“Oh yeah?” Jake flopped down beside her. “Before or after you marry me?”
She lowered her chin to her chest and raised her eyebrows at him. “What makes you think I'd marry you, Jake Bryan?”
“Because …” He twisted his baseball cap and shot her a grin. “You love me. And you always will.”
That had been it, really. They didn't date until high school, but after that summer Jake Bryan had been the only boy for her.
“What do you see in him?” Her father peered at her over the top of his newspaper the day after her eighteenth birthday. “He'll never be rich.”
Jamie had rolled her eyes. “Money isn't everything, Daddy.”
“But security is.” Her father let the newspaper fall to the table. “You'll get neither from Jake.”
Anger had flashed like lightning across Jamie's heart. “How can you say that?”
“Because.” Her father had rested his forearms on the table, his expression softer. “It's a tough job, fighting fires in New York City. The danger's always there, Jamie, as close as the next call.” He gestured in the direction of Jake's house. “Look at his mother. She lives with the danger every day. It's in her eyes, part of who she is. That'll be you one day if you marry Jake Bryan.”
Her father and Jake's were both Staten Island men, hardworking New Yorkers who made the commute to Manhattan every day. But the similarities stopped there. Jake's father, Jim, was a fireman, a chaplain who always had something to say about God or the importance of faith.
“What good thing has the Lord done for you today, Jamie?” he'd ask, grinning at her with piercing blue eyes that would light up the room.
Jamie was never sure how to answer the man. She had no practice at giving God credit for the good things in life. Small wonder, really. Her father, Henry Steele, was an investment banker who had built a small financial empire with nothing more than brains, determination, and self-reliance. At least that was his explanation.
Their family had lived in the same house where Jake and Jamie and their daughter, Sierra, lived today. In an elite section of Westerleigh, not far from the Staten Island Expressway and the ferry ramps. The sprawling two-story colonial had a finished basement and a built-in pool in the backyard. Back then Jamie and her sister had been friends, just two years apart and living the charmed life of summer beach parties and winter vacations in the Florida Keys.
All of it compliments of Henry Steele's hard work and ingenuity.
God got no credit at all.
“A man doesn't need anyone but himself,” he would tell Jamie and her sister. “Religion is a sign of weakness.” Then he'd shoot a pointed look at Jamie. “Of course, when a person fights fires in New York City, faith might be a necessity.”
And so Jamie waited month after month for something terrible to happen to Jake's father. But in the end it had been Jamie's father, not Jake's, who died the tragic death. One evening when her parents were driving home from the ferry, her father lost control at the wheel, careened off the road, and wrapped their car around a telephone pole. By the time paramedics arrived at the scene, both her parents were dead. Jamie was twenty that year, her sister, eighteen.
Their parents carried a million dollars' life insurance each, and a lawyer helped the girls work out an agreement. Jamie got the family house; Kara got a full ride to Florida State University and stocks. They were both given enough savings to last a lifetime, but no amount of money could stop the arguments that developed over the next few years. An ocean of differences lay between them now. It had been five years since they'd spoken to each other.
Three years after the death of her parents, Jamie remembered her father's warning about Jake's job as she stood by and watched him graduate with his fire science degree. Weeks later he was hired by the New York Fire Department. The next summer Jake and Jamie married and honeymooned on a Caribbean cruise, and since then Jamie hadn't been more than a hundred miles from the East Coast.
But she no longer wanted to travel the world. Sights from a dozen exotic countries could never rival the pleasure she felt simply loving Jake Bryan.
“You don't have to work, you know …” Jamie had mentioned the fact to Jake just once—a month before his first shift with FDNY. “We have enough money.” Jake had bristled in a way she hadn't seen him do before or since.
“Listen. Fighting fires in New York City is part of who I am, Jamie. Deep inside me.” His eyes held a hard glint. “It's not about the money.”
The bagpipes stopped, and a sad silence hung in the air.
A bugle cry pierced the quiet morning, and the lonely sound of taps filled the street. Jamie stared at the coffin again. The dead man had been a proby, a probational firefighter still serving his first year with the department. This time deadly smoke, fiery flames, and falling ceiling beams weren't responsible.
The man's engine company had simply responded to an auto shop on fire. For several minutes the proby worked a massive hose reel at the side of the engine, then he climbed back into the cab. His buddies found him not long afterwards, slumped forward, dead of a heart attack at twenty-seven years old. Just five months after graduating top of his class.
He was the fourth fireman to suffer a fatal heart attack in ten months.
The bugle rang out its last note, and in very little time, the sea of blue began to break up. Jamie and Jake held hands as they made their way back to his pickup truck and headed home to Sierra.
Sierra …
The image of their four-year-old daughter filled Jamie's heart and for a moment dimmed the deep ache there. Sierra had Jake's blue eyes and Jamie's trademark dimples. No one knew where Sierra had gotten her blonde silky hair, but she was a beauty, inside and out. Days like this, Jamie could hardly wait to hold her, to soak in the warmth and hope of her precious laugh. The girl had held both their hearts captive since the day she was born.
Jamie stared out the truck window.
Manhattan smelled of warm bistros and cabbie exhaust fumes. It didn't have a downtime. The sidewalks teamed with people as much now as they would on a weekday. She keyed on a couple about the same age as she and Jake, dressed for business, walking briskly toward some lower Manhattan destination. The two exchanged a smile, and for a fraction of a second, Jamie wondered, Do they know about the dead fireman? Do they spend time pondering the fact that men like Jake are willing to die for their safety?
Jamie shifted and slipped her hand into Jake's. Of course they don't. Unless they know a firefighter or police officer, unless they regularly attend the funerals, why would they? She leaned back in her seat and looked at Jake. The silence between them was heavy, and words didn't come until they hit the ferry docks.
“When's the last time you had your heart checked?”
Jake glanced at her. “What?”
“Your heart.” She swallowed and tried to find a neutral tone. “When's the last time you had it checked?”
“Jamie …” Understanding flooded his eyes. “I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with my heart.”
“I'd rather have the doctors decide.”
“Honey, heart attacks are part of life.” He worked his fingers a little more tightly between hers and kept his eyes on the road. “Not just for firemen.”
She stared out the window again and let the air ease from her lungs. Did he always have to read her mind? Couldn't she keep even a little fear to herself? He would never be honest with her as long as he knew she was afraid. Every time he sensed her concern, he had the same answer. Not me, Jamie … I'll be careful … nothing'll happen … And now this. There's nothing wrong with my heart …
They pulled into line at the Whitehall terminal and inched their way onto the ferry. When they'd driven up as far as they could, Jake slipped the truck into park and faced her. His voice was a gentle caress. “I'm sorry.”
She turned to him. “For what?”
“For the funeral.” He bit his lip. “I know how much you hate them.”
A cavernous pit of sorrow welled wit
hin her, but she wouldn't cry. She never did, not in front of him, anyway. “It's not your fault.”
“You could stay home next time.” He reached out and loosely gripped her knee. “Lots of wives do.”
“No.” She gave a quick double shake of her head. “I'd rather go.”
“Jamie …” The ferry gave a slight lurch and began to move across the harbor.
“I would.” She gritted her teeth. “It reminds me what I'm up against.”
“Come on, baby.” A chuckle sounded low in his throat, one that was weighted in empathy. “When are you going to stop waiting for something bad to happen?”
“When you work your last shift.” Their eyes met and desire stirred within her. They'd been married nearly a decade, but he still moved her, still made her want to hold on to him an extra minute or two every time they came together.
He leaned over and kissed her, the slow passionate kiss of a love that didn't happen in spurts, a love that colored every page of a life they'd written together. He moved his lips along her cheekbone toward her earlobe. “Ten years is too long to worry.”
“Nine.”
“Nine?” He drew back, and his little-boy expression almost made her laugh.
“Yes. You're almost thirty-six, Jake. You said you'd retire at forty-five like your father. That's nine years.”
“Okay, nine. It's still too long to worry. Besides … I love what I do.” Without waiting for a response, he worked his fingers up beneath her rayon blouse and pressed his thumbs against her ribs. “Almost as much as I love you.”
She squirmed and couldn't contain a giggle. “Stop it!”
“Anyway, you're worrying about the wrong thing.” He tickled her once more, and when she twisted free, he held his hands up in surrender.
“Oh yeah.” She caught her breath and straightened her shirt. “What am I supposed to worry about?”
“Beating me at tennis.”
“Okay.” She forced a sarcastic laugh. “I could try to worry about that.”
“What? Is that arrogance in my fair damsel's voice?” He stifled a grin. “You beat me in three sets last week, and now I'm no challenge? Is that it?”
She let her head fall back and she laughed, this time without reservation. “Okay … I'm worried, Jake.”
“Good. And don't forget—today's Sierra's first lesson.”
“Here we go.” Jamie could feel the sparkle in her eyes. “She's four, Jake.”
“Martina Hingis was probably four when she picked up a racket.”
Jamie's laughter rang through the cab. “You're crazy.”
“About Sierra, yes.” Jake's smile faded some. “I don't know what I'd do without her.” He took her hand. “Or you.”
“Me either.” She settled against the door of the truck, still facing Jake. “Sierra's perfect, isn't she?”
Jake stared out at the harbor, and his eyes grew distant. “Being a dad has given me these feelings …” He angled his head. “A love I can't describe.”
Jamie smiled, slow and easy. The cry of the bagpipes faded from her memory, and one by one the clouds of fear lifted, breaking up like morning fog over the water. Jake was right. Worrying did no good. Especially when every day held so much life for their little family.
“Come on.” Jake opened his truck door and motioned for Jamie to follow. She did, and the two of them walked to the front of the ferry, found a quiet spot against a railing, and turned to face the receding New York skyline.
“It's breathtaking every time.” She stared past the Statue of Liberty and lifted her eyes to where the World Trade Center towered over the rest of lower Manhattan. “You've been on every floor, haven't you?”
“Of the Twin Towers?” Jake squinted and gazed up at the tall buildings. “Probably. Jammed elevators, chest pains, faulty wiring in the office coffeemaker.”
“And the bombing.” She lifted her chin and studied his face. “Don't forget about that.”
“Yeah.” He lifted one shoulder. “But the fire was out before we got there.”
“Still … it was scary. I remember it like it was yesterday.”
“The towers are safe, Jamie. Stairwells run down three sides.” He narrowed his eyes and looked back at the buildings. “It's the old warehouses and abandoned factories. Those are scary.”
“I know.” She gripped the railing behind her and studied the city again. After a moment she shifted her gaze to him. “I'll try not to worry so much. Okay?”
He slipped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Okay. Besides, who of you, by worrying, can add an hour to his life?” He paused. “That's from the Bible.”
Jamie let the comment pass. Letting go of her fear was one thing. Claiming some sort of help or understanding from an old leather-bound book of ancient letters was another. But to say so would only upset Jake. And the day was too beautiful, their time together too short for that.
“I love you, Jake Bryan.” She slid her arms around his neck, letting herself get lost in his embrace. “I'm sorry for being afraid.”
“I know.” He kissed her again, this time more slowly. The ferry was less crowded than usual, and they had privacy in the place where they stood. When he pulled away, he searched her eyes. “I'm not going anywhere, Jamie. God and I have a little deal, a secret.”
“Is that so?” She tilted her face and batted her eyelashes at him. “I don't suppose you'll share it with me.”
“Nope. But I can tell you this much. God isn't finished with me yet.” He brought his lips to hers once more. “And He's not finished with you, either.”
They held hands as they returned to Jake's truck and climbed back inside. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into their tree-lined neighborhood and the same familiar street where they'd grown up. This was home. The quaintness of the island, the way she knew every front yard, every family that made up this part of Westerleigh.
The old house was gray now with white trim, but it was still much the same as it had been when Jamie grew up there. They pulled in the drive, and the moment they walked inside, Sierra ran to them, her eyes lit up.
“You're home!” She stretched her hands up toward Jamie. “Oooh, Mommy. You look pretty.”
“Thanks, baby.” Jamie swung her up into a hug and nuzzled her cheek against Sierra's. She smelled nice, like baby powder and maple syrup.
Jake paid the sitter, and when she was gone, the three of them moved into the living room.
“Did you and Daddy go to church?”
The question poked pins at Jamie's good feelings. Before she could answer, Jake came up alongside them. “Hey, little girl.” He took Sierra into his arms. “How was your morning?”
“We had pancakes.” Sierra rubbed noses with Jake and giggled. “Did you and Mommy go to church?”
“Sort of.” Jake twirled one of Sierra's curls around his finger. “It was a special church meeting for one of the firemen at Daddy's work.”
“Oh.” Sierra searched his eyes. Her golden hair shimmered against her blue T-shirt. “Did he do something good?”
Jake tilted his head and hesitated long enough for Jamie to read his heart. “Yeah, baby.” He pursed his lips and nodded, and Jamie felt the familiar ache from earlier. “He did something real good.”
Sierra brought her chin to her chest and placed her hands on either side of Jake's face. “Is Mommy going with us next Sunday?”
Jake gave Jamie a quick smile. He never pushed her, just left it open. In case she ever changed her mind. Jamie cleared her throat. “Mommy has her painting class next Sunday, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” Sierra blinked at Jake. “But you'll take me, right, Daddy? Two times a month?”
“Right, honey.”
“Because Mrs. Ritchie looks for me two Sundays at class time.”
“Yep. Mrs. Ritchie won't be disappointed. You'll be there next week for sure.”
“Goodie!” Sierra jumped down and made a quick wave in Jamie's direction. “I'm gonna check on Brownie. She sleeped
in my bed this morning.”
Brownie was their faithful lab. Eight years old and graying around her jowls, she was wonderful with Sierra and didn't mind wearing baby bonnets. The two of them were best friends. Jamie watched their daughter scamper off, and a thread of guilt sewed itself around the perimeter of her soul. She looked at Jake and gave him a crooked smile. “Thanks.”
“For what?” A lazy grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He crossed the room into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.
She followed, her voice quiet. “For not making a big deal out of the church thing.”
“I'll never push you, Jamie.” He took a swig of water and studied her. “You know that.”
“Still …” She felt uneasy in a way she couldn't quite pin down. “It means a lot.”
“No big deal.” He set the glass down. “I'm gonna change clothes. Tennis in half an hour?”
She leaned against the counter and felt her gaze soften. “Okay.”
“You over the fear thing?”
Jamie smiled. “For now.”
It wasn't until she went upstairs to change that she caught sight of the mirror and stopped short. Who was she kidding? The worry wasn't gone; as long as firefighters were dying it would never be gone. They had Sierra and each other and a life sweeter than she'd dared to dream. Jake's job loomed as the single threat to everything that mattered.
Sometimes where Jake and Sierra were concerned, Jamie felt like a little girl again, building sandcastles on the beach, desperate to stretch the day, to make the sunny hours last as long as she could. Jamie could still see herself the way she'd been on sandcastle Sundays, giggling and skittering back and forth on the sand, chasing back the waves, believing somehow she could stop the tide from claiming her precious creation.
But in the end the waves would come. Always they would come. And when they did, they would wash away all she'd built. There hadn't been a single thing she could do to stop them.
Her father's long-ago words came back to her. Look at Jake's mother. She lives with the danger every day. It's in her eyes, part of who she is. That'll be you one day if you marry Jake Bryan.
Jamie leaned closer and scrutinized her eyes. Her father had been right all along. When had her eyes stopped being the light-filled carefree speckled brown of her childhood? Now they were dark and deep, and they'd taken on a new color, one that bore an uncanny resemblance to that in Jake's mother's eyes. The same color Jamie had seen in the eyes of a dozen other firefighter wives.
One Tuesday Morning & Beyond Tuesday Morning Compilation Page 2
