Counting Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Caroline snorted. “Has that husband of yours ever given you anything that wasn’t sports related?”

  “Once.” Karen held out her hand. “A wedding ring. He tricked me.”

  Caroline laughed as she put an arm around her sister. “Poor Karen. Ryan’s no saint, but at least he doesn’t have an addiction like Scott’s. You really need to do something about that.”

  “I’m working on it,” Karen said. They both looked out the window again.

  “You don’t suppose Pete put a ring in one of those eggs, do you?” she asked.

  Caroline shook her head. “It’s too soon, but I think it’s coming.” She watched as Jane opened a large plastic egg, and Hershey kisses spilled out on the lawn. She bent to pick them up, and Pete walked over to help. He knelt beside her, and Jane handed him a candy. In return, Pete grabbed her arms, pulled her close, and kissed her soundly.

  Looking over at her mom, Caroline fully expected her to scold Jane and Pete for kissing in front of the grandchildren. Caroline remembered that was all she’d heard whenever Ryan was at the house and they’d been too friendly. Instead of scolding, she found her mother eagerly watching the couple, her hands clasped together, a look of joy on her face.

  “I can’t believe Mom is encouraging this,” Caroline said. “It’s not like Peter’s a member of the Church.”

  “Not yet, anyway,” Karen mused, turning away from the window.

  “What do you mean?” Caroline asked.

  “He’s reading the Book of Mormon, and . . . Mom invited him to church tomorrow.”

  “Really?” Caroline’s eyebrows shot up. “Does Jane know?”

  Karen shook her head as she left the room.

  Caroline looked outside again. “Maybe Jane has finally met her prince charming.”

  * * *

  “Hi, Mom.” Jane sat down on the second to last pew and leaned over, handing Maddie to her father. Since moving from her cottage, she’d attended church with her parents—she needed the help with the twins, and it wasn’t like she could go to a singles’ ward with two babies in tow.

  “You’re alone?” her mother asked, looking past Jane toward the chapel doors.

  Jane turned around, following her gaze. “I’m always alone, Mom. Nothing has happened to change that.”

  “But it’s Easter,” her mother chided. “It would have been nice of you to invite Mr. Bryant.”

  “He knows I go to church on Sunday. If he wanted to come—”

  “Morning, everyone.” Peter’s voice interrupted.

  Jane turned to him, her mouth open. He smiled as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be there.

  “Mind if I sit between you and your mom? I need to ask her something.”

  Jane nodded numbly. Peter squeezed past her and sat on the bench. Jane realized her mouth was still open and shut it.

  “I’m so glad you could make it, Peter,” her mother said warmly.

  “Me too,” he said. “Though my ride left a little earlier than I’d anticipated.” He grinned at Jane before returning his attention to her mom. “If there’s a minute before the service starts, I want to ask you something.” He held up a Book of Mormon.

  Jane’s eyes nearly popped. Where did he get that? What else don’t I know?

  Beside her, Peter’s head was bent toward her mother’s as their conversation continued.

  “There’s a part in Mosiah . . .”

  Jane’s head whirled as she tried to listen and couldn’t. Mark wiggled on her lap. She pulled out a board book and handed it to him. Conversations and greetings carried on around her. The prelude music ended, and a member of the bishopric came to the podium. Pete stopped talking to her mother and reached over, taking Jane’s hand.

  “You look great. Happy Easter,” he whispered.

  She tried to return his greeting but only managed a weak smile. She looked at the book in his lap, then met his gaze, questions plainly written on her face.

  “It’s from one of my buddies in Iraq. I’ve only read a bit. On days your mom babysits, she and I talk about it when I come home for lunch. That’s all.”

  That’s all. The words spoke volumes. Don’t make it more than it is. Don’t get your hopes up. She hadn’t—hadn’t even considered the possibility.

  Until now.

  But with Pete beside her, a baby on each of their laps, she could suddenly think of nothing else. Jane closed her eyes and bowed her head for the prayer, savoring a perfect moment, knowing it probably wouldn’t last but wishing that it could.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “Have fun tonight,” Pete said, giving Jane a light kiss on the lips.

  “You too.” She climbed into the Jeep and sat down. “Remember—no turning Mark into a sports maniac.”

  “It’s not Mark I’m worried about,” Pete joked. “I fear what Maddie may learn in that houseful of women.”

  Jane laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m sure a twelve-year-old’s party won’t be that bad.”

  Pete placed one hand on the car door and one hand on the roof. He leaned in toward Jane. “It’s not the twelve-year-olds I’m worried about—but those aunts of hers.” He gave Jane another quick kiss and shut the door.

  She backed out of the driveway and waved as she drove off.

  Whistling, Pete returned to the house to collect Mark and the bags of chips he was bringing to the “guys night” at Scott and Karen’s house. The men of the Warner family were looking forward to enjoying the Sonics/Jazz game at a female-free house, while Jane and her sisters and nieces were spending the evening at Caroline’s, celebrating Jessica’s twelfth birthday.

  A contented happiness surrounded Pete as he packed the diaper bag. He reflected on how quickly he’d become accustomed to life with babies, how fast he’d learned the names—and quirks—of Jane’s family members. He was even starting to get a handle on the whole Mormon thing. He was surprised at how much he was enjoying the Book of Mormon, though he wasn’t entirely sure he bought into the Joseph Smith story. He’d told Jane as much last Sunday after he’d gone to church with her. She’d said she understood and hadn’t brought the subject up since. He appreciated that—appreciated her, and realized each day how much he’d come to care for her. The couple thing was working out better than he could have ever imagined. If this was what Paul had envisioned, then Pete knew he might very well end up owing his brother a lifetime of gratitude.

  * * *

  “Oh, Mom—I love it!” Jessica finished tearing the wrapping paper from a large box containing a karaoke machine. “Can we use it tonight?”

  “I think you scored with that gift.” Jane sat on the couch beside Caroline, watching as Jessica opened the rest of her presents.

  “She’s wanted one forever,” Caroline whispered. “I had to get it—that and a half dozen CDs. Wait until she sees those. She’ll be ecstatic.” Caroline scooted to the edge of the couch and leaned forward over the girls on the floor. “Open that next, Jess.” She pointed to a Winnie the Pooh gift bag.

  “Who are those CDs for?” Jane whispered knowingly. “Seems like you were the one always singing into a curling iron while you listened to the radio.”

  Caroline looked at her. “You know, we probably should try it out—to help the girls get up their nerve. After all, if a bunch of thirty-somethings can get up and sing, then anyone can.”

  “No way,” Jane said with a shake of her head. “I’m too old for that sort of thing—and if I am, you definitely are.”

  “Age is a state of mind, and my mind says we’re both plenty young.” Caroline rose from the couch, tugging Jane behind her. “Come see the costumes I chose for us.”

  * * *

  “I don’t understand,” Scott grumbled. Kneeling behind the television, he fiddled with the cables. “It worked fine an hour ago. The kids know better than to come in here . . . What could have happened?”

  Ryan looked at his watch again as he turned the radio up. “Shh. I think—yep, we just missed the tip-off
.”

  “Who has the ball?” Scott demanded.

  Ryan shrugged and put a finger to his lips.

  “Chili dog, anyone?” Jane’s brother Mike came in from the deck. “They’re hot off the grill.”

  “Quiet,” Scott barked. “We don’t know who has the ball.”

  “TV won’t work,” Pete said, filling Mike in.

  “What about the one in your bedroom?” he suggested.

  Scott shook his head. “It only gets local channels. Karen uses it to watch those dumb craft shows on PBS while she sews.”

  “Maybe it’s not your television. Maybe it’s the satellite,” Mike suggested, drawing the same conclusion everyone else already had.

  “Trent’s on the phone with the satellite company right now,” Pete informed him.

  Trent covered the phone. “There’s an approximate wait of eighteen minutes. Maybe it is the satellite company.”

  “Great.” Scott smacked the television as he stood. “We can’t wait eighteen minutes. We’ll miss most of the first quarter. Who has cable?”

  Pete shook his head. “Neither Jane or I do.”

  “I’ve got the same dish as you,” Mike said.

  Scott looked hopefully at Trent.

  Trent shook his head. “Uh-uh. Amy says when I quit buying stocks that end up worthless, then I can spend more money on cable or other things I want.”

  “We’re doomed,” Scott concluded.

  “We’ve actually got cable right now,” Ryan said, surprising everyone. “Just for the next three months on special—then we’ll cancel again.”

  “But that’s where the girls are,” Pete protested. “We can’t crash their—”

  “Too bad.” Scott strode to the coffee table, scooped up the bags of chips, and headed toward the door. “They’ll have to understand. This is an emergency. Mike, bring those chili dogs and let’s go.”

  * * *

  “Aunt Jane! Aunt Jane! Aunt Jane!” Jessica and her cousins and friends chanted, slapping their hands against their thighs as they sat cross-legged on the lawn before the makeshift stage that was the back patio.

  “In a minute,” Jane called to the girls. Turning to Karen, she said, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Standing just to the side of the cement, she watched as Caroline—dressed as outlandishly as she was in bell-bottoms, a psychedelic large-collared shirt, and heels—set up the karaoke machine.

  Caroline held one of the microphones to her mouth. “Listen carefully, ladies, to the wisdom of the next song as Jane and I perform . . . Cher!” Taking the CD off pause, she held one of the microphones out to Jane, who reluctantly walked across the patio, her lime-green polyester fringe swishing.

  Jane took the microphone. “Where did you get these awful clothes?” she whispered.

  “They’re Mindy’s,” Caroline said. “She’s got a bunch of stuff like this in her old closet at Mom’s. Now sing.”

  Deciding she’d look just as ridiculous whether she got into her performance or not, Jane turned to face the girls and began swaying her hips, her only consolation that at least the men weren’t around to see them.

  * * *

  “I smell estrogen,” Trent said, walking up the steps to Caroline and Ryan’s house.

  “I just smell chili dog,” Mike said, letting go another belch.

  Pete shook his head as he carried Mark, bringing up the rear of the party. Imagining Jane’s sister Caroline, he smelled disaster.

  Ryan unlocked the front door, and they went inside. The living room was deserted, but sleeping bags and pillows lay spread across the floor, and a pile of discarded wrapping paper and bows was stacked by the television. The Princess Diaries DVD lay beside the remote.

  “Uh, guys,” Pete tried again. “I’ve never had any sisters, but I’m telling you, I don’t think this is such a great idea.”

  “You know, I think Pete is right,” Ryan admitted as he looked around the room. There was a basket of nail polish on the coffee table along with a tray of small paper cups filled with mints and an enormous bowl full of assorted bite-size chocolate bars. Beside the chocolate was a book, The American Girl Guide to Boys.

  “It doesn’t look good,” Pete said.

  Scott grabbed the remote, knocking The Princess Diaries DVD to the floor. “I know,” he said. “Pete, you and Ryan go find the girls and tell them our predicament. If anyone can smooth things over, I’m sure you can.” He flipped the television on, then quickly found the right channel.

  “Man, we’re still down,” he grumbled, his attention at once focused on the game.

  Pete glanced at Ryan.

  “Sure, why not.” Ryan had a look that said he knew he’d pay for this later.

  Pete followed him into the kitchen, which was also deserted, but music and laughter came through the open back door. He walked over to investigate.

  Peering through the window, he saw the yard was ablaze with tiki torches and little flower lights hanging from the patio awning. A dozen or so pajama-clad girls were scattered across the lawn, sitting on blankets, kneeling and standing—all of them squealing with delight at the duo on the patio.

  Curiosity winning out over caution, Pete pushed the door from the garage open and stepped into the yard so he could see exactly what held their attention. Ryan walked out behind him and they stood together, mesmerized by the sight before them.

  Caroline and Jane, in full ’70s regalia, from wigs to bell-bottoms and silver heels, were dancing around the patio. A small TV screen displayed the words to Cher’s “It’s in His Kiss,” though it looked to Pete like neither of them really needed the prompt. Amused, he watched Jane wiggle her hips and pull the microphone close for her next line. He’d never seen her like this—never would have imagined she had such a wild, uninhibited side.

  “Man, my wife is hot,” Ryan muttered under his breath.

  Pete was thinking the same thing about Jane, but said, “Her temper is gonna be hot if she finds us here.”

  “Yeah—yeah,” Ryan agreed, snapping out of his trance. He began slowly backing into the shadow of the house. “We’ve got to get the guys out of here quick,” he said, just as Caroline spotted them. “Uh-oh.”

  Pete saw the instant change on her face—the smile replaced by a ferocious scowl. Her eyes narrowed as she walked toward the edge of the patio. Knowing what he did about Caroline, Pete realized he had to do something quick or else be party to a major fight.

  “Take Mark.” Pete thrust him into Ryan’s arms. Striding toward the patio, he put a finger to his lips to silence Caroline. He took the microphone from her and snuck up behind Jane, who continued to sing.

  “How about my kiss?” Pete croaked into his microphone.

  Jane stopped suddenly, turning to him, a horrified look on her face.

  Pete stepped forward and pulled her into a crushing embrace, kissing her before she could protest.

  After a few seconds, Jane’s arms twined around his neck and she kissed him back. The girls erupted into cheers and applause. He ignored them, ignored everything else except the woman in his arms and the stir of emotion she was causing. At last he felt her pull away.

  Jane looked up, giving him a sheepish grin as she pushed the wig back on her head.

  “Well?” he asked, quiet enough that only she would hear. “What does my kiss tell you?”

  Still reeling, Jane looked into his eyes.

  “Heaven help me,” she whispered, echoing the words so many heroines in her romance novels said when realizing they were completely, hopelessly in love.

  Chapter Fifty

  “No peeking.” Pete led Jane out the sliding glass door to the backyard. He stepped behind her, putting his hands over her eyes to ensure she didn’t see. “Now the way this game works is you have to smell your way to your present. Go.”

  Jane put her hands on her hips and breathed in deeply. “This is impossible. Everything smells of lilac.”

  “Yee-es,” Pete said.

  Confused, Jane stayed
where she was, her toe tapping on the cracked cement. “How am I supposed to find another scent over that?”

  “Use your nose to follow the lilac,” he suggested. “Find where it’s strongest.”

  “What good will that do if I’m supposed to—?” she broke off, twisting out of his grip to face him. Her eyes opened. “Did you—?”

  He spun her back around, pointing to the three new bushes in the yard. “One for each baby, and a third for me—I realize I’m at least as much work as Mark and Madison.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Jane exclaimed. She ran from the patio and went to examine the nearest plant. She leaned over, her face close as she inhaled the heady fragrance. “Where did you find such mature ones?”

  Pete smiled. “In your little black book of landscaping. The people at Gearson Nursery were especially helpful when I told them who the lilacs were for.”

  “Aren’t you sneaky!” She went to the other two plants, bending over to inhale their fragrance. “I love them. Absolutely love them,” she said, returning to Pete.

  “I’m glad. I know tradition is cut roses, but I thought you’d like these better. He took her in his arms. “Happy Mother’s Day, Jane.”

  * * *

  Jay rose from the stool and put his guitar in its case. He was surprised to have been called into work today—it being Mother’s Day and all. Normally Sundays were slow, but maybe today sentiment had driven more men to the bar, hoping they could drown their sorrows in a beer or two. It wasn’t a half-bad idea.

  As if she’d read his mind, Diedre, the bar attendant, sidled up to him, a drink in her hand. “Share a beer before we close up?”

  She looked up through long lashes, and Jay studied her face with as much longing as he did the beer. She was pretty, and was he ever thirsty.

  “No thanks,” he said, snapping the clips on his case. “I’ve got to study.”

  “You always say that,” she whined, sliding her arm around his waist. Jay stiffened at her touch.

  She took a sip from the glass in her hand. “What’s one little drink going to hurt?”