He exhaled and glanced at the nightstand. His cell phone was finished charging. Maybe he could call Eric and ask for advice, suggest the Thanksgiving idea and see what he thought. He picked up the phone, dialed the number, and waited.
Eric answered on the second ring, his voice upbeat. “Hey, it's my little brother! We thought you fell off the face of the earth.”
“Sort of.” Clay laughed. “I haven't had a free minute.”
“They have you working twenty-fours, huh? I thought for sure they'd give you a few hours off here and there to call home.” Eric was enjoying the moment. “Laura and I were trying to guess what had happened to you, so I told her you probably met someone, fell in love, and decided to get a police job in New York.”
“Well …” Clay formed a stack of pillows behind his back and leaned into them. “I'm not getting a job in New York.”
Eric was silent for a moment. Then he uttered a single chuckle. “You telling me the other part's true?”
“I don't know.” He tried to picture his brother, face expectant, certain Clay was messing with him. “I think so.”
“Really?”
This time Eric sounded excited. “You met someone? Hey, that's great! Where'd you meet her?”
“It was the strangest thing.” Clay laughed again and told Eric the story. “They had a gun in her ribs by the time we pulled our weapons on them.”
“Serious? That's amazing!” Eric paused. “So basically, you saved her life?”
“Pretty much.” He smiled. The room was cold, but he didn't mind. Any time he thought about Jamie he felt warm inside. “I've seen her every day since.”
“Every day?” Concern tinged Eric's tone. “What happens when you come back home?”
“We haven't talked about it really. Jamie's told me she has feelings for me, and I've told her the same thing. But that's as far as we've gone.” He let his head fall back against the headboard. “I'm thinking about inviting her for Thanksgiving dinner. She and her daughter could fly out and join us at your house.” He paused. “What do you think?”
The line was silent.
“Eric?” Clay checked his cell phone; he hadn't lost the call. “Hey, Eric, you there?”
“I'm here.” His voice held none of his previous excitement. “Her name's Jamie?”
“Yeah.” Clay forced a chuckle. What did his brother care about her name? “Anyway, I've spent a lot of time with her and her daughter. Even their cat. I'd love to invite them for Thanksgiving.”
“Definitely.” Eric's answer was quicker than before but his tone was still distracted. “Invite her; if she's got your attention we'd love to meet her.”
The conversation stalled after that. Clay promised to call again toward the end of the week—to let them know if Jamie and her daughter would be coming. Then he hung up and stared at the phone. What was Eric's deal? Was he hesitant about Jamie because Clay had only known her for a few weeks? Or because something at home had his attention?
It didn't matter.
What did matter was how he was going to convince Jamie to fly to LA for Thanksgiving. The plan was crazy because who did that? Who invited a woman across the country for dinner when they'd only known each other a few weeks? But it wasn't impossible. People found love at first sight all the time, didn't they? Besides, they weren't fresh out of college. They were adults; they knew enough about love to recognize it when it hit them square in the face.
Not that what they shared was love. Not yet. They still hadn't kissed, hadn't allowed their conversations to get deeper than that one night over backgammon. But they held hands, and he could read her eyes well enough to know she cared.
Would she come for Thanksgiving? Clay didn't know, but he was sure of one thing. If she and Sierra came for Thanksgiving, they would hit it off great with Eric and Laura and Josh. His brother was bound to make Jamie feel comfortable, a part of the family.
Clay would have to be patient. He would simply tell Jamie she was invited and let her make the decision about whether to come. He set the phone back down on the nightstand. She would come; he was sure of it.
He could hardly wait to tell Jamie about the idea.
Eric set the receiver on the base and stared at the phone. Jamie and her daughter? From Staten Island? Adrenaline had shot through his veins at the mention of the name, and now—now he wasn't sure what to do next.
“Who was on the phone?” Laura padded into the bedroom. She wore jeans and thick fuzzy slippers. She had a small pink gift bag in her hands.
“Clay.” He couldn't change his distant tone. Eric caught his wife's attention. “He met someone.”
“Is that so?” Laura's eyebrows lifted and she gave him a sly smile. “Good for him.” She watched him for a moment and her mouth relaxed. “What's wrong?”
“What's wrong?” He blinked and tried to focus on what she was saying.
“Yes, you look like someone died.” She took a few steps toward him. “Didn't you say Clay met someone?”
Eric stared at her, wondering if he should put his fears into words. Finally he did a quiet gulp. “Her name's Jamie.” He slowed his words down, so each one would have an impact. “She has a daughter and she lives on Staten Island.”
“So, she—” Laura stopped and the color drained from her cheeks. “What's her last name?”
“I didn't ask.”
“What about her daughter?”
;“Didn't ask that either.”
She groaned and her shoulders slumped some. “Why not?”
“Because.” He shook his head. “I didn't want to know.”
“Eric …” Laura dropped to the edge of the bed. “Staten Island is a big place. Ten million people live in the New York City area. You don't think it's the same woman.”
He turned so he was facing her. “What if it is?”
“It isn't.”
“No, seriously, Laura. What if it's her?”
“I'm telling you, it's not.” She brought her voice back to an even level. “There must be a thousand women named Jamie living on Staten Island. Half of them probably have daughters.” Her eyes told him that she was flustered, but she smiled. “Forget about it. Clay would've told you if it was the same Jamie.”
Eric gripped his kneecaps and studied the wall for a moment. Then he found her eyes again. “Clay doesn't know her name; I only talked about her with you.” He shrugged. “It was too weird, the whole thing was something most people wouldn't believe in the first place.” His voice fell a notch. “God used my time with Jamie to save my life, Laura. I'm the man I am because of her husband. But that sort of thing doesn't exactly come up over lunch. Even with my brother.”
Laura stood and came around in front of him. This time she kept the pink gift bag in front of her. “You're worrying about nothing.” She stopped near his knees and smiled. “She lives on Staten Island, right?”
“Right.” Eric pictured her, working in the kitchen, making blueberry pancakes for Sierra, sitting across from him sharing coffee each morning.
“Did she work?”
“No.” Eric tried to focus on his wife, but the memories were strong. Jamie had plenty of money—an accident settlement she'd inherited when her parents died in a car accident when she was barely twenty years old. She'd shared that with him when he was recovering, one of many facts meant to trigger his memory. He shook his head. “She had money in the bank; she didn't need to work.”
Laura's smile faded. “She didn't?”
“No. Her husband didn't need to work either. Fighting fires in New York City was a family thing, something in his blood.”
“You never told me that.” She shifted her weight to one foot. Her voice was higher than before, threatened. “So Jamie had a lot of money.”
“Yes.” He hadn't talked much about his actual time with Jamie as much as he'd shared the ways of life and faith he'd learned from her husband's journal, from the pages of his Bible. What was he supposed to do if she'd made a connection with Clay? He smiled and tried to hide the pounding of his heart. “Where's this going?”
Laura hesitated. The doubts lifted and cleared from her expression. “What I'm saying is, if she didn't work, then why on earth would she head into the city on a weekday morning?”
Eric hadn't thought about that. He looked at the ground for a minute and stroked his chin. “You're right.” He found his wife's eyes again. “She would never have had to work, not with the money she had put away and the insurance settlement she would've gotten from her husband's death.” His heart rate slowed. This was good. Thinking things through helped. His shoulders relaxed and he drew a calming breath. “If she decided to get a job—you know—just for fun, she never would've worked in the city; she hated that her husband worked there.”
“Okay.” Laura's tone was pleasant again. She was still standing in front of him, and she moved closer. “See? There's nothing to worry about.”
Eric looped his arms around her waist and smiled. “I guess I overreacted a little. Like you said, there are millions of people in and around the city.”
“Exactly.” She bent down and kissed the tip of his nose. “Enough talk about that, all right?” Her eyes danced as she straightened. She held the pink bag out to him. “I've got my own news.”
News? Wrapped up in a small pink gift bag? Eric felt his heart flip-flop as he took the package. “News?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Go ahead.” Her eyes were suddenly damp. She sat down beside him and motioned to the bag. “Open it, Eric.”
He gulped. Was it what he thought it was? They'd tried to have another child ever since he came back home, after the terrorist attacks. Laura's doctor wasn't sure why she hadn't gotten pregnant, but in the next few months they were planning to look into some options that might help speed the process along. He met her eyes, looked deep into her heart, and he knew. Before he lifted the tissue and found the tiny pink pair of booties, he knew. “Are you …?”
She nodded. “Six weeks already.” Her eyes welled up and she massaged her throat, looking for the words. “I bought pink because I just know, Eric. I know she's a girl.”
Eric memorized her face, her expression, the look in her eyes. It was all worth it—the horrible injuries he'd received on September 11, the time with Jamie, his three months of recovery and learning to be a man of God. All of it led to this. “Laura …” In a slow rush they came together, holding each other, and Eric couldn't describe the feeling inside him. Warm and full and grateful beyond words. He whispered against her hair. “You think it's a girl?”
“I do.” She let out a happy cry. “God is so good. He had a plan all along.”
Indeed.
Eric held his wife and thought about the little girl they'd lost, the one Laura miscarried before Josh's birth. He'd known he had a daughter, even in the throes of amnesia. It was why he felt right fathering Jamie's daughter, Sierra, for three months. And it was one of the hardest things about realizing his real identity. He had a loving wife, a wonderful son.
But no daughter.
He nuzzled Laura's cheek, her ear. “I'll be happy with a baby—boy or girl.”
“I know.” She pressed her face against his and sighed. “It's just that God has already worked so many miracles in our lives.”
And in that moment, the way everything was going—even things for Clay—Eric could do nothing but take Laura's face between his hands and kiss her, long and slow, with the kind of love he'd never felt for anyone but her. Because she was right. God
had
already worked so many miracles in their lives. Why wouldn't He be pulling together one more? A baby girl? A daughter? The thought was more than he could imagine.
Eric couldn't think of a better miracle.
T
WENTY
Jamie had a new favorite spot on the ferry from Staten Island. If it was sunny—and that Monday morning the sky was brilliant—she stood against the ferry's back railing. It wasn't a place she would've considered before—not on the trip to Manhattan. Because she couldn't see the empty place in the skyline from there.
But now … Every hour the message from Jake's Bible, the words he'd written in the margins, became more clear.
Choose life.
That meant she didn't have to stare at the empty skyline every day. She could stand at the back of the ferry, protected from the wind by the indoor seating area. She could stare back at Staten Island, the place where she was trying to learn how to live again, and she could think about things relevant to her new life.
The one without Jake.
She lifted her chin and let the sun hit her face square on. Something in her heart told her to savor the ferry ride, because she might not be making the trip much longer. Not to St. Paul's anyway.
Father
… She breathed in the feel of God around her, the sensation of His Spirit inside her. The brisk air, the brilliant spray of shine from the early morning sun on the water. Being out here always made her feel closer to God.
I'm trying, Lord, trying to choose life. But what about Clay? Where does he fit into my
—
There was a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and gasped. “Clay!”
“Hi.” He looked deep into her eyes, straight to her heart. “Fancy meeting you here.”