One Tuesday Morning & Beyond Tuesday Morning Compilation (33 page)

A letter written to her.

Tears stung Jamie's eyes and blurred her vision. She blinked them back, and when she could see clearly again she began to read.

Dear sweet Jamie
,

I have this feeling, deep in my heart, that something's about to change for me and you. Maybe it's your questions about church or the way you seem to hang on to Sierra's Bible stories a little bit longer these days. Whatever it is, I've prayed for God to touch your heart, baby. He means everything to me, and I know that one day He'll mean everything to you too. On that day, you'll no longer have to be afraid because you'll have God Almighty to lean on. I want you to know, honey, that when you find that precious faith, I'll be smiling bigger than you've ever seen me smile. Because the thing I want even more than your love is the knowledge that we'll have eternity together
.

I simply cannot bear the idea of being in heaven without you. I love you too much to lose you
.

The letter went on, but Jamie's tears made it impossible for her to see. She shut the journal, stacked it on top of Jake's Bible, and slipped the books back under the bed where Jake had last left them.

Sweet, wonderful Jake. Always thinking about her.

He had always been so good about keeping his faith to himself, careful not to badger her or preach at her. Here, though … here was his heart. Not that she take up some ritualistic form of faith to appease him. But that she believe—so that by his understanding of life and death and eternity, they would never, ever be apart. In his own crazy mixed-up way, he loved her that deeply. God, Sierra, and her. Those were his life, and together they made up the core of who he was. After reading his words, Jamie understood that better than she ever had before.

Now she would simply have to help him understand it too.

T
WENTY
-T
WO

S
EPTEMBER
18, 2001

The trip was Clay's idea.

A week after the terrorist attacks, Laura had nearly given up all hope. Yes, firefighters and police officers in New York City were still calling their efforts at Ground Zero a rescue, still desperately lifting one bulldozer scoop of debris after another off the pile of rubble that had once been the World Trade Center in hopes of finding someone buried alive.

But Laura couldn't believe there were many people who actually believed that would happen. How could anyone still be living in the smoldering heap of tons of cement and steel? Still, the rescue continued, and somehow Laura and thousands of others like her were supposed to stay close to the phone, praying for a miracle.

Something had snapped inside Laura after that Thursday night, the evening when Eric would've come home if he were still alive. Her conversation with Clay had been both painful and eye-opening. Since then there had been fewer moments when she would catch herself wondering about Eric and how his business trip was going, or when she would find herself looking out the window calculating his time of return. She still held out hope, but the reality of what she feared most was setting in. And with it a hole in her heart the size of the Grand Canyon. Somehow the details of their sorry marriage and the current state of their relationship were not in the forefront of her mind. Instead, her memories were of the two of them back in their early married days, back when they used to sit in the backyard near their garage apartment and sing together. Fond memories of the days when she was pregnant with their daughter, back when Eric would cuddle up against her and play songs he'd written on the guitar.

“So my baby will know my voice.” He'd grin and gently place his hand on her abdomen.

Laura could still feel his fingers pressing against her.

Another memory haunted her that week. The memory of Eric's panicked voice, his stricken face when the doctor told them that their little girl was stillborn. A chaplain had found them in the delivery room an hour later and offered to pray with them.

“No.” Eric's answer had been quick, and he tightened the grip he had on her hand. “We need time.”

A month later the pastor at Westlake Community Church had held a baby dedication, and he invited Laura and Eric. “We all feel your loss,” he told them. “This way your friends here can pray with you about what happened.”

But Eric wouldn't consider it. “I'm not going.” His eyes had flashed with an anger that had never been there before. “Besides, it's a little late for prayer.” The fire in his expression faded quickly, but Eric's determination to stay away from church never did.

They rarely talked about the loss of their daughter, and to her great disappointment, they never named her. But years later, at a counseling session, Eric said something that would stay with Laura forever. The counselor had asked Eric to talk about his greatest disappointment in life.

His answer was quick and pointed. “I never knew my little girl.”

Laura couldn't remember her answer that day, but she knew what it would be now.

That Eric had never known his little boy, either.

The memories were all that kept Laura from losing her mind as the days dragged on. Since Thursday, Clay had been there constantly. He played catch with Josh and helped him with his math homework; he made pasta or ordered pizza at dinnertime. He listened anytime Laura wanted to talk. Last night he'd brought her a glass of water and sat at the opposite end of the sofa. For a long while he'd said nothing.

Then he turned his body so he could see her better. “You still think there's a chance, don't you?”

Laura squirmed and fought off the wetness that gathered in her eyes. “Sometimes.” She took a sip of water before finishing her thought. “Not that he's alive in the rubble. But … somewhere maybe. Walking around in a daze, disoriented. Lying in a hospital bed.” She blinked back the tiresome tears. “That's possible, don't you think?”

“Sure.” Clay had let silence fill in the gaps of their conversation. Laura understood. What could he say? If Eric was wandering the streets of New York City or somehow holed up somewhere unconscious, how would they ever know?

It wasn't until that morning—a week after the attacks—that Clay arrived with an idea. He waited until Josh was off to school, then he poured coffee for the two of them and sat across from Laura at the dining room table. After a long moment, he met her eyes and said simply, “We need to go to New York.”

Laura stared at him, and almost in slow motion, she set her coffee cup back on the table. “Why?”

“To look for him.”

A pit formed in her stomach. She stood and made her way to the window. Their backyard was one of her favorite places. The manicured grass and sparkling pool always relaxed her. But nothing could relax her now, not in light of Clay's statement. “We've called the hospitals every day.” She glanced at Clay over her shoulder. “He isn't there.”

“No … but he could be somewhere else. Maybe at someone's house or at a homeless shelter. Something.”

Clay folded his hands on the table, and Laura gazed back out the window. She heard Clay's chair slide across the floor and felt him come up alongside her a few minutes later.

“I hate seeing you like this, Laura.” His right shoulder barely brushed against her left one, and his voice was a whisper. “Not knowing whether you should grieve Eric's death or wait for him to come home.”

Laura let her chin fall to her chest. The sorrow was back, a sorrow that blocked her throat and made speaking impossible.

“We have to go.”

From the corner of her eye Laura saw him clench his teeth. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. “He's my brother, Laura.”

Laura kept her gaze straight ahead, seeing visions of Josh and his friends playing in the pool. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't picture one poolside memory that included Eric. He didn't swim with Josh or his friends or even with her. He never had. She thought about what Clay had said. It was something they could've talked about in counseling, if only they could somehow find him. “What …” She turned and faced him. “What would we do once we got there?”

He raised his left arm and leaned it against the window. “Make flyers and post them near the hospital—same thing everyone else is doing.”

Laura felt a hundred years old. She was dying to believe something good might come from Clay's plan, but the idea seemed virtually hopeless. She crossed her arms and leaned against her husband's brother, letting her head fall on his shoulder. She pictured herself boarding a plane with Clay, flying to New York City, and posting flyers of Eric on empty walls and park benches. What would it prove? She turned and leaned her back against the window so she was facing Clay. “Then what?”

Clay studied her, and a layer of tears sprang up across his eyes. “We check the missions, the homeless shelters. Talk to police and fire officials, show his picture to everyone. Then we come home and wait.”

The longer they talked about the idea, the more sense it made to her. Nothing good could come from sitting at home in Los Angeles wondering about Eric. If he was—by some strange miracle—still alive, there was only one way to find out, and that was to follow Clay's plan and go to New York City.

Clay still had vacation time, and by two that afternoon, Laura had booked them a flight out for the next morning. Someone at church had been more than willing to take care of Josh, and that night she explained the trip to her son.

“Uncle Clay and I are going to go to New York for a few days.”

Josh was lying in bed, his face pale against his dark hair. “To find Daddy?”

“To try.” Laura soothed the boy's bangs off his forehead. “If he's hurt or sick, he might not know who he is. The only way to find out is to look for him.”

For a long while Josh lay there, unmoving, his eyes dry. Then he reached up and placed his fingers over hers. “Mom … can I ask you something?”

“Of course, honey.” Being alone like this with Josh made Laura realize how different life had been since the terrorist attacks. Normally, she and Josh spent lots of time together, reading or talking about his day. Sometimes playing Scrabble or crazy eights. But in the past week they'd barely spoken.

Josh winced. “Promise you won't be mad?”

“Mad? Honey, nothing you could ask would make me angry with you. Just say it … whatever's on your heart, I want to know.”

“If Daddy's not in New York City somewhere, that means he's dead, right?”

The question was so blunt it nearly took Laura's breath away. But now—a week after the collapse of the World Trade Center—the idea that Eric might be dead was less shocking than it had been at first. Laura swallowed and kept her eyes on Josh's. “Yes. That's right, honey. If he isn't in New York somewhere, he's probably dead.”

“Okay, then …” The child drew in an exaggerated breath and sat up, meeting her gaze straight on. He was more nervous than Laura had ever seen him. He worked his mouth for a moment, swallowing until he found his voice. “If you don't find him, can Uncle Clay be my dad?”

Her son's words hit her full force and knocked her into a riptide of pain until she thought she would drown from the lack of air. Finally, slowly, a stream of oxygen found its way in through her nostrils, and she put her arms around Josh and held him close. How had Eric not seen what his long hours at work were doing to their son? The boy neither knew nor loved his father. In fact, Eric hadn't lost just a daughter when their baby died all those years ago.

He'd lost a son too.

She didn't want to cry, didn't want the boy to think he'd done something wrong by voicing his heart. But she couldn't speak, either.

“Mom?” Josh's voice was muffled against her shoulder, and he pulled back, searching her eyes. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, son. It … it was a fair question.” In the hidden places of Laura's soul, she was still gasping for breath. It was all she could do to appear normal for Josh.

“So …” The child angled his head and picked at a ball of fuzz on his bedspread. “Can he?”

“Well …”
God, calm me down … give me the words
. “Uncle Clay will always be your uncle, Josh … not your father. That's how God made it.”

“Oh.” Her son's face fell, and his chin dropped closer to his pajama top. “Okay.” His head stayed down, but his eyes lifted just enough to see her. “Can I pretend he's my dad, then? I mean, if you don't find Daddy in New York?”

What could she say? She clasped Josh's hands in hers and nodded. “Uncle Clay loves you very much, buddy. You can pretend whatever you'd like.”

“God won't be mad at me?”

“No. Not at all.”

“And you, either?”

Her heart was breaking, but she managed a smile. She leaned forward and kissed Josh on his nose, hugging him once more before drawing back. “The fact that you love your uncle will never make me mad, honey. Even if you pretend he's your dad.”

Clay picked Laura up at her house the next morning and drove the two of them to the Burbank Airport. He'd stayed up late the night before and used a photo of Eric from the previous summer to make a flyer. The picture showed Eric standing behind a podium at a business dinner. Eric had given a speech that night, and someone from Koppel and Grant had snapped the picture. Eric had found it in his box at work a few weeks later and brought it home.

The flyer was simple, Eric's name and description, the fact that he'd been working on the sixty-fourth floor of the south tower at the time of the attacks, and three phone numbers for people to call if they knew anything of his whereabouts. Laura had a hundred copies in her carry-on bag.

Air travel had resumed in limited amounts, and the two of them had to pass through additional security stations before boarding the plane, but still they were early. They stored their bags in the overhead compartments and took their seats, Clay against the window and Laura on the aisle.

“I'm glad we're going.” Laura adjusted her seat belt and glanced out the window. “I'd always wonder otherwise.”

“Yeah.” Clay couldn't bring himself to smile. “Me too.”

They fell silent, and Clay turned to the window. Were they really on their way to New York? To look for Eric? A week had passed, and the idea that Eric was gone was no more real today than it had been when the attacks first happened. It wasn't just for Laura that he was going to Manhattan. It was for himself. Whenever Clay needed to talk, all he had to do was find Eric. Because as far back as he could remember, he and Eric had been honest with each other.