Remember Tuesday Morning (13 page)

T
HIRTEEN

A
ll through dinner, Jamie watched the young deputy at the opposite end of the table, and when he stood and excused himself, she took his action as her cue. She silently prayed, asking God for wisdom and the right words. Then at the next break in the conversation, she put her hand on Clay’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t have to ask where she was going. His eyes told her he already knew, and that he was hesitant about her determination to help Alex. Hesitant, but not opposed to it. They had talked a few more times about Jake’s journal, and whether the situation with Alex was drawing her heart back to the grief she’d known after the terrorist attacks. Jamie had been honest with him, because she wasn’t really sure if that was happening.

“I just know I have to help him,” she’d told Clay last night. “Please … understand, okay?”

In the end he gave her his promise. If she felt God was leading her to talk to Alex, to share what Jake had written in his journal, then so be it. She had his blessing. But his expression now told her he also had his doubts. Jamie would talk to him later. She tucked that assurance into the corner of her heart as she reached the front screen door and stared out. On impulse, she grabbed her camera. Photography was a new hobby for her, and she’d always wanted to take pictures of Bo. She made sure the camera had a fresh battery and an empty memory chip.

Alex was sitting against the house, one knee pulled up, his eyes distant and focused on some unseen person or place, as if he wasn’t really there, but somewhere far, far off. His dog lay on the porch beside him, his head on his paws, and they both looked at her as she stepped out. Jamie lowered her camera and resisted the desire to turn and head immediately back to the table, back to the safe conversation about goldfish and children.

Help me, God … give me the words.
She took a step closer. “I got a new camera.” She gave a lighthearted shrug. “Can I take a few pictures of you and Bo?”

Surprise registered in Alex’s eyes. “Uh … sure, I guess.” He smiled, as if maybe he was relieved that she wasn’t going to ask anything deeper.

She made casual talk about dinner and the kids as she grabbed a dozen shots of Alex with Bo, and of Bo by himself. “He’s a beautiful dog.”

“The best ever.” Alex patted Bo’s back. “No dog like him anywhere.”

Jamie’s heartrate picked up speed. Picture-taking could only last so long. She opened the door and set the camera down on the table just inside. When she came back out, she slipped her hands in her back pockets. “Can I join you for a minute?”

Alex looked immediately uncomfortable with the idea. Jamie knew he had no intention of letting his guard down around her, but she needed to try. It was a job she felt compelled by God to do.

Bo yawned and set his chin down on his paws again. Alex watched him, and then gave Jamie a nervous look. “Uh, actually … I was coming back in. Just checking on Bo.” He seemed to realize that his excuse sounded weak in light of the way she’d found him. “I guess … I don’t know, I got distracted.”

Jamie’s confidence grew. She lowered herself to the porch and sat cross-legged, facing him. “I’m sorry … about the shooting.”

“Yeah. It happens.” Alex stroked the top of Bo’s head, his eyes on his dog. “I don’t really need time off, you know.”

She thought about her years at St. Paul’s Chapel, how driven she’d been never to miss a day in her quest to bring meaning to Jake’s death. A car drove by and the distraction gave Jamie time to gather her courage. When it passed, her voice filled with a depth that hadn’t been there before. “I understand, Alex. More than you know.”

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed just enough that his unspoken question was as clear as if he’d said the words.

Jamie held his gaze. “I know about your father. How he died.”

Alex’s expression hardened. “I’m over it. A lot of people died that day.”

“Including my first husband. He was FDNY.” It still hurt to say the words. “He died in the Twin Towers.”

For the first time since he had come into their lives, the walls around Alex’s heart crumbled just a little. Jamie could see the change in his eyes. “You … were married to a firefighter?”

“Yes.” She drew up her knees and hugged them to her chest. “His name was Jake Bryan.”

“How come …” he turned his eyes straight ahead again. “… Clay never said anything?”

“Wanda too. Her husband was a firefighter in New York.” Alex sat straighter, his back rigid, eyes wide and unblinking. “I never … I had no idea.” Slowly he regained some of his composure. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“The guys thought it would scare you off.” Jamie could feel the sadness in her half-smile. “Too much pain.”

He was quiet, processing the information. “So why tell me now? What brought you out here?”

Jamie breathed in slowly, allowing God to turn her thoughts into words. “For a long time, I’ve wondered whether your father might’ve known my first husband.” She looked out past the rooftops of the houses across the street. “Wanda and I have talked about it, and there was no connection between her husband and Jake. But I wasn’t sure about your father.”

“What would it matter?” The muscles in Alex’s jaw flexed. “They would still be gone.”

Bo must’ve heard a change in Alex’s tone. The dog lifted his head long enough to size up the conversation. When he was satisfied everything was okay, he stretched out again.

Jamie’s heart pounded harder than before, and she tried to find the right words. She wanted to tell him it mattered because the terrorists were still waging war seven years later, right here in Alex’s heart and soul. But she didn’t want to make him run. “My husband kept a journal. For years while he worked for the FDNY, he wrote about his thoughts and … and the people he met.” She felt Jake’s loss like a knife that never quite dislodged from inside her. “He had a very strong faith.”

Alex released a quick, angry-sounding sigh and stood, restless. “Ma’am? I guess I don’t get it. Why are you telling me this?”

Bo lifted his head again, alert and ready, his eyes locked on his master.

“Call me Jamie.” Her tone remained kind, unshaken. She dropped her knees back to the cross-legged position. “Please sit back down. I have something to tell you.”

He paced a few steps toward the walkway, and then back again. “Ma’am … Jamie …” He stopped, his struggle clearly intense. He spoke through tight jaws. “I don’t do this. I don’t talk about him.”

I feel You, God … be with him, please.
A quiet strength came over her, and she watched him, undeterred. “It won’t take long.” She motioned to the spot where Alex had been sitting. “Please.”

For a few seconds, it looked like Alex might call his dog and run off without another word. Instead he breathed a few times through his nose, the battle playing out in his expression until finally he came closer and slowly lowered himself back to his spot beside Bo. He pulled up both his knees and rested his forearms there. “Go ahead.”

She tried to imagine the massive twist of anger and pain that tied up the heart of the young man across from her. The same anger and pain that bound the hearts of countless people Jamie had talked to at St. Paul’s. She leaned closer. “The other day I looked through Jake’s journal. It was a long shot, but I had to know — whether Jake knew your dad or not. Whether they’d ever talked.”

Alex looked down at his dog and waited.

“I found an entry, an entire page about your dad.” She held her breath. “They knew each other. But more than that, Jake wrote that — “

“Please.” His eyes flashed, his tone sharp. “I don’t want to hear it. There’s nothing he could’ve written that would change anything now.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry, I just …” He let the air gather in his cheeks, and he released it in a rush. At the same time, he pushed his fingers through his hair, his frustration tangible. After half a minute, he shook his head and made a sound that was half-groan, half-cry.

She didn’t know whether to apologize or argue with him, so she stayed quiet, watching him.

“Don’t you see?” His expression begged her to understand. “It’s different for you.” He motioned to the front door. “You have Clay and your kids. You have a life.” He stood and unhooked Bo from the porch post. “I have a job to do.” He waited until Bo was up and at his side. “I’m not looking for healing.” He took a step back. “Thank you for dinner. Tell the others good-bye for me.”

She stood and dusted her hands on her jeans. “Alex?”

He was already at the end of the walk, but he turned back to her. “Yes?”

“We’re praying for you.”

The sharp intensity in his gaze barely let up. He hung his head for a moment, and then nodded in her direction. “Thank you.”

That was it. He opened the back door of his truck, waited while Bo scrambled up, then climbed into the front and drove away. Jamie leaned against the post and watched him go.
Well, God, that didn’t go very well.

Prayer is a powerful thing, precious Daughter … be strong, and do not give up.

The answer resonated deep within her, like a silent roar across the hills and valleys of her soul. Jamie’s knees trembled, and she leaned harder into the post so she could keep her balance. Rarely did she feel the Lord’s response so clearly. But the thought that echoed within her was exactly what she’d read in the Bible that morning. She’d known Alex was coming for dinner tonight, and she’d been wrestling with whether she should approach him about the journal entry or wait for another time — after his two-week leave, maybe, when the shooting was farther behind him. But her devotion time had been in Galatians — one of Jake’s favorite New Testament books. In
Chapter six
, one verse stood out.
Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Of course, God would whisper those very words to her now, when she felt ill-equipped and unable to reach the hurting young man who’d just driven away. The fruit of her concern for Alex would come if she did not give up. And she wouldn’t. She would get the journal entry to Alex one way or another, because that was the right thing to do. Even Clay agreed on that much.

Jamie went back in the house and returned to the dinner party. The others seemed concerned about Alex’s early departure, but after a few minutes the laughter and lighthearted talk continued. When their guests were gone, and after CJ was in bed, Sierra found Jamie and Clay in the kitchen. Her face was drawn and worried. “Wrinkles looks sick.”

“She might be tired.” Clay wiped his hands on a towel. He was the parent in charge of pet issues. It had been that way from the beginning. “It was over a hundred degrees today.” He thought a minute. “Or maybe she got into another fight.”

“I don’t see any cuts on her. And her eyes look funny.” She held her hand out to him. “Please, Daddy, come check her with me.”

Jamie watched the way Clay took hold of Sierra’s fingers and walked with her toward the back patio. She followed, but only because it never got old, hearing Sierra call Clay “Daddy,” and knowing that he so perfectly fit the description. She stood in the doorway and watched her husband and daughter tend to the old cat, still curled up on the nearest patio chair.

Clay ran his hand along the cat’s back, and when he reached the base of her tail, Wrinkles jerked away and let out a pained meow. “Hmmm … this might be the trouble.” He gently took hold of the cat and parted the fur near her tail. “Sure enough. Looks like she was mixing it up with the neighbor cat again.”

Sierra’s worry turned stern. “Wrinkles! What did we tell you about fighting?” She crossed her arms and frowned at the cat. “We should never let you out again!” The cat almost seemed to be listening, and Sierra lowered her face so Wrinkles had no choice but to look straight at her. “Remember when you used to play dress up, Wrinkles? You were a lady back then!”

A grin tugged at Clay’s lips but he hid it by looking at Jamie. When he had more control, he cleared his throat. “How ‘bout you hold her and I’ll get some hydrogen peroxide?”

“Wrinkles!” Sierra looked indignantly at the cat. “Thank you, Daddy. Wrinkles appreciates that very much.”

Clay was chuckling as he passed Jamie, went into the house, and came out with a spray bottle of the clear liquid. Wrinkles needed a lot of hydrogen peroxide lately. Clay returned to the place where Sierra was holding onto her cat. “Here …” He aimed a few long sprays at the troubled area and stepped back. “You can let her go. If it doesn’t look better tomorrow, we’ll take her to the vet.”

“Maybe she should be in time-out someplace.” Sierra still sounded put out by the cat’s actions. “What’cha think, Daddy?”

Jamie angled her face, touched by Clay’s obvious concern. He was such a wonderful dad, so good to the kids. No one ever would’ve known that he wasn’t Sierra’s biological father. His adoption of her simply made official what anyone else could easily see. Sierra was his daughter, no doubt.