Beyond Tuesday Morning (23 page)

Without getting mad, the way Wrinkles sometimes did.

Clay wasn't a regular kind of grown-up like Captain Hisel. Captain Hisel would smile at her and pat her head, and sometimes he'd talk to her for as long as a TV commercial. But he didn't really like her because he never asked her questions.

Sierra was counting. While they ate dinner Clay asked her eight questions, like who was her teacher and how many kids were in her class and who were her bestest friends and what did she want for Christmas?

By the end of dinner, Sierra was having a secret thought. Secret thought was when she had an idea in her head but she didn't share it with anyone else. Not even Mommy. Her secret thought was this: Since the other second daddy had to go back to his real family, maybe Clay would make a good second daddy.

She spied on him when he wasn't watching, and her heart had a sense about him. A sense that he acted sort of like a daddy, actually. He smiled big and wore his jester hat all night. Also, after dinner he played Uno with her and her mommy. The three of them laughed a lot, and Sierra didn't even care who won.

When Clay left, he stooped down and told her to have fun with Nala. Then he gave Mommy a short hug, sort of like when Captain Hisel came over.

Before he left, Clay looked at her one last time and winked. And Sierra did a little gasp because that's something she'd seen before. Maybe it was her daddy who used to do that, or her second daddy—the one who lived with her after the Twin Towers fell down. But instead of feeling confused, her heart felt happy. Because maybe the wink was a sign that God knew how lonely she was without her daddy.

And maybe God would take away the lonely forever.

F
IFTEEN

Jamie reported to St. Paul's the next day, but for the first time she didn't stop and look at the gaping hole where the towers had stood. Her head was still spinning from the night before, from the new feelings stirring up her heart and soul. How could she care so much about a man she'd only known a few days? Was she using the situation to avoid Aaron Hisel? Or was Clay Miles really as wonderful as he seemed?

Allen, a young man in college, was the first person she talked with that morning. His father, an investment broker, was trapped near the top of the North Tower when it collapsed. Allen had a small photo of his father, one that he wanted to leave as part of the memorial. Jamie helped him find a spot for the picture, and then asked him if he wanted to talk.

“Not really.” He shrugged. “I don't talk about it much. It happened, Dad's gone, end of story.”

Jamie leaned against one of the thick white pillars that separated the memorial along the perimeter from the sanctuary area of the chapel. Memories of Clay and her dinner the night before came to mind and she willed them away. “Allen, would it be okay if I prayed for you?”

The surprise in the young man's eyes changed to anger, then vulnerability. “The last time I prayed was the morning of September 11.” He clenched his jaw and gave a shake of his head. “Apparently God didn't hear me, so I stopped talking.”

“But you're here.” Her eyes found the pew where she'd sat with Clay the other day. Was he in training now? Would he call her again the way he'd promised? Was she crazy? She blinked hard and focused on the young man.

Allen looked over his shoulder at the tables of memorabilia. His eyes were damp when he found Jamie's eyes again. His chin quivered. “I don't know how to move on.”

So many visitors to St. Paul's faced the same thing.

Their loss was so great, they practically limped through the doors. Anger, hurt, and grief kept the calendar at a standstill. Regardless of time's incessant marching, every day was September 12—and without God's divine intervention it always would be. She led the young man to the closest pew and sat down with him.

Her mind drifted back to the night before, to something funny Clay had said about his jester hat. She tightened her hands into fists.
Focus, Jamie … focus
.

“I understand.” She looked at the stained-glass window across from them. “My husband was a firefighter; he died in the South Tower.”

The young man looked at his knees. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. He's in heaven; I'm sure about that.” She told him about Jake, about finding the faith her husband had always held to, how she wouldn't have survived without that faith.

Sometimes even while she was counseling at St. Paul's her mind wandered. But always she would rein in her thoughts and focus on the matter at hand. Usually the distractions came because of Jake. His picture across the room, or the thought of him kissing her good-bye that brilliant sunny Tuesday morning, hearing his voice telling her he loved her that last time.

But not today.

Today she had to remind herself to stop thinking about Clay Miles and the way her spine tingled when she was with him. Distractions about Jake were a normal thing, especially working at St. Paul's. They were constant reminders that she was in the right place, working alongside people most touched by the tragedy of the terrorist attacks.

But thoughts of Clay?

Every time she had a spare moment that morning she saw Clay's face, the way his eyes met hers over dinner the night before, felt her body protected against his as he handled the men on the ferry.

She dismissed the thoughts. The young man across from her deserved her complete attention. He was going on about his relationship with his father, and Jamie had to listen to him as if there'd be a test later.

She struggled through two meetings that way before she sensed someone behind her.

“Hey.” Aaron's tone held a layer of hurt. “You haven't fallen off the planet after all.”

The sound of his voice shot darts at her conscience. She turned around and smiled at him. “Hi.” She was suddenly short on words, not sure what to say. “Did you just get here?”

“A few minutes ago.” He searched her eyes. “I called you twice last night.”

“I know.” She forced a light laugh. “Sorry I didn't call back. Sierra and I were crazy busy.” It wasn't a lie, not really. But with her feelings so jumbled it was the most she was willing to say.

“Whatever.” Aaron tried to look nonchalant, but he didn't pull it off. He lifted his shoulders. “I was just worried. You always call back.”

“I'm sorry.” Jamie didn't know what else to say. Another visitor walked through the doors and turned to look at the memorial set up on the first table. “It's been busy.”

“That reminds me—” Aaron pointed at the displays along the back wall—“let's talk to the others about redoing that area. We have stacks of kids' drawings in the back, letters from children sending wishes to the New York survivors, that sort of thing. It's okay the way it is, but if we built it up some, maybe added an additional shelf along the wall, we could bulk up the display.”

Odd. The idea left Jamie flat. A week ago she would've made plans for someone else to pick up Sierra so she could go through boxes of letters, looking for a way to make the makeshift memorial more emotional, more meaningful for the people who passed through.

But today …

“Jamie?” Aaron crossed his arms, his feet spread just enough to give him the look of a New York City fire captain. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” Her answer was quick this time. She cleared her throat. “Yes, that'd be great.” The words sounded forced, even to her.

He took a step back and studied her. “Are you okay?”

More darts. She let her gaze fall to her shoes. His friendship meant a lot to her; she had to tell him at least something of what she was going through if she was going to stay close to him. She looked up. “Can we have lunch today?”

“Sure.” Hope replaced some of the uneasiness in his eyes. “Casey's Corner?”

“Perfect.” She wanted to tell him it wouldn't be the type of lunch he was looking forward to, that she had some difficult things to discuss with him. But a visitor was approaching them, a woman in her thirties with red, swollen eyes.

Aaron nudged her. “You get this one; I'll be in the back if you need me.”

Jamie struggled through the next two hours.

Not only with thoughts of Clay, but with the work at hand. Instead of the usual meaning and emotion that came with her job, she felt trapped. At one point she breathed in through her nose and looked around, alarmed. Was there a gas leak or a ventilation problem? There had to be, because the oxygen was gone. As hard as she tried she couldn't draw a relaxing breath. Finally, she had to go outside to grab a few mouthfuls of fresh air. Back inside it was more of the same. Just the old, musty smell of the building, and too little air.

She glanced about. Unless she was imagining things, the walls looked closer together, as if the whole place was shrinking, trying to swallow her up whole.

Of course all of it was a delusion. It was her confusion with Aaron and Clay and her memories of Jake, that's what was sucking the air from her. The building wasn't running out of oxygen any more than the walls were closing in, but that didn't change the tightness in her lungs or the way she longed for her shift to be over. It was the first time she'd ever felt this way. Trapped, anxious to leave.

She pondered the idea until finally it made sense. Of course. September 11 was everywhere around her—in the voices and conversations and pictures and artwork. In the streaming video that ran on the TV against the back wall and the displays set up along the exit wall, the ones honoring the massage therapists and cooks and counselors who volunteered their time during the cleanup.

It was all so suddenly overwhelming. Jamie couldn't quite catch her breath until she and Aaron were in a cab headed for Casey's Corner—a bright and cheerful café where they'd shared dozens of lunches. She was glad they were going there. The day was gray and cold, threatening snow. Combined with the strange mix of thoughts in her head and the things she wanted to tell Aaron, she would need an upbeat atmosphere to get through the lunch.

They were almost at the café when he leaned against the cab door and watched her. “You're quiet.”

“Yes.” She looked over her left shoulder at the city, the buildings and people, all of it passing before her eyes like a familiar river. Thoughts from earlier came rushing back. “Today was hard.”

He didn't push her until they were seated at a booth in a quiet part of Casey's Corner, sipping coffee and waiting for their sandwiches. Aaron leaned back against the padded seat. “Why was today hard?”

“I don't know.” Her hands were cold. She cupped them around her coffee mug and watched the traffic outside. “I didn't want to talk about September 11 with anyone.”

Aaron leaned forward. “Maybe you need a break.”

“Maybe.” The idea sounded good, but she wasn't sure. “I know I'm supposed to be there; it's the least I can do for Jake.”

He didn't add anything. Casey Cummins, the owner of the café, brought their sandwiches over. It was part of the charm of the place—that the owner took a personal interest in his customers. “Coldest day of the season.” He smiled at them as he set the food down. “Let me know if you want a cup of minestrone.” He brought his thumb and forefinger together in the shape of an
o.
“It's perfect today.”

They both thanked him but turned down the soup. When he was gone, Aaron took the toothpick from his sandwich and poked it at his water glass. “You want to talk about something?” The look of hope was gone from his eyes. Clearly he could sense some of what she felt.

“I do.” She gripped the bench she was sitting on and sucked in a quick breath through her teeth. Whatever happened, she didn't want to lose his friendship, didn't want to hurt him after all he'd done for her. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to shut the door on the future. Still, something needed to be said.

“Well?” He uttered a small laugh. “You gonna tell me or make me sit here guessing?”

“Aaron.” Jamie closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was looking straight at him. “I need space.”

His brow lowered into a subtle
v.
“Am I crowding you?”

They hadn't even seen each other in the past few days. Jamie folded her hands and rested them on the table.
Please, God … give me a way to make him understand
. She ran her tongue over her lower lip and tried again. “I told you I could see things getting more serious, that maybe all I needed was time.”

“Right.”

“Well—” she held her breath—“things have changed.” She couldn't tell him about Clay. The entire story sounded ridiculous. She raked her fingers through her hair and cupped her coffee mug again. “I need time away from you, Aaron. So I can sort through my feelings.”

He rested his forearms on the table and looked out the window. He shifted his jaw from side to side, the way he did when he had a lot on his mind. Finally he looked at her again and let out a quiet breath. “We barely see each other.”

“I know. But I need time from that too.”

“Everywhere? Even St. Paul's?”

“Yes. Even there.” She wanted to disappear under the table. He was her friend, after all, the person she'd leaned on and turned to more times than she could count. But as much as she appreciated his friendship, she couldn't let him believe there'd be more between them. Not now. Not when she was almost certain there wouldn't be.