“Can I help you?”
The woman on the other end sounded pleasant, but Jamie had to close her eyes for three seconds before she felt calm enough to speak. “Yes … I have a friend here with me who was hurt in the World Trade Center on September 11. He … he's had amnesia.” Jamie met the man's eyes and felt the familiar bond they'd built in the days since the attacks. She looked away so she could concentrate. “The thing is, this man now thinks that maybe he once worked for Koppel and Grant. What I need to have is a list of the people from your company who were killed when the south tower collapsed.”
“Well,” the woman hesitated. “It's a short list. Koppel and Grant lost just two employees.”
That's the information the commercial had provided the night before, but Jamie wanted to make sure. Her heartbeat quickened. If there really were only two names on the dead or missing list, then it should be easy to figure out whether the man sitting across from her was one of them. Jamie rested her forehead in her hand and closed her eyes. Give me strength, God … help me desire what You desire. “Can … can you give me their names, maybe tell me a little bit about them.”
“Ummm.” The woman considered the request, and for a few painful seconds silence filled the line. Then the woman lowered her voice some. “Oh, why not. The guys are dead, anyway.” She drew a slow breath. “Everyone knew them—they were the top people in the company.”
Jamie shot a look at the man beside her. The top men in the company? The man who'd shared her home these past months acted nothing like a business mogul. He smiled and covered her free hand with his. Jamie blinked at the thought. An executive? It wasn't possible. She focused on the matter at hand. “What were their names?”
“One was R. Allen Koppel, and the other was Eric Michaels.”
Jamie held her breath. “That's all?” She forced herself to exhale. “Can you tell me something else about them?”
“Sure.” The woman took her time. “Allen was a nice man in his fifties, married a few times with no kids. He never loved anyone like he loved Koppel and Grant.” The woman hesitated. “Eric … he was a young guy. Good-looking. Stationed at the LA office. He was here on business that Tuesday morning.”
Jamie felt her heart sink to the floor. Eric Michaels? Was that who she was sitting next to? The man who had shared her home, her life, her very soul, these past few months? She squeezed her eyes shut. “What … what did he look like?”
“I told you …” A phone was ringing in the background, and the woman was losing interest. “The guy was nice-looking. Tall, maybe six-two, dark trim-cut hair. Sort of an athletic build.”
Jamie had heard enough. The woman might as well have been staring at the man across from her as she described him. She was going on, repeating the details about the Los Angeles office, and Jamie tried to listen.
“Eric worked too hard. He never spent a minute at home from what I understand. In fact,” her tone filled with regret, “it was the job that killed him. Both of them, really.”
“What do you mean?”
“When the plane hit the south tower, everyone else in the office left down the stairwell. They were on the sixty-fourth floor, so they had just enough time to get out.” She paused. “But not Allen and Eric. The last anyone saw of them, they were crunching numbers, trying to finish one last transaction before heading down.”
“So everyone at Koppel and Grant's pretty sure both men are dead?” Again Jamie hated herself for hoping.
“That's the thought. Of course anything's possible.” The woman clucked her tongue. “After all, there's still a thousand people unaccounted for. They never found either of their bodies.”
Jamie thanked the woman and hung up. Then she looked at the man across from her, and in the depths of her being, she knew their time together was almost up. Her tone was soft, kind, as though she knew the answer to her question before she asked it. “If I say the name Eric, what comes to mind?”
He blinked, and a dawning came over his expression, a knowing that was undeniable. His mouth opened, and what he said made her feel like both weeping and shouting for joy all at the same time.
“When I hear the name Eric, I can think of only one thing.” He swallowed and tightened his grip on her hand. “The name Michaels. Eric Michaels.” He searched her eyes. “Is that … is that me?”
The tears came regardless of her desire to stop them. “Yes …” She uttered a happy cry and hugged him, held him as she would only get to do a handful of times again in her life. “Your name is Eric Michaels.”
THIRTY-THREE
DECEMBER 4, 2001
It was December, and the shock had finally begun to wear off.
Laura had come to terms with the fact that the problems in her marriage were both Eric's fault and hers. There was no one to shake a fist at, no point hanging on to either guilt or anger. She had never realized how badly hurt he'd been by the loss of their daughter. After that, they had simply let their love die, and Eric had replaced her with his position at Koppel and Grant.
A position that had demanded everything from him. His time, his devotion, his heart and soul. Eventually his life.
She and Josh were getting on with living. The hotel where Eric had been staying had finally shipped his suitcase back to Laura. His belongings held nothing of interest, no postcards or souvenirs. A month later they'd accepted an urn of Ground Zero ashes from officials in New York City as a way of remembering Eric, but they'd turned down an invitation to attend a memorial service in Manhattan. The two of them didn't need a memorial service to remember Eric.
They needed a miracle.
Because in a practical sense, adjusting to life without Eric had been relatively simple. Once Laura got over her anger and self-recrimination, once she stopped running the list of what-ifs and should-have-dones and might-have-beens through her head and came to grips with the reality of the situation, there really wasn't much else to mourn.
Eric had disappeared from their lives long before he left for New York City.
And in his place—or maybe as a way of feeling loved again—Laura had taken to spending much of her free time with Clay. It was Tuesday morning, and Laura, Clay, and Josh had shared a pleasant dinner the night before. Now Josh was outside playing football with his friends, and Clay was on his way over. The three of them were going to do some early Christmas shopping at the Thousand Oaks Mall.
The doorbell rang, and Laura ran her fingers through her hair. Every day she enjoyed Clay's presence a little more, but she wasn't sure what God thought of their relationship. Not much, she guessed. The fence that stood between friendship and love for the two of them was chain link and razor wire. Neither of them had any intention of crossing it.
Not yet, anyway.
Still, Laura had to admit that over the past few weeks, she'd found herself attracted to Clay more than once, feeling the hint of interest she'd felt for him back in her junior year of high school.
Laura let the thought pass, and for a fleeting moment, she was angry at Eric again. This confusion, the wayward thoughts of her heart, they were all his fault. If only he'd told her years ago that he'd named their daughter and grieved her still. If only he'd opened his heart to her, maybe he would've never gotten so involved at work.
Maybe he would've been home that terrible September morning.
The thought passed as she opened the door. Clay stood there, a bouquet of roses in his hand. “Here.” He handed them to her. “For dinner yesterday.” A grin climbed his face.
Laura took the flowers and tilted her head. Clay had always been like this, hadn't he? Caring for her, placing her on a pedestal despite the fact that her heart belonged to Eric. Something in his crooked smile made her go to him willingly. She held the flowers in one hand and hugged him with the other. When she pulled away, his arm stayed around her waist.
“You know something?”
“What?” Laura lowered her chin and smiled at him. She kept her voice playful and upbeat so the moment wouldn't become
something she wasn't ready for.
“I love to see you smile.”
“Thanks.” A dying piece of her heart gasped for breath and began beating again. “It feels good.”
Before either of them could move away, he brought his face to hers and gave her a tentative kiss on the lips. It was over almost as soon as it began, but it left them looking at each other, frightened and curious and lost in each other's eyes all at the same time. In some ways, being here in Clay's arms was as natural as the California sun. They'd known each other forever, after all, and they'd always cared about each other.
But not like this.
Laura was about to say something when the phone rang. She blinked, took a few steps backwards, and held up the flowers. “I'll … I'll put these in water.”
With light steps and a heart that felt freer than it had in years, Laura returned to the kitchen and picked up the phone. “Hello?” She walked to a cupboard near the sink and pulled out a dusty flower vase.
“Laura … this is Murphy.” The man paused. “Are you sitting down?”
The blood began to drain from Laura's face, and she uttered a forced laugh. Only one thought planted itself in her mind. They must've found Eric's body. “Murphy … what're you talking about.”
“I'm serious, Laura. Get a chair.”
Murphy had always been gruff and to the point, short on words and shorter still on personality. Not once in all the years Laura had known him had he ever tried to be funny. She set the flowers down on the counter, made her way into the living room, and sat on the nearest sofa.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Clay make his way inside and take a seat near her. She shot him a look and whispered the word, “Murphy.” She sucked in a jagged breath. “What's going on, Murph? You sound funny.”
Murphy muttered something. Then he inhaled sharply. “Laura … I got a call today. A lady from New York City.” He did a short huff. “You aren't going to believe this. I know it because I still don't believe it myself.”
Laura's throat was thick, and her heart had slipped into an unrecognizable rhythm. “Just say it, Murphy. What was the call about?”
“The woman told me she has Eric. He's alive, Laura. He got amnesia when the building collapsed, but he's alive. He's been living in Staten Island.”
Laura would've dropped the phone, except her hands were suddenly frozen. “What!” She stood up and walked a few hurried steps in one direction, then the other, then back. “Murphy, don't do this to me if you're not serious. You're telling me Eric's alive?”
She looked at Clay and saw a series of emotions pass across his face. Shock, disbelief, and confusion. Followed quickly by the proper look of hope and anticipation. He was at her side in an instant, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders as she learned the details of what had happened.
“I guess Eric looked just like this other lady's husband. A firefighter from New York City.” Murphy hesitated. “They found out yesterday it wasn't her husband, after all. It was Eric.”
Laura couldn't begin to identify her emotions. Eric was alive? How was it possible, and were they sure it was him? She squeezed her eyes shut. “What if it's not him?”
“His memory's coming back, Laura. He remembers who he is now.”
So, it was true! Eric was alive, and the reality of that fought to make its way into her consciousness. Ever since September 11, Laura had found most comfort by reliving the good times, the days back when they were first married, before they'd lost their baby daughter. Sarah. But now, in light of the fact that he was living, more recent memories barged their way in. So he was alive? Did that mean he'd come home ready to take on life at Koppel and Grant again? Would he even want to come home? And what place did he have there after being gone so long? There were details that suddenly needed figuring out, and Laura didn't know what to begin to feel.
She barely listened as Murphy rattled on about his conversation with the New York woman. Only one thing was absolutely sure in her mind. She was grateful she had never let herself fall in love with Clay Michaels. She cared about him, yes, but she would never love him. Not the way she knew he loved her. Because her entire heart and soul were still given to the only man who had ever laid ownership to them.
Yes, their marriage was a mess, and they had issues they needed to talk about. Maybe it would be months or years before things would be right again. But he definitely had a place in her life. Of course. He was alive again—and that could only mean that she'd been given the second chance she'd prayed about. A chance to love a man who wasn't dead, after all, and who—whatever he'd been through—might come home soon. A man who one day might be willing to break down and mourn the loss of their baby daughter, a man who in time might even choose to make changes in their marriage that could give her the family she'd always dreamed about.
A man named Eric Michaels.
THIRTY-FOUR
DECEMBER 4, 2001
The arrangements came together quickly.
Now that Eric's wife knew the truth, Jamie had no choice but to make the call. A call that would send the man who looked like Jake home where he belonged, one that would leave Jamie's heart as empty as her house.
Eric had asked her to do the talking, because after being gone so long, after changing so much, he didn't want to speak to his wife until they were face-to-face.
Jamie understood.
And so she called the woman, and as simply as possible, she filled in the details about what had happened to her husband. “He … he could've been my husband's twin.” Jamie sat next to Eric, holding his hand as she explained the situation to Laura Michaels. “It wasn't until he started getting flashbacks that we realized he might not be the man I married.”
The woman listened, and the few times she had questions, her voice was filled with empathy. Only once did the woman ask about the friendship Eric had obviously developed with Jamie. “Is … does my husband love you?”
A lump formed in Jamie's throat, and she squeezed Eric's hand. “We've become very good friends.” She sniffed, forcing herself to stay composed. She glanced at Eric and held his eyes. “But he's married to you, Mrs. Michaels. He wants to come home as quickly as possible.”
An hour later Laura called back with flight plans. She would fly into La Guardia the following morning just before noon and escort Eric home. And for Jamie, that would be the end of it, the end of believing for two months that her husband was alive. The end of hoping that a few memories were all that stood between her and the life she'd once shared with Jake.
When Jamie hung up the phone, she hugged Eric and whispered near his ear. “Pray for Sierra … it's going to be so hard on her.”
“Oh, Jamie, honey, I'm sorry … I never meant for any of this to happen.” He stroked her back as a single sob worked its way through her chest. “If only my memory would've come back sooner, maybe none of this—”
She drew back and placed a finger on his lips. “No, Eric … God wanted you here.” She sniffed and smiled at him through her tears. “As hard as this is for all of us … you being in my life these past months was part of His plan.” A happy cry came from her, and she wiped her cheeks. “Think about it. Without you I wouldn't have learned to believe in God. And you …” She brushed away another series of tears. “You would still be some business executive who didn't know how to love.” She shook her head and held his face gently in her hands. “And now … as long as you live, you'll take a little bit of Jake Bryan with you.”
“But how …” Eric's voice was barely more than a whisper, and tears choked every word. “How I am ever going to say good-bye?”
****
The two of them spent their last night together with Sierra.
They shared Hawaiian pizza, and Eric dutifully collected his pineapple pieces and gave them to Sierra, who had declared herself a pineapple princess some weeks ago. After dinner, Eric and Jamie took turns reading to her, and finally they cozied up on the sofa on either side of her and watched Little Mermaid. At th
e end when the mermaid decides to return to land and has to bid her father good-bye, Eric could do nothing about the steady stream of tears on his cheeks. He didn't dare look at Jamie; he already knew she was crying.
Their nighttime ritual was no different than usual, except that this time Eric kissed Sierra good-night and walked out of her room for the last time. After he shut her door and took two steps, he turned and fell into Jamie's arms. “She deserves a daddy, Jamie.” He let out a quiet, desperate sound. “It kills me to think she won't have one after tomorrow.”
Jamie cried too, but she had a strength that surprised him. Clearly she'd been praying about this good-bye, asking God to prepare her heart and see her through it. Eric only hoped God would do the same for him. A piece of him couldn't wait to be back with Laura, to show her how he'd changed and beg her forgiveness about how he'd treated her in the past. He was remembering more with each passing hour, and he knew that he'd all but abandoned both his wife and his young son.
He prayed they'd forgive him.
But though he looked forward to being with them, he was torn apart at the thought of leaving Jamie and Sierra. That night as he and Jamie parted at the foot of the stairs and said good-night, Eric was tempted beyond reason to follow her. Just this one time. To lie beside her and hold her, love her and cry with her and wish that somehow they could keep the sun from rising in the morning.
The thought left as soon as it had come, and he merely hugged her once more and kissed her on the cheek. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and he spent the entire night dreaming of Laura and Josh. What if they didn't want him back? Maybe the damage he'd done wasn't something he could fix? Questions and strange bits of imagined conversations played in his mind all night.
One Tuesday Morning Page 37
