“Front desk.”
“Yes, hi.” Clay kicked his feet up and leaned back against the headboard. “My message light was flashing.”
“Okay, sir, let me check that for you. Just a moment.” She was gone for a few seconds. “Yes, a woman came in and gave us a note. It has your first name and room number on it.”
The smile took hold of his face and ;didn't let go. It had to be Jamie. “Could you send it up?”
“Certainly, Mr. Michaels.”
A minute later there was a knock at his door. “Bellman.”
Clay opened it, took the note, and tipped the man. He unfolded the note and read it.
She'd gotten the note, after all. He felt giddy as a schoolboy with a first-time crush, and no wonder. After three years of bad setups and superficial dates, he'd finally met a woman like he'd always hoped. One with goals and values and a faith that colored everything about her.
But this relationship ;wouldn't be easy.
He folded the note, tossed it on the nightstand, and grabbed his keys. On the way across the island he thought about how there had been no pictures of her dead husband anywhere. Not that he was looking, but it seemed strange. She was still single, after all. It would make sense to have pictures up.
Of course, maybe it was part of her healing process. Keeping his image out of sight so she could move on with life. Clay ;wasn't sure. Just that the look in her eyes when she'd talked about him said very clearly she'd never loved anyone the way she'd loved him.
Sadness settled over him, weighing his heart down like a sodden wool cloak.
How smart was it to fall for a woman with that sort of devotion to someone else? Even dead, the man might always hold the first place in her heart, and what sort of life would that be? Second place?
He dismissed the thought.
All of it was insane, anyway. He'd only met her two days before. They'd be friends for the three weeks he was in New York, and maybe write once in a while. What more could ever come of it with him living so far away?
Not until she opened the door did he admit he was fooling himself. Big time.
Through their pizza dinner, he could hardly take his eyes off her. During the ice cream sandwich dessert and a story, compliments of Sierra who was learning to read, he could hardly tear his gaze from her.
Jamie Bryan had captured his imagination from the moment he saw her. There was no logical reason, no explanation, but he was falling. Hard.
And nothing in his power could make him stop.
The story was finished and Jamie moved to the edge of Sierra's bed. She looked back at Clay. “Wanna pray with us?”
“Sure.” His heart thudded against the wall of his chest. This was the picture, ;wasn't it? The family scene he'd been longing for all his adult years? He took his place between them and bowed his head, not sure of their routine.
Sierra reached out and took one hand while Jamie took the other, giving his fingers a light squeeze. She spoke the prayer in hushed tones.
“Dear Jesus, please be with Sierra as she sleeps and please watch over her. Help her to have peaceful dreams and wake up happy about a new day. We know You have great plans for Sierra, God. Please help her to look for those every day of her life. We love You, Lord. Amen.”
Clay held onto Jamie's hand a few seconds after the prayer ended, then let go. When they left her room, he stopped outside Sierra's door. “I love that.”
Jamie smiled. “What?”
“The way you are with her, projecting God's blessings onto her.”
“Oh.” Jamie started down the stairs. She looked over her shoulder as she walked. “You mean the part about God's plans for her?”
“Right.” He stayed close behind her. “Jeremiah 29:11. Kids need to hear that so badly.”
“They do.” She turned around at the foot of the stairs and her smile eased some. “It'd be easy for her to grow up mad at God, because of what happened to Jake.” Her eyes shone with a strength that Clay knew only came from walking in faith. “But God has plans for us no matter what bad thing has happened. Even losing Jake.”
They went into the family room, and Jamie pointed to a shelf of videos. “Feel like a movie?”
“Hmmm.” He sat down at one end of the sofa, glanced around the room, and spotted a backgammon board. “Hey, you play?”
She followed his gaze. “Backgammon? Sure.” She grabbed it and brought it back to the sofa. “Just a minute.” She slipped a CD in the player and before she was sitting down, Kenny Chesney started playing in the background.
“Country, huh?”
“There's something about a good country song.” She took the spot at the opposite end of the sofa so there was enough room to open the game between them. She held his eyes for a few beats. “Country songs tell a story; I like that.”
“Me too.” Clay set up the backgammon pieces and tried to sort through his feelings. They had everything in common, and a chemistry that couldn't be denied. But in less than three weeks he'd be back in LA. He didn't want to think about it.
They played five games and several times his fingers brushed against hers. Each time he could feel the sensation throughout his body. Once in a while he would look at her, almost certain she was feeling the same thing.
“I believe I'm the winner.” Jamie lifted her chin and closed the board. It was almost ten o'clock, and they both had to go into the city in the morning. She set the game on the floor and leaned against the sofa arm. Her eyes were soft again, shining with the vulnerability that had caught his attention the first time they'd spoken. “I had fun tonight.”
“Me too.”
They were silent for a moment, studying each other. Clay had so many questions. What was happening between them? How was she feeling, and why were they playing with each other's hearts when he had to go home in a few weeks? Did she and her husband play backgammon together?
Instead of voicing his thoughts, he put his arm up on the sofa back and tried not to dwell on the fact that he had no answers.
“How's Joe doing?”
“He was glad Wanda invited him back; after last night he wasn't sure he'd get to see her again.”
“Maybe tonight's the night.”
“The apology?” Clay leaned sideways and rested his head in his hand. “I hope so.” He shook his head. “Crazy guy. If someone's got something to say to a person they care about, they should come out and say it.”
Not until the words were out did he realize what he'd said. She raised her brow and gave a subtle sideways nod. “Good idea.” Her eyes found a deeper place in his heart. “But it's not always easy … or wise.”
“No, it isn't.” Clay watched her. Was she talking about herself or him? He wanted to ask, but she was right. It wasn't easy or wise to talk about what was happening between them. It was simply too soon. Besides, what if he was imagining the chemistry between them? Maybe Jamie was merely a lonely widow hungry for company. Since Clay was a police officer, and he'd rescued her on the boat, and he was only in town for a few weeks, he was a pretty safe bet.
He checked his watch, stood, and stretched. “I guess I better go.” His neck still hurt from the shooting, but it was getting better. “Thanks again for dinner.”
“It was fun.” Jamie stood and led the way toward the foyer. “Let's do it again.”
“Sure.”
They reached the door and Jamie turned to face him. The entryway was dark and shadowy, the only light coming from two rooms away. Somehow the mood of the moment became more intimate. She leaned against the door. “Can I tell you something?”
“Okay.” He rested his shoulder against the wall, careful to keep several feet between them.
“I haven't” She bit her lip, her eyes locked on his. “I ;haven't done this since … since Jake died.”
Though her eyes were vulnerable, transparent, she hadn't said anything that dipped below the surface all night. Until now.
“Jamie.” His heart melted. It must have been so difficult to have h
im over, give him dinner, and share a night of backgammon with him in the place where she and her husband had loved and laughed and started their family.
She hung her head and in the shimmer of distant light a single tear fell to the floor. “I thought you should know.”
The hug was inevitable. Everything about the moment cried out for him to take her in his arms and soothe away the pain.
He reached out to her. “C'mere.”
“I'm sorry.” She sniffed and took two slow steps toward him. “I'm really not sad.” Her eyes lifted to his. Though they were wet, they shone with something more than sorrow. “I like you being here, Clay.”
Their faces were inches apart, but Clay wouldn't kiss her. Not even when everything in him wanted to. Instead he folded his arms around her and held her close. He stroked her hair and let her rest her head against his chest. “Guess what?” He leaned down some and whispered near the side of her face.
“What?” She uttered a sound that was more laugh than cry. “You think I'm crazy?”
“Nope.” He pulled back and spoke into her eyes. “I like being here too.” He let go of her and smiled. “Maybe you and Sierra can join me in the city tomorrow night … find something fun to do.”
Her smile in the shadows warmed him in a way nothing else had. “I think we'd like that.”
He stepped closer to the door and opened it. “Good night, Jamie.”
“Good night.” A cool breeze shot its way into the house and she crossed her arms tight. “Thanks for understanding.”
He nodded, and then he was outside and the door was closing. The air was freezing cold, but the sky was crystal clear. It was amazing, this close to Manhattan, that he could see any stars. But that night the sky was full of them. He stopped and stared up. God … it's too soon, but it feels like something's happening. He pulled the edges of his coat tighter around him. This time he spoke out loud. “Lead me, God … don't let me get ahead of You.”
Halfway to the car he was going over the evening in his mind—especially the last few minutes, the way Jamie leaned on him, the way she held him—when something occurred to him. One of the main questions he had about Jamie and whatever it was they'd found together had just been answered.
The chemistry between them definitely was not a figment of his imagination.
SEVENTEEN
Jamie stood with her face against the door until she heard Clay drive away. What had she done? Opening up to him in the dark foyer, practically begging him for a hug? How could she be so shameless? Here in her own house, the place she'd shared with Jake? And what did Clay think, now that she'd practically thrown herself at him?
She rubbed her hands along her arms. Dirty, that's what she felt. Dirty and cheap and completely disloyal to Jake. It was one thing to invite Clay over, to give him dinner and play backgammon with him. But the hug at the end was over the top.
Even if she didn't have Jake's memory to protect, she'd acted too quickly. Still … that was the strange thing about Clay. He seemed so familiar, already so much a part of her life.
She drew a long breath, then made her way through the house turning off lights and locking doors—what used to be Jake's nighttime ritual. Finally she pushed herself up the stairs to the bedroom. No matter if Clay felt familiar or not, she'd acted inappropriately. Guilt and embarrassment mixed in her gut and shot through her heart, leaving her cheeks hot.
While she brushed her teeth, she could only stare at her reflection. What was wrong with her? How could she have changed so quickly, let go of the past in a forty-eight-hour window? And what about Aaron? No one would ever understand her loss the way Aaron did. Because it was his loss too, they forever shared a connection. But Clay? He was sympathetic, of course, but he'd never known Jake, could never understand the relationship she'd shared with him.
It was all so confusing.
She rinsed her toothbrush and set it back on the charger. The best idea was to forget about both of them, Aaron and Clay. All she needed was God and Sierra and memories of Jake. That was more than enough to get her through life until she could be with her husband again. She would work at St. Paul's, and when the new Twin Towers were built, she would apply for a position at the official memorial.
If she spent her life helping the victims of September 11, she would be honoring Jake's memory and never—not ever again—would she suffer the horrible pangs of regret that jabbed her now. She gripped the bathroom counter and hung her head. God … I'm sorry. I acted on my feelings, but it was wrong. I know it was wrong. Help me to live a life that would please You and Jake and Sierra. And help me keep my distance from Clay Miles.
She looked up and her eyes fell on a small wooden plaque, one that had hung in her bathroom since her first birthday after Jake died. It had been a gift from her friend, Sue Henning.
“I bought us each one,” she told Jamie at the time, “because there'll be days when we can't leave home without remembering the message written there.”
Jamie looked at it now, studied it, and a chill ran down her neck and arms. The words were from the Bible. They read, Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. Beneath that it said, Proverbs 3:5–6.
Her path felt crooked, for sure, after the evening with Clay, after their hug. If she was honest with herself, she wanted to kiss him. But how could she, when in her heart she was still married to Jake?
The Bible words gave her a different perspective, a peace. Never mind about Clay or Aaron or any of the emotions churning up her soul. ;Don't try to figure it out. Rather trust God. He'd take care of making her paths straight; that was His promise. That's what He was telling her, wasn't it?
She straightened and headed into the bedroom.
Tonight she needed more than a single Bible verse. She wanted to get lost in Scripture, to swim through the verses and chapters until she found the safe harbor she desperately needed.
Jake's Bible was on the dresser—where it always was. She picked it up, dropped into the nearest chair, and flipped it open. Some nights she used a study guide and read specific parts of Scripture. Other times, like tonight, she flipped through until something caught her eye. Jake had read this Bible thoroughly, and nearly every book was replete with highlighted sections, underlined verses, and notes written in the margins.
Jamie started at the beginning and thumbed through the books of Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers, passing various highlighted areas. But as she passed over Deuteronomy, something caught her attention.
It was her name; she was sure of it. Her name in a part of the Bible she'd never read before. She flipped back, turning the pages until she saw it again, scrawled in Jake's printing above Deuteronomy, chapter 30. Jake had drawn a line from her name to a section of Scripture that read, “I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.”
Next to the text Jake had written this:
Jamie, this is for you. If I could get anything into your head, your heart, it would be that one point. Choose life, Jamie. Whenever you have the chance, choose life.
Choose life?
She read his words again and again and one more time before her tears blurred the letters. Sweet Jake, still lending her his wisdom and understanding. But what did it mean? She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Then she started at the beginning of the thirtieth chapter of Deuteronomy and began to read.
Clearly the story was about God's people on their journey to the Promised Land. Jamie remembered hearing a sermon series on the topic at church the year after Jake's death. Chapter 30 told the people that God was giving them a choice. Choose His ways, His truth, His leading, and they would be choosing blessings and prosperity. Choose their own ignorant, prideful ways, the ways of idols or false gods, and they would be choosing destruction and curses.
Jamie stored the words in her heart as she finished the chapter. Yes, that's what it
meant. Life or death—the choice belonged to God's people back then much as it belonged to every person born on earth. Choose God, choose life. Choose an alternate way, choose death.
Jamie, this is for you. If I could get anything into your head, your heart, it would be that one point. Choose life, Jamie. Whenever you have the chance, choose life.
Jake's words had been aimed straight at her lack of faith.
An ache started in her chest and consumed her heart and soul. She hugged the Bible's open pages close.
Jake had loved her with a love so great it could only have come from God. A love that left her to make her own decision. But not until she had a chance to read his Bible did she understand the angst she'd caused him. He prayed daily for her eyes to be opened, for his faith to become real to her.
That's why it hurt so much now.
Jake died longing for one thing—the chance to share his faith with her. Yes, God answered his prayers. Through his journal, his Bible, through the confusion of trying to teach a stranger to be her husband, God answered Jake's prayers. She found God and she would hold on to Him until her dying day.
But she never got to share Him with Jake.
The enormity of all she had cost the two of them had never been more clear. She'd missed the intimacy of praying with her husband, missed holding his hands and coming before their God with a single heart, single purpose. She'd missed looking into Jake's eyes and seeing the love of Christ reflected there. Sure, she'd seen love in his eyes. Every time he looked at her, she saw love. But not God's love, because she wasn't aware of that sort of love. A deeper love, a bond that could only come through shared faith.
She'd missed all of it because of her stubborn pride.
Faith in Christ was the most important thing to Jake Bryan, and she'd missed the chance to understand that, to connect with him on that eternal level. She'd missed it and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.
A canyon of sorrow cut through her heart. If only she could have one day to hold him again, look into his eyes, his soul, and tell him that she had done what he'd asked of her. She had chosen God's life. One time to share the intimate bond of faith, an intimacy that would've made them even closer, more connected.
Tuesday Morning Collection, The: One Tuesday Morning, Beyond Tuesday Morning, Remember Tuesday Morning Page 56
