Counting Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Jessica was right behind her and held a plate out to Paul. He released Jane’s hand and took his cake. Jane took hers as well, feeling strangely both regretful and grateful that the spell was broken and their moment of intimacy had passed.

  * * *

  Paul hesitated, his hand on the doorknob to the spare room, their last to pack. “You ready for this?”

  Jane nodded. “It can’t be that bad. The room’s only what—ten by ten?”

  “Yes, but it’s a crowded—” Paul pushed the door open a few inches before it caught on something. “—mess in here.” He reached into the room, picked a sweatshirt off the floor, then pushed the door the rest of the way open.

  “Show me your worst,” Jane said with mock seriousness as she peeked through the doorway. Her eyes widened. “Wow.” He was right—the room was crowded, but not in the sense she’d envisioned. File cabinets lined one wall, and much of the bed was covered with piles of clothes and stacks of papers, but the rest of the room was filled to overflowing with items for what appeared to be the ultimate nursery.

  On the far side the pieces for two spindled cribs were stacked beneath the window. Next to the cribs was a double stroller, piled high with dozens of baby outfits. The ones on top even appeared to be newborn size. Jane took a step inside the room to get a closer look. Blocking her way to the stroller was a large box containing a car seat that matched Madison’s. An intricately carved, antique high chair stood next to the box. Confused, Jane turned to Paul. “Why didn’t you show me all this before? Why has Madison been sleeping in her car seat and wearing the same three pairs of pajamas when she has a beautiful crib and plenty of clothes?”

  Paul shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out the window. “Tami spent months shopping for the babies, and the rest is from her shower. She was on her way home when the accident . . .” His voice trailed off. “I didn’t want any reminders.”

  “Oh,” Jane said quietly. She ran her finger over the polished wood of the high-chair tray.

  “Tami’s grandfather made that,” Paul said, watching her. “Both she and her mother used it. Tami was glad she had something from her heritage to pass down to our children.”

  Jane tried, with difficulty, to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. The past few weeks had been a roller coaster of emotions, but overall she’d been happy—happier and more fulfilled than she’d ever been. How could she have forgotten her joy had come at the expense of another woman’s life?

  Jane sat on a corner of the bed and picked up a pair of baby high-tops. Had Tami picked these out? Had she made the teddy-bear quilts hanging over the sides of the cribs? Had she chosen the names Mark and Madison?

  Guilt flooded Jane, and her heart ached. Madison was not hers. Paul couldn’t love her. He appreciated all she was doing for him, but his heart belonged—and rightly so—to Tami.

  “Giving up on this mess already?” Paul asked in a teasing voice as if he were trying to lighten the mood that had descended on them. He sat next to her on the bed.

  Jane put the shoes aside. “I don’t want to give up. I don’t ever want to give any of this up.”

  Paul whistled. “We’re going to need more boxes.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” Jane chanced a sideways glance at him. “I’m afraid this will all disappear—you, your children, that I’ll wake up some morning and find out the past few weeks have been a dream. And yet, how can I want this—even feel happy about it—when it must be your nightmare? It seems so wrong.” She picked up an infant dress with crochet around the hem. Her eyes watered as she rubbed the delicate stitching between her fingers. “Why did you choose me, Paul? I mean, I know you need help with your children, but why me, a complete stranger? What about family?”

  “It’s like I told you that first day at the hospital. I have no one. Tami’s sister was driving the car. She died before the paramedics arrived. The only family left is their grandfather who raised them. He’s eighty-five years old and lives in a care center. I visited him after the accident, tried to explain . . .” Paul shrugged. “I don’t think he really understood, and I didn’t try too hard to make him. As for my family—” Paul reached for a photo on the dresser and handed it to Jane. “This is my mom and my brother Peter.”

  Jane studied the picture, faded from time. A woman stood on the steps of a house similar to the one Paul had just leased. Her hands rested on the shoulders of the two young boys in front of her. “How old were you when this was taken?”

  Paul took the picture from Jane and turned it over, but there was no date on the back. “I’m not sure. Sometime in the seventies though. Look at Peter’s shirt.” He pointed to the wide collar his brother wore.

  Jane smiled. “I remember those. My brother looked like that too.” She studied the boys in the photo. Paul wore glasses and was on the skinny side, and his grin revealed a couple of missing teeth. His brother, a few inches taller, wasn’t smiling. “Is he older?”

  “A bit.”

  If Jane thought his answer was odd, she didn’t say so. “You two were cuties. Peter and Paul and . . .” She raised her eyebrows and hummed a bar of “Puff the Magic Dragon.” “No Mary?”

  “No.” Paul’s answer was sharp, and his face grew serious. “My father was killed in Vietnam. It was just my mom, Pete, and I. No Mary.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jane watched as Paul set the picture back on the dresser.

  “It’s all right. It was a long time ago. Mom died of breast cancer in ’98. And Peter—” Paul smiled ruefully. “Pete’s in Iraq doing what he loves best, flying an Apache helicopter and defending our freedom.”

  “Does he know about the twins?”

  Paul shook his head. “No. The last time I spoke with Pete was just before my wedding. We aren’t exactly what you call close.”

  “How sad,” Jane said. She couldn’t imagine life without her large, involved, caring family. Granted, sometimes they seemed a little too involved, but not having them—not having anyone—would be awful. “But he’s your only family—Mark and Madison’s uncle. Shouldn’t you . . . ?” Seeing the pained expression on Paul’s face, she stopped.

  “I know.” Paul took her hand in his for the second time in less than an hour. His eyes met hers. “I wish I had a great family like yours, but I don’t.” He looked down at their hands. “I’m as scared as you are, Jane. Only I’m scared that you’ll disappear. From that first day at the hospital, there was just something about you—a feeling I had. And now it’s hard to believe all you’ve done already—quit your job, sold your house—”

  “It’s a leave of absence,” Jane corrected him. “And the house hasn’t sold yet.”

  “But that you’d give it all up . . . Can you?” He looked at her again. “Can you really? Because this is no dream.”

  Paul didn’t wait for her answer but rose from the bed and made his way toward the corner of the room where a sheet covered a large object. He lifted a corner of the fabric and pulled it back.

  Jane’s eyebrows rose as she looked at rolled blueprints and a professional drafting table. Her mind raced. Was Paul an architect? Or did the table and plans belong to Tami? Jane realized she’d never asked Paul what he did for a living—or had done before getting sick. Their conversations always revolved around the twins—or occasionally Jane’s family. Even at dinner with her parents the other night, Paul had steered the conversation clear of anything to do with his past. Somehow, without really saying it, he always made it seem that topic was off limits.

  Paul took a thick manila envelope from the top of the table and handed it to her.

  Jane’s hands shook as she read the words Last Will and Testament.

  “I need you, Jane.” His voice was thick. “I don’t have much to offer—not even myself, but your name is in there. If you’re willing, I’ve found the mother my children need.”

  Before she could change her mind, Jane stepped forward and threw her arms around him. “I’d be honored,” she whispered as her tears
started in earnest.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Order what you want. My treat,” Jane said, opening her menu.

  “Since it’s your birthday, I should be treating,” Tara protested. Her menu remained closed as she scanned the Michelangelo-inspired art adorning the walls of Assagio Ristorante. “This place is great.”

  Jane smiled. “I’m glad you like it. I chose it because I know how much you love painting.”

  Tara sighed as she reached for her menu. “I used to, didn’t I?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Jane took a drink of water and set the glass down. “There is one thing you could do for my birthday, Tara.”

  “I already broke up with Zack.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful,” Jane said, truly delighted by the news.

  Tara looked hurt. “I wouldn’t say it’s wonderful, but—”

  “Wise,” Jane corrected. “It was a very wise decision.” She beamed at Tara. “I’m proud of you. Now you’ll have time to remember that you love painting—and that you’re very good at it. You’ll be able to have a cat, only take Tae Bo if you want to . . .” Her voice trailed off. “But that’s not what I was going to ask.” She slid a folder across the table. “I want you to sell my house.”

  “What?” Tara exclaimed, nearly rising out of her chair. “Are you crazy? You love the cottage.” She pushed the folder back. “No way. I’m not going to be an accomplice to whatever temporary insanity has gotten into you.”

  “I am perfectly sane,” Jane assured her. “I am also in Paul’s will—as guardian of his children.”

  “Jane, Jane, Jane.” Tara put her elbows on the table and buried her head in her hands. “Have you learned nothing from watching my disasters?”

  Before Jane could answer, the waiter appeared at their table. Jane ordered while Tara studied her menu.

  A few moments later, she looked up. “I’m ready.” Tara leaned toward the waiter and pointed a polished nail at her menu. “I’d like the capellini donato—unless you’d recommend something else.” She tilted her face up expectantly.

  Jane rolled her eyes. Tara couldn’t be that heartbroken over Zack if she could flirt with a guy who was probably still in college.

  “An excellent choice,” he said, and reached for Tara’s menu.

  She stopped him, her hand on his. “Perhaps you will come back later and tell us about the desserts.” The word rolled off her lips seductively.

  “Of course.” He gave a polite nod. Tugging at the menu, he backed away from their table.

  Jane waited until he was out of sight. “Tara, you’re shameless!”

  “Am not.” Tara put on her best pout. “It’s therapeutic, you know. I’ll get over Zack much faster if I find I can still attract other men.”

  “Don’t you think that guy’s a little young for you?”

  “I’m not going to marry him. I don’t even want to go out with him.” Tara picked up her drink. “I just need to know I can get his attention.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you,” Jane said, taking a breadstick from the basket the waiter had brought.

  Tara tapped her nails on the table. “Then just learn from me. I will not sell your house, Jane. You love that place. You love the island.”

  “You’re right. I do,” Jane confessed. “But Tara, I can’t have everything, and I’d rather have Paul and his children.”

  “You’ve only known this guy a month. And here you are, ready to give up your whole lifestyle to suit his? It’s crazy. It’s—it’s something I’d do.”

  “Paul isn’t Zack.”

  “Hel-lo.” Tara waved a hand in front of Jane’s face. “From my point of view, this is what you’re getting. First.” She held up one finger. “A sick man—needs pampering.” She held up another finger. “Second, he’s recently widowed—still loves his wife—not a whole lot of love coming your way. Third and fourth, he’s got two needy children—tons of work. And fifth, medical bills galore. And you’re quitting your job?” Tara shook her head. “Wake up, girl. You’re always warning me about getting my feet wet in murky water. Well you just dove right in, completely ignoring the sign that says Strong Undertow.”

  “Sink or swim,” Jane said lightheartedly.

  Tara didn’t return her smile.

  “And I’m not quitting. I already talked to Ed, and I can come back when I need to.” Jane held the folder out to her again. “Please, Tara. I’ve signed everything, listing you as the realtor. I owe much less than it’s worth now, so it should be an easy sale. You can have the whole commission.” She flipped open the folder. “I’ve taped the key right here.”

  Tara frowned. “You’re already out?”

  Jane nodded. “We packed the past four days, and my brothers are moving the big stuff tomorrow. I really need you to do this for me. Because I can’t.”

  “You can’t because you don’t really want to.”

  “I’ve made my choice.”

  Reluctantly, Tara took the folder. “I’m worried about you, Jane. You’ve always told me I was foolish for jumping into relationships—and you’ve always been right.” She met Jane’s gaze. “I wanted to believe in what you said—that you were holding out for someone special and you’d find him. But this can’t be it.” She shook her head sadly. “Just remember you can always come back to Emerald, and the rolls at the bakery taste even better when you’re recovering from a heartbreak.”

  * * *

  Jane sat on one of the stools at Caroline’s kitchen counter. “How was Madison tonight?”

  Caroline closed the dishwasher. “She was great. Jessica fed her twice and even changed her diaper. I think I’ve just about got myself a babysitter trained.”

  “Good timing,” Jane said. “Cause I think I’m going to be booked from now on.”

  “You think?” Caroline teased. She rinsed out the dishcloth and began wiping down the counter. She stopped when she came to Jane’s purse and the papers next to it. “What are these?”

  “Singles info. Tara made me take them and promise to read them in exchange for her listing my house. She thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

  Caroline tossed the dishcloth in the sink and picked up the papers. “She’s concerned about your decision?”

  Jane smiled. “Funny, isn’t it?”

  “Not really,” Caroline said.

  “Not you too.” Jane frowned.

  “Nope.” Caroline held her hands up. “You won’t hear another word from me. Heaven knows I’ve done enough stupid things in my life that I’d better not judge you.”

  Jane’s frown turned into an outright scowl.

  “Anyway, Tara’s just trying to be a good friend.” Caroline perused the brochures. “Listen to this. My Matchmaker. You get a personal interview where you compose a thoughtful ten- to fifteen-minute video for their library. Says here the success rate is high.” She flipped to the next paper. “Or how about this one—Aim-High Adventures. ‘Meet the man of your dreams doing everything from horseback riding to hot-air ballooning to cooking Thai food.’”

  “Great,” Jane mumbled. She kicked off her shoes as she stifled a yawn. “I need to go to bed.”

  “Wait. One more,” Caroline said. “How about Love and Lunch? It’s the perfect dating solution for the busy professional.”

  Jane slid off the stool. “Afraid I don’t qualify anymore.”

  “It’s hard to imagine what it would be like being single again.” Lost in thought, Caroline set the brochures down and placed both hands on the counter. Her face grew serious as she leaned forward. “If I had ten minutes to describe my perfect man—”

  Ryan walked into the kitchen. “About six feet tall, brown hair, great body,” he said, sucking in his gut. He flexed his biceps before kissing Caroline on the cheek.

  “No.” She made a face. “That’s not how I’d describe him.” She cleared her throat and stood a little taller as if posing in front of a camera. “My idea of a perfect man is one who takes the garbage out every day—without be
ing asked.” She threw a glance in Ryan’s direction. “He also walks the dog whenever it rains, so his wife doesn’t have to, of course.”

  “Dream on, woman,” Ryan said as he opened the freezer and took out a carton of ice cream.

  “But the best thing about my perfect man is—” Caroline turned around, facing Ryan. She leaned back against the counter, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “That when he takes his clothes off— ”

  Jane cleared her throat to let her sister know she was still in the room.

  If Caroline heard, she ignored her. She had Ryan’s full attention now, and Jane watched as Caroline beckoned him closer with the crook of her finger. Ryan set the carton of ice cream on the table and walked toward his wife.

  “When he has all his clothes off,” she continued in a sultry tone as she ran her fingers down his shirt sleeve. “He . . . puts—them—in—the—hamper.”

  Jane smothered a laugh as Caroline pinched her fingers together and then opened them as if dropping something.

  “Oh yes.” Caroline sighed. “That would be one amazing man.” She turned back to the sink, a dreamy look on her face as she picked up the dishcloth and finished wiping down the counter.

  Ryan stood behind his wife, scowling. “Just for that, I’m eating the rest of the Tin Roof Sundae.”

  “Go for it, dear,” Caroline replied. “Just make sure your bowl ends up in the dishwasher when you’re through.”

  “Good night,” Jane called, heading down the hall. She’d heard enough of this kind of banter to know where it was heading. A smile touched her lips. Caroline and Ryan reminded her of the movie Return to Me. They were the happy—if not somewhat insane—married couple with kids swarming all around. Jane’s smile faded. She, on the other hand, was the single and lonely friend in the movie.

  But, Jane reminded herself, by the end of the movie that had changed. The widowed architect had recovered from losing his wife and fallen in love with the heroine—even though she had his wife’s transplanted heart. Jane sighed, remembering the poignant moments of the movie and feeling grateful that at least she didn’t have the heart obstacle to overcome. Still, she couldn’t help but hope she’d end up as happy as that. Paul was an architect too. Maybe that was a good sign.