“Oh.” One of the socks was slipping off Wrinkles's paw. She pulled it back on. “So they didn't know Daddy?”
It took Jamie a moment to catch her breath. “No, sweetie. Why would they know Daddy?”
“You said they're policemen. Sometimes policemen and firefighters know each other.” She patted Wrinkles's head. “Didn't you know that, Mommy?”
“Yes, I guess I did.” She never stopped being amazed by the things Sierra said. “But these two men don't know Daddy, okay?” Jamie pointed at Wrinkles. “Now listen, daughter. Where have you been, out so late and dressed like that?”
Sierra giggled. “Mommy, don't be mad at us. We had dancing lessons with our boyfriends.”
“Boyfriends?” Jamie used her best mock mean mother tone. “No boyfriends for you! Besides, where are the boyfriends?”
The wheels in Sierra's head must've been turning. She looked around the room and in a rush she pointed at the closet. “There. We keep our boyfriends in the closet.”
Again Jamie had to stifle a laugh. She sat a bit straighter, more authoritative. “There will be no more boyfriends in closets anymore.”
The cat tried to pull away, but Sierra stopped him again. He settled back down and meowed.
Jamie pointed a finger at him. “No talking back, sister. And don't try to run away, either.”
The doorbell rang. They were here! Certain moments since yesterday Jamie was sure she'd dreamed the whole thing up. Men couldn't have tried to accost her on the ferry in broad daylight, and certainly two police officers didn't happen to be watching. She hadn't spent the morning with a man who had mesmerized her from the first few seconds, and she didn't have lunch with him, talking with him like they were old friends. And she certainly didn't invite them for dinner.
But she really did. The whole day really happened, and now Joe and Clay were downstairs waiting to be let in.
She jumped into action. “Come on, Sierra, let's go meet them.”
Sierra swept the cat into her arms and the two of them bounded down the stairs to the front door. Jamie shot Sierra a look. “Best manners, okay?”
“Okay.” Sierra held the cat to her chest. “Best manners.”
Jamie opened the door and found Clay on her porch. He held something behind his back. “Hi.” Warmth stirred inside her at the sight of him, and she felt her cheeks get hot. Sierra came up beside her, still holding the cat, and suddenly Jamie remembered what she was doing. She put her arm around her daughter. “Come in.”
“I don't know.” Laughter danced in Clay's eyes. He looked himself up and down. “Looks like I'm underdressed.”
Jamie gasped and grabbed the hat from her head. “We were playing—”
The laughter came all at once, and after a day of worrying and overthinking, it felt too good to stop it. Dress-up games were normal fare for Jamie and Sierra. But how must they have looked? Sierra with her old-lady blue velvet hat and white gloves; her with the cheap plastic flowers? And what about Wrinkles?
She was laughing too hard to say anything. Instead she backed into the house, gesturing for him to join them.
Sierra apparently didn't see anything funny. She gave Jamie a strange look and then turned to Clay. “Mommy's silly sometimes.”
Jamie let out another burst of laughter.
“Yes.” Clay stooped down to Sierra's level. “I see that.” He petted the cat's chin. “I'm Clay.”
“I'm Sierra.” She smiled at him, not quite smitten, but close.
Clay winked at her. “You have nice taste in outfits, Sierra.”
“Thank you.” She was still in character, assuming it perfectly normal for a cat to have a scarf and lace socks. But she did a little giggle and spoke in a loud whisper, as if she were sharing secret information. “We're playing pretend.”
Jamie had tears in her eyes. Still laughing, she leaned against the foyer wall so she could catch her breath.
Clay's eyes widened. “Oh, I see.” He gave Jamie a quick smile. “She must be the crazy neighbor lady?”
Sierra giggled. “No, she's the mom.”
“Are you the princess?”
“No, I'm the little sister.” She held Wrinkles up and one of the socks slid off his paw onto the floor. “Wrinkles is the big sister.”
“I see.”
Jamie sucked in two quick breaths and dabbed the corners of her eyes. Sierra held Clay's attention, so she took the moment to study him. He wore a tan sweater, khaki dress pants, and the leather jacket. His hair was short, cut conservatively in a way that complimented his face.
He looked at her. “I don't know, Jamie. I kind of liked the hat.”
Another giggle worked its way up, but she held back. She was on the verge of being rude as it was. She exhaled hard. “Whew! I'm sorry.” She lifted her shoulders and gave him a grin. “What a bad hostess I am.” Jamie drew another breath and fanned her face. “Welcome to our home. We're a little loony, but we have fun.”
“I like it.” His eyes were full of teasing. “But under the circumstances, I think I need a hat.”
Sierra's eyes lit up. “I'll get you one!” She started to run off, and the motion frightened the cat. He jumped from her arms, losing the other sock and causing the scarf to slide down around his neck.
“Wrinkles!”
The cat was off and around the corner before Sierra could stop him. She watched him for a minute and then she shrugged. “I'll be right back.”
“Wait, Sierra.” Clay straightened. He was still hiding something.
Sierra pulled her gloves up a little higher and turned around. “I can get you one, really. I have a whole box.”
“Okay.” He gave her a kind smile. “First I have something for you.”
Jamie watched from her place against the wall. Her heart swelled as she took in the scene. In all the time they'd known Aaron, he'd never brought Sierra a present.
Sierra came and stood in front of Clay. “Really?”
“Yep.” He pulled a pink bag out from behind his back. “Here. This is for letting me come over for dinner.”
“Wow!” She took the tissue paper from the top and gasped. “It's Nala!”
Nala? Jamie blinked, stunned. Nala was the girlfriend of Simba in The Lion King. Jamie met Clay's eyes and caught his knowing look. The gift wasn't an accident. He had remembered their conversation at lunch, remembered that Sierra's favorite movie was The Lion King.
With great care Sierra pulled a honey-colored stuffed lion from the bag. She turned to Jamie and held it up. “Look, Mom! She's perfect! Next time, she can be the big sister!”
“I'm sure Wrinkles will be glad to share the scarf.”
“Yeah, I'm sure too.” She stared at Clay, awed. “Thanks very much.” She gave him a quick hug and then ran to Jamie. “She's super soft, Mommy, look!”
Sierra gushed about Nala for another few minutes before running off to find a beat-up hat for Clay. The conversation shifted to their orientation and Clay's expectations for the three weeks of training.
“I'll go home a better detective.” They moved into the kitchen. “Joe'll see to that.”
“Isn't he coming?” The silliness at the front door made her forget about his partner. She grabbed an old pair of pot holders, opened the oven door, and pulled the casserole out. The cheese on top was barely golden brown.
Clay looked over her shoulder at the dinner. “Whatever that is, I'll take two.” He helped clear a spot on the counter. “Smells delicious.”
“It's a family favorite.” A memory flashed in Jamie's mind—the first time she'd made the casserole for Jake in the days after they were married. She'd burned the cheese and mixed the sauce wrong. They couldn't eat it, but it gave them something to laugh about for days afterwards. She blinked and the images were gone. “So what about Joe?”
“Wanda invited him to her place.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, watching her.
Jamie took the milk from the refrigerator and poured Sierra a glass. “Things must
've gone well.”
“I guess.” Clay made a slight frown. “Joe felt awkward; he couldn't find the right time to tell her he was sorry.” He unfolded his arms and rested the palms of his hands on the counter behind him. “I guess she sent her kids to the neighbor's house for the night yesterday. Joe thought it was sort of strange.”
“They both have a lot to work through.” Jamie took the casserole to the table.
Clay followed behind with the salad and milk. “Definitely.”
They heard Sierra before they saw her. She raced around the corner, a jester hat in one hand, the oversized hat with the purple plastic flowers in the other. On her head, the older velvet hat had been replaced with a sailor's cap. Sierra collected hats for her dress-up box, and these were three of her favorites. “Hi, guys!” Her cheerful voice struck Jamie. Sierra was a happy child. More subdued, maybe, than before the terrorist attacks. But happy all the same. But now—for whatever reason—she was practically bubbling over with enthusiasm, her eyes dancing with a joy that Jamie hadn't seen in years.
“Here, Clay.” She handed him the jester hat. “I think you're right. Let's wear hats for dinner.”
Jamie was about to tell her no, but Clay took the hat and adjusted it on his head. “Whaddaya think, Jamie. Would I scare off the bad guys with this?”
She had to bite her lip to stop another wave of laughter. She looked at Sierra and angled her head. “Honey, I'm not sure our guest wants to spend dinner wearing a jester hat.”
“Actually—” Clay lifted his chin with mock dignity—“I'm quite fond of jester hats.”
Sierra clapped her hands. “Yeah, Mommy. This'll be the funnest dinner in forever.” She put the sailor's hat on her own head and handed the one with the plastic flowers to Jamie. “Please, Mommy. Wear it, please.”
“She'll wear it.” Clay stooped down some, so he was more on Sierra's level. “Hats are required at this dinner.”
“Fine.” Jamie rolled her eyes. “Give me the hat.”
Clay took it from Sierra, stood up, and placed it on Jamie's head. “You look pretty in purple.”
“Thank you.” Jamie's knees felt shaky, her stomach warm from the effects of her melting heart. Not since Jake had anyone told her she looked pretty. She gathered herself and looked at Sierra. “All washed up?”
“Yep.” Sierra sat down at the table and folded her hands.
Jamie sat beside her and Clay across from them. His jester hat flopped to one side as he held his hands out. “Can I pray?”
“Yes.” The warmth moved up to her cheeks, and she smiled. He looked silly, but his voice, his eyes, were as deep, as vulnerable as they'd been the day before. She took Clay's hand and watched Sierra take the other.
They bowed their heads and Clay began. “God, thank You for this food—” he gave Jamie's fingers a gentle squeeze—“and the hands that prepared it. And thank You for new friends. In Jesus' name, amen.”
Throughout the meal, Jamie expected to be nervous, unsure of how to carry on a conversation with a man she'd only just met. She was sure she'd be distracted, guilty at having moved Jake's picture. Instead, the meal flew by, and all she could think about was how wonderful she felt. Having Clay there, his hand in hers during the prayer, his presence at their table. All of it felt impossibly good, right in a way she couldn't begin to understand.
During the meal, Jamie caught him looking at her, glancing away from Sierra and finding her eyes, almost as if he wanted to see for himself that the attraction or chemistry or whatever they shared was still there.
It was. Jamie used her eyes to tell him so. He'd been dropped into her life and nothing had been the same. She hadn't had time to analyze how or why God had brought them together, just that He had. Only one thought threatened to mar the night. It wasn't of Jake or his picture or how she would get on with life without him.
Rather it was what would happen to her in three weeks—when Clay went home.
Sierra felt it in her heart the minute she pulled Nala from the gift bag. Clay liked her. Because how else did he know about Nala? Nala was the coolest present ever, and it wasn't even her birthday. All her friends had Lion King, but not Nala. Plus Nala was a girl, which meant she could wear hats and scarves and fancy socks and bows in her hair and play the big sister.
Without getting mad, the way Wrinkles sometimes did.
Clay wasn't a regular kind of grown-up like Captain Hisel. Captain Hisel would smile at her and pat her head, and sometimes he'd talk to her for as long as a TV commercial. But he didn't really like her because he never asked her questions.
Sierra was counting. While they ate dinner Clay asked her eight questions, like who was her teacher and how many kids were in her class and who were her bestest friends and what did she want for Christmas?
By the end of dinner, Sierra was having a secret thought. Secret thought was when she had an idea in her head but she didn't share it with anyone else. Not even Mommy. Her secret thought was this: Since the other second daddy had to go back to his real family, maybe Clay would make a good second daddy.
She spied on him when he wasn't watching, and her heart had a sense about him. A sense that he acted sort of like a daddy, actually. He smiled big and wore his jester hat all night. Also, after dinner he played Uno with her and her mommy. The three of them laughed a lot, and Sierra didn't even care who won.
When Clay left, he stooped down and told her to have fun with Nala. Then he gave Mommy a short hug, sort of like when Captain Hisel came over.
Before he left, Clay looked at her one last time and winked. And Sierra did a little gasp because that's something she'd seen before. Maybe it was her daddy who used to do that, or her second daddy—the one who lived with her after the Twin Towers fell down. But instead of feeling confused, her heart felt happy. Because maybe the wink was a sign that God knew how lonely she was without her daddy.
And maybe God would take away the lonely forever.
FIFTEEN
Jamie reported to St. Paul's the next day, but for the first time she didn't stop and look at the gaping hole where the towers had stood. Her head was still spinning from the night before, from the new feelings stirring up her heart and soul. How could she care so much about a man she'd only known a few days? Was she using the situation to avoid Aaron Hisel? Or was Clay Miles really as wonderful as he seemed?
Allen, a young man in college, was the first person she talked with that morning. His father, an investment broker, was trapped near the top of the North Tower when it collapsed. Allen had a small photo of his father, one that he wanted to leave as part of the memorial. Jamie helped him find a spot for the picture, and then asked him if he wanted to talk.
“Not really.” He shrugged. “I don't talk about it much. It happened, Dad's gone, end of story.”
Jamie leaned against one of the thick white pillars that separated the memorial along the perimeter from the sanctuary area of the chapel. Memories of Clay and her dinner the night before came to mind and she willed them away. “Allen, would it be okay if I prayed for you?”
The surprise in the young man's eyes changed to anger, then vulnerability. “The last time I prayed was the morning of September 11.” He clenched his jaw and gave a shake of his head. “Apparently God didn't hear me, so I stopped talking.”
“But you're here.” Her eyes found the pew where she'd sat with Clay the other day. Was he in training now? Would he call her again the way he'd promised? Was she crazy? She blinked hard and focused on the young man.
Allen looked over his shoulder at the tables of memorabilia. His eyes were damp when he found Jamie's eyes again. His chin quivered. “I don't know how to move on.”
So many visitors to St. Paul's faced the same thing.
Their loss was so great, they practically limped through the doors. Anger, hurt, and grief kept the calendar at a standstill. Regardless of time's incessant marching, every day was September 12—and without God's divine intervention it always would be. She led the young man to the
closest pew and sat down with him.
Her mind drifted back to the night before, to something funny Clay had said about his jester hat. She tightened her hands into fists. Focus, Jamie … focus.
“I understand.” She looked at the stained-glass window across from them. “My husband was a firefighter; he died in the South Tower.”
The young man looked at his knees. “I'm sorry.”
“It's okay. He's in heaven; I'm sure about that.” She told him about Jake, about finding the faith her husband had always held to, how she wouldn't have survived without that faith.
Sometimes even while she was counseling at St. Paul's her mind wandered. But always she would rein in her thoughts and focus on the matter at hand. Usually the distractions came because of Jake. His picture across the room, or the thought of him kissing her good-bye that brilliant sunny Tuesday morning, hearing his voice telling her he loved her that last time.
But not today.
Today she had to remind herself to stop thinking about Clay Miles and the way her spine tingled when she was with him. Distractions about Jake were a normal thing, especially working at St. Paul's. They were constant reminders that she was in the right place, working alongside people most touched by the tragedy of the terrorist attacks.
But thoughts of Clay?
Every time she had a spare moment that morning she saw Clay's face, the way his eyes met hers over dinner the night before, felt her body protected against his as he handled the men on the ferry.
She dismissed the thoughts. The young man across from her deserved her complete attention. He was going on about his relationship with his father, and Jamie had to listen to him as if there'd be a test later.
She struggled through two meetings that way before she sensed someone behind her.
“Hey.” Aaron's tone held a layer of hurt. “You haven't fallen off the planet after all.”
The sound of his voice shot darts at her conscience. She turned around and smiled at him. “Hi.” She was suddenly short on words, not sure what to say. “Did you just get here?”