Counting Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Jay held his guitar case in front of him and made his way down the Jetway into Seattle Tacoma International Airport. After six hours in the air, he was grateful to stretch his legs.

  Walking past the gates and into the terminal toward baggage claim, he saw people greeting each other everywhere. How would it be? he thought, watching as a young couple shared a lingering kiss. Would he ever have the luxury of someone to greet him, someone who’d miss him while he was gone?

  Arriving at the carousel, Jay tried to focus his attention on the bags going around instead of the people hugging, kissing, and chatting beside him. Loneliness had been his companion for as long as he could remember, so he didn’t understand why it bothered him so much right now.

  Maybe it was being back home. More likely it was because Jane was close. Two months and three days and he could see her again—his crummy luck it had been a leap year and he’d had to wait an extra day. Until then, Jay promised himself, he wouldn’t so much as call her on the phone. Every morning he’d go to his internship at the courthouse, and he’d come straight home each night. Though, Jay mused, if he happened to see Jane and she didn’t see him, would that be breaking his promise?

  Grabbing his suitcase from the carousel, Jay strode over to the rental-car booth. He’d planned to call a friend when he arrived but decided suddenly that, seeing how it had been ten months since he’d been home, the least he could do was take the ferry out to Bainbridge and drive around the island.

  * * *

  Tara brought a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun as she looked up at the most likely buyer she’d had for Jane’s cottage. He descended the ladder.

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked.

  “It’ll do.” He dusted his hands off and strode past her toward the front of the house. Tara lagged behind, admiring his backside, wishing it were her he was attracted to instead of the cottage. He reached the front gate and his car. With a long, lustful sigh, Tara hurried after him.

  He unrolled his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs. “What’s the balance on the mortgage?”

  “The asking price is $249,900.” Tara pulled a flyer from the box attached to the sign.

  “No way.” He shook his head. “It’s only what—eleven hundred square feet? Not to mention that the entire house needs to be completely rewired. You’ve let what was probably a gorgeous yard become completely overgrown, and the walls—what walls there are in that mess—are painted fuchsia and turquoise.” He opened the passenger door of the car and retrieved his suit coat.

  “Yes, but look at the view,” Tara protested. “On a clear night you can climb up and see the entire Seattle skyline.”

  “If you don’t fall through the roof doing it.” He looked pointedly at her. “I’m on a very limited time frame here. And this is going to take much more work than I’d planned, so either tell me the balance of the mortgage, or I’ll look elsewhere.”

  In a last feeble attempt, Tara reached over the gate, lifting a section of the white picket fence. “The owner installed these herself just last year. They were much more costly than your regular old fence. Each eight-foot section is easily removed for planting and mowing.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Apparently the renter forgot that part—about the mowing. I imagine the owner would be particularly sad if she knew what her yard looked like now—or the inside of her house for that matter.”

  Tara pursed her lips. He knew he had her. “Oh, all right,” she said at last. “Jane still owes about a hundred and fifty-four thousand.”

  “You marked it up almost a hundred thousand?” he asked, incredulous.

  “What?” Tara whined. “First I’m too high, and now you don’t believe me? Jane had an inheritance from her grandmother so she made a large down payment, plus she’s put oodles into this yard.”

  He looked at the cottage again and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s still too much for this dump, but I guess that’s more like it. I’ll have a check for you in forty-eight hours. Get the paperwork ready.”

  “A check?” Tara’s mouth hung open. “You’re going to buy it outright?”

  “Yes. And remember, I don’t want Jane to know.” He walked around to the front of his car.

  “But—but she might want to be there at signing, and—”

  “Let her sign first. Tell her the buyer is from out of town and you have to fax him the papers.” He flashed her a smile. “I’m sure a smart, attractive woman like yourself will think of something.”

  “Well, okay.” Blushing, Tara looked down at the flyer still in her hand. “Hey, wait a second,” she called, stopping him just before he shut the car door. Heels clicking, she ran around to the driver’s side. “If I sell it to you for the balance owed, then what’s in it for me?”

  He pulled the door shut, turned the ignition, and hit the power button for the window to go down. “Aside from the near-free rent you’ve enjoyed the past nine months . . .” The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’ll have a warm, fuzzy feeling that you’ve done the right thing.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Peter lifted his hand to knock on the door again just as Jane opened it. He studied her face for any trace of sadness or anger. They hadn’t spoken in four days—since he’d majorly botched the marriage proposal. Every time he’d come over to see the twins, she had left. And only today, at Caroline’s coaxing, had Jane reluctantly agreed to go with him to her family’s monthly dinner and Fourth of July celebration. Hopefully it wasn’t to torch him with a firework, though after last week he couldn’t blame her.

  “You ready?”

  She nodded. “Will you help me with the twins?”

  “Of course.” Peter followed her into the family room.

  “If you’ll take Mark and the diaper bag, I’ll get Maddie and be right there.”

  Pete reached down and plucked Mark from the floor. Swinging him high in the air, he turned around, then brought him close, kissing his chin. “Hey, buddy.”

  Mark giggled and leaned his head back.

  “Like that, do you?” Pete asked, then kissed him twice more.

  “Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind—” Jane stood in the doorway, holding a wiggling Maddie on her hip. “Could you please get their bottles out of the fridge?”

  “Sure thing,” Pete said, wishing Jane would quit being so formal and—nice. He much preferred the way she used to treat him—ordering him around, scolding and teasing when he did things wrong. Taking the bottles from the fridge, he followed her out to the car, knowing that he’d travel to the ends of the earth to melt her defenses and prove his feelings were for her and her alone.

  * * *

  Pete set a stack of glasses on the counter beside the sink. “I thought we were off the hook for dishes for a full six months.”

  “The rotation got mixed up. You don’t have to help.” Jane’s voice was muffled as she searched under the sink for her mother’s gloves.

  “I want to,” Pete said. “We’re a team, remember. Joint custody of the twins and the chores.”

  Jane shrugged as she turned on the faucet.

  Pete reached from behind her and shut it off. Placing one hand on either side of her on the counter, he leaned forward and whispered in her hair. “We need to talk.” He felt her stiffen.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, trying to get her to face him.

  “Don’t,” she said, shrugging out of his grasp.

  He sighed. “I know you found out about Tamara—and don’t be mad at Caroline for telling me. In fact, if it makes you feel any better, she decked me good on the side of my face. You can still see the bruise a little.”

  “I’ll have to thank her.” Jane reached for the faucet handle again. Pete’s hand over hers stopped her.

  “There never seemed to be a good time to tell you. And Wednesday night, when I wanted to talk about us getting married, was certainly no excep
tion.”

  Jane drummed the fingers of her free hand on the edge of the sink. “I can easily think of half a dozen times that would have been appropriate—including Wednesday night.” She wrenched her hand away, turned on the water, and began scrubbing plates.

  Pete held his hand out to catch the first one she’d finished. “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “So will you let me tell you now?”

  “No thanks.” Jane slapped another dish into his hands.

  “I insist,” Pete said.

  “I’ve lost interest.”

  “Prove it.” He took her shoulders and turned her to him before she could protest. Water dripped on the floor between them. Pulling her close, he bent to kiss her.

  “I bit a guy’s tongue nearly in half once,” Jane threatened, her lips mere millimeters from his. “I bet that wasn’t in my file.”

  Pete’s eyebrows rose. “It wasn’t, but I’ll take my chances.” He pressed his lips to hers, praying she’d respond, praying the rest of her crazy family would stay outside awhile longer, leaving him and Jane alone to work things out.

  Her eyes welled with tears. “Stop it, Peter,” she mumbled against his mouth as she pushed him away, the soapy gloves leaving prints on his shirt.

  He released her. “Don’t cry. I didn’t want to make you cry again.”

  “As if—I have a choice.” Jane choked out the words. “If Tamara really didn’t matter anymore—if you were over her—then you would have told me.”

  “You’re wrong. Listen to me, Jane.” He grabbed her gloved hands and pulled her over to the kitchen table. Sliding a chair out, he waited until she’d sat down before he sat in the chair across from her and began to speak.

  “I’ll tell you all about it—about Tamara and me—right now.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late.”

  “Really?” He searched Jane’s face.

  She shrugged and, glancing at the clock, began removing her gloves. “Go ahead, then.”

  It was his turn for the deep breath. “Tamara and I got engaged at Christmastime. We planned to get married on Valentine’s Day, but we both decided it was too soon. The following September, when 9/11 happened, we still hadn’t set a date for our wedding. Both of us kept coming up with one excuse or another. My last—and best one—was the surge of indignant patriotism I felt after watching the Twin Towers fall. I told Tamara I’d decided to reenlist and go to Afghanistan to root out terrorists.”

  Jane looked down at the table as she picked at the chipped Formica with her nail. “Go on.”

  “Tamara asked me to stay, and I didn’t. Honestly, I didn’t think twice about leaving.” Pete looked at Jane, remembering their conversation at the beach. “Maybe it was part of me—something from my dad or in my blood—but whatever it was, I didn’t feel all that bad about leaving Tamara. She was the first girl I ever really loved, but by that time, the love—or infatuation—we’d felt was fading, and we both knew it.” Pete paused, wishing Jane would say something or at least look at him. When she didn’t, he continued.

  “Only I wasn’t man enough to admit things were over, and when, less than two months later, she called to tell me that she and Paul were getting married, I lost my temper. I felt betrayed by both of them, and I went to some pretty ridiculous lengths to win her back—including my drunken scene at their wedding.”

  Jane looked up at him. “I appreciate you telling me.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. She rose from the table. “I’d better get the dishes finished so we have enough spoons and bowls for the ice cream.”

  Pete reached out, his hand on her arm. “I want to marry you, Jane.” He stood and faced her, taking both of her hands in his. “And it has nothing to do with the twins or insurance. Richard promised he’d keep them on my plan before I even asked you.”

  He watched helplessly as her eyes filled with tears again. “But this is exactly what I didn’t want—you crying, your heart broken if something goes wrong in Iraq—so I thought that if we married as more of friends I might spare you some heartache if the unthinkable happened.”

  Jane pulled her hands from his. Walking away, she tore a paper towel from the roll on the counter. She wiped her face. “So you make me kiss you to prove I don’t care?”

  “No—yes. I don’t know, Jane.” He ran his fingers through his hair again. “All I know is that we should get married. There’s no one else for me, alive or dead. It’s you I want to spend my life with.”

  Jane blinked to clear her eyes. Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter. “Yes, then. Let’s get married.” She didn’t sound too excited.

  “Great,” Pete said, his voice also lacking enthusiasm. “Could you look at me?”

  She shook her head. “I need a few minutes alone. I’ll finish up. Why don’t you go out back and feed the twins some watermelon. Make sure they wear bibs.”

  “Sure,” Pete said, nonplussed. Jane had just agreed to marry him—but he didn’t feel their conversation had been entirely successful. But at least, he consoled himself, she was ordering him around again. He left the kitchen, nearly running into Caroline, who’d been eavesdropping on the other side of the wall.

  “How’d I do?” he whispered.

  “I feel like punching you again.” Caroline grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the living room. “If that was better, then I shudder thinking of your first proposal. Come on. We have a lot of work to do.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  “Kind of hard to see the stars from the city,” Robert Warner remarked as he joined Peter on the deck.

  “It is,” Pete agreed, “but I think the grandchildren had fun trying.” He turned the knob on the telescope’s frame and began the process of disassembling it. “Fireworks are cool, but nothing beats a real shooting star.” As he worked, he was conscious of Jane’s father beside him, watching. An hour earlier, Jane had told her parents of their wedding plans, and Pete had suspected her father would want to talk with him.

  Minutes had passed without further conversation when Pete ventured, “I imagine there are a few things you’d like to say to me.”

  “And some things I’d like to ask,” Robert said.

  “Sounds fair.” Pete bent over, securing the straps on the telescope case, then stood and faced his future father-in-law. “Go ahead.”

  Robert placed his hand on the railing and looked him in the eye. “How much do you know about temples?”

  The question caught Pete off guard. He’d expected to be asked if he loved Jane and how he planned on treating her—maybe even if he’d support her in the Church—but temples . . . He answered as best he could. “I know Jane wanted to be married in one.”

  Her father nodded. “What else?”

  Here goes, Pete thought. “And if she marries me, that won’t be the case.”

  “Hmm.” Robert folded his arms.

  “I love your daughter, Mr. Warner, and I’ll do everything I can to make her happy. But I won’t pretend to be something I’m not. I respect your religion, but it’s not for me.”

  “I see.” Robert revealed a hint of a smile. “I appreciate you sharing that, but what I was really wondering was if you’ve ever seen the Salt Lake Temple.”

  “I have,” Pete said, feeling more confused by the minute. What was Jane’s dad getting at?

  “Did you know it took forty years to build?”

  “Seems like I heard that somewhere.” During the time he’d lived in Utah it was hard not to hear about Mormons or the temple.

  “The foundation took just over fourteen years. First time around they used sandstone, but some of the small rocks and mortar between the blocks cracked. President Young preferred the sandstone but realized granite would prove more stable, so the entire eight-foot foundation was removed and rebuilt.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work.” Sensing he was in for a lesson or something, Pete set the telescope on the table and turned to lean against the railing and look out over the yard.

  “It was an incredible amo
unt of work. I’m certain some grumbled about starting over, some who thought the prophet, of all people, should have gotten it right from the get-go.” Jane’s father paused, letting his words sink in. “I imagine it was pretty difficult for President Young to tell the Saints they had to start over. Fortunately, he didn’t let his pride get in the way. He understood that a building is only as good as its foundation.”

  Peter looked up to find Jane’s father staring at him.

  “A marriage is much the same way—as good as its foundation. And,” Robert continued before Peter could speak. “That’s all I’ll say about that. One thing more and I’ll let you pack up and get home. I know the twins are sleepy.”

  Pete glanced toward the house and caught a glimpse of Jane and her mother, each holding a baby as they sat in the matching recliners in the family room.

  “It may interest you,” Robert said. “To know that Orson Pratt, one of the prominent early Church members, was also an astronomer. He took great care to make certain the symbols chiseled on the outside stones of the temple were correct—even going so far as to set up an observatory.”

  “What kind of symbols?” Peter couldn’t help asking, though he knew he was taking the bait Jane’s father held out.

  “The sun, moon, and stars—each with a particular meaning relating to the gospel.” Robert leaned back, looking up at the sky. “My favorite has always been the Big Dipper, with the pointers ranging to the North Star, symbolizing that the lost may find their way by aid of the priesthood.”

  “Interesting,” Pete said. “Next time I’m in Salt Lake I’ll have to take a look.”

  “You do that.” Robert stepped away from the railing, signaling the end of their conversation. “Just remember, if you run into any rough patches while taking good care of my daughter, there’s always the North Star to guide you home.”