Counting Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Jane looked over at him just then, her face lighting in a smile. Instead of her usual yard overalls, she wore a skirt and blouse, and they ruffled in the afternoon breeze. She reached up to push a strand of hair from her eyes and beckoned for him to join them.

  More than anything in the world, Pete wanted to—wanted them—but he couldn’t move. Instead he stood motionless, watching, as he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

  * * *

  Peter looked up from the stack of business cards on the desk and tried again to focus on what Mark’s cardiologist was saying. He didn’t think he’d missed anything too important yet. He and Jane had been commended on Mark’s remarkable growth the past few months.

  “It was all Peter,” Jane said, looking at him affectionately.

  Pete knew that wasn’t true but he couldn’t seem to find the words to refute her compliment—just as he hadn’t been able to find the words to tell her he would be leaving.

  The doctor continued, and Pete came to attention when he heard Bidirectional Glenn Procedure—the name of the second of three surgeries Mark needed.

  “Really, Mark should have had this done several months ago,” Dr. Ray continued. “And now that he’s doing so much better, we don’t want to delay.” He pulled out a date book. “How about Thursday, August twelfth?”

  “Do you have anything sooner?” Pete asked. “Anything in July, maybe?”

  “Hmm,” Dr. Ray flipped the calendar back a page. “I don’t, and it is best to have this lead time. We’ll need to change some of Mark’s medication routine, and he’ll need to go on antibiotics before the operation—there’s always the risk of infection.” He turned to Jane. “Of course you know that, Miss Warner.”

  Jane nodded. “I’ve told Peter how close it was after Mark’s first surgery.”

  Dr. Ray continued. “And Mark will need some additional appointments beforehand—lab work and such.”

  Jane shuddered.

  Pete squeezed her hand. How could he leave her to face this alone?

  “August twelfth is fine,” she said, giving Pete a brave smile. “I need some time to prepare for it too.”

  “Good.” Dr. Ray penciled it in his book. “It will be a morning appointment, though I’m not sure what time exactly. Elaine handles the details with the hospital. She’ll also talk to you about finances. But before you leave, let’s go over what needs to happen in the next six weeks.”

  Pete half listened to the conversation. Jane had her PDA out, taking copious notes, so he knew they’d have all the needed information. His mind raced with possibilities. Could he postpone his return by a few weeks? What circumstances justified such a thing? He knew acceptable reasons were out there—but they were scarce. Being with a unit based in religion-and family-oriented Utah, almost all the men he served with had families. Several of their wives had given birth while their husbands were in Iraq, and he knew others whose families had suffered through all sorts of hard times—serious illnesses and surgeries included—while their husbands and fathers were gone.

  Pete knew his chances of a delayed return were slim to none.

  Jane rose from her chair, and he followed. Shaking Dr. Ray’s hand, they left the office and went to talk finances with the office manager. The news was not encouraging. The twins were now on his insurance, thankfully, but when he returned to Iraq, Pete wasn’t sure how that would work. Richard had been more than generous, and Pete didn’t want to abuse that generosity by asking for benefits when he wasn’t around to earn them. He hated feeling so obligated to the firm.

  He sighed aloud as they finally left the office.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Jane asked. Mark slept in her arms.

  “No. In fact, I think I’d better skip tonight.”

  “Oh.” Jane looked away, but not before he saw the disappointment in her eyes. They walked in silence to the parking garage, where he opened the door for her after she’d put Mark in his car seat.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she sat down.

  Pete closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. The ride home was quiet. When they reached Jane’s house, he opened her door again and carried Mark up the walk.

  “If you change your mind, just come over . . . I made a big lasagna.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” He’d raved about her lasagna and had seconds and thirds the last time she’d fixed it. He leaned forward, handed Mark to her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Jane nodded and turned to go into the house. Pete waited until she’d closed the door, then returned to his car. He knew he’d hurt her, but his head was pounding, and he couldn’t think about being around Jane or Mark or Madison until he’d come to terms with the thought of leaving them.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Pete rang the doorbell, then shoved his hands in his pockets as he waited outside Richard’s house. Inside, he heard screaming and a shuffle. A moment later the door flew open. Richard’s teenage daughter, Chloe, stood there.

  “Beat you,” she called to her younger brother who stood panting behind her.

  “Whatever . . . cheater.” He stuck his tongue out before retreating into the house.

  Chloe turned back to Peter. Recognition dawned and she gave him a flirty smile. “Hi. You wanna see my dad?”

  Pete nodded.

  “Come on in. He and Charlie are having an argument about grades right now. Dad will be glad for the break.”

  Smiling at this information, Pete followed her into the house. Chloe led him through the formal living room into Richard’s study.

  “I’ll get my dad.”

  “Thanks,” Pete sat on the leather couch as she left the room. The study was immaculate, as the living room had been. Richard’s volumes of books were alphabetized on the surrounding shelves, his desk clear, and the rug looked like it had never been walked on. But Pete knew that just outside the double French doors, the rest of the house was a different story. He couldn’t hold back a grin as he saw Richard’s youngest, thirteen-year-old Chris, zoom by on roller blades.

  “Now ya won’t beat me, Chloe,” Chris yelled.

  Pete caught a flash of the hockey stick trailing behind Chris, and the kids’ Labrador followed in hot pursuit. Pete tried to imagine Mark as a rambunctious teenager and couldn’t. Would he and Maddie fight like that? Peter remembered that he and Paul certainly had. He guessed sibling rivalry was probably pretty normal—even traceable back to the beginning of time. Cain and Abel hadn’t exactly been best friends.

  Peter’s lips twisted in a wry smile. Funny how his thoughts had turned to scripture so easily. Attributable, no doubt, to the discussions he had with Jane’s mother several times a week during his lunch hour. He thought about the video she’d shown him on Thursday, and he wondered if Joseph Smith had ever fought with his brother Hyrum.

  What does it matter, and why are you thinking about it?

  Pete watched as Chris flew past the door again. He looked like a pretty normal, sweaty, self-absorbed, thirteen-year-old boy. It was difficult to imagine that the most important revelation in modern history would have been entrusted to a teenager like him.

  A minute later, Richard’s wife Candice walked by with a laundry basket balanced on her hip. Seeing Peter, she stopped in surprise.

  “Hello, Peter.” Her hand went self-consciously to the bandanna tied in her hair. “Does Richard know you’re here?”

  “Chloe went to tell him,” Pete said, glad for the interruption. He had enough to deal with right now without the added stress of throwing religious indecision into the pot.

  Candice frowned. “Chloe’s still here? She was supposed to go babysitting twenty minutes ago. I’ll see what’s keeping Richard.” She waved a hand at Pete as she left the room.

  Pete leaned back on the sofa and put one leg up on his knee. He looked around the room at the pictures on the wall, keeping his mind focused on the happiness that was Richard’s chaotic family.

  “Peter.
” Richard walked into the room. He had sweats and a baseball cap on—entirely different from his office attire—but Pete rose to greet his boss just the same.

  “Sorry to interrupt your Saturday.”

  “No problem.” Richard reached behind him to close the French doors. He walked across the room. “What’s up?’

  Pete withdrew the wrinkled paper from his shirt pocket. “My unit’s been called up again.”

  “When?” Richard looked somber as he sat behind the desk.

  “End of July. I’ve got a month to put everything in order.”

  Richard looked at him steadily. “What isn’t in order?”

  “My job,” Pete said. “I’ve left you twice before.”

  “And proven your worth each time you’ve returned. Don’t worry about your employment,” Richard assured him.

  “Thank you.” Pete hesitated. “I was also wondering what it would take to continue my health insurance while I’m gone. I’m willing to pay a COBRA if I can maintain the same benefits.

  Richard’s eyebrows rose. “Has the military stopped covering its own?”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about,” Pete explained. “Mark is having open-heart surgery in August. It’s going to wipe out almost all of Jane’s account if Mark’s coverage goes down.”

  “She doesn’t have health insurance?” Richard guessed.

  Pete shook his head. “She’s not going back to her old job. Her landscape business is doing really well lately, but not so much that she could afford to insure herself or the children. And Paul left too much money for the twins to qualify for Medicaid. We’re caught right in the middle.”

  “I see.” Richard leaned back in his chair, a contemplative look on his face. “I think we can work something out with the insurance. But have you ever thought about what might happen if Jane became sick or injured?”

  Pete refolded the paper and stuck it in his pocket. He looked at Richard. “I have.”

  “She really ought to be covered, too.”

  “Are you offering?” Pete asked, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation.

  “I’d like to,” Richard said. “But you know my hands are tied. Unlike Mark and Madison, Jane isn’t related to you. Now, were you to marry her before you go . . .” He let the possibility hang in the air.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Richard leaned forward over the desk. “You’re crazy about her, and she’s in love with you. That much was obvious at the dinner last week. You couldn’t keep your eyes off each other, and every time she spoke to Dave or Cameron, you looked like you were going to rip their heads off.”

  Pete frowned. He had wanted to rip their heads off, or at the very least whisk Jane away each time he saw one of the firm’s career bachelors talking to her—or stalking her as he’d seen it. He wanted to protect her from guys like that, from everything. Yet . . . “I can’t marry her,” Pete reiterated.

  “Why?” Richard demanded. “Because you’re leaving? People do it all the time, Peter. Men have been going to war for centuries, leaving their families behind. It’s tough, but it’s done.”

  “I’ve seen the other side of that,” Pete reminded him. “I’ve seen what happens when those men don’t come home. Their families suffer—for years. I won’t do that to Jane. I won’t tie her heart up until I know for sure I’m going to be around to keep hold of it.”

  “That’s a fine sentiment,” Richard said. “But I think it’s a little late. Married or not, that girl has already given her heart to you. It seems the responsible thing now would be to protect it as best you can while you’re gone.”

  “Dad?” Chloe stood on the other side of the French doors, knocking.

  Richard beckoned for her to come in.

  Chloe opened one of the doors and poked her head inside the room. “Can you give me a ride? I’m late for a babysitting job.”

  “Sure, honey. We’re just finishing. Grab my keys and get in the car. I’ll be right there.”

  “Thanks, Dad. Bye, Pete.” She backed out of the room.

  Richard stood. “I’ll talk to Joan on Monday. She’ll let you know what we need to do to continue the twins’ coverage while you’re gone.”

  “Thanks.” Pete rose from the couch.

  “When is your time with the Reserves up?” Richard asked as he walked around the desk.

  “Supposed to be next October,” Pete said. “But right now there’s a moratorium of sorts—no one can get out as long as we’re still this involved in Iraq. I don’t know how long it’ll be before that changes.”

  “But you will get out when the opportunity comes?” Richard asked.

  “Yes,” Pete said. “No doubts. I’ve had enough. I wish I were done now.”

  They went through the living room to the front door. Richard walked him to the Mercedes.

  “Interesting, isn’t it,” Richard said, “how you were so adamant to reenlist and had no reservations about leaving Tamara.”

  “And played the perfect martyr when my brother stepped in,” Pete finished.

  Richard nodded. “Yet now you don’t want to go. Are you sure it’s all about those babies?” he asked. “Think about it, Peter. You’ve got one month. Use it wisely.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Jane sat in bed next to a half-full box of Kleenex and a wad of moist, used tissues—bags of fun-size candy bars on either side of her. She’d cried enough tonight to make Tara look like a dry well.

  Savagely, she unwrapped another Three Musketeers bar and shoved it in her mouth at the same time she bit into a Milky Way. She’d started buying bags of those too, for when Pete was around. Which had been every day—until recently. Since their night on the beach nearly two weeks ago, an unspoken pact had been made between them. The passionate kissing had ceased, replaced by chaste kisses and infrequent hand-holding. There were no more dates without the twins, and Pete left immediately after Mark and Madison were in bed each night. Jane knew it was good they were keeping to such boundaries, and yet . . . She hadn’t wanted it to be the beginning of the end.

  After Pete’s silence at Mark’s appointment yesterday, and missing him last night, she’d held onto the hope that their Saturday would be good. But his blinds had remained closed all morning, and when Jane took the twins for a walk around the block, his car was gone. He’d finally called at five to tell her he wouldn’t be over that night or the next day.

  Jane tore the wrapper from another candy bar, musing that if she couldn’t have the man, at least she could have his chocolate. She sniffed loudly, then sneezed. Reaching for the remote, she turned up the volume and tried to concentrate on the movie she’d chosen to torture herself with—her Clean Cinema version of An Officer and a Gentleman. She was just about to the part where Richard Gere, dressed in full uniform, came into the factory and swept Debra Winger off her feet—literally. It was a scene that always made her heart soar. Today it just made her heart sore.

  Jane blew her nose again. She wanted to be swept off her feet. Actually, she had been. The only problem was, she’d been dropped on the floor at the end—and she was pretty certain she knew why. At the beach, Peter had told her he was grateful for her religion, but even as he’d spoken the words, she’d sensed his hesitation. He began pulling away from her that night, and instead of feeling devastated, Jane knew she should be grateful. She’d been praying for the strength to do the right thing, and it seemed Heavenly Father was helping her out by having Peter end their relationship. It looked like she wouldn’t be faced with the agonizing decision of marrying outside the Church after all.

  Fresh tears squeezed from her eyes, and Jane fell over on the bed, landing on the crumpled tissue and wrappers. Would it have been so terrible if she’d married him? She loved him. He’d almost said he loved her. Together, as a real family, they would be better parents for Mark and Madison. Is that so wrong, Heavenly Father? I love him so much. And he is a good man.

  “He is,” she said. “I will,” she whispered, knowing that
’s what she’d say if Peter asked her to marry him at this very moment. But something inside told her he wasn’t going to ask.

  She reached for her pillow and curled herself around it. She felt hopeless. Not all the chocolate in the world could fix her broken heart.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Jane glanced again at the paper on the seat beside her. The pink parchment was still there, date, time, and location emblazoned across the middle. She hadn’t imagined the whole thing—which was very good, considering she’d spent the last three days exfoliating her face, doing hours of Tae Bo, and eating nothing but grapefruit. It took a lot of effort to make up for Saturday night’s consumption of nearly two entire bags of fun-size chocolate bars.

  It had been a weird week since then. Peter came over Monday, but he hadn’t stayed long, hardly speaking to her, not even offering an apology or explanation for being out of the picture all weekend. She’d fed him dinner, but their meal was awkward, so she decided she wasn’t going to bother cooking anymore. If he was so disenchanted with her, then he could fix his own meals.

  Tuesday morning a bouquet of mixed roses was delivered to her door. The accompanying note from Peter apologized for his strange and distant behavior. He said he needed a couple of days to take care of some things and asked her to meet him Wednesday night at the Emerald Bay address on the card.

  So here she was.

  But where was Peter? It was five minutes after six, and she saw no sign of him. Deciding she might as well get out and look around, Jane stepped from the Jeep, careful to make sure her black skirt cleared the door. Peter had invited her on a bay cruise—that much she was sure of after looking up the address on the Internet. She’d worn her best skirt and borrowed a blouse and a strand of pearls from Karen for the occasion. But what the occasion was, she still didn’t know. Why hadn’t Peter just picked her up at the house? And what about the roses? She knew yellow stood for friendship and red for love, but what were yellow, red, white, and pink all mixed together supposed to mean?