And through it all, Clay held her hand.
At the part where Simba, the young lion king, meets up with his old childhood girlfriend, Nala, and the two sing about feeling the love in the air that night, Clay ran his thumb over hers. Tears stung at Jamie's eyes, though she wasn't sure why. Whether it was because she and Jake had been childhood friends … or because that very night love, or something like it, was indeed in the air. And it had nothing to do with Jake.
Then when Mufasa's memory spoke to Simba, Jamie felt tears again. The message was the same as what she'd read in Deuteronomy. What Jake had written to her in the margins of his Bible. Loss was part of the package of living, but the fighter remains. He fights the good fight, he gets back in the ring, he never gives up.
He chooses life.
Jamie's heart almost broke when the play ended. Not because the story was so moving, so brilliantly performed. But because when the lights went up, Clay released her hand. Probably for Sierra's benefit. The two of them hadn't had time to talk about what was happening between them, let alone involve Sierra.
On the way home she was more aware of him, the way he walked beside her, his arm brushing against hers, how he sat next to her in the cab, their legs touching. Once in a while she'd catch him watching her. Their eyes would meet and hold, and she'd feel the tingling again, a floating sensation that made her look down to see if her feet were still on the ground.
Back at the house, they went through the nighttime ritual with Sierra, and this time Clay took her hand and Sierra's and offered to pray.
“God, thank You for a wonderful night. Thanks for singing and music and drama.” He paused. “And stories that touch our hearts.”
Jamie was supposed to have her eyes closed, but she couldn't. She kept them open just enough so she could watch Clay, the way he bowed his head and prayed so easily, with a heart for God alone. She'd missed this with Jake, the praying. The thought shot a quick burst of pain into her heart, but it faded as Clay continued.
“You have a plan for each of us. A good plan. Help us keep our eyes open so we won't miss it. Thank You, Lord. Amen.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
Help us keep our eyes open so we won't miss it?
Was he talking about her, the two of them? She didn't ask, and a few minutes later they were downstairs fixing snacks.
The atmosphere remained easy, uncomplicated throughout the evening. They watched country music videos and played backgammon—with Clay winning five out of seven. Jamie told him that Wanda had called her the night before. Joe finally had a chance to meet her children, and when he saw her little boy he broke down.
“I guess he looks exactly like the boy they lost.” Jamie bit her lip. “The kids went upstairs, and Joe wept. The thing was, Wanda didn't know what to do with him. She hadn't drawn comfort from him when their son was killed, and now she didn't know how to give him comfort.”
Clay frowned. “Tough for both of them.”
“But get this.” Jamie dropped the dice she'd been fiddling with, her eyes locked on his. “Joe apologized. He sat her down and even through his tears he told her he was sorry for walking out, for not being there for her when she needed him most.”
“Wow.” Clay crossed his arms. “God's doing something between those two.”
“Definitely.” She looked at the game board. “But I guess he left with things still awkward. Wanda asked me to pray for something to happen, something that will help them break the bonds of the past so they can find a new way to relate to each other.”
The conversation switched to the carjacker Clay had to shoot, and a handful of other calls—gang fights and domestic violence and drug busts—runs that had taken all of his training to pull off.
It was the first time Jamie considered the danger of his job. Just as dangerous as Jake's had been—more so, in some ways.
Her reaction was proof she was different now; she wasn't afraid for him. Whether he remained her friend or something more, she would never again live in fear for the safety of someone she cared about. Besides, like Jake, Clay loved God. And that was enough. Every day when he hit the streets he put on two kinds of armor. His bulletproof vest, and the armor of God.
Fear couldn't add anything to that.
He closed the game board and dug his shoulder into the back of the sofa. “So tell me about you, Jamie. Other than St. Paul's and playing dress-up, what do you do? Hobbies? Sports? Jester training?”
She giggled. “Definitely jester training.” Her smile eased. The question was harder than it seemed. What did she do with her time, after all? “I like to jet ski.” An image of Jake and her flying across the water filled her mind. She willed it to disappear. “And I used to take a ceramics class. You know, pottery, painting little statues, that kind of thing.”
“Not anymore?” Clay angled his head, his expression mildly curious.
“No.” She made a slight lift of her shoulders. “I haven't gotten back into it, I guess.”
“What about the jet skiing?”
She looked at her hands. He wasn't probing, really. Just learning more about her, maybe learning more about how far she'd come since losing Jake. Her eyes met his again. “Not as much as before.”
A knowing filled his eyes. “It was something you did with Jake?”
“Yes.”
He winced a bit. “Sorry … I wasn't … I didn't mean to bring up something that …”
“Something about Jake?” Her heart hit another level of respect for the man across from her. On top of everything else, he was compassionate.
“I guess.” He exhaled through pursed lips. “Sorry.”
;“Don't be.” She hesitated. “For the rest of my life Jake's name will come up. It has to; I shared twenty years with him.” Her voice softened. She was letting Clay see a part of her that few people saw. “At first, after September 11, I couldn't talk about him without breaking down.” She tucked her feet beneath her. “What happened to Jake will always be sad, but I can talk about him now.” She lifted the corners of her mouth. “Time does that to you.”
“You loved him very much, didn't you?” He set the game board on the floor and slid closer.
“Yes.” She shifted her gaze to the chair across the room, the one that had been Jake's. “His memory is always with me.” A Shania Twain song came on the television, a love song that lent an intimacy to the moment. She looked at him again. “And you, Clay? What hearts have you broken?”
“Not many.” He chuckled and shifted so his back was against the sofa. Only a few inches separated them. “The LA girls I've met don't have hearts; just brains and beauty.”
“New Yorkers can be that way too.”
“I'm sure.” His laugh was slow and easy. “Actually, there was one girl, someone I met in high school.”
She studied him, the way his eyes didn't change when he talked about the girl. Whoever she was, Jamie guessed she no longer had a hold on Clay Miles. “Did you date her?”
“No. We were friends. In fact—” his light chuckle made her smile—“she married my brother.”
Jamie raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yep.” He sounded comfortable, as if whatever pain had been involved no longer hurt him.
“Did it make things hard between you and your brother?”
“No.” Clay looked straight ahead at the wall. “My brother's a nice guy. They're happy together; she belongs with him. Besides …”
She waited, but when he didn't finish his thought she had to know. “Besides what?”
He turned to her and searched her eyes. “She never made me feel like this.”
And there it was.
The admission they knew was coming. The special something that had been between them from the moment they met was now out in the open. Her pulse picked up speed. What was she supposed to do? How could she respond when she was blind as a bat in the ways of new love?
She looked down; her hands were trembling. “I … I've felt it since the ferryboat.” Her eyes met his again. “I thought it was just me.”
“It's not.” He took her hand, and worked his fingers between hers. “It's crazy; I haven't known you a week.” She understood the bafflement in his tone, felt it herself. “But I feel something with you I've never felt before.”
They were quiet for a while. Tim McGraw was singing something slow and pretty, and Jamie felt no need to talk. What would they say? Regardless of their feelings, he would go back to California in two weeks.
He spoke first. “I lay awake at night in the Holiday Inn wondering what I'm doing, what could come of this after only three weeks.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I guess that's why I brought it up.”
“Mmmm.” She gave the back of his hand a gentle squeeze. Her heart still tore along, but no longer at breakneck speed. She was nervous, not sure where the conversation was going or whether she could bare her heart enough to tell him her true thoughts—that she struggled with feeling guilty because of Jake, that he would've wanted her to move on. “I've done my share of wondering.”
Clay released her hand and put his arm around her, positioning her so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “When I pray about it, I feel God's hand on this—” he gestured to her and then back at himself—“whatever this is between us.” He held his breath for a moment. “I guess we need to let Him answer the other questions.”
“Exactly.” His statement was the perfect wrap-up for the night, a way to stop herself from overthinking the situation and let the night come to an end. She smiled at him, savoring the feel of her head on his shoulder. “Thanks for a great night.”
“Well …” He raised his brow in mock sarcasm. “We didn't get to wear the hats, but still …” His eyes danced. “It was a pretty good night.”
He stood, helped her to her feet, and walked with her to the front door. His hug didn't linger, didn't suggest anything more than the closeness he'd already admitted to. When he was gone, she stared out the window and watched his car pull away. She explored her feelings. No guilt. No shame.
Something was changing inside her.
Talking about their feelings had been a good thing. Neither of them was willing to rush ahead, to assume they should start a relationship simply because they shared a chemistry. In the meantime, they would enjoy the next two weeks and believe God had a plan for them. Whether that plan found them together.
Or apart.
N
INETEEN
The next week passed in a blur, in which Jamie Bryan was Clay's single focus.
They met at St. Paul's every day Jamie worked and walked through Battery Park, stopping for a few silent moments at the giant globe that was once the courtyard between the Twin Towers. It had been damaged in the terrorist attacks but not destroyed, and now it was on display to commemorate the city's fighting spirit, its will to survive. They took a tour boat to Liberty Island and held hands as they walked along the base of the Statue of Liberty.
There were lunch dates, and dinners with Sierra, and once Clay wore the jester hat when they went bowling.
Now it was Sunday night, and Clay wanted to stop time.
He and Jamie had spent the day in Central Park with Sierra. The temperatures were in the thirties, so they bundled up in coats and hats and scarves, and Sierra convinced them to consider coming back later in the week for an hour of ice skating.
The city was taking on the look of Christmas. Lights were strung across much of the park's perimeter and preparations were being made for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, coming up a week from Thursday. Clay's flight was set for Saturday; five days later he'd be sitting around the Thanksgiving table with Laura and Eric and Josh, wondering if his time in New York was all some sort of marvelous dream.
Wondering how soon he could find his way back.
Time had flown by. In six days his training would be over, and he and Joe would be on a plane back to Los Angeles, ready to start his department training for his new position as detective. He should be excited, focused on the future, the fascinating cases he'd be working on and getting involved in his local church—as he'd planned before he left for New York.
Funny, the last thing he'd told himself was that he'd meet a girl at church. Who knew it would be a church in the heart of New York City?
He stretched out on his hotel bed and stared at a blank spot on the wall. It was just after nine o'clock; Sierra and Jamie had homework to focus on, so he'd made an early night of it. But the day had been amazing, full of the sweet glances and joined hands that had come to mark their time together.
He wanted to get back in his car and drive to Jamie's house so they wouldn't miss a minute of the time they had left. But this was good, this time apart. Even for a single evening. He needed time to think of a plan, a way to connect her world with his. The holidays were coming up, so maybe that was the answer.
Pictures played in his mind: Jamie and Sierra sitting around the table with Eric and Laura and Josh. Jamie would love all of them, but then what? Would she consider relocating if things between them continued? She had nothing concrete holding her in Staten Island—nothing except a lifetime of memories and her work at St. Paul's.
There was the possibility he could find a job in Manhattan with the NYPD, but that wasn't what he wanted. The weather was already near freezing, when back home it was still in the midseventies. Then there was the obvious—it would be close to impossible to start a life with Jamie in the place where she and her husband had shared a million memories, the place where he worked and died.