face Jay Kendrich. “I have a restraining order against you.”
“Had, actually.” Jay grinned boyishly. “It expired six months ago.”
“Then I’ll just have to see the judge about another one.”
“I love it when you’re angry.” Jay reclined in his seat, his arm extended casually over the back of the chair between them.
Jane’s eyes blazed in anger as she took in his appearance. Same long dark hair, though at least it looked better clean and tied in a ponytail. He wore a long-sleeved shirt—no doubt to hide his needle marks.
She pinched her lips together as she grabbed her mug and stood. With her purse in one hand and her drink in the other, the newspaper slid to the floor. Jay bent over to pick it up.
“You’ve taken to reading the personals, I see.” He stared pointedly at her left hand.
Jane skirted his guitar and made for the aisle. He reached out and caught her wrist, tipping her drink precariously.
“Let go,” Jane whispered, furious. She didn’t want to make a scene, but she was not going to be pulled into Jay’s lair again.
He loosened his grip but leaned forward. “Do you ever answer them?”
“What?”
“Do you ever respond to any of the personals? You know, go on a date with one of those poor saps who advertise?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It could be.” He released her so suddenly she stumbled backward. Jane felt a slow burn creeping up her face.
To her surprise, Jay didn’t laugh. “Have a good life, Jane,” he said quietly. “Oh, and happy thirtieth next month.”
Just leave, a voice inside her head warned, but she stood rooted to the spot. “How did you know—?”
“Lifted your wallet at the center one day—you were on the phone.”
“How dare you.” Her eyes blazed again.
“Yeah,” Jay said, completely serious now. “I was a real jerk then, and I’m sorry.”
For a brief moment their eyes met, and Jane was shaken by what she saw there. His gaze was even more intense than she remembered. She knew she could still lose herself in those eyes, honest-to-goodness blue eyes that, today at least, didn’t appear to be glazed over or bloodshot from drug use.
“Let me see your arms,” she demanded.
Jay raised an eyebrow. “I thought you quit counseling.”
“I did. Your fault too. Now roll up your sleeves.” She lowered herself into the chair across from him and waited expectantly.
Jay sighed and began to unbutton his cuffs. “All right.”
Jane watched with trepidation as he neatly rolled first the right and then the left sleeve up. Her eyes widened. His arms were clean.
She wasn’t fooled for a minute.
“Are you snorting, or is it pills now?” she asked caustically.
Jay pushed his sleeves down and took his time buttoning them. When he was done, he leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. “Nothing. I’m clean. Your fault.”
Jane wasn’t sure what to say. She just stared at him, wishing she had polygraph abilities.
How many
times before had he fed her that lie? Don’t fall for it, her inner voice warned.
Jay raised his eyebrows. “What would it take for you to believe me?”
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.
“How about seventy-two-hour surveillance? You could hang out at my place for a weekend and—”
“You haven’t changed,” Jane snapped as she rose from her chair. “Everything is still a big joke.”
“Nah, Jane. This isn’t a joke. I’m sorry.” He raked his fingers through his hair and stood just a foot away, facing her. “I wanted to see you today to show you I have changed—got my life in order. I stayed away longer than I had to, but I thought of you every day, biding my time till I thought you might be able to forget how I was and . . . Forgive me?”
She took a deep breath. “You’re forgiven. And I’m glad you’ve turned your life around—really I am. But I’m leaving.”
“I wish you wouldn’t, because—” He took a step closer and spoke quietly. “I also came to ask you out.”
Jane shook her head as she looked up at him. “No. Don’t start that again.”
“Nothing ever got started. I wasn’t good enough for you then.”
“You weren’t old enough for me. And you’re not now. You’re only what—twenty-five?”
“Twenty-six—today.”
She frowned. “It’s your birthday?” This complicated things. She knew Jay had no family and would likely spend the day alone. How could she turn him down on his birthday? Yet how could she not turn him down?
“I came to ask the prettiest girl I know to have lunch with me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave her a half-smile, as if he sensed her dilemma and a possible victory.
“I have a lunch appointment,” she said curtly.
“Dinner then?”
“No,” Jane said louder than she’d intended. Two rows away a little boy stared, but his mother was engrossed in a book. The only other person nearby was a suit, his eyes riveted to his laptop. She let out a relieved sigh as she looked at Jay again and spoke quieter this time.
“Listen, Jay. Before, you weren’t sober, so maybe you don’t remember what a wreck you made me. But I remember it well. Because of you, I left a very difficult, prestigious program in my last semester of a master’s degree. Instead of being able to treat—”
“Fruitcakes, you became a fruitcake yourself,” Jay finished.
Jane found it maddening that she had to fight back a smile. “Well that’s not really the scientific term, but yeah. I was a mess. You were too. But now we’re both doing great, so let’s just part ways and be happy for each other.”
“I’d rather be happy with each other.” He winked at her.
Instead of smiling, she stepped over his guitar case and into the aisle.
“Wait,” he pled, moving in front of her.
She took a step backward. “Jay, this would never work. Not now, not in a year—”
“Great idea,” he said. “I’ll take no for an answer today if you’ll promise to think about going to lunch with me on my birthday next year.”
She shook her head.
“Just listen to my terms. A year from today you meet me on the morning ferry. If you’ve got a guy by then—from your personals or whatever—I’ll leave you alone, just walk away for good. But, if you’re still single I get to treat you to lunch at a restaurant of your choice. You can even bring someone with you—your parents, a bodyguard, your sister’s kids. Say yes and you’ve got nothing to lose.”
“Except my sanity,” Jane muttered.
He gave her a look filled with hope.
“You’re a good-looking guy, Jay. And if you’re clean now, why not find some nice girl your age?”
“Because I owe you.”
Not this again. “You don’t.”
He shrugged. “Easy for you to say, but from this vantage point, I’d have been six feet under a long time ago except for a nice girl with pretty brown eyes.” He tried to look into those eyes now, but Jane kept her gaze fixed on the toe of her shoe. “A really wonderful girl who didn’t give up on me.”
She looked at him. “But I did give up on you.”
His eyes met hers. “You gave up on yourself.”
Awkward silence followed this comment. Jane gripped the shoulder strap of her purse, aware that an exit was only a few feet behind her. She closed her eyes, feeling a monstrous headache coming on. What a day this was going to be, and she wasn’t even at work yet.
Jay stepped forward, took the smoothie from her numb hand, and set it on the seat. He rubbed her cold fingers in his own. “Ever hear of handfasting?” he asked in a quirky Scottish accent.
Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “As in a year and a day—that medieval marriage thing?”
Jay nodded, the serious look in his eyes giving her sudden chills.
She tried to pull her hand away. Both the boy and his mother were staring at them. “I’ve heard of it. I read romance novels.”
“I remember that,” Jay teased and held her hand firm. “But it’s not just in stories. I had an ancestor—a long time ago—actually get married that way. It’s quite a story.”
“The ferry’s nearly docking,” Jane said. “And my car’s up front.”
“So handfast with me then—for lunch only,” he added quickly, seeing her eyes grow large. “Agree that one year from today you’ll meet me on this same ferry, and if prince charming hasn’t swept you away by then, we’ll do lunch. Nothing more. I promise.”
“You promise? You swear that after one lunch, you’ll leave me alone forever?”
“Ouch. But if that’s what you want . . .”
She looked at him skeptically. “And I won’t see you until then? Not even once?”
“I’ll disappear completely.”
“All right,” Jane said, feeling her hand pumped up and down, then finally released. “Bye,” she called, grabbing her mug and the paper as she headed for the door.
* * *
Jay picked up his guitar and walked the opposite direction. Best to start right away, he thought, keeping his promise to disappear. He climbed the stairs to the top deck and walked to the back of the ferry. A quick look around told him that he was alone—most everyone else was preparing to dock. Lucky for him, he’d sold his car last week.
He set his guitar case down and knelt next to it, undoing the clips. Reaching inside, he ran his fingers down the inside of the case lid until he came to a slight swell in the fabric. His fingers located a transparent thread, and he pulled until the velvet puckered, then fell away. A clear plastic bag dropped into his hand. Jay closed his fingers around it, then shut the case and stood.
A slow stroll along the deck convinced him he was still alone. Standing beside the rail, he opened his hand and stared at the tiny pouch in his palm. The white granules inside shimmered in the sunlight, and Jay could already feel their texture on his tongue and taste their bitter tang.
His private heaven—and hell.
He’d saved this bag for a year and a half—hadn’t even known he had it until a few months after rehab. And then one day there it was, his manna, stuffed in the toe of a pair of shoes he hadn’t worn in years. He’d told himself that he would save it. It would be his reward, his comfort to fall back on if things didn’t work out. Countless times he’d taken the bag out, looked at it, rubbed it between his palms. Once he’d even brought the plastic to his face, pressing it against his nostrils. But he had never opened it. He kept promises now—especially those he made to himself.
So here he was this morning, having finally reached the designated day of his reward. And here was his comfort waiting for him because things hadn’t worked out. There would be no birthday lunch with Jane. But he deserved a present, didn’t he? No one else would be giving him one. But then, come to think of it, he couldn’t recall a birthday where he had received any gifts.
Nothing had changed, and it wouldn’t do to feel sorry for himself now. He’d learned that wa
s the first step on the path to self-destruction.
Jay rubbed the baggie between his fingers one last time and then, with a flick of his wrist, watched as it sailed out into the bay. Withdrawing his wallet from his back pocket, he thumbed through it quickly, searching for the paper amid the bills.
It was real. He stared at it—this ticketless travel voucher that was about to drastically alter the course of his life. The confirmation number stood out in bold, along with the flight number and times:
American Airlines 1263
Departure: SEA 1:05 p.m.
Arrival: BOS 9:23 p.m.
One way.
Jay closed his wallet and turned, facing Seattle in the glory of the morning sun.
Because of Jane, another day was his to live. And if that was all the reward he ever got, it was enough.
Chapter Two
The Emerald Realty downtown office was quiet when, at exactly 12:00, Tara Mollagen opened her purse and took out a compact and lipstick. Squinting in the small mirror, she applied a fresh coat of Pink Pout and practiced doing just that as she slid her feet into silver pumps beneath her desk.
Shoes in place, she left her chair and strode purposefully down the row of cubicles. Stopping at Jane’s nook, she poked her head inside.
“You up for lunch today?”
“Can’t,” Jane said without taking her eyes off the computer screen. She rolled the mouse, moving the cursor to the print icon. “I’ve got an appointment with the Sweviecs.”
“You still haven’t found those poor people a house?” Tara drummed her polished nails on top of the divider.
Jane rolled her eyes. “The only thing poor about them is their attitude. And I’ve found them thirty-seven houses.”
“Ah,” Tara said, understanding. “Shown them everything between here and Canada, have you?”
Jane nodded. “And then some.”
“Well perhaps, as Zack would say, it’s ‘time to cut bait.’”
Jane spun around in her chair. “And just how is Zack these days?” She looked Tara straight in the eye. “He cut your bait yet?”
Counting Stars Page 2