Aaron sat a little straighter. “Is it something I did?”
“No.” She reached out and touched his hand, but only for the briefest moment. “None of this is your fault. I think it's something I'm going through. I need to close the last chapter in my life before I can start a new one. Does that make sense?”
His expression told him it didn't, but after a few seconds he swallowed hard and looked at her. “Whatever you need, Jamie. I care that much.” He was clearly shocked at the change in her, especially after the nice time they had at Chelsea Piers. “I'll talk to the coordinator and tell them I'm only available in the afternoon.” Since he worked nights, afternoons were bound to be more difficult. More hours awake without a break.
“I'm sorry, Aaron. When I have things figured out I'll tell you. It just …” A lump filled her throat; she waited until it was gone. “It isn't fair to keep you guessing. And unless I take some time, maybe I'll never know what I want. What God wants for me.”
At that last part, his eyes hardened. “I understand.” He pointed to their sandwiches and the regret in his small laugh tore at her. “We better eat.”
Jamie tried, but she barely forced down three bites. She wasn't hungry, not as long as her heart was in a tailspin. The rest of the lunch was awkward, and Jamie wondered if she was losing her mind. Why cut Aaron out now just because she'd met Clay? Just because she had a bad day at St. Paul's?
Not until she was on the ferry, two minutes from Staten Island, did she have an answer for herself. She didn't need time away from Aaron because of her feelings for Clay, but because of her feelings for Aaron—feelings that seemed more and more like friendship with every passing hour. She needed her distance to be sure this thing with Clay wasn't some sort of desperate ploy to avoid getting serious with Aaron. With the captain out of the picture for a while, she could think clearly.
And maybe, when a few weeks had passed, she would know without a doubt that she belonged with Aaron Hisel.
The thought simmered in her mind until she reached her car where she found an envelope in a plastic bag tucked beneath her windshield wipers. She wrinkled her nose. Funny. The ferryboat people didn't usually allow canvassers through their parking lots. She pulled the envelope from the bag and saw her name written across the front.
It was from him; it had to be. She knew it before she opened it, and her fingers trembled as she slipped them beneath the envelope flap and pulled out the note.
Jamie, Thanks again for the great dinner and dress-up party, even though I was disappointed I didn't get to keep the jester hat. I thought it would be a nice touch for the ferry ride
.
He'd jotted down his room number at the hotel. She laughed out loud and turned so she could lean against her car. Her eyes moved further down the page.
Anyway, Joe's going to see Wanda again tonight. I'll be at the Holiday Inn if you want to talk. Thinking about you, Clay
.
She read that last part three times in a row.
Thinking about you, Clay …
He was going to be at a lonely hotel room. She folded the note, put it back in the envelope, and slid into her car. The least she could do was invite him over. They could order pizzas and maybe watch a movie after Sierra went to bed.
Her heart rate picked up at the thought. Yes, that would be a great idea.
She glanced around the lot. What type of car was Clay driving? Some sort of rental, but she wasn't sure what. Then she remembered the note. He was staying at the Holiday Inn. She checked the clock on her dashboard. Forty minutes until Sierra was home. With a heart half a ton lighter than it had been at lunchtime, she headed for the Holiday Inn, parked, and grabbed a piece of paper from a notebook she kept in her van.
Clay, I can't let you stay here alone all night. Especially without your jester hat. After you catch your breath, come over. We'll get pizza and watch a movie if you want. Hats are optional
.
She stared at the rest of the page, the blank part. If she told him she was thinking about him, it would be the truth. But was that more than she should say? After all, she hadn't known him for a week. Still …
Her pen was poised over the page, ready to tell him he wasn't the only one, that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him all day. But at the last second she just signed her name, folded the paper, and ran in to the front desk. She wrote his room number on the front, handed the note to the clerk, and asked her to see that Clay Miles got it.
When she picked Sierra up at school, her daughter looked at her longer than usual. “Something's different about you, Mommy.”
Jamie waited until Sierra was buckled into the backseat. She gave a small, nervous laugh. “You're silly, Sierra. I'm same as always.”
“Nuh-uh.” Sierra set her backpack on the seat beside her. “Didn't you have your volunteer work today?”
“Yes.” Jamie focused on the road, but in her mind all she could see was Clay, coming off the ferryboat, tired, not sure if she'd gotten his note or what her response would be, then getting back to the hotel and reading her letter.
Sierra was saying something. “Most times when you do your volunteer work you look sad, Mommy. But not today, a'cause you know why?”
“Why?” Jamie turned right, onto their street.
“Because today you look happy, so it's a nice change. Don't you think so?”
Suddenly her distracted thoughts settled down long enough to understand the thing her daughter was saying. Most of the time when she worked at St. Paul's she came home looking sad? Was that really how Sierra saw her? If so, what sort of life was that for her daughter? No father, and a mother who was sad more days than not?
Sierra chattered on, something about school and music class and the girl next to her singing too loud. Jamie tightened her grip on the steering wheel and turned into the driveway. She looked different today.
What a profound observation. One more bit of proof that God was bringing about some sort of change in her life—if only she understood exactly what it was. As they walked into the house, Jamie wondered which was more telling: how working at St. Paul's left her downcast, or how today—for a change—she looked happy. Because after working the hardest shift since becoming a volunteer, and then telling the captain she didn't want to see him for a while, there could be only one reason why she'd look happy.
His name was Clay Miles.
S
IXTEEN
Clay was in his room changing when he noticed the light blinking on his motel phone. Probably the front desk asking if he wanted fresh towels. He ignored it and searched through his closet.
The day had been a long one, full of drills and workshops on technique. The group of officers in training would spend the first part of the three weeks learning the most up-to-date detective skills—crime scene forensics, blood-spatter evidence, ballistics testing. The last eight days would send them into the streets of New York, working alongside some of the city's top detectives.
One of the captains briefed them that morning about the realities of the job.
“Some of our crime scenes are, well—” sarcasm filled his tone and his smile—“let's just say they're not in the penthouse district. And some of our investigations take place at night.” The grin faded. ;“You'll wear flak jackets and carry weapons. The streets of New York City ;aren't for the faint of heart.”
Clay received approval to carry a weapon during training from his captain in Los Angeles. Some of the paperwork had to be fast-tracked, but during his first week off the department was able to clear him of any guilt in the shooting of the carjacking suspect.
Good thing. Clay couldn't have made the trip without clearance to carry a weapon. It was why he'd been armed on the ferryboat, and why he'd met Jamie Bryan. Jamie, who'd made it difficult to concentrate these past few days. He was drawn to her in a way that consumed him, left him breathless. Even now he wondered if she'd gotten his note, if she'd considered leaving one on his car, as well. He slipped on a pullover and glanced at the phone again.
What if the message was from Jamie?
He took light running steps to the phone, dialed 0, and sat down on the bed.
“Front desk.”
“Yes, hi.” Clay kicked his feet up and leaned back against the headboard. “My message light was flashing.”
“Okay, sir, let me check that for you. Just a moment.” She was gone for a few seconds. “Yes, a woman came in and gave us a note. It has your first name and room number on it.”
The smile took hold of his face and ;didn't let go. It had to be Jamie. “Could you send it up?”
“Certainly, Mr. Michaels.”
A minute later there was a knock at his door. “Bellman.”
Clay opened it, took the note, and tipped the man. He unfolded the note and read it.
She'd gotten the note, after all. He felt giddy as a schoolboy with a first-time crush, and no wonder. After three years of bad setups and superficial dates, he'd finally met a woman like he'd always hoped. One with goals and values and a faith that colored everything about her.
But this relationship ;wouldn't be easy.
He folded the note, tossed it on the nightstand, and grabbed his keys. On the way across the island he thought about how there had been no pictures of her dead husband anywhere. Not that he was looking, but it seemed strange. She was still single, after all. It would make sense to have pictures up.
Of course, maybe it was part of her healing process. Keeping his image out of sight so she could move on with life. Clay ;wasn't sure. Just that the look in her eyes when she'd talked about him said very clearly she'd never loved anyone the way she'd loved him.
Sadness settled over him, weighing his heart down like a sodden wool cloak.
How smart was it to fall for a woman with that sort of devotion to someone else? Even dead, the man might always hold the first place in her heart, and what sort of life would that be? Second place?
He dismissed the thought.
All of it was insane, anyway. He'd only met her two days before. They'd be friends for the three weeks he was in New York, and maybe write once in a while. What more could ever come of it with him living so far away?
Not until she opened the door did he admit he was fooling himself. Big time.
Through their pizza dinner, he could hardly take his eyes off her. During the ice cream sandwich dessert and a story, compliments of Sierra who was learning to read, he could hardly tear his gaze from her.
Jamie Bryan had captured his imagination from the moment he saw her. There was no logical reason, no explanation, but he was falling. Hard.
And nothing in his power could make him stop.
The story was finished and Jamie moved to the edge of Sierra's bed. She looked back at Clay. “Wanna pray with us?”
“Sure.” His heart thudded against the wall of his chest. This was the picture, ;wasn't it? The family scene he'd been longing for all his adult years? He took his place between them and bowed his head, not sure of their routine.
Sierra reached out and took one hand while Jamie took the other, giving his fingers a light squeeze. She spoke the prayer in hushed tones.
“Dear Jesus, please be with Sierra as she sleeps and please watch over her. Help her to have peaceful dreams and wake up happy about a new day. We know You have great plans for Sierra, God. Please help her to look for those every day of her life. We love You, Lord. Amen.”
Clay held onto Jamie's hand a few seconds after the prayer ended, then let go. When they left her room, he stopped outside Sierra's door. “I love that.”
Jamie smiled. “What?”
“The way you are with her, projecting God's blessings onto her.”
“Oh.” Jamie started down the stairs. She looked over her shoulder as she walked. “You mean the part about God's plans for her?”
“Right.” He stayed close behind her. “Jeremiah 29:11. Kids need to hear that so badly.”
“They do.” She turned around at the foot of the stairs and her smile eased some. “It'd be easy for her to grow up mad at God, because of what happened to Jake.” Her eyes shone with a strength that Clay knew only came from walking in faith. “But God has plans for us no matter what bad thing has happened. Even losing Jake.”
They went into the family room, and Jamie pointed to a shelf of videos. “Feel like a movie?”
“Hmmm.” He sat down at one end of the sofa, glanced around the room, and spotted a backgammon board. “Hey, you play?”
She followed his gaze. “Backgammon? Sure.” She grabbed it and brought it back to the sofa. “Just a minute.” She slipped a CD in the player and before she was sitting down, Kenny Chesney started playing in the background.
“Country, huh?”
“There's something about a good country song.” She took the spot at the opposite end of the sofa so there was enough room to open the game between them. She held his eyes for a few beats. “Country songs tell a story; I like that.”
“Me too.” Clay set up the backgammon pieces and tried to sort through his feelings. They had everything in common, and a chemistry that couldn't be denied. But in less than three weeks he'd be back in LA. He didn't want to think about it.