All The Stars In Heaven

by Michele Paige Holmes

  She stiffened at first, then forced herself to relax, almost resting her head against his shoulder. Another first. She was surprised how comfortable it felt. There were seldom hugs in her home, nor expressions of affection, physical or otherwise. Jay’s hand at her waist, his arm across her back, his shoulder beside hers—it all felt so good.

  They stared out at the water, peaceful and calm.

  “You know,” Jay said, “it was pretty miserable when Washington and his men rowed across the Delaware on Christmas night, 1776. The river was partially frozen, and they had to use their oars to break up chunks of ice.”

  She knew this story well. “Many had nothing more than rags to wrap around their hands and feet to protect them from the bitter cold.”

  “That trip took courage and faith,” Jay said.

  “Probably a little bit of insanity too,” she concluded.

  He shook his head. “Not insanity so much, but desperation. The tide of war was not in their favor, and the outlook was bleak. They had to take a risk.”

  Sarah sighed. She could guess where he was going with this.

  “Freedom was a long, difficult process,” Jay said. “Years.”

  “I know.” She blinked, the sudden burning behind her eyes catching her by surprise.

  “And worth it,” Jay finished.

  His arm tightened around Sarah’s waist, and a warm rush of gratitude filled her. Who would have imagined a month ago, a week ago—yesterday—that she would be standing here beside this amazing man, this ally—a friend?

  A lone boat rowed near the shore, caught in a ray of moonlight shining on the water. The simple beauty of the peaceful scene—and the events of the day—finally overwhelmed her. Emotions she’d kept in check began spilling down her cheeks.

  Jay turned to her again and used his thumb to brush a tear from her face. He took her hand and held it high in the air with his own.

  “To victory.”

  Taking courage, Sarah raised her other hand.

  “To freedom.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Grant plunked the manila folder on the kitchen table and took a seat opposite Carl. “Pizza again?” He scowled at the open box and shoved it aside.

  Carl took a bite that encompassed half his slice. “What’d you find?”

  “He’s no attorney, just a student. And worse, he’s got a record.”

  “Everyone’s got a record. Who cares?” Carl picked up his beer and tilted his head back, chugging.

  “I care when it concerns my daughter.” Grant popped open a can and took a long drink. “I especially care because he did time for possession, use, and distribution.”

  Carl leaned forward, laughing, choking, spewing liquid from his nose. “This is good.”

  Grant ignored him, reclining in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. “It seems that Mr. Kendrich had a little cocaine problem a few years back. Got so bad that he did some jail time. He straightened up and has been clean ever since—supposedly.”

  “Supposedly?” Carl stuffed the rest of the slice in his mouth, then wiped his face with the back of his hand. “What you got in mind, Chief?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

  Grant flipped open the folder, turned it around, and pushed it toward Carl. “This is going to take at least a month to set up, and you’re going to have to be very careful.”

  “A month?” Carl frowned. “I’m telling you, there’s easier ways to get rid of this guy. And isn’t Rossi going to get suspicious if Sarah’s not doing her job for a month?”

  Anxiety flashed briefly in Grant’s eyes. “Let me worry about Rossi. And you’re going to do this my way. Thanks to your stunt with the truck, anything sloppy will lead the authorities right to our door.” Grant poised his finger on a map inside the folder. “But if we play things right, Mr. Kendrich will be out of the picture, and Sarah will have learned a valuable lesson.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jay bounded down the stairs, two at a time, backpack jostling against his side. He had an early class, but he wanted to stop in and see Sarah before heading to campus. She had walked with him the past two mornings, but today Trish and Archer were going to be her escorts. Though Jay still thought her dad’s worry was excessive, it did make him a little uneasy. And it never hurt to be careful.

  At the bottom of the stairwell, he stopped and knocked on the door on the ground floor. A fall wreath hung at the top, and white lace curtains covered the glass behind it. He could tell the kitchen light was on.

  “Come in, Jay,” Mrs. Larson said as she pulled open the door. “Sarah didn’t tell me you were joining us for breakfast.”

  “I’m not,” Jay said, though the smells coming from inside the apartment were enough to make him reconsider. “I’ve got a class to get to. I wanted to say hi to Sarah before I go.”

  “Hi yourself,” she said, appearing in the doorway beside Mrs. Larson.

  She was wearing an old-fashioned apron over her clothes and had her hair piled on her head in a messy bun. A few strands had escaped on either side and hung down in front, framing her face. He resisted the urge to lean forward and tuck them behind her ears. Instead, he commented on the new glasses she’d picked up yesterday afternoon.

  “Those frames look great on you.” They really did, accentuating her eyes and no longer hiding the rest of her face.

  “Thank you.” She held a muffin out to him. “Blueberry. Fresh from the oven.”

  “I wasn’t stopping by for food, but since you insist . . . thanks.” His fingers brushed hers as he took the muffin.

  She smiled and looked down at the floor as her cheeks turned pink.

  I love that about you, Jay thought. Love that my touch affects you as much as yours affects me. And I love that you can’t hide it.

  “Well, if you’re certain you can’t stay.” Though smiling, Mrs. Larson leaned heavily on the door, as if she wished to close it.

  Jay was certain she did. She was ever the conservationist, continually lecturing her tenants about their excessive use of electricity. She didn’t believe in air-conditioning and rationed heat like they were living in the era of the Great Depression. Windows open at night in summer, rags in the windows and beneath the doors in winter, she always told them.

  He held his hand up in farewell as he stepped back. “See you later. Have a great day.”

  “Bye,” Sarah said.

  Did I detect wistfulness in her voice?

  Mrs. Larson closed the door. He headed off to class, feeling inordinately happy as he took a bite of muffin and walked the tree-lined streets.

  Sarah seemed to be adjusting well. Thus far, her creepy cousin hadn’t shown up to bother her, and Jay had spent as much time with her as possible the past three days. Each day she opened up a little more. Considering the environment she’d come from, she was adjusting very well. Jay knew that much of that had to do with where she was staying, and he had hope that her current living arrangement would last beyond the week.

  Trish, on the other hand, was certain she could pull strings to get Sarah in her sorority and was still vying for her to apply. Jay didn’t think that was such a great idea, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing how important it was for Sarah to start making her own decisions. In the meantime, Mrs. Larson was far less intimidating than Trish and her apartment full of giddy females. As he had hoped, Mrs. Larson had taken Sarah under her wing and appeared to be thoroughly enjoying having someone to fuss over. And while Sarah had been guarded her entire life, to her recollection she’d never had anyone mother her the way Mrs. Larson did.

  “Mrs. Larson brought me a glass of warm milk last night,” she’d told Jay at lunch yesterday.

  “Maybe that’s her before-bed tradition,” Jay suggested. “I warned you she can be a little eccentric.”

  Sarah shook her head. “It wasn’t before bed. It was the middle of the night. I was having a nightmare, and she came in and woke me up. Then she heated the milk for me and sat on the edge of my bed and tol
d me about her daughter.”

  “I didn’t know she had a daughter,” Jay said.

  “She doesn’t,” Sarah said sadly. She set her uneaten apple on top of her bag. “Her name was Katie, and she died when she was ten—polio.”

  “I knew Mrs. Larson had been married, but, wow.”

  “Katie was her only child. They wanted to have more but never could.”

  “How sad,” Jay said.

  “It is,” Sarah agreed. “That house she lives in—and all the apartments it’s divided into now—was the one she and her husband bought shortly after they were married. They wanted to fill it with children.”

  “No wonder she gets so upset when Archer fills it with women and loud music and stinky meat.”

  “Stinky meat?” Sarah’s nose wrinkled as if she were imagining the smell.

  “Long story,” Jay said. “Ask Trish sometime.”

  “Okay.”

  Jay wasn’t sure if Sarah would ever ask Trish, but she was talking to him a little more each day. She’d confided in him how terrified she was that day he’d taken her to the museum, how she’d worried she wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation with anyone for that long.

  Now she was learning they could talk a lot longer than an hour.

  And on Saturday, we’ll see how we do for a full day. Jay polished off the muffin and walked toward Langdell. He needed to work hard for the next couple of days because Saturday he had big plans involving Sarah and Boston. She’d never been to the city except to attend her class at the conservatory. He got excited thinking of all the things she would be experiencing for the first time.

  Vaults of possibility were opening for both of them, and he had a feeling that they were just scratching the surface.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jay handed Sarah an electronic pass card as they walked over to the turnstiles.“Your first gift of the day. This is a student pass, and it’s good for the rest of the semester. You swipe it like this.” He inserted his own card.

  She did the same, then used her hip to push through the stile, grinning at him when she’d gone through.

  He took her hand as they made their way toward the train. “The T runs until 12:45 a.m. You can catch it about every fifteen minutes during the week. It’s a little slower on weekends.”

  Sarah stood up on her toes trying to see over the people in front of her. “This is so exciting.”

  Jay laughed. “That’s it. I’ve got to take you to Disneyland someday.”

  Her eyes widened. “That would be great. I still remember when a girl in my sixth-grade class did her ‘What I Did Last Summer’ report on their family vacation to Disney World. It was hard to imagine that such a place really existed.”

  “It does.” He gave her hand a squeeze as the crowd surged forward. “Come on. The monorail awaits.”

  Jay enjoyed the ride into Boston more than ever before. He enjoyed watching Sarah watch everything and everyone else. There were plenty of seats at first, but after a few stops in the city, it was standing room only.

  “Will we have to stand on the way home?” she asked, sounding worried.

  “Depends,” Jay said. “At least we’re safe this time—unless some little old ladies get on. Then we should probably let them have our seats.”

  Sarah looked repulsed as she studied the straps hanging overhead.

  “What’s wrong?” Jay asked.

  “I’m thinking of how many different hands have probably touched those.”

  Jay chuckled to himself, then noticed her hands, folded prim and proper on her lap. When they turned a corner, she leaned but didn’t touch the side bar or place her hand on the seat for support. He remembered the unusual way she’d gone through the turnstile at the station.

  “Uh-oh. I’m dating a germ-o-phobe.”

  She nodded solemnly. “Afraid so.”

  “I’m impressed that you let me hold your hand.”

  “That’s different,” Sarah said, looking away.

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Jay chuckled. “But you’re going to have to touch stuff today. Why don’t we stop at the store and buy a bottle of hand sanitizer?”

  “You want me to carry around a can of Lysol?” She looked appalled. “I’m weird enough already. I wish I had my gloves, but they weren’t in the suitcase my dad gave you.”

  “We’ll buy new ones. You’ll need them soon enough anyway,” Jay said. “And I didn’t mean a can of Lysol. Haven’t you seen those little bottles of sanitizer? Everyone carries them around now. If you’re that freaked out about germs—” He glanced at the hanging loops. “Come on. This is our stop.” He stood, then took Sarah’s hand, pulling her up so she wouldn’t have to touch the bar.

  The train slowed; the doors folded open. Jay tugged Sarah along through the stream of people coming and going. He headed for the stairs. “Race you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s fun and there’s so much I want to show you today. And that was before I put buying sanitizer and gloves on the list. Ready. Set.” He set his foot on the bottom stair. “Go.”

  He bounded up the steps, Sarah one stair behind him the whole way. He reached the top and held his hands up in a show of victory. She stopped on the last stair and bent over, breathless.

  “Better add eating something good too, if you expect me to run around like this all day.”

  “Eating is definitely part of the plan,” Jay said. “But first, it’s time you went whale watching.”

  * * *

  Sarah leaned against the rail, watching the Boston shoreline grow in size as their boat drew closer. She’d just spent the two most amazing hours of her life out on the ocean, feeling the crisp, salty sea air blow in her face, glimpsing one of God’s most awesome creations, while standing beside the nicest person she’d ever known.

  The boat docked, and she followed Jay toward shore, staggering down the ramp.

  “Careful. You’ve got a case of sea legs.” He took her arm as they walked.

  “Thank you, Jay. That was incredible. I can’t believe we actually saw one.” She took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air.

  “Its tail, anyway,” Jay said.

  “Well, yes,” Sarah said. “I guess that’s what we get for being on the wrong end of the boat.”

  “That’s what I get for watching you instead of the water,” Jay said.

  Sarah looked at him sideways. “Do you enjoy making me blush so much?”

  “Every time,” he admitted. “Red becomes you.”

  “I feel like I’m going to be white soon if we don’t eat. Do you want to see what I look like when I pass out?”

  “Not particularly. Think of all the germs here at the wharf. That will keep you upright a little longer.”

  “Funny,” Sarah said, not laughing. They reached the dock and Jay let go of her arm. “How do you feel about seafood?”

  She shrugged. “You mean beyond your basic fish sticks?”

  “Answered that question. Give me two more blocks, and I’ll feed you the best meal you’ve ever tasted.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Sarah said. “Mrs. Larson makes a fabulous chicken pot pie.” Thinking of it made her stomach grumble. From her pocket she pulled the miniature bottle of sanitizer that Jay had bought. “Want some?”

  “Sure.” Jay held out his hands. “Aren’t you glad we stood on the deck and leaned over the rail?”

  “Very.” She squirted sanitizer on her own hands, rubbed them together, then dangled them at her sides so they would dry.

  Sarah walked beside Jay along the wharf—faster than she would have liked—though she was hungry. There was so much to see, smell, hear. Taste. They passed a street vendor with steam and a delicious aroma coming from his cart. Sarah cast a longing look at him before forcing herself to face forward again.

  Beside her, Jay laughed. “Many women would be mortified to let their dates know they’re hungry.”

  “Why?” Sarah looked at him, baffled.

&n
bsp; “I don’t really know. Other than it’s some weird female thing. I don’t think guys are supposed to know that women have physical needs like we do.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re not blushing.”

  “I’m not embarrassed. Just starving.”

  “Good. Because we’re here.” Jay stepped aside so Sarah could walk in front of him down a narrow dock.

  She looked at the compact, worn, wooden building at the end of it. Glancing down, she tried to tell if it was floating or attached to the land.

  Jay reached in front of her to open a creaky door. She stepped inside a dark-paneled, dimly-lit room. The odor of fish nearly knocked her backward.

  “We’ll eat outside. Don’t worry.”

  “I am worried.”

  “Trust me,” Jay said.

  The hostess came, asked where they wanted to be seated, and took them up a winding staircase to a narrow deck outside. Jay seemed to already know what he wanted, and Sarah urged him to order for her as well.

  Bringing her hands to her mouth, she blew on them. The view was gorgeous, and she didn’t think she could stand the smell inside, but the breeze outside was a little chilly.

  “Would you like a coffee or hot chocolate?” Jay asked Sarah as the hostess/waitress pulled out a notepad.

  “Hot chocolate.”

  “Two please,” Jay said. “With extra whipped cream.”

  The waitress left, and Jay scooted his chair close to Sarah’s. “Give me your hands.”

  She was only too happy to comply. He took them in his and began rubbing.

  Sarah felt warmer almost instantly—his touch had a way of doing that. “Do you come here a lot?”

  “At the end of every semester—usually to celebrate making it through finals. I discovered this place my first year. And though I’ve tried other seafood restaurants . . . Well, you’ll see.”

  Their waitress returned and set two steaming mugs on their table.

  “Thanks,” Jay said. He unwrapped his silverware and used his spoon to take a bite of the whipped cream piled on top, then lifted the mug to his lips and took a drink. “Very hot. Careful.”