Beyond Tuesday Morning (8 page)

Jamie felt her eyes grow wide, frightened. She wasn't sure what to do next. Had she read Aaron wrong from the beginning? He'd wanted friendship, right? So where had this … this change of heart come from? Or had it been there all along and she just hadn't wanted to see it? Part of her wanted to back up slowly, turn around, and run for her life. But still another part needed to hear him out. Not because she was ready for what he was saying, or because she could even manage the thought of Aaron being anything more than her friend. But because deep in her soul she'd known he was going to say this.

She'd known it and been so afraid she hadn't been able to admit it even to herself.

Her fingers shook. She laced them together to keep them from catching Aaron's attention.

He looked at her again. “Don't leave me hanging here, Jamie.” He forced a laugh. “I cough up the hardest words I've ever said and you're speechless.”

“I don't …” She raked her fingers through her hair and leaned hard against the back of the bench. “You're one of my best friends, Aaron. I haven't … I can't …”

Aaron shifted his position so he faced her squarely. Then, while his eyes never left hers, he took her hands. His voice fell and mixed with the breeze coming off the water. “You can, Jamie. We're together all the time, anyway. We've been through more than most people ever go through before having a first date.”

First date?

The words hit her like fingernails on a chalkboard. She could feel the blood draining from her face. What if Jake could somehow see her from heaven? What if he could see her sitting on a bench beside Aaron Hisel talking about a first date? The idea made her shudder.

“Look, Jamie.” Aaron straightened and his expression eased. “I know it's going to take time, but I've been thinking about it.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “We belong together. I'll take it as slow as you want to go. Just give it some thought, okay?”

Everything in her wanted to scream at him. No, it wasn't okay. No, she wouldn't think, even for a split second, about dating or loving or mar—

She couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. She wanted to turn around and see Jake standing there laughing, wanted to hear him telling her it was all a bad joke, that Captain Hisel certainly wasn't suggesting they find their way into a relationship when Jake Bryan was the only man she'd ever love.

But she couldn't do any of those things, because Jake was gone. He'd been gone three years and he wasn't coming back. And the truth was, if she didn't want to be alone for the rest of her life, it was only logical that she might wind up with someone like Aaron, someone who shared September 11 with her, who could relate to the losses she'd suffered because in some ways they were his losses too.

Aaron wasn't quite six feet tall, but he had her beat by a few inches. He looked down at her, his eyes a sea of patience. “Just think about it, Jamie. Okay?”

“Okay.” She felt all disconnected, as if her mouth was operating separate from her heart and mind and soul. “I'll think about it.”

A smile played in Aaron's eyes. “Good.” He pulled her close and gave her an easy hug, then walked with her toward the ferry. It was earlier than she usually left, but she needed some alone time, time to process what he'd just told her.

All afternoon while she was waiting for Sierra to come home from school, and even while she helped her daughter with homework, Jamie tried to consider the idea of dating Aaron Hisel.

By the time she tucked Sierra in for the night and gave her butterfly kisses the way Jake used to do, she had willed herself to consider the idea without feeling sick with betrayal. He was handsome, a great guy who knew her pain better than any other man except Eric Michaels—and she'd never see him again.

She and Aaron shared an event that would forever color their pasts, forever shape their futures. Maybe he was right; maybe it was a logical idea, a way to ensure that she and Sierra wouldn't be alone.

It wasn't until she was falling asleep that she remembered something from earlier that day. They'd been eating lunch and Aaron's arm had brushed up against hers. She'd made a note of it, but only in the most comfortable sense. Because Aaron was her friend.

But when her arm had brushed up against Jake's arm—even the last week of his life, when they were jet skiing together—she felt the sensation throughout her body. Jake's touch was electrifying; it had always been that way. But Aaron? Aaron's was comfortable, nothing more.

So maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Maybe there'd never be anyone who electrified her heart and soul the way Jake did, but maybe that was okay. It was still possible she and Aaron could build a relationship. After all, Jake was gone, and she was more lonely than she wanted to admit.

There was one problem.

She'd always been honest with Aaron. She could tell him she'd think about the possibility of the two of them; she could promise he would always be her friend no matter what, even if that meant a comfortable friendly out-together-sometimes relationship. That would be the truth. But if she told him she was open to the possibility of finding their way together, to the chance of falling in love with him, she'd be doing something she'd never done to him before.

She'd be lying.

The place in her heart for electricity and sparks and fireworks, the place that still went weak at the knees at his memory, would always belong to one man and one alone: Jake Bryan.

Even if she had to wait a lifetime to see him again.

F
IVE

Sue Henning was walking past a picture of Larry, hurrying from one room to another trying to clean the house for Jamie's visit, when it hit her. Larry had been dead for three years. Three long years.

The anniversary of September 11 didn't allow her time for private reflection, but sometimes—without warning—she would hear Larry's hearty laugh, or smell a faint whiff of his cologne from the bathroom where it stood to this day, untouched. Something would trigger his memory, the image of his sweet freckled face—and the enormity of his loss would hit her all over again.

It happened less often these days, and that, in and of itself, was painful. How dare her mind and heart and soul move on without him, without the life they'd known and loved? They had two children, and once in a while something seven-year-old Katy said or the way little Larry—not quite four—waved at her with one finger, the same way her Larry had always waved at her, triggered the loss.

This time it was the photograph.

The look in Larry's eyes reached out and stopped her in her tracks, demanded that here, now, she remember all he was and all she'd lost. Sue sucked in a fast breath and grabbed the edge of the countertop where the photo stood.

Larry … I haven't forgotten.

She looked at the edges of his face, the way his eyes twinkled, and she tried to remember those same lines in motion, smiling and talking and loving her late at night. The memory of them was dimmer now, and there was nothing she could do about it. Time stole a little more of it every day.

The doorbell rang, and just as quickly the moment passed.

Jamie hadn't been by in a week, and Sue missed her terribly. The two were closer than sisters since September 11. They talked about their kids—Katy and Sierra were still best friends—and the ways they spent their time. But mostly they talked about the past, about happy moments and memories that had no chance of surviving if they weren't unfolded and held up for display every now and then.

Her friendship with Jamie was God's gift, no doubt. A safe harbor, a place where they could each be completely vulnerable, no matter if the world thought it was time they moved on. And in the midst of that harbor, Sue had found in Jamie the best girlfriend she'd spent a lifetime wishing for.

She gave a last look at Larry's picture and called out over her shoulder. “Just a minute …”

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, so Sierra would be with Jamie. The girls could hardly wait to play together and days like this—when the sun was still shining and winter seemed a month away—they could go out back and play the way they'd played since they were toddlers.

Her house was on Staten Island, same as Jamie's. It gave them more room to spread out than they'd have had with a house in the city, and a way to feel disconnected from the hustle of Manhattan. She opened the door and grinned at Jamie. “I miss you, girl. You have to come more than once a week!”

Jamie hugged her. “I know. I was having withdrawals.”

Sierra stepped in, her blonde hair falling like a silk curtain over her shoulders. “Hi, Mrs. Henning. Is Katy upstairs?”

“Yes, honey.” Sue hugged Sierra. “She's waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” Sierra ran off and stopped only a moment to brush her fingers through little Larry's hair. “Hi, buddy. Whatcha doing?”

The boy was wearing a miniature Nets jersey, and he had a basketball under one arm. “Shooting hoops.”

Larry's small plastic basketball hoop stood on one side of the living room, surrounded by a sofa and a loveseat. Sue didn't mind the boy shooting baskets in the house. The child was practically fanatical about the sport; as long as he had a ball in his hands he was happy. And if he was happy, she and Jamie could hold a conversation without interruption.

Sierra ran off, and Sue motioned to a quieter alcove, a place where they could sit and still see little Larry, but not be hit by loose balls. Sue had made iced tea, and two tall glasses stood on a table surrounded on two sides by comfy chairs.

Jamie was quieter than usual. She dropped into one of the overstuffed chairs, planted her elbows on the arms, and covered her face. After a moment she let her hands fall to her lap and she looked at Sue. “I wanted to come earlier, but Sierra begged me to wait until she was out of school.” Jamie's tone was serious, the corners of her eyes tight with the small lines of worry. She pursed her lips, her eyes locked on Sue's. “You aren't going to believe this.”

Sue took the seat closest to her friend and tried to seem interested. “Something at St. Paul's?” Jamie almost always started their conversations with a story from St. Paul's. There was a time when Sue wanted nothing more than to be at the quaint little chapel. For months she would've gladly gotten up every day and gone to St. Paul's, walked the walls of memories and mementos, and pretended even for an hour that the souls lost that day were still vibrant and alive.

But never once had she considered volunteering there.

She was worried about Jamie. It was one thing to help out for a while. But Jamie had been working three days a week, sometimes four, ever since the first anniversary, the day they reopened the chapel to the public.

Jamie shook her head; her face was tight and pale. “Not St. Paul's. Captain Hisel.”

“Captain Hisel?” Sue wrinkled her nose. Jamie and the captain were friends; everyone knew that. Now Sue felt her heart skip a beat as she waited for the news. “He's okay, isn't he?”

“Yes.” She gave a quick nod. “Nothing like that.”

Sue felt her heart skitter back into a normal rhythm. That was one thing about September 11. Before that day, Sue was vaguely aware of tragedy; now in some morbid sort of way, she expected it. As if by expecting it, the eventual blows life dealt would somehow be easier to take. “Okay. Then what am I not going to believe?”

“I wanted to call you yesterday, but I had to work through it.”

Sue was even more confused. “Work through something with the captain?”

“Aaron.”

“Okay, Aaron.” Sue took a sip of her tea. “It's still weird to think of him that way, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Jamie sat back in her chair and gripped the arms. “Wait till you hear this.”

Sue waited. The quieter she was, the better chance Jamie would get to the point. At that moment the girls came barreling down the stairs.

Katy skipped into the room, breathless and happy. Sierra was close on her heels. “Can we go outside and play?”

Sue looked at Jamie and caught her look of approval. She smiled at Katy and pointed to the closet. “Get your coat. It's almost dark and the nights are getting colder now.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Sierra raised her eyebrows at Jamie. “Me too?”

“Yes, silly. You too.” Jamie was clearly trying to keep her tone light.

When the girls were gone, Sue looked at Jamie. “So …?”

“Okay.” She breathed in slow through her nose. “Here's what happened.” Jamie's fingers came together. The tips of her knuckles were white. “Yesterday after working at St. Paul's, Aaron and I went to Battery Park with our lunch. I didn't think anything of it, I mean, at the time I didn't, anyway. We eat out together all the time, especially after working at the chapel.”

Sue nodded. “All the time.”

“But yesterday there was something different in his eyes. I couldn't put my finger on it while we were at St. Paul's, but when we were sitting on a bench at the park, watching the tourist boats in the harbor, I asked him about it.” Jamie paused. Her shoulders sank a notch, and the lines on her forehead grew more pronounced. “He told me he has feelings for me, Sue. That he could picture the two of us together some day, and that … that I should at least think about it.”

Relief flooded Sue's veins. Relief and sorrow all at the same time. Her question to her friend was both kind and pointed. “Can you blame him, Jamie?”