Aaron wasn't quite six feet tall, but he had her beat by a few inches. He looked down at her, his eyes a sea of patience. “Just think about it, Jamie. Okay?”
“Okay.” She felt all disconnected, as if her mouth was operating separate from her heart and mind and soul. “I'll think about it.”
A smile played in Aaron's eyes. “Good.” He pulled her close and gave her an easy hug, then walked with her toward the ferry. It was earlier than she usually left, but she needed some alone time, time to process what he'd just told her.
All afternoon while she was waiting for Sierra to come home from school, and even while she helped her daughter with homework, Jamie tried to consider the idea of dating Aaron Hisel.
By the time she tucked Sierra in for the night and gave her butterfly kisses the way Jake used to do, she had willed herself to consider the idea without feeling sick with betrayal. He was handsome, a great guy who knew her pain better than any other man except Eric Michaels—and she'd never see him again.
She and Aaron shared an event that would forever color their pasts, forever shape their futures. Maybe he was right; maybe it was a logical idea, a way to ensure that she and Sierra wouldn't be alone.
It wasn't until she was falling asleep that she remembered something from earlier that day. They'd been eating lunch and Aaron's arm had brushed up against hers. She'd made a note of it, but only in the most comfortable sense. Because Aaron was her friend.
But when her arm had brushed up against Jake's arm—even the last week of his life, when they were jet skiing together—she felt the sensation throughout her body. Jake's touch was electrifying; it had always been that way. But Aaron? Aaron's was comfortable, nothing more.
So maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Maybe there'd never be anyone who electrified her heart and soul the way Jake did, but maybe that was okay. It was still possible she and Aaron could build a relationship. After all, Jake was gone, and she was more lonely than she wanted to admit.
There was one problem.
She'd always been honest with Aaron. She could tell him she'd think about the possibility of the two of them; she could promise he would always be her friend no matter what, even if that meant a comfortable friendly out-together-sometimes relationship. That would be the truth. But if she told him she was open to the possibility of finding their way together, to the chance of falling in love with him, she'd be doing something she'd never done to him before.
She'd be lying.
The place in her heart for electricity and sparks and fireworks, the place that still went weak at the knees at his memory, would always belong to one man and one alone: Jake Bryan.
Even if she had to wait a lifetime to see him again.
FIVE
Sue Henning was walking past a picture of Larry, hurrying from one room to another trying to clean the house for Jamie's visit, when it hit her. Larry had been dead for three years. Three long years.
The anniversary of September 11 didn't allow her time for private reflection, but sometimes—without warning—she would hear Larry's hearty laugh, or smell a faint whiff of his cologne from the bathroom where it stood to this day, untouched. Something would trigger his memory, the image of his sweet freckled face—and the enormity of his loss would hit her all over again.
It happened less often these days, and that, in and of itself, was painful. How dare her mind and heart and soul move on without him, without the life they'd known and loved? They had two children, and once in a while something seven-year-old Katy said or the way little Larry—not quite four—waved at her with one finger, the same way her Larry had always waved at her, triggered the loss.
This time it was the photograph.
The look in Larry's eyes reached out and stopped her in her tracks, demanded that here, now, she remember all he was and all she'd lost. Sue sucked in a fast breath and grabbed the edge of the countertop where the photo stood.
Larry … I haven't forgotten.
She looked at the edges of his face, the way his eyes twinkled, and she tried to remember those same lines in motion, smiling and talking and loving her late at night. The memory of them was dimmer now, and there was nothing she could do about it. Time stole a little more of it every day.
The doorbell rang, and just as quickly the moment passed.
Jamie hadn't been by in a week, and Sue missed her terribly. The two were closer than sisters since September 11. They talked about their kids—Katy and Sierra were still best friends—and the ways they spent their time. But mostly they talked about the past, about happy moments and memories that had no chance of surviving if they weren't unfolded and held up for display every now and then.
Her friendship with Jamie was God's gift, no doubt. A safe harbor, a place where they could each be completely vulnerable, no matter if the world thought it was time they moved on. And in the midst of that harbor, Sue had found in Jamie the best girlfriend she'd spent a lifetime wishing for.
She gave a last look at Larry's picture and called out over her shoulder. “Just a minute …”
It was four o'clock in the afternoon, so Sierra would be with Jamie. The girls could hardly wait to play together and days like this—when the sun was still shining and winter seemed a month away—they could go out back and play the way they'd played since they were toddlers.
Her house was on Staten Island, same as Jamie's. It gave them more room to spread out than they'd have had with a house in the city, and a way to feel disconnected from the hustle of Manhattan. She opened the door and grinned at Jamie. “I miss you, girl. You have to come more than once a week!”
Jamie hugged her. “I know. I was having withdrawals.”
Sierra stepped in, her blonde hair falling like a silk curtain over her shoulders. “Hi, Mrs. Henning. Is Katy upstairs?”
“Yes, honey.” Sue hugged Sierra. “She's waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” Sierra ran off and stopped only a moment to brush her fingers through little Larry's hair. “Hi, buddy. Whatcha doing?”
The boy was wearing a miniature Nets jersey, and he had a basketball under one arm. “Shooting hoops.”
Larry's small plastic basketball hoop stood on one side of the living room, surrounded by a sofa and a loveseat. Sue didn't mind the boy shooting baskets in the house. The child was practically fanatical about the sport; as long as he had a ball in his hands he was happy. And if he was happy, she and Jamie could hold a conversation without interruption.
Sierra ran off, and Sue motioned to a quieter alcove, a place where they could sit and still see little Larry, but not be hit by loose balls. Sue had made iced tea, and two tall glasses stood on a table surrounded on two sides by comfy chairs.
Jamie was quieter than usual. She dropped into one of the overstuffed chairs, planted her elbows on the arms, and covered her face. After a moment she let her hands fall to her lap and she looked at Sue. “I wanted to come earlier, but Sierra begged me to wait until she was out of school.” Jamie's tone was serious, the corners of her eyes tight with the small lines of worry. She pursed her lips, her eyes locked on Sue's. “You aren't going to believe this.”
Sue took the seat closest to her friend and tried to seem interested. “Something at St. Paul's?” Jamie almost always started their conversations with a story from St. Paul's. There was a time when Sue wanted nothing more than to be at the quaint little chapel. For months she would've gladly gotten up every day and gone to St. Paul's, walked the walls of memories and mementos, and pretended even for an hour that the souls lost that day were still vibrant and alive.
But never once had she considered volunteering there.
She was worried about Jamie. It was one thing to help out for a while. But Jamie had been working three days a week, sometimes four, ever since the first anniversary, the day they reopened the chapel to the public.
Jamie shook her head; her face was tight and pale. “Not St. Paul's. Captain Hisel.”
“Captain Hisel?” Sue wrinkled her nose. Jamie and the captai
n were friends; everyone knew that. Now Sue felt her heart skip a beat as she waited for the news. “He's okay, isn't he?”
“Yes.” She gave a quick nod. “Nothing like that.”
Sue felt her heart skitter back into a normal rhythm. That was one thing about September 11. Before that day, Sue was vaguely aware of tragedy; now in some morbid sort of way, she expected it. As if by expecting it, the eventual blows life dealt would somehow be easier to take. “Okay. Then what am I not going to believe?”
“I wanted to call you yesterday, but I had to work through it.”
Sue was even more confused. “Work through something with the captain?”
“Aaron.”
“Okay, Aaron.” Sue took a sip of her tea. “It's still weird to think of him that way, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Jamie sat back in her chair and gripped the arms. “Wait till you hear this.”
Sue waited. The quieter she was, the better chance Jamie would get to the point. At that moment the girls came barreling down the stairs.
Katy skipped into the room, breathless and happy. Sierra was close on her heels. “Can we go outside and play?”
Sue looked at Jamie and caught her look of approval. She smiled at Katy and pointed to the closet. “Get your coat. It's almost dark and the nights are getting colder now.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
Sierra raised her eyebrows at Jamie. “Me too?”
“Yes, silly. You too.” Jamie was clearly trying to keep her tone light.
When the girls were gone, Sue looked at Jamie. “So …?”
“Okay.” She breathed in slow through her nose. “Here's what happened.” Jamie's fingers came together. The tips of her knuckles were white. “Yesterday after working at St. Paul's, Aaron and I went to Battery Park with our lunch. I didn't think anything of it, I mean, at the time I didn't, anyway. We eat out together all the time, especially after working at the chapel.”
Sue nodded. “All the time.”
“But yesterday there was something different in his eyes. I couldn't put my finger on it while we were at St. Paul's, but when we were sitting on a bench at the park, watching the tourist boats in the harbor, I asked him about it.” Jamie paused. Her shoulders sank a notch, and the lines on her forehead grew more pronounced. “He told me he has feelings for me, Sue. That he could picture the two of us together some day, and that … that I should at least think about it.”
Relief flooded Sue's veins. Relief and sorrow all at the same time. Her question to her friend was both kind and pointed. “Can you blame him, Jamie?”
Jamie leaned forward. Her eyes held an angst Sue had never seen there before. “Can I blame him?” She uttered a sound that fell short of a laugh. “I wasn't sure whether to kick him or run for my life.”
Sue tried to picture her feisty friend having that reaction to Captain Hisel's admission. “Jamie, you didn't kick him!”
“No.” She bit the inside of her lip. “But I didn't run, either.”
“Because …”
“Because maybe I didn't want to run.” Her voice cracked. “And maybe that's worse.”
Sue set her tea down. Her heart hurt for her friend. Moving on was going to be painful for both of them, but it was bound to come. Time would see to that. She reached out and took hold of Jamie's knee. Her voice was just loud enough to hear. “Because maybe deep down you've considered the possibility yourself? Is that it?”
“I don't know.” Jamie's lower lip and chin quivered. “I don't know, Sue. I only know that I feel this terrible guilt, as if I'm betraying Jake by even talking about this.”
For a long while, Sue said nothing. There were no rule books or guidelines about how to start living again. Some FDNY widows had already remarried, some not much more than a year after the attacks. Neither Sue nor Jamie could imagine moving on so quickly, but everyone handled grief differently.
And not everyone had a husband like Larry or Jake.
Sue tucked her feet beneath her up onto the chair and stared out the window. The girls were swinging, pushing their toes toward the sky and giggling all the while. She looked back at Jamie. “I've wondered about this, about whether I could ever even find another man attractive after Larry.”
Jamie massaged her temples. “You never told me.”
“It's like you said, just mentioning the idea feels like a crime.”
“But when you do …” Jamie looked at the floor for a moment, and then back up at Sue. “When you do think about it, how do you usually end up feeling?”
Peace hugged Sue's shoulders and settled in beside her. She spread her hands out before her and nodded toward little Larry and the girls in the backyard. “Like this is enough. My children, my memories. They're all I need. At least for now, until God shows me something different.”
“What if that's what He's showing me?”
“Well …” Sue took hold of her tea again. She ran her fingers along the dewy moisture that had built up on the glass. “Do you, you know, do you feel anything when you're with Capt—” She caught herself. “When you're with Aaron?”
Jamie closed her eyes and scrunched her face. When she opened them she looked more bewildered than before. “Not really.” She lifted her hands from her lap and dropped them again. “But the idea of being more than friends isn't altogether horrible, either.”
“Hmmm.”
“Yeah, I know.” She stood and paced across the room. For a few moments she watched little Larry make three baskets in a row. Then she came back and sat in her chair again. “No one ever teaches you how to do this.”
“No.”
“I've been thinking what would Jake want, and even there I'm not sure.” Jamie ran her finger around the rim of her iced tea glass, her eyes distant. “He wouldn't want me alone, not for the rest of my life.” She looked up. “But how could he want me with another man?”
“I've thought about that too.” Sue's stomach turned. The conversation was as difficult for her as it was for Jamie. They hadn't wanted their marriages to end; they'd simply been cut short. And in their place was a void that even the best memories couldn't fill completely. “Of course Jake wouldn't want you to fall in love with someone else, not if he were here. But he isn't. He's gone, and so is Larry.”
“But it feels so wrong, like they aren't really dead unless … until we move on with life, find someone new.” Jamie's voice was thick with emotion. “You know?”
“Yes.” Sue thought of something. “There is something else.”
“What?”
“What's Aaron think of your faith?”
Jamie hesitated, but only for a minute. “He … he teases me about it, especially when I say I'm praying for him. He tells me there's no point.”
“Hmmm. I didn't know that.”
“Some of the guys at the department struggle with faith, at least that's what Aaron tells me. I hadn't thought much about that.” She took a sip from her glass and looked at Sue over the rim. “Too busy trying to sort through my feelings, I guess.”
Quiet came over them again. Sue wasn't sure what to say. She was certain a relationship with Aaron should never materialize as long as he didn't share Jamie's faith. But it was probably too soon to say anything. Still, she couldn't stay silent; her faith wouldn't allow it. She bit her tongue and tried to pick the right words.
After another minute, Jamie said, “I know what you're thinking.”
“What?” Sue crossed her legs.
“You're thinking Aaron isn't a believer. Right?”
Sue pursed her lips. “Was it written on my forehead?”
“No.” Jamie sank back into her chair. She sounded defeated. “In your eyes.”
“I'm not saying I'm right, Jamie, but if I were you I'd keep his friendship and consider anything more a closed subject.”
“Except for one thing.”
“What?”
“Jake didn't do that to me. He loved me despite my lack of faith … and look what happened.”
“You we
re kids when you met, that's different.” Sue could've said more, but she didn't want to push, not now. “God will make it all clear to you—however things work out.”
“Yes.” The lines on Jamie's forehead eased completely and her eyes looked more peaceful. “I'll keep you posted. I guess the whole discussion has made me wonder if it's time to move on, to think of myself as single, not widowed.”
Sue smiled, the first time either of them had done so since they sat down. “Since you brought it up …”
“Brought what up?”
“Moving on.” Sue uncrossed her legs and slid to the edge of her chair. “Jamie, maybe it's time you stopped working at St. Paul's.”
Jamie's eyes grew wide and her mouth hung open. “Quit St. Paul's?” Jamie uttered a hard exhale and raked her fingers through her dark hair. “St. Paul's and Sierra—that's all that drives me, Sue. God's given me those two as a reason to get up every morning, to keep existing even when I feel like I'm already dead.”
Sue put her hand on Jamie's knee again. “But maybe that feeling is because of St. Paul's, because you're reminded of September 11 over and over again.”
“No.” Jamie gave a hard shake of her head. “It's not because of St. Paul's. That chapel gives me a way to keep Jake's legacy alive, a way to help other people have faith and hope, the way Jake would've helped them if he were still alive. Every day I go there I feel a little better about myself, my purpose in life. Even when I leave there exhausted.”
Sue didn't say anything; she didn't have to. If Jamie was leaving St. Paul's feeling emotionally drained, then maybe she would see it was time for a break. She'd said as much before, but Jamie was determined to stay at St. Paul's. The place made her feel closer to Jake. Only Jamie could make the decision about leaving. “Okay.” Sue looked at the girls again. “I'll ask you the same thing Aaron did.” She caught Jamie's eyes again. “Just think about it.”
They were too close to argue, and even now Jamie didn't seem frustrated by Sue's request. Just certain. “The day it doesn't feel like Jake's up there smiling at me, I'll turn in my notice, deal?”
The Tuesday Morning Collection Page 44