All The Stars In Heaven (12 page)

She followed Jay to the bedroom, waiting while he tucked James in. When his covers were pulled up and Jay had stepped aside, she sat on the bed, humming the first few measures of “Brahms’ Lullaby.”

“Do you know this one?” she asked.

Thumb back in his mouth, James shook his head.

“That’s okay. I’ll sing and you join in if you want to.” She picked up where she’d left off with the melody. James scooted closer and put his hand on hers, looking up with trusting, innocent eyes. A longing she hadn’t even known existed stirred somewhere deep inside. Receiving a child’s affection was an entirely new, delightful experience. She softened her voice and sang until James’s eyes drooped with sleep.

Sitting on the floor beside them, Jay hummed along through the last notes. Sarah tucked James’s slender arm beneath the quilt. She dared to look at Jay and found him staring at her, a tender expression on his face. Emotion seemed to flow between them, and her senses went from content to reeling in a matter of seconds. This was different—far beyond the spark of attraction she knew they’d felt for each other, more than those moments in the library and museum when they’d discovered similar interests. Her heart beat wildly as they stared at one another, neither quite able to pull away from the unseen force holding them.

She finally expelled the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. This was new and dangerous and . . . she could hardly bear to think of giving it up.

“Thank you.” Jay rose from the floor and held his hand out to her. “Sarah, that was—”

“He’s not too bad for a Thing.” She cut Jay off and got up without taking his hand, afraid just one touch or word from him would cause her to lose her resolve.

“Yeah.”

She heard disappointment in his voice. He left the room, and she followed. Wiping suddenly sweaty palms on her choir robe, she tried to convince herself that she was more grateful than sad the moment between them had passed. Glancing at her watch, she sat on the sofa. Time was ever the precious commodity. She took the cup Jay had offered earlier, hoping the cool water would quench her thirst
and
clear her head.

“Cheers,” Jay said, tapping his cup against the turtle head of her mug. He sat on the couch—not too close to her, but not exactly on the opposite end, either. His arm extended casually across the back.

Focused once more on her purpose for coming, Sarah looked at him and wondered why he continued to be so nice. Because of her, his motorcycle was wrecked. Her stomach turned, thinking about the accident, thinking of what a close call it had been for both of them—but especially Jay.
I almost got you killed.

She took another sip of water, then set her cup back on the table. “I wasn’t going to come tonight, but I needed to tell you I’m sorry about your motorcycle. And I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Jay held out his arms. “No broken bones or anything. It’s
you
I’ve been worried about.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she lied.

“What about your glasses?” Jay asked. “How are you managing without them?”

“Quite well.” She patted the pocket of her robe. “Though I’ve taped them together and keep them with me just in case.”

“Tape? You’re not getting new ones?” Jay leaned forward, concern on his face.

“I am,” Sarah said. “I looked up an optometrist and took the bus by myself and—” She broke off, cringing inwardly.
He must think I’m a complete idiot.
She pulled a fat envelope from her other pocket and handed it to him. “Here. I know this won’t be enough to fix your motorcycle, but I thought it might help.”

Jay’s brow wrinkled. “What’s this?”

“It’s what I’ve saved up,” Sarah explained. “It might cover the deductible to fix your bike. Or at the least, it could pay your bus fare for the rest of the semester . . .” Her eyes met his. “I’m so sorry I ruined your motorcycle.”

“
You
ruined it?”

“Well, if you hadn’t been talking to me . . .”

“If I hadn’t been talking to you, I likely wouldn’t be talking to you now.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I seem to recall it was you who pulled me out of the way of the truck. So take whatever this is back, and absolve yourself of any guilt.”

“Is that more attorney speak?” She returned the faintest of smiles.

“Nope.” Jay reached for her hand and placed the envelope in it. “It’s concerned friend lingo—concerned friend who hasn’t stopped thinking about you, by the way.”

But you have to.
Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away. She broke their gaze and looked toward the front door. “I need to go.”

“You just got here,” Jay said.

“I’ve got to get back before my father comes to pick me up at the church.” She held out her arms, the wide sleeves of her robe billowing. “He thinks I’m at choir practice.” She tried handing Jay the envelope again. “I really wish you’d take this. It would help with the whole absolving guilt thing.”

“I really wish
you’d
let me take you out to dinner,” Jay said, ignoring her outstretched hand. “How often do you have choir practice? I think I see some possibilities here.”

“Oh, no.” Concern filled Sarah’s eyes, and she stood. “I can’t, Jay. Please. You’ve got to understand. What happened with Carl the other day—it’s only the beginning. If we keep seeing each other . . .”

Jay stood, moving closer to her. “Your cousin ought to be locked up for what he did. He could have killed someone. Attempted homicide isn’t anything to joke about.”

“I’m not joking.” Still clutching the envelope, she folded her arms. “For reasons you can’t understand, I have to be by myself.
Especially
at school. I need to be alone. If I continue to disobey my father, then he’s going to pull me out of Harvard. I won’t be able to finish my degree. And that will mean I’ll be stuck like this forever.” She looked down at her robe. “Sneaking out in a choir robe for a few minutes’ freedom.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“You don’t understand.” She lifted tear-filled eyes. “Harvard is expensive, and my father is paying for it. Getting an education is my only chance . . . at freedom. When I’m done I hope to be able to teach, to support myself, so I don’t have to depend on my father.”

A long moment passed between them. She could tell he was trying to hide his disappointment and holding back something he wanted to say. Finally he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped aside, clearing the path to the door.

“How are you getting home?”

“Trish gave me this address earlier. I called a cab before we left.” She pushed back the sleeve of her robe to look at her watch. “It should be here any minute.”
My first bus ride, my first time riding in a friend’s car, and my first cab ride—all in the same week. And all because I met you.

“Okay, then. Guess I—won’t be seeing you around.” Jay’s voice sounded regretful. “But if you change your mind . . .”

“I won’t.” She pulled the door open and stepped outside. “Thanks, Jay, for trying to be my friend. I’ll never forget it.”

“Neither will I,” Jay said to himself as he watched her walk down the drive and step into the waiting cab.

Chapter Eighteen

Jay climbed in to the passenger seat of Kirk and Christa’s Jetta. “Thanks for giving me a ride. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Kirk said, grinning. “We always take the babysitters home. It’d be bad form to expect you to walk—bad enough you won’t let us pay you. I’m
sure
you earned it.”

“Nah.” Jay shut the door. “Your boys are great. We had a good time.”

“Dinner then,” Kirk said. “How about Sunday? I’ll see if Christa will make her famous chicken and dumplings.”

“Who else is coming?” Jay asked warily. He knew Christa had a few women in mind for him.

“No one. Unless you want to bring a date, that is.” Kirk turned around in his seat and backed out of the driveway.

Jay leaned against the headrest. “Nope. No dates for me.” He reviewed the depressing end to his very short evening with Sarah.
Archer’s right. I really know how to pick them.
Jay looked over at Kirk. “I probably should tell you though—in case James does—I did have a female visitor at your house tonight.”

“You did?” Kirk asked, obviously surprised. “What, was it an early trick-or-treater or something?” He put the car in gear and drove down the street.

“I’m not quite that desperate,” Jay said. “Actually she was supposed to be my date for that party tonight.”

Kirk’s face fell. “I thought that didn’t work out. I never would’ve had you stay if I’d known—”

“It
didn’t
work out,” Jay said. “Sarah came over to tell me that she can’t see me anymore. She’s got this freak cousin who almost ran us over last week because I was talking to her, and her dad has some serious control issues. But she’s got to do what he asks because he pays her tuition.”

“What’d you say her name is?” Kirk asked. He brought the car to a stop at an intersection and looked over at Jay.

“Sarah,” Jay said. “She’s this amazing musician. Sarah—”

“Morgan?” Kirk finished for him. They stared at each other for a long second.

“How did you—” Jay began, then stopped as Kirk flipped a U-turn and headed back toward his house.

“I can’t believe this,” Kirk said.

“Believe what?” Jay asked. “Do you know Sarah?”

“I know her father,” Kirk said. “Chief Morgan. My boss. He
does
have some major control issues. Though the other day . . .”

“What?” Jay prompted.

“The other day Sarah came in to report an accident.” Kirk glanced at Jay. “Probably the one you were telling me about. She told her dad that someone named Carl tried to run her over. The chief didn’t care at all. She seemed pretty shaken up about it, and he blew her off.”

“We can’t be talking about the same woman,” Jay said. “This girl has a dad who is so overprotective he watches her every move.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Kirk said. “But I’ve got a gut feeling about this, and there’s something I want you to listen to in case I’m right.” He paused, sending a solemn look Jay’s direction. “And if I am, I think this girl needs help.”

Chapter Nineteen

Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window behind the choir loft, warming Sarah’s back. She wished it could warm her heart as she listened to the sermon on honesty. But guilt, cold and accusing, filled her. Normally she was honest to a fault. Her earliest childhood memory—one that, until last night, she hadn’t thought about in years—had taught her that lesson well.

The night of her mother’s funeral, she’d expected her father, a stranger then—
even stranger now
—to take her back to the Boston apartment she shared with her mother. She knew if she could just get home, get back to her room, and especially the nine-week-old kitten, Snowflake, that she’d received for her birthday, everything would be okay.

But her father had not taken her home. She’d started to tell him about Snowflake, then decided she’d lie instead, certain that if her father thought her kitten was only a stuffed animal, he would let her get it. And then, when he saw the real Snowflake, he couldn’t help but love her too.

Only things hadn’t worked out that way. Her father believed her and also believed that a stuffed animal was easily replaced. He’d tried, for quite a long time, to make it up to her. She owned more stuffed cats than anyone ought to—ever. And she hated them all because they reminded her of the real kitten she’d lost. The one she’d left behind. Many, many nights as a little girl she’d lain awake, wondering and worrying about her pet. To this day she was haunted by the thought of what might have happened to it.

But that experience taught her to be honest. Always. And she was. Or she had been until recently, until she met Jay.
That’s over,
she reminded herself.
And a good thing, too.

Friday night she’d come close to being caught. Her father’s car had been parked in the church lot when she arrived in the taxi. Fortunately, he’d been inside, and she’d come in the west entrance, near the women’s restrooms.

“Where have you been?” her father’s voice had echoed through the deserted chapel. “Why isn’t anyone else here?”

“They’ve all gone home. I was in the bathroom.”
First lie. “
Practice ended early.”
The truth.
“Only soloists stayed an extra hour for rehearsal and to get fitted for our new robes.”
Second lie.
“Mrs. Miller would have given me a ride home, but you always tell me not to go with anyone.”

Sarah’s acting skills must have been better than she thought—that or the dim light of the church had kept her face in shadows and saved her. Either way, her father hadn’t said another word about it all Saturday, and this morning she’d been allowed to go to church as usual. But now that she knew the topic of today’s sermon, she was starting to wonder if her father had known she was lying after all.

Could he see her face from his seat in back? She placed a hand against her cheek, warm with shame, no doubt.
I don’t
want
to be a liar.

Why not? You’re already a thief.

Am not,
she argued with her conscience, though the thick envelope still in her robe pocket said otherwise.
It’s not as if I took the money from his wallet,
Sarah thought. A part of her knew that what she’d done—keeping a dollar or two here or there from the money he gave her for groceries, buying only a milk at lunch all through junior high and high school so she could keep her lunch money, sneaking a five-dollar bill from the envelopes that held Carl’s pay—was just as wrong.

“Honesty in
all
our doings is equally important,” Reverend Daniels continued.

Sara glanced to either side of her. She had the uneasy feeling she was being watched, like there were at least a half dozen pairs of eyes—along with her father’s from the back pew— staring right at her.

“
In the book of Leviticus, the Lord tells us plainly, ‘Ye shall not steal, neither deal falsely, neither lie one to another.’”

Sarah closed her eyes as another wave of guilt assailed her. The money at her side felt as if it were burning a hole through her robe, into her skin.
I’m not honest at all. I should give every penny back to my father. He’s spending a fortune sending me to Harvard. But how would I ever explain $798? And what money would I have to take with me when I go? He’s never going to let me leave. I’ll have to run, and I’ll need this.

She shifted uneasily in her seat as the answers to the dilemma that was her life continued to elude her. Finally deciding she couldn’t risk giving the money back, she vowed she wouldn’t take any more.
And I won’t lie, either. No lies. No Jay. No friends.

No hope.

But as she rose with the choir for the closing hymn, she caught a glimpse of hope sitting at the back of the chapel.

* * *

Archer leaned forward, squirming on the hard, wooden pew. “I’m numb,” he whispered, rubbing his backside. “And it’s hot in here. Why don’t they let in some fresh air?” He looked longingly at the tall windows lining both sides of the chapel.

Trish shot him a disapproving glare.

Jay looked away from them and back at Sarah, who was standing in the front row of the choir.

“I can barely breathe.” Archer tugged at his shirt collar.

“Shh,” Jay and Trish both said together.

Trish brought a finger to her lips and frowned.“Quit being such a baby,” she scolded.

“This tie is
choking
me,” Archer whispered and continued to fidget.

“We’re almost done,” Jay said. “The choir is about to sing.” He leaned forward in his seat, eager to hear the music.

“I don’t care if the president’s going to speak,” Archer mumbled, then closed his mouth as the elderly woman sitting on the pew across from them stared reproachfully.

In one fluid motion the choir stepped forward in the loft. The organ belted out a prelude, and gospel music filled the overflowing chapel.

Wow. I ought to come to church more often.
Jay wished again they hadn’t been late this morning and missed the earlier musical numbers.

“No wonder this place is packed,” Trish whispered after the first verse of the stirring song.

Jay nodded. The sermon had bordered on the dry side, but the music was fabulous. It seemed to tangibly lift the atmosphere in the room.

“Can we go now?” Archer asked before the choir had closed their mouths on the last note.

Trish shook her head. “Look—Sarah’s doing a solo.”

Jay kept his gaze riveted to the front of the room where Sarah stood alone. The others in the choir returned to their seats, leaving her standing there, looking every bit an angel in her white robe. Today her hair was down—the first time he’d seen it that way—and it framed her face in liquid gold.

She wore her mended glasses, and Jay wondered if she’d noticed him yet. If so, she might be upset to see him here. But after hearing the taped conversation with her father, he’d had to come make sure she was okay. He understood why she’d been in such a hurry to leave that night, and he realized the risk she’d taken to come at all. He’d spent half the night imagining what her father would do if he found out, the other half wracking his brain for a way to help.

With a serene expression on her face, Sarah lifted her head and sang. Jay sat spellbound, and even Archer’s fidgeting stopped as her lofty soprano cast across the crowded room, reaching all the way to the back.

The congregation fell silent. Babies and toddlers snuggled quietly on their mothers’ laps as Sarah’s voice hushed them like the lullaby she’d sung for James. A peaceful calm descended over the crowd. Jay glanced over at Trish and saw tears glistening in her eyes. Archer had stopped fidgeting with his tie and put his arm around Trish and pulled her close.
The power of music,
Jay thought as he noticed Trish take Archer’s free hand in both of hers.

One problem solved.
Turning his head slightly, he glanced at the congregation again, wondering if Sarah’s father was here.

The song came to a close, and Trish kept hold of Archer’s hand, keeping him from clapping. Everyone bowed their heads, and the reverend offered prayer.

“At last,” Archer said, when the lengthy prayer was through. He practically ripped off his tie as he rose with the rest of the congregation.

“Sit,” Trish ordered. “We can’t leave yet. We’ve got to check on Sarah.”

“She just sang, didn’t she? She’s fine.” Archer stepped into the aisle. He looked eagerly toward the open doors and the crowd spilling out of them.

“We don’t know that,” Trish argued. “I’ll make my way up front and talk to her—to make sure nothing bad happened because of the other night.”

“Nothing happened to her voice,” Archer said. “And who could tell with her face? Might as well be wearing a ski mask for all you can see of her behind those ugly glasses.”

Trish extended her leg and kicked his shin. “You’re so mean.”

“Knock it off, you two,” Jay ordered.
So much for making up.
He wondered again if it had been wise to bring them—though since Archer had the car, technically he and Trish had brought Jay.

He glanced around the chapel, looking for anyone who might be Sarah’s dad. Not seeing any older men waiting to leave, he returned his attention to Sarah. She had picked up two music stands and was carrying them to an open door at the back of the loft.

“Look. She’s lifting stuff,” Archer said. “The old man obviously didn’t hurt her. Let’s go.”

“Give me a couple of minutes. She’s coming this way.” Trish watched as Sarah headed for the stairs leading to the chapel floor. Another member of the choir stopped her before she could reach them.

Trish pushed past Archer and stepped into the aisle. “You two stay here. I’ll see if I can talk to her for a minute.” She headed toward the front.

“If you want a ride . . .” Archer threatened in a loud whisper.

“If you want dinner tonight . . .” she countered with a backward glance.

Archer muttered something under his breath and walked to the back of the chapel to hover by the doors. Jay stayed in his seat, watching the room empty, wishing he could go with Trish. But they’d agreed ahead of time that it was probably best if, initially, he didn’t try talking to Sarah. He hadn’t come to get her in more trouble.

The chapel was almost empty when Sarah finally made it out of the loft.

“Sarah, do you have a minute?” The reverend’s voice echoed through the hall. He met her at the bottom of the stairs before Trish could get there.

“Not really,” Sarah said. “My father is waiting in the car.”

“Of course.” The reverend’s lips turned down slightly. He matched her pace as she walked toward the exit. Sarah didn’t look up as they passed Trish.

Jay grabbed a Bible from the back of the pew in front of him. He opened it, pretending to read, while he strained to hear the conversation. Archer continued to sulk by the doors.

“I wanted to let you know that your scholarship has been renewed through the next semester,” Reverend Daniels told Sarah. “And I was hoping you wouldn’t mind writing another letter to the Ladies’ Aid to thank them. I personally know that Gladys Beecher spent forty-six hours on a quilt to sell at the bazaar, just so she could contribute to your college fund.”

“College fund?” Sarah looked bewildered. Her pace slowed. “What are you talking about?”

What
is
he talking about?
Jay wondered.
I thought her father was paying for Harvard.

Sarah shook her head. “You must be mistaken. My father is paying—for everything.” Her voice faltered as if she were suddenly unsure.

The reverend looked even more confused than Sarah did. He raised his hand, pushing the spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. “Your father, while a very fine man, is in no position to pay for that kind of education. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed—just confused.” Sarah’s voice sounded shaky. She stopped walking and placed her hand on Reverend Daniels’ sleeve. “Please tell me what you’re talking about. I—I really don’t know.”

“But you do,” he insisted. The lines on his face deepened. “You wrote that lovely thank-you letter last summer.”

“I didn’t,” Sarah insisted. She continued to clutch his arm. “I never wrote a letter. I’ve never heard of this. My father told me—”

“Told you
what?
” A tall, heavyset man brushed by Archer and entered the chapel. “What’s wrong now, Sarah? What’s taking so long?”

Her father.
Jay tensed in his seat as he stared at the older man with thinning hair and a stern face. Jay hadn’t been sure what to expect when he came this morning, but a scene like this had never entered his mind. He glanced at Archer, who no longer looked bored.

Trish lingered a few pews behind Sarah and the reverend.

“Good to see you, Grant,” Reverend Daniels said. “There seems to be some mix-up with Sarah’s scholarship.” He hesitated, looking at her apologetically. “She claims she knows nothing about it.”

Jay noticed the subtle change on her father’s face. A false mask of concern seemed to cover his previous irritation.

“I’m afraid there are a lot of things Sarah doesn’t know anymore,” Grant said, his voice gentler than it had been a moment before. “She’s starting to develop the same problems her mother had at this age.”

“What are you talking about?” Sarah said. “You never told me the church was paying for school. You
lied
to me, made me work that awful job—”

“That’s enough,” her father said sternly. “Good day, Reverend.” He took Sarah’s arm and steered her toward the doors.

She resisted, trying to pull away from him.

Jay stood and moved to the edge of the pew.

“Mr. Morgan.” Reverend Daniels took a hesitant step forward as if he wasn’t certain whether or not he should interfere. “Something seems terribly wrong here. I’m—I’m sure we can clear this up if you’ll both come into my office for a few minutes.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Grant said. “I need to take Sarah home and get her medication.” He towed her a few more steps toward the door.