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 were 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?”
“Deal.”
The conversation shifted to the girls, and Jamie admitted she was thinking of telling Sierra the truth about Jake's death, and the fact that the man who had lived with them after September 11 hadn't been Jake at all.
Before their conversation ended, they joined hands and prayed that God might give Jamie wisdom about how and what and when to tell Sierra. After dinner and a game of Uno with the kids, Jamie and Sierra headed home.
Sue tucked in Larry and then Katy. They had their own rooms, but most nights Katy liked sleeping on Larry's top bunk.
“He likes company, Mommy,” Katy had told her. But the truth was something different. Since losing her father, Katy hated being alone. It was one more reminder that nothing would ever be the same again.
This time when Sue passed the photo of Larry, she didn't feel any sharp reminders or rushes of sorrow. Instead she smiled back, and as she did she remembered something Jamie had said earlier that evening. The day it didn't feel like Jake was up there smiling was the day she'd turn in her notice.
Jake was always smiling. He and Larry could've been brothers that way, even if they looked nothing alike. Sue could picture Jake smiling at Jamie out on the water, flying over the harbor on her jet ski, or while taking Sierra to dance classes, even helping out at church.
But talking about what happened that Tuesday morning, over and over and over again?
No matter how hard she tried, Sue couldn't picture Jake Bryan smiling about that.
Sierra was trying to get to sleep, but she couldn't. Something Katy said while they were swinging made her stomach feel bouncy. Like the curls on Cinda May in her second-grade class. She did a big breath and rolled onto her side. “C'mere, Wrinkles. Where are you, boy?”
Wrinkles was her big gray cat. Sierra named him
Wrinkles
because when he was a little baby he had a wrinkly face. He slept in Sierra's room, but not always on her bed. Mommy said that was 'cause Wrinkles had an attitude. Most cats had attitudes, actually.
“Wrinkles …” Sierra made her voice a loud whisper. Mommy thought she was sleeping, so she couldn't be loud. But she needed to talk to someone. Wrinkles was the only other person in the room.
Sierra heard a little meowing sound, and Wrinkles jumped onto the bed. He padded over with his soft cat feet and looked straight at her.
“Hi, Wrinkles.” Sierra patted the cat's back. “Lay down.”
Wrinkles pushed at the covers three times and then curled his legs beneath him. As soon as he was down, he started purring. Purring was when cats were happy; that was something else Mommy had told her.
“I'm glad you're happy, Wrinkles.” Sierra rubbed her nose against the cat's tiny pink one. It was cold and wet like the morning grass. “Wrinkles, I'm feeling a little sick.” She studied the cat. “You know, in my tummy. That kind.”
Wrinkles leaned his head back and yawned. He yawned so big she could see the little prickly things on his tongue. When people yawned it meant they were bored, but not Wrinkles. When he yawned it meant he wanted her to keep talking. That's what he always did when she talked to him at night.
“I'm gonna talk to Jesus about it before I go to sleep, but I thought I'd tell you first.” Sierra sat up and folded her legs crisscross applesauce. “Wanna know what Katy said?” She waited. “She said it was weird that Daddy died in a building fire saving people because he was with her daddy in the Twin Towers and they never stayed apart.” Her nose itched. She gave it a little scratch. “Doesn't that make you feel kind of sick, Wrinkles? Because if my daddy and Katy's daddy were together in the Twin Towers, how come they didn't die at the same time, actually? How come my daddy came home for a little while and then he died, huh?”
Wrinkles looked at her, but only for a few seconds. Then he began licking his skinny legs. Sierra liked when he did that. The way his tongue was all bristly, licking his fur was kind of like combing it. But the trouble with Wrinkles was, he didn't have a lot to say. He didn't have anything to say, really.
And this was the sort of problem that needed words on the other side. Words from someone who could help her understand. Otherwise Katy was right; it was weird.
Sierra did a yawn, almost as big as the one Wrinkles did. She lay back down, careful not to wake up her cat. Then she pulled the covers up to her chin, closed her eyes, and thought about it again. If her daddy and Katy's daddy were together, why didn't they die together? She squeezed her eyes shut very hard and tried to remember.
Daddy was hurt, because she remembered him in the hospital. Then he came home and he slept downstairs. Sierra remembered that too. At first he didn't know things—like where he was or who people were, actually. But then he started 'membering and doing all the things Daddy always did. Like curl her hair and make her blueberry pancakes and watch
Little Mermaid
with her.
Then one day he was gone.
Mommy said he was helping people in a fire when Jesus called him home to heaven. And that made pretty much sense, except for now Katy thought it was weird.
Sleep was coming to get her; she could feel it. She did another yawn and thought about Jesus. She liked talking to Him out loud, because you talked to real people that way. And Jesus was very real.
“Hi, Jesus, it's me, Sierra.”
Wrinkles snuggled a little closer to her.
“I'm up late tonight because my tummy hurts. Well—” she opened her eyes and saw the room was shadowy dark—“it doesn't really hurt, it just feels bouncy, actually. And it's all because of what Katy said. First it was weird that my daddy didn't die at the same time as her daddy because they were both in the Twin Towers together.” She scratched the tip of her nose again. “But something else, too. She said they found our two daddies' helmets at the same time. At the very same time, Jesus. Isn't that weird?”