“I’ve already arranged for a taxi. Thanks, anyway.” Sarah closed the door and walked around the front of the car. She lifted her choir robe and touched her satin slipper to the sidewalk. She kept her gaze down for the first three steps, then, against her will, felt her eyes pulled to the man standing on the porch.
Jay leaned against the post, watching her come up the walk. A cobweb-covered light illuminated his best features—slightly messy dark hair, fine cheekbones, a trim physique. He was dressed differently than she’d seen him before, in navy slacks and a white button-down shirt. But his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and the top button was undone. She got the feeling that if he’d worn a tie earlier, it had long since been abandoned. Still, Sarah felt she was glimpsing the business professional—the attorney in him—for the first time.
It seemed he’d gone from college student to all grown up. She could imagine this was his house, that he’d just come home from a long day at the office and was waiting for her to do the same. The carved jack-o’-lanterns on the steps belonged to their children. What an imagination, she chided herself, but continued to drink it all in, knowing that for months—probably even years—she’d call up this quaint image and hold on to it.
Jay came down the steps toward her. “Hello, Sarah.”
He seemed about to take her hand, then changed his mind, his arm brushing hers as he stepped aside to let her pass. She hesitated on the porch, and he held the door open for her.
Stop it already, Sarah scolded her escalating heartbeat. She crossed the threshold into the living room. The brief fantasy she’d indulged in continued as she took in the cozy room—comfy-looking sofa; family pictures; antique, upright piano. Some lucky woman lives here.
“Whose house is this?” she asked.
“Friends of mine—Kirk and Christa Anderson. They had a party to go to, and their babysitter canceled at the last minute, so I offered to watch their two boys.” Jay pointed to the pictures above the sofa. “Jeffrey and James, also known as Thing One and Thing Two.”
“Cat in the Hat, right? I remember that book,” Sarah said.
“Some Things stay with you more than others,” Jay said. “Pun intended.” His eyes met hers.
She looked away. “My dad got it for me—he thought since I liked cats I would enjoy the story.”
“Did you?” Jay asked.
She shook her head. “No. The Things drove me crazy. I liked the fish, though.”
Jay frowned. “I don’t remember the fish. Guess I’ll have to check the book out at the library for a review.”
“The fish obeyed the rules,” Sarah said. “It tried to keep the Cat and Thing One and Thing Two from destroying the house.”
“Ah,” Jay said. “You were a rule-abiding child who liked to keep the peace.”
She tilted her head to the side, considering. “I guess that describes me. Why do I suddenly feel as if I’m on the witness stand?” She folded her arms, waiting for an answer.
“You are,” Jay said in mock seriousness. “And as the prosecuting attorney, it’s my job to get inside your psyche and mess it up so you can’t answer straight.”
Sarah played along. “Exactly what am I accused of?”
“Failure to notify me you were accepting my invitation to the party tonight. And failure to wear the great costume I selected for you.”
“What about failure to bring my cousin? Is that a charge, too?”
Jay grinned. “No. Case dismissed based on the plea agreement. No cousin far outweighs no notice and no costume.”
“I couldn’t get to the shop,” Sarah said. “And I didn’t intend to stay long at the party.” She attempted to steer their conversation to the reason for her visit. “About the other day, I need to explain—”
“Why don’t you sit down?” Jay nodded toward the couch. “Can I get you some water or something?”
“Um—sure.”
“Be right back,” he called as he left the room.
She walked over to the sofa, intending to use the break to gather her thoughts that seemed to have scattered in Jay’s presence. So far, so good. He thinks I’m a boring fish. Shouldn’t be too hard to convince him we can’t even be friends. She sat down, turning to look at the pictures on the wall behind her. There were several photos of a couple on their wedding day, and even more pictures of the little boys Jay had pointed out. An aching emptiness swept through her. This home felt so different from hers. And she knew—after less than five minutes inside—what that difference was.
She focused on the woman in the photos. This mother will never abandon her children. She wouldn’t dream of killing herself the way my mother did. Sarah’s eyes shifted to the man in the picture. He looked vaguely familiar, and she wondered if he had anything to do with the university. His smile seemed to reach his eyes, and Sarah couldn’t imagine him being unkind to his darling boys.
At that moment, the smallest of the two toddled into the room, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He took one look at Sarah, walked over, and climbed on her lap.
“H—hello,” she said. Uncertain what to do, she looked down at the head nestled against her chest. She’d never held a child before.
“I see we have company.” Jay returned with their water. “I’m afraid your choices are a Ninja Turtle mug or a sippy cup. Apparently glass is at a premium around here.” He set the cups on a side table and held his hands out. “James.”
“He just came to me,” Sarah said.
“Can’t say that I blame him,” Jay said. “I’d snuggle with you too, given the opportunity.”
Sarah tried to ignore Jay’s comment but felt a blush heating her face. She didn’t dare entertain the images his suggestion called to mind. Keeping her head down, she adjusted James’s leg, clad in fuzzy, blue footsie pajamas, so that it wasn’t pulling up her choir robe. “He’s cute.”
“Mmm-hmm. And he’s also supposed to be in bed. Sir James?” Jay squatted down in front of him.
“You forgot”—James yawned—“my story.”
“You mean the one about the talking train that I read three times?”
James stuck his thumb in his mouth.
Jay stood and reached for him. “Come on. Your parents won’t let me come over and play anymore if they come home and find you up.” He took James from Sarah. “Be right back.”
James pulled his thumb from his mouth long enough to say, “I didn’t get my drink.”
“Yes, you did,” Jay said.
“You didn’t sing the good-night song.”
“I don’t know the good-night song.” Jay walked toward the hall.
“But I can’t sleep without the good-night song.” James began kicking his legs. “I can’t sleep!”
Sarah watched helplessly as some distant, long-buried memory tugged at her heart. Once she had been the little girl pleading that she couldn’t sleep without that something special. “Wait.” She rose from the couch. “I’ll sing to him.”
Jay stopped mid-stride. He turned around slowly. “You will?”
She nodded, feeling awkward and foolish for volunteering. But the hopeful look in the little boy’s eyes gave her courage. She walked over to him. Brushing the bangs from his forehead, she said, “I don’t know your good-night song, but I’ll sing you a lullaby.”
She followed Jay to the bedroom, waiting while he tucked James in. When his covers were pulled up and Jay had stepped aside, she sat on the bed, humming the first few measures of “Brahms’ Lullaby.”
“Do you know this one?” she asked.
Thumb back in his mouth, James shook his head.
“That’s okay. I’ll sing and you join in if you want to.” She picked up where she’d left off with the melody. James scooted closer and put his hand on hers, looking up with trusting, innocent eyes. A longing she hadn’t even known existed stirred somewhere deep inside. Receiving a child’s affection was an entirely new, delightful experience. She softened her voice and sang until James’s eyes drooped with sleep.
She finally expelled the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. This was new and dangerous and . . . she could hardly bear to think of giving it up.
“Thank you.” Jay rose from the floor and held his hand out to her. “Sarah, that was—”
“He’s not too bad for a Thing.” She cut Jay off and got up without taking his hand, afraid just one touch or word from him would cause her to lose her resolve.
“Yeah.”
She heard disappointment in his voice. He left the room, and she followed. Wiping suddenly sweaty palms on her choir robe, she tried to convince herself that she was more grateful than sad the moment between them had passed. Glancing at her watch, she sat on the sofa. Time was ever the precious commodity. She took the cup Jay had offered earlier, hoping the cool water would quench her thirst and clear her head.
“Cheers,” Jay said, tapping his cup against the turtle head of her mug. He sat on the couch—not too close to her, but not exactly on the opposite end, either. His arm extended casually across the back.
Focused once more on her purpose for coming, Sarah looked at him and wondered why he continued to be so nice. Because of her, his motorcycle was wrecked. Her stomach turned, thinking about the accident, thinking of what a close call it had been for both of them—but especially Jay. I almost got you killed.
She took another sip of water, then set her cup back on the table. “I wasn’t going to come tonight, but I needed to tell you I’m sorry about your motorcycle. And I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Jay held out his arms. “No broken bones or anything. It’s you I’ve been worried about.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” she lied.
“What about your glasses?” Jay asked. “How are you managing without them?”
“Quite well.” She patted the pocket of her robe. “Though I’ve taped them together and keep them with me just in case.”
“Tape? You’re not getting new ones?” Jay leaned forward, concern on his face.
“I am,” Sarah said. “I looked up an optometrist and took the bus by myself and—” She broke off, cringing inwardly. He must think I’m a complete idiot. She pulled a fat envelope from her other pocket and handed it to him. “Here. I know this won’t be enough to fix your motorcycle, but I thought it might help.”
Jay’s brow wrinkled. “What’s this?”
“It’s what I’ve saved up,” Sarah explained. “It might cover the deductible to fix your bike. Or at the least, it could pay your bus fare for the rest of the semester . . .” Her eyes met his. “I’m so sorry I ruined your motorcycle.”
“You ruined it?”
“Well, if you hadn’t been talking to me . . .”
“If I hadn’t been talking to you, I likely wouldn’t be talking to you now.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I seem to recall it was you who pulled me out of the way of the truck. So take whatever this is back, and absolve yourself of any guilt.”
“Is that more attorney speak?” She returned the faintest of smiles.
“Nope.” Jay reached for her hand and placed the envelope in it. “It’s concerned friend lingo—concerned friend who hasn’t stopped thinking about you, by the way.”
But you have to. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away. She broke their gaze and looked toward the front door. “I need to go.”
“You just got here,” Jay said.
“I’ve got to get back before my father comes to pick me up at the church.” She held out her arms, the wide sleeves of her robe billowing. “He thinks I’m at choir practice.” She tried handing Jay the envelope again. “I really wish you’d take this. It would help with the whole absolving guilt thing.”
“I really wish you’d let me take you out to dinner,” Jay said, ignoring her outstretched hand. “How often do you have choir practice? I think I see some possibilities here.”
“Oh, no.” Concern filled Sarah’s eyes, and she stood. “I can’t, Jay. Please. You’ve got to understand. What happened with Carl the other day—it’s only the beginning. If we keep seeing each other . . .”
Jay stood, moving closer to her. “Your cousin ought to be locked up for what he did. He could have killed someone. Attempted homicide isn’t anything to joke about.”
“I’m not joking.” Still clutching the envelope, she folded her arms. “For reasons you can’t understand, I have to be by myself. Especially at school. I need to be alone. If I continue to disobey my father, then he’s going to pull me out of Harvard. I won’t be able to finish my degree. And that will mean I’ll be stuck like this forever.” She looked down at her robe. “Sneaking out in a choir robe for a few minutes’ freedom.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“You don’t understand.” She lifted tear-filled eyes. “Harvard is expensive, and my father is paying for it. Getting an education is my only chance . . . at freedom. When I’m done I hope to be able to teach, to support myself, so I don’t have to depend on my father.”
A long moment passed between them. She could tell he was trying to hide his disappointment and holding back something he wanted to say. Finally he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped aside, clearing the path to the door.
“How are you getting home?”
“Trish gave me this address earlier. I called a cab before we left.” She pushed back the sleeve of her robe to look at her watch. “It should be here any minute.” My first bus ride, my first time riding in a friend’s car, and my first cab ride—all in the same week. And all because I met you.
“Okay, then. Guess I—won’t be seeing you around.” Jay’s voice sounded regretful. “But if you change your mind . . .”
“I won’t.” She pulled the door open and stepped outside. “Thanks, Jay, for trying to be my friend. I’ll never forget it.”
“Neither will I,” Jay said to himself as he watched her walk down the drive and step into the waiting cab.
Chapter Eighteen
Jay climbed in to the passenger seat of Kirk and Christa’s Jetta. “Thanks for giving me a ride. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Kirk said, grinning. “We always take the babysitters home. It’d be bad form to expect you to walk—bad enough you won’t let us pay you. I’m sure you earned it.”
“Nah.” Jay shut the door. “Your boys are great. We had a good time.”
“Dinner then,” Kirk said. “How about Sunday? I’ll see if Christa will make her famous chicken and dumplings.”
“Who else is coming?” Jay asked warily. He knew Christa had a few women in mind for him.
“No one. Unless you want to bring a date, that is.” Kirk turned around in his seat and backed out of the driveway.
Jay leaned against the headrest. “Nope. No dates for me.” He reviewed the depressing end to his very short evening with Sarah. Archer’s right. I really know how to pick them. Jay looked over at Kirk. “I probably should tell you though—in case James does—I did have a female visitor at your house tonight.”
“You did?” Kirk asked, obviously surprised. “What, was it an early trick-or-treater or something?” He put the car in gear and drove down the street.
“I’m not quite that desperate,” Jay said. “Actually she was supposed to be my date for that party tonight.”
Kirk’s face fell. “I thought that didn’t work out. I never would’ve had you stay if I’d known—”
“It didn’t work out,�
�� Jay said. “Sarah came over to tell me that she can’t see me anymore. She’s got this freak cousin who almost ran us over last week because I was talking to her, and her dad has some serious control issues. But she’s got to do what he asks because he pays her tuition.”
“What’d you say her name is?” Kirk asked. He brought the car to a stop at an intersection and looked over at Jay.
“Sarah,” Jay said. “She’s this amazing musician. Sarah—”
“Morgan?” Kirk finished for him. They stared at each other for a long second.
“How did you—” Jay began, then stopped as Kirk flipped a U-turn and headed back toward his house.
“I can’t believe this,” Kirk said.
“Believe what?” Jay asked. “Do you know Sarah?”
“I know her father,” Kirk said. “Chief Morgan. My boss. He does have some major control issues. Though the other day . . .”
“What?” Jay prompted.
“The other day Sarah came in to report an accident.” Kirk glanced at Jay. “Probably the one you were telling me about. She told her dad that someone named Carl tried to run her over. The chief didn’t care at all. She seemed pretty shaken up about it, and he blew her off.”
“We can’t be talking about the same woman,” Jay said. “This girl has a dad who is so overprotective he watches her every move.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Kirk said. “But I’ve got a gut feeling about this, and there’s something I want you to listen to in case I’m right.” He paused, sending a solemn look Jay’s direction. “And if I am, I think this girl needs help.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window behind the choir loft, warming Sarah’s back. She wished it could warm her heart as she listened to the sermon on honesty. But guilt, cold and accusing, filled her. Normally she was honest to a fault. Her earliest childhood memory—one that, until last night, she hadn’t thought about in years—had taught her that lesson well.
All The Stars In Heaven Page 12
