Counting Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Keeping the light off, Jane tiptoed into the nursery. She leaned over the port-a-crib to check Madison and was surprised to see her bright eyes open, her tiny face looking up expectantly.

  “Hello, little princess.” Jane reached over and picked up Madison. She held the little girl against her chest and began swaying slowly in the dark, rubbing her cheek against Maddie’s soft head and inhaling her sweet fragrance.

  “Is there a chance, Maddie? I know it’s only a movie, but maybe it is possible. Maybe your dad will get well and then . . . Maybe someday he can love me as much as he loved your mom.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I can’t believe the difference a coat of paint makes,” Caroline said, standing next to her minivan parked in Jane’s driveway.

  “Try three coats,” Jane called, walking out of the house, a baby carrier in each hand.

  “And the yard—wow.” Caroline looked appreciatively over the front yard of the rental. The junipers were gone, the soil weeded and graded in preparation for sod, and the house had gone from a dull gray to a soft yellow. New white shutters framed the windows.

  Jane set the twins, in their car seats, down on the walk and returned to lock the door. “Yeah, now that the monster bushes are gone, it’s not too bad.”

  “Not bad—it’s great,” Caroline said. “How did you get all this done so fast?”

  “I know a few people with backhoes, and Paul helped too. He watched the twins while I painted, and he even arranged a deal with the landlord. We get a hundred dollars off the rent each month, so long as we send the receipts showing our purchases for improvements on the home.” Jane smiled with satisfaction as she picked up the twins again.

  “If only Ryan and I were so motivated.” Caroline shook her head and turned toward the cars. “Can we take my van? I made a last-minute appointment for Andrew. He had a terrible night—I think it’s his ears again.”

  “Sorry he’s sick.” Jane stopped to give Caroline a quick hug. “You look beat,” she observed, moving past Caroline to the van’s sliding door.

  “Give yourself a couple of months with the two of them.” Caroline nodded to the twins as she opened the van door. “You’ll look the same.”

  “I don’t know,” Jane said. “Mark has been home a week now, and it’s not too bad. Paul is pretty helpful.” He was more than helpful at night, Jane thought as she lifted Mark’s seat into the van. It seemed each time she went to take her turn giving a middle-of-the-night bottle or diaper change, Paul was already with the twins. And on those few occasions she’d managed to beat him into the nursery, he was always right behind her, offering to take over—since he was up anyway. Jane knew he didn’t sleep at night; what she didn’t know was if the pain keeping him awake was physical or emotional.

  She unfastened the seatbelt and pushed Madison’s car seat next to Mark’s. “Doesn’t Ryan take his turn at night with Andrew?”

  “No.” Caroline shook her head. “We made a pact. I take care of Andrew, and Ryan handles all the other kids’ nightmares, bed-wetting, and requests for food. Believe me, I have the better deal. ”

  “Sounds like it,” Jane said. “There.” She stepped into the van. “We’d better hurry. I don’t want to be late for their first appointment with a new doctor.”

  “It won’t matter if you are,” Caroline said with a sigh. “We’ll have to wait anyway.”

  * * *

  The only seats available were next to the reception desk, so she and Caroline took those after they’d signed in.

  “These guys must be good,” Jane mused, looking around the room.

  “They are,” Caroline said, snatching up the latest issue of Parents magazine. “Otherwise I wouldn’t wait. And they’ve got good magazines. It’s about the only chance I ever have to read.” She pointed eagerly to the potty-training article featured on the front cover. “Just wait. You’ll have to do two at once. You’ll be begging me for advice.”

  “I’m sure,” Jane said, more interested at present in the woman across the room who was openly breast-feeding her infant.

  “You could, you know,” Caroline said, following Jane’s gaze.

  “Could what?”

  “Nurse the twins if you wanted to. I read about a shot they give adoptive mothers to start their milk. You should ask Dr. Larsen.”

  Jane looked appalled. “No thanks.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think I’d like to be a part of creating my own baby first.”

  “You should.”

  “Really? Any suggestions?” Jane rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m the most eligible female and I’ve got men falling at my feet. I thought I had problems before—just being plain Jane, almost thirty. Now I’m plain Jane who is thirty. I’m living next door to a guy who’s got cancer, and soon I’ll be a mom of two special-needs infants. Quite a catch.”

  “What about Paul?” Caroline asked.

  Jane’s eyebrows rose. “What about him?”

  “Maybe he could help you out there.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” Jane stared at Caroline in disbelief. “First of all, we’re not married. And he’s sick, for heaven’s sake. And even if he wasn’t—well, he’s still mourning his wife. He hasn’t even considered a relationship.”

  “Good,” Caroline said, returning to her magazine.

  “No, that’s not good. What’s wrong with you? You suggest I get cozy with Paul, and then you’re glad we aren’t even dating?”

  Caroline tried but couldn’t hide her guilty look. “I told Mom I’d find out how things are going—you know, how friendly you and Paul are these days.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Jane said, incredulous. “And from you of all people.”

  “Yes, from me of all people.” Caroline’s teasing tone was gone. “I told you before—I almost ruined my life. So who better to watch out for you and make certain you don’t ruin yours?”

  “But I’m not,” Jane protested.

  Caroline touched her sleeve. “I know. And I know you love those babies, but I can’t lose sight of the vision of you kneeling at the temple altar. And we’re all just worried you’ll lose sight of it. That is what you deserve, Jane. Nothing less. Heavenly Father wants to bless you with everything possible.”

  Jane looked away, angered at the sudden sting of tears behind her eyes. “I’m looking for those blessings,” she insisted. “I really am.”

  * * *

  Appointments finally over, they sat in Caroline’s van, feeding the babies before heading to the store to get the antibiotic for Andrew’s ear infection.

  “So what does nursing feel like?” Jane asked as she gently nudged the bottle into Madison’s mouth.

  “Why do you want to know?” Caroline’s gaze drifted to Maddie. “I’m sorry I teased you earlier. It’s perfectly fine to bottle-feed babies. And just because you didn’t give birth to a child doesn’t mean you can’t be her mother.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” Jane leaned around her seat to check on Mark. “But I may never have the experience of being pregnant or nursing a baby, and I kind of want to hear what it’s like.”

  “All right,” Caroline said somewhat reluctantly. “But after this I just discuss bed-wetting, temper tantrums, and nightmares. Got it?”

  Jane nodded, smiling.

  Caroline looked down at Andrew, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Well . . . The first few weeks—month really—are tough. Ryan always says that I have as much liquid come from my eyes as I do from my breasts because I just sit there crying from the pain.”

  “Why do you do it then?” Jane asked, perplexed.

  “Well, with Jess it was because we were so poor and I knew we could never afford the formula. Ryan had almost three years of college left and there wasn’t a dime to spare, so I just did it. But after that, I realized how great nursing was, and I was glad I hadn’t stopped.”

  Jane used a corner of the burp cloth to wipe the milk dribbling down the side of Madison’s c
hin. “What’s so great about it?”

  “Oh, lots of things—being sore and swollen, milk stains on all your clothes, being the only one who can feed the baby in the middle of the night.” Caroline grimaced. “Doesn’t get any better than that.”

  Jane laughed. “You could do a formula commercial.”

  “I suppose,” Caroline said. She looked down at Andrew, linking her finger through his tiny fist. “But I wouldn’t. You have this baby—you’ve really had him nine-plus months already—but now you get to hold him in your arms, sing to him, look at him. Still, you miss him being inside. As absurd as that sounds, it’s true. By the end of a pregnancy you’re tired of backaches, getting up ten times a night to use the bathroom, wearing tents for shirts—you’re sick to death of all of it—yet you miss feeling that child inside you.”

  “So then you nurse him?” Jane asked, trying to piece together her sister’s logic.

  “Yes,” Caroline said. “You have this adorable infant, a scrunched-up, seven-pound ball who does nothing but cry and mess his diaper. He can’t use his hands—doesn’t even know he has them. He can barely communicate. He can’t even see you very well. But when you pick him up and put him to your breast . . .” Caroline stopped, carefully placing a finger in Andrew’s mouth, releasing his piranha-like suction.

  Before Andrew could cry, she’d kissed him on the cheek and settled him on the other side, where he promptly latched on, sucking contentedly once more. His tiny hand waved in the air a moment, then settled, palm flat, against Caroline’s chest.

  Caroline secured her bra, adjusted the blanket covering her, then looked up, her eyes brimming with emotion. “So you put this helpless infant to your breast and immediately he knows what to do. He latches on like it has been done a hundred times before, and your body responds in the most miraculous way, providing what he needs to grow. And then you realize he still needs you. You’re still connected.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” Jane said.

  Caroline reached out, squeezing her hand. “Hey, you’ll have your own children someday.”

  “What if I don’t?” Jane asked.

  “You will,” Caroline said. “You’re going to meet someone. I know it.”

  “I’ve met him,” Jane said, forlorn.

  “Not Paul?” Caroline asked, her brow wrinkled with concern.

  Jane said nothing, but nodded, meeting Caroline’s eyes.

  “Oh, Jane,” Caroline said, reaching out. “I was afraid of this. You’re not falling for him, are you?”

  “I don’t know—I don’t know what it is.” Jane sighed. “But it’s great. For the first time in a long time, I’m not lonely. Every morning when I wake up, Paul comes over. We sit at the table, share a grapefruit, read the paper—and not the personals either.” She gave Caroline a wry smile. “And now that Mark is home, Paul and I are together most of the day. We play with the babies or work on the house. At night we take turns making dinner, and after the twins are in bed we play Scrabble or watch TV.” Jane looked at Caroline, trying to make her sister understand what she was saying. “Do you know how fantastic it is to have someone to sit next to and share a bowl of popcorn with while you watch the news?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “For years I’d see something on television, or I’d read something in the paper, hear a new song on the radio—anything—and I’d have a thought I’d long to share with someone. Now I can. I’ve got Paul, and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Caroline’s face was sad as she lifted Andrew to her shoulder. “Scrabble? And the news? Jane, that isn’t love. What you’ve done is fall out of loneliness, but that isn’t the same as loving someone. When it’s love, you know it. You have this feeling, this take-your-breath-away—”

  “Chemistry,” Jane finished for her. “I felt that with Jay, remember? And it seems I also remember you telling me that love involved more than that. It involved friendship. So what—now that I’ve found the friendship, that’s not good enough either?” She turned away, looking out the passenger-side window as she fought back angry tears. “We can’t all find what you and Ryan have.”

  “What Ryan and I have takes a lot of work, and I think you can have that—when you meet the right person.” Caroline took a deep breath. “But you’re forgetting one important part of the formula. You need friendship, chemistry, and faith. Life is hard, Jane. Don’t make it worse by choosing someone who doesn’t share your faith, who doesn’t know Heavenly Father like you do.”

  “I think Paul could learn,” Jane said. “I even think he kind of wants to. He’s asked Mom a few questions while I’ve been at church and she’s over helping with the babies.”

  “That’s good,” Caroline said, encouraged.

  Jane gave her a sad smile. “I suppose so, except . . .”

  Caroline’s brow wrinkled. “What?”

  Jane looked up at her. “He wants to know where his wife is now. Every question he’s asked had to do with Tami. He can’t let go of her.”

  “Should he have to?” Caroline asked softly. “If Ryan had died a few months ago, would you expect me to be over him?”

  “That’s different,” Jane protested. “You’re sealed in the temple. You’re—”

  “And if you truly care for Paul, you’ll want him to have those blessings too,” Caroline said. “You’ll want to ease his sadness by teaching him about eternal marriage.”

  Jane swallowed the lump in her throat. “That’s asking an awful lot of me, don’t you think?” She tried to smile but couldn’t.

  Caroline nodded. “You asked it of yourself the day you moved in next door to him. I’m not saying you’ve made a completely bad decision, Jane. But what you have done is make life much more complicated. Now you need to be careful to not make things worse. Paul is your friend. That’s fine. But if you tangle with the emotions physical intimacy brings, you’ll be even more devastated when . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “You can’t say it either,” Jane accused, setting Madison’s empty bottle aside.

  “You’ll be even more devastated when Paul dies,” Caroline said softly. “His cancer is terminal.”

  “We’re all going to die,” Jane said, angrily wiping a tear away. “Paul may know how, but even he doesn’t know when. He’s already far outlived his doctors’ predictions.”

  “That’s great, but—”

  “His cancer could still go into remission,” Jane insisted. “He’s on this new combination of drugs, and they’re administered straight into his liver, so he’s not as sick as before. The rest of his body may rally and fight back. And if that happens, then why can’t I love him? Why couldn’t he be the one?”

  Caroline bit her lip and continued to rub Andrew’s back. After several seconds she finally spoke. “I hope you’re right. Just—be careful, Jane.”

  Jane gave her a wan smile. “I will. Remember this is me you’re talking to. The worst I’ve ever done is share a stolen kiss in the hall at work—and look what that got me.”

  “Good,” Caroline said emphatically.

  “You know what I keep thinking of, though?”

  Caroline shook her head. “What?”

  “Remember in junior high when I was on that Anne of Green Gables kick?”

  “Yes.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “I was ready to shred those videos. You must have watched them twenty times.”

  “Thirty-two,” Jane confirmed. “Anne of Avonlea was my first foray into romance.” She smiled, remembering. “And now I keep thinking of the scene where Gilbert is dying and Anne brings him her book. She finally tells him she loves him.”

  “And he gets better,” Caroline said.

  “He gets better,” Jane echoed. She looked down at Madison, asleep in her arms. “Miracles do happen. Paul could get better.”

  Caroline leaned across the seat, putting an arm around Jane. “That was fiction. Real life is usually—different.”

  “I know,” Jane said, a tear trailing down her cheek. She wrapped a blanket aroun
d Madison, carefully tucking her tiny hands inside. “But I love his children. And I could love him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jane felt like beaming as she sat beside Paul at her parents’ table. For the first Thanksgiving in her adult history, she had not come alone. The past several years—especially the last two since her brother Michael had married, leaving her the only one still single—she’d felt out of place at family gatherings. She loved her parents and her siblings, but their well-meaning advice and teasing about her unmarried status had hurt her on more occasions than she cared to count.

  And Thanksgiving was always the worst.

  Longstanding family tradition dictated that everyone old enough to talk take a minute—or ten, as her blubbery sister Karen always did—to tell something they were thankful for. In the past Jane had struggled to come up with something acceptable to say.

  The year she’d graduated she expressed gratitude for her education—though her degree wasn’t the one she’d really wanted. Jane was also thankful for her job—well, sort of. It paid the bills, but it wasn’t what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

  Last year she’d been thankful for her house, and her parents had really frowned at that one. After all, a house was a material thing, and her mother felt she’d be better off living in a tent rather than her run-down cottage.

  With painful Thanksgiving memories still fresh on her mind, one of Jane’s New Year’s resolutions for 2003 had been to disappear on a cruise ship when the holiday rolled around again. But today she was glad she’d postponed booking her passage. Tonight she had something meaningful to say. Tonight there would be no singles jokes directed her way. Tonight her parents would be happy.

  Jane glanced at her watch. If only Karen would finish her monologue.

  It was a good thing they’d already eaten. Jane remembered when they were growing up and she and her siblings had to express their thanks before dinner was served. But the Thanksgiving she was six years old, that had changed.