“Good,” he said. “Remember, if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here or anywhere else. Your therapy group saved my life. Seems the least I can do is help you through a rough part of yours.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Jay leaned against the sedan, his eyes traveling across the street to the edge of Arlington National Cemetery and Jane. She sat on the podium, perfectly poised, her legs together, ankles crossed, and wearing a black suit that fit her slender body like a glove. Her daughter lay asleep in her arms, her little yellow sundress a sharp contrast to the somber clothing of the adults around her.
Jay admired Jane’s spunk at bringing Madison along. Everyone—from the aide sent to greet Jane at the airport to the president himself—had seemed surprised she’d brought Maddie. The television crews would eat it up—if they were allowed to get to her. A tragic story made that much more dramatic with the appearance of the now-fatherless little girl. Fortunately, the press were strictly prohibited from the ceremony. The only thing Jay had seen in the Washington Post was a short piece about President Bush honoring two fallen pilots whose heroic efforts had saved dozens of ground troops in Fallujah. The article focused on their important victory. Little to nothing was said about the two men who had died or the families they left behind.
It doesn’t matter, Jay told himself. Jane had been very obviously touched after her meeting with President Bush this morning. Tomorrow, she’d fly home and start to put her life back together—putting the past year behind her. He intended to help her every step of the way.
If anyone knew about getting beyond a difficult past, he did.
He tried to imagine the agony Jane must be going through. Her heart had been shattered a dozen ways over the past few weeks. To her it must seem the only piece she held intact was the one belonging to her daughter, so of course she couldn’t let go. More than anything, he wanted to go to Jane, to hold her in his arms and tell her it would be all right. She could cry on his shoulder, and he would kiss her tears away. He wasn’t her heroic husband, but he could love her just as much.
He felt like he already did.
Jay sighed inwardly as he watched Jane stand and accept her husband’s award. He had waited a year, and now it looked like it could take another for Jane to heal enough before she might be willing to look at him as more than a friend. The thought depressed him, but he knew he’d wait as many years as it took. She was worth it.
Looking over at the sedan parked behind the one he and Jane had arrived in, Jay saw the federal agents he had met earlier beside it, heads bent in earnest conversation. He smiled at them, half wondering if they’d looked him up and were discussing his criminal record. When he’d arrived with Jane, they had shown immediate concern. After all, he wasn’t on the guest list.
Jane had explained he was an old friend, accompanying her for moral support, but Jay had sensed the agents didn’t like his untimely appearance. Not wanting to add any stress to what was sure to be a difficult enough day for her, he’d quickly offered to stay behind and wait.
Now he watched as one of the agents finished a phone call and conferred with the other men. After a moment, two of them walked toward him.
Jay stiffened. Great. He was sick of his past coming back to haunt him. Were they going to ask him to leave? They had nothing on him—he’d been clean a long time, and none of his crimes had ever been violent. But where the president was concerned, the policy was likely, “Act first and, if need be, apologize later.”
“Mr. Kendrich.” A man Jay recognized as Agent Warrens held out his hand.
Jay shook it. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, and no. We’ve just received a phone call, and we’re hoping for your assistance.”
Here goes, Jay thought grimly. “What can I do for you?”
The second man spoke up. “We thought it might be best—given Mrs. Bryant’s fragile state—if you’re the one who talks to her.”
“About what?” Jay’s eyes narrowed.
Agent Warrens cleared his throat.
“They’ve just found her husband.”
Chapter Eighty
“Identifiable remains or are we talking an actual body?” Jay remembered Jane’s tearful recounting of how her husband’s picture and dog tags were flaunted on Iraqi television. That his body hadn’t been recovered had led her to fear the worst from the militant group that likely had it. Jay didn’t want to be the one to tell her that her husband had been beheaded or his body mutilated.
Agent Warrens’ blue eyes pierced his. “Neither. He’s alive.”
Jay opened his mouth to speak but found no words. In one second his hope for a future with Jane vanished. He swallowed back bitter disappointment. “And you want me to tell her?”
“We thought it best . . .” Agent Warrens looked toward the podium. “After the program.”
“No.” Jay shook his head. Pushing aside his personal feelings, he let his protectiveness for Jane take over. “This can’t wait. She needs to know right now.” He turned away from the men.
Agent Warrens grabbed his arm. “I know how you feel, but it’ll have to wait. There’s a format and security—”
“Forget the format.” Jay jerked free of his grasp. “And you’re the security. Do you have any idea what Jane has been through in the past month?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Her son died on the operating table the same day her husband’s helicopter was shot down. I don’t want her to have one more minute of anguish. She deserves to know he’s alive.” She deserves it. Jane deserves happiness, Jay told himself. Just keep focused on that and you can handle losing her again—for good.
The two men looked at each other a long moment. Jay stood tense, knowing he’d risk sprinting across the lawn and screaming the news at Jane before they wrestled him to the ground if that was what it took. She would be so happy. He wanted that—wanted it more than his own happiness, he realized.
“We’d better come with you,” Agent Warrens said at last.
“Let’s go.” Jay started across the lawn.
* * *
Jay juggled Madison awkwardly as Jane walked around the desk and sank into the chair Agent Warrens held out for her. Two other agents crowded the doorway of the small office. No longer needed as escorts, they stayed just the same, eager to witness the reunion of sorts—happy endings not being all that common in their line of work.
With shaking fingers, Jane picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Jane?” On the other end of the line, Peter’s voice was hoarse.
“Oh, Peter.” Tears spilled from her eyes. “It’s really you?”
“Yeah. You sound so good.”
Her voice caught in a hiccup-sob. “You too. Are you all right? What happened? Where are you?”
“Iraq, I think—don’t think I walked that far.” He attempted a chuckle, but it turned into a cough that lasted nearly a minute.
“Peter,” Jane said anxiously. “Are you okay?”
“Just a little banged up.”
She wasn’t convinced. “Tell me—”
“Nothing permanent,” Pete assured her. “Just a broken foot, a couple of ribs, and my right arm and hand are messed up pretty bad. Nothing a little pampering from my wife won’t take care of.”
Concern etched her face. “Are you in pain? Did they give you something?”
“Little morphine,” Pete drawled. “But I wouldn’t let them turn it up until I talked to you. Though I’m starting to think they did anyway. Hey guys?” His words slurred.
Jane’s mouth curved in a tender smile. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He paused. When he spoke again, his tone had changed.
“They’re going to transport me now, so I’ve got to go. Give Maddie a hug for me.”
“I will,” Jane said just before she heard the click on the other end of the line.
It wasn’t until she’d handed the phone back to Agent Warrens that she realized Pete hadn’t mentioned Mark.
Chapter Ei
ghty-One
Jane waited as Jay returned from the checkout counter. “All set?”
“Yes. The flight leaves in two hours.” Jay’s palm felt sweaty on the envelope he held. “Can I buy you a drink or something before you go?”
She shook her head and shifted her daughter to her other hip. “No thanks. I’ll need to get Maddie back for her nap soon.”
“Oh. Of course. I guess life changes a bit when you have a baby.”
She smiled. “Just a little.”
He felt her hand brush his.
“I can’t thank you enough, Jay.” She had tears in her eyes.
“Well, don’t cry again,” he joked. “That’s the last thing I want to make you do. And drink plenty of water this afternoon. You’ve cried at least an ocean or two the past couple of days.” He squeezed her hand, then let it go.
“Humphrey Bogart,” she said suddenly.
Jay’s brow wrinkled. “Pardon?”
“You’re Humphrey Bogart,” Jane repeated as she looked at him tenderly. “In Casablanca. He sent the woman he loved to safety with her husband, while he stayed behind, risking imminent capture by the Nazis.”
Jay looked around. “Hopefully I won’t meet the same fate,” he teased.
“It’s my very favorite movie,” Jane continued. “And what I mean is, you’re a hero—kind and chivalrous. A man some woman is going to be very fortunate to find.”
Jay shrugged and looked away.
“It’s true,” Jane said. “You’ll find her, Jay. It just takes some of us a little longer than others.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He pressed the envelope in her hand.
“Take care, Jane.” He turned and walked away, not willing to let her see his own misty eyes and change her new, higher opinion of him.
Chapter Eighty-Two
“Careful,” Jane advised yet again. Peter leaned on her as he hobbled down the front steps and across the yard. His leg was casted from knee to foot, and his right arm and hand were wrapped from his recent surgery. They still didn’t know if it was successful—and wouldn’t for several more weeks—but Peter was determined to try everything possible to avoid amputation.
Jane understood, and she encouraged him, but she didn’t want either of them to get their hopes up too much. The latest limb salvage techniques, while promising, were still very new. Peter faced approximately a dozen surgeries over the next two years as internal rods would be placed in his arm, muscles would need to be transferred, and skin and vascular grafts had to be completed. That he might go through the entire process and still lose his hand, broke her heart.
But she had him home, beside her, and they were both so grateful for that.
Peter looked up at the sky doubtfully as Jane led them to the wood swing in the middle of the lawn.
“We’ll never be able to see anything. Who planted all these trees?” he groused teasingly.
“I believe that was you, dear.” Jane helped him sit.
“Just following my wife’s orders.”
“I wish you’d follow those orders a little better now that you’re home.” She tucked a blanket in around him.
“Stop treating me like I’m handicapped, woman.” Peter lifted his good arm and pulled her close. They sat quietly a few minutes, neither daring to look up at the sky. “I’ve warned you,” he said at last. “It might not be there—I’ve already seen it, you know.”
She nodded. “Will you tell me now? Tell me everything that happened while you were missing.”
“I’ll try.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “If you’re sure you want to hear.”
“Yes. I think it will help us both.”
Pete took another slow breath and began. “After the crash I must have been unconscious for quite a while. When I finally woke up, I saw that Ray was dead, and the Apache was completely wrecked.” Pete paused. “My head was throbbing, and there was blood all over the place. My arm had been crushed beneath the panel, and it was nearly useless, but I managed to get the emergency pack out and use the QuikClot to stop my bleeding.”
He glanced at Jane.
“Go on,” she urged. “I’m all right.”
“After I’d patched myself up as best I could, I looked outside the Apache and could tell by all the footprints in the sand that we’d had company. I figured it couldn’t have been our guys or they would have helped us. What I couldn’t figure out was—assuming it was the enemy—why they hadn’t finished me off.” Peter shrugged his good shoulder. “But in case they were thinking of coming back, I got out of there quick. I couldn’t walk, but somehow I managed to crawl along all that afternoon and most of the night until I was far away from the wreck—out in the middle of the desert—somewhere.” Peter pulled his arm from around Jane, wincing as he shifted positions on the swing.
“It was freezing—more so when I finally stopped moving—so I burrowed myself in and slept all the next day. The next night I moved again. The compass I had didn’t seem to work, and the pack was missing the emergency locator. I felt really out of it, even when I was awake.” Peter reached up and touched the scar that ran across his hairline. “Fortunately, I’ve got a thick head, and something inside was still functioning. I had enough sense to ration the water and MREs from the kit, and that kept me going a few more days. The trouble was, I didn’t know where I was going.”
“But didn’t you say you weren’t that far from Fallujah when you crashed?” Jane asked.
“I wasn’t. But I also wasn’t myself. I slept a lot, and when I was awake, I think I was pretty delusional. I have no doubt I retraced my steps for at least a few of the miles I walked.”
“So, you did that for three weeks?” Jane asked.
Peter shook his head. “No. Probably only about half that time. Then I used the last of my supplies, and I got hungry. A couple of times I thought I’d heard voices from my hiding spot during the day. I didn’t dare find out who they belonged to, but one night I decided I didn’t have much of a choice anymore. Instead of going away from the noises I’d heard that day, as soon as it was dark, I crept toward them. And I came across a family camping trip.”
“Huh?” Jane said, turning to him.
Peter smiled. “Really. It was this Iraqi father and son. Though I don’t think they were really camping—probably that was their regular living arrangement. Anyway, they helped me for a day or two—fed me and gave me some of their water. Then, despite our limited communication, I could tell they were ready to move on and my presence was endangering them. So we parted ways. I wandered around some more. When you’ve had a concussion and you’re traveling across an unfamiliar desert in the middle of the night, it’s pretty difficult to find your way.”
Jane carefully lay her head against his shoulder. “Oh, Peter. We’re so blessed. It’s such a miracle you’re home.”
He nodded. “I’m living proof miracles haven’t ceased. Mine happened one night—I wasn’t sure how many had passed—as I lay there looking up at the stars. Out in the desert there are a million of them. They were comforting, something familiar I could hold onto. But that night the sky seemed different. I couldn’t figure out what it was, and I was cold, tired, and scared. I hadn’t eaten in about three days, hadn’t had a drink for probably twenty-four hours. I was probably delirious, but to take my mind off of everything, I decided to count the stars.” He paused, remembering the difficulty of that night. “Slowly—it must have taken an hour or more—I went through every constellation I knew, counting stars, tracing the lines in the sky as I’d memorized them. They gave me great comfort.”
“And,” Jane held her breath, knowing what was coming.
Peter’s hand found hers. “I came to Arcturus, and then, nearly due south, Spica. Those two are so bright you can almost always see them, but that night, something was different.” He looked over at Jane, who stared at him, spellbound by his story.
“Go on,” she whispered.
“There was an extra star—even brigh
ter—right between the two. For a minute, I wondered if it was mine—if it meant I would die soon. But then, as I lay there, I thought of you and Madison and Mark. I could see you and Maddie, but I couldn’t see Mark. I couldn’t find him in any picture I pulled from my mind, and then I knew . . . I was looking at Mark’s star.” Pete lifted his face to the sky.
“I looked at that star, and it seemed to be growing brighter and brighter—beckoning me. And I thought of your heart breaking not just once, but twice—and I knew I had to make it out of there. I got up on my knees and began praying. I prayed for a miracle, for something to guide me to safety. That was when I remembered your father’s story about the Salt Lake Temple. He told me the north star is on the temple, symbolizing that the lost can always find their way by aid of the priesthood.”
“I had what I needed already. I held the priesthood, and I knew that God knew about me. He was mindful of me—of you. I looked up at that star and said a prayer. Then I started crawling—didn’t stop all night. When morning came, I stumbled into a ditch outside of town and happened upon the very troops our Apache had saved.”
Jane blinked back tears. “Thank the heavens—literally.”
“Look up, Jane.” He pointed to the east.
She followed his gaze, and there beyond his outstretched finger, she saw them—three bright stars, all in a line.
“Only tonight,” Pete whispered. “It’s just for you, so you’ll know Mark is okay now.”
“I miss him so much. It still hurts so bad.” Tears spilled from her eyes, down her cheeks.
“I know.” Peter looked from the sky to Jane. “But he’s not gone forever.”
She turned her face to his.
He leaned closer. “Someday we’ll hold him again. I promise. I know.”
Chapter Eighty-Three
Eight Months Later . . .
Jay clapped loudly, then brought his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle as he watched Jane walk across the stage and receive the diploma for her master’s degree. His eyes followed her as she descended the steps. Walking toward her seat, she stopped halfway, blowing a kiss to someone in the crowd. Without turning his head, Jay knew who it was. Before the ceremony began, he’d seen her walk in with her husband and daughter.
Counting Stars Page 41
