Counting Stars (16 page)

“Then I’m grateful to Tara, but the promise
still
holds.” Paul’s eyes met hers.

Jane smiled at him. “Of course.” A rush of intense longing and sorrow washed over her, and she felt tears threatening again. She attempted levity to keep them at bay. “You sure you couldn’t kiss me—just once?”

He shook his head. “That privilege belongs to someone else. And someday, when you’re at that moment, when he kisses you, I don’t want you to see my face. I don’t want to be a memory that interferes.”

Jane reached out and traced her finger down Paul’s jaw line. “I’ll always remember your face,” she whispered. “I’ll see it every day for the rest of my life when I look at your children.” Her heart ached, thinking of his loss, then filled to overflowing at the thought of Mark and Madison truly being hers. Fresh tears flooded her eyes. “What a gift you’ve given me, Paul.”

And he had. But she’d hoped for so much more. In her dreams Paul recovered from both cancer and the heartbreak of losing Tami. He was healthy again, and he saw Jane as more than a nanny for his children.

It
could
have happened. Their friendship could have grown into love, that magic chemistry suddenly sparking between them. And she would have told Paul about the gospel, would have had the courage to read her scriptures aloud at the breakfast table instead of quietly to herself as she did every morning. Paul might have believed what he heard . . .

He might still believe.
And wasn’t that even
more
important, now that time was so short?

Jane jumped off the bed suddenly. “I’ll be right back.”

She raced out of his apartment, back to her house, to her own bedroom. She opened her closet and took out the quadruple combination she’d been hiding there for the past few weeks. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to give it to Paul before now, but suddenly she couldn’t wait.

Clutching it in her arms, she returned to his room. “I have something for you to read that will make you feel much better than that thriller.” She nodded toward the novel on his nightstand as she stepped forward. Holding out the scriptures, she continued, “I marked some pages about what happens after our bodies leave the earth and—and eternal marriage.” A smile trembled on her lips. “I’ll always wish things could have been different between us, but since they can’t . . . Tami loved you first, and these pages will tell you how you can be with her forever.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jane stood in the front room, one hand on the doorknob, Madison’s car seat in the other. “It’s
one
picture, Paul. Just one. You
owe
it to Mark and Madison.”

“I’ve got reasons for my decision, Jane—things you wouldn’t understand.” Paul made no move to rise from the sofa.

“Try me.”

He shook his head, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “You’d better go. You’ll be late.”

Jane pursed her lips and looked at him a minute longer, then opened the door, picked up Mark’s car seat with her other hand, and left the house. She didn’t bother returning to close the front door. Paul could do it. She didn’t trust herself to face him again without
really
losing her temper or bursting into tears.

After buckling the twins and herself in, she put the car in reverse and looked over her shoulder as she backed out of the driveway. “Your father is
so stubborn
,” she said to the infants in the backseat.

Mark was intent on the toy in front of him, but Madison churned her legs in response and looked at Jane.

“Let’s hope your brother isn’t the same way, Maddie,” Jane said, her voice softer as she returned Madison’s smile. Jane sniffed loudly and looked in the rearview mirror before putting the car into drive. Her nose was red and her eyes puffy. Everyone would know she’d been crying, and she’d look horrible in the family Christmas photo.

For a brief moment she considered staying home and feigning illness but knew if she did, Mom would come over to check on them. Deciding it would be easier to face her mother when she had a houseful of grandchildren to distract her, Jane drove down the street, her reluctance to arrive with a blotchy, tear-stained face ensuring she stayed well within the speed limit.

Fifteen minutes later she pulled up to the curb in front of her parents’ house. Caroline’s family was piling out of the van parked in front of her. Seeing that Jane was alone, Caroline came over to help.

“Where’s Paul?” she asked as she unbuckled Madison.

Jane lifted Mark’s car seat from its base and shut the car door. “At home. He isn’t feeling well.”

Caroline waited for Jane to walk around to her side. “You okay?”

Jane nodded. “I’m here, aren’t I? And that’s pretty good considering Paul and I just had our first fight.”

“Oh. Is that all?” Caroline let out a relieved sigh. “You had me worried.”

Jane walked up the front steps. “What do you mean is that
all?
It was terrible.”

Caroline rolled her eyes as she followed. “For Miss I-Don’t-Like-to-Upset-Anyone, I’m sure it was. But arguing is part of life. Everyone does it once in a while. Don’t be so uptight.”

Jane turned to her. “Are you telling me you enjoy it when you and Ryan fight?”

“Of course not,” Caroline said, holding the front door for Jane. She grinned. “But I certainly enjoy it when we make up.”

Jane scowled at her. “I don’t have that option, remember?” She walked past Caroline and into her parent’s living room where she set Mark’s car seat on the floor by the sofa. The front door shut, and a moment later Caroline came into the room. She set Madison beside Mark and pulled Jane into a hug.

“I’m sorry. That was a really stupid, insensitive thing for me to say.”

“It was,” Jane agreed. She stepped from Caroline’s embrace and sat down on the sofa, motioning for her sister to join her. “Sorry I’m so grumpy,” she said. “It’s just been a rough couple of weeks.”

Caroline sat down and turned toward Jane. “How is Paul—really?”

Jane shrugged. “He seems about the same—though I don’t know how I’ll even know when it is bad. I never see him. He doesn’t talk to me—just holes up in his room, except at night when I hear him get up with the twins. And that’s their alone time. I feel like I’m intruding if I join them.” She sighed. “We had that one great—and terrible—night a couple of weeks ago, but since then he’s just completely closed off to me.”

Caroline leaned back against the sofa cushions. “We’d probably do the same in his shoes.”

“No we wouldn’t,” Jane insisted. “We’d spend every moment we could with our family.”

“But he doesn’t have a family to be with,” Caroline gently reminded her. “His wife is dead. His parents are gone. His brother is out of the picture.”

“But I’m—”

“A friend he doesn’t want to get too close to. A friend he doesn’t want to hurt any more than he already has.” Caroline continued before Jane could interrupt. “I’m betting Paul’s withdrawal isn’t just about him. It’s protection for you. He’s a decent guy, and he doesn’t want you to get more attached to him than you already are. He doesn’t want you hurting when he’s gone.”

“And being miserable now is better?”

“Not better,” Caroline said. “But maybe easier in the long run.” She rose from the sofa. “Wow, I sound like someone else I know.” She looked down at Jane. “Someone else who used to charge a quarter for such sage advice.” Caroline held out her hand. “Ante up, sis.”

Jane smiled. “You guys were always great to pay me. It must have been a pain humoring your little sister like that.” She reached for her purse, then stood.

“Humor you, nothing,” Caroline said. “You had some darn good advice back then. You have no idea how many scrapes I got out of for a mere quarter.”

“In that case, call it even.” Jane dropped her purse to the floor.

“Ho, Ho, Ho.” Their father’s deep voice came from the doorway. They turned around to greet him.

“Why Santa, you’re looking rounder this year,” Caroline teased as he came toward them.

He glanced quickly to the right, then left, and pulled down his false beard. “Your mother bought new pillows. I feel like a waddling duck—I can hardly move.”

“Gotta love Mom,” Jane said, exchanging a glance with Caroline, one full of memories of costumes past made by their mother.

“At least you’re not dressed as the Tin Man right now,” Jane teased.

“Ah. Don’t remind me,” Santa grumbled. “It took hours to wash all that silver makeup off, but that wasn’t half as bad as the years it took the Relief Society sisters to forget I’d worn
tights
under that tinfoil box.”

Jane and Caroline laughed. The older Relief Society sisters
still
remembered and talked about Dad’s tights the year their mother had decided the whole family would be characters from
The
Wizard of Oz
for Halloween.

“Where’s the rest of your clan?” he asked Caroline.

“Most likely rearranging your tree and shaking every package beneath it,” Caroline said.

“Well, round ’em up for the pictures. I can’t stand this suit all day.” He turned to Jane. “Where’s Paul?”

“At home. He’s no worse,” she quickly assured her father. “He just doesn’t want to be in any pictures.”

She turned to Caroline. “That’s what we fought about.”

“Did you suggest one of just him and the twins?” she asked.

Jane nodded. “I told him that’s all I really wanted. I promised he wouldn’t have to be in the big family photo or anything. But he wouldn’t come. And the worst of it is that I don’t have one single picture of him with either Mark or Madison. I’ve taken dozens of the two of them, but Paul won’t even be in one.”

Caroline’s brow furrowed. “I know it’s not the same, but you
could
Photoshop him in.”

“That’s all well and fine,” their father said, grabbing a magazine off the coffee table to fan himself with. “But unless you want to Photoshop old Santa in, I suggest you get those babies and get in the other room.”

“Come on,” Caroline said, bending down to unstrap Madison. “We don’t want a grumpy Santa.”

* * *

An hour and fifteen minutes later the family pictures were finally done, and Santa wasn’t the only one who was grumpy. Jane excused herself to the quiet of her parents’ room to feed Mark and get him to sleep—hopefully—before she drove home. Her nieces were in the other room playing with Madison.

Mark drank half his bottle before his eyelids started to droop.

“Wake up, little buddy,” Jane coaxed, lightly stroking the side of his face. He rewarded her with a quick smile and a drool of milk down his chin. Jane wiped up the milk then set the bottle aside and lay Mark, stomach down, across her lap. She rubbed his back, waiting for the burp she knew was there. “You know, your sister is going to be able to beat you up if you don’t start eating more,” Jane scolded gently. “She’s got you by more than two pounds now.”

Mark’s response was the burp she’d been waiting for. Jane rolled him over and tried the bottle again, but he was sleeping soundly.
Lucky boy,
Jane thought. A nap right now would be great, much better than facing the volley of questions about Paul—and her life in general—that she knew her mother would fire at her.

Jane glanced at the clock on the dresser as she lay back on the bed and positioned Mark on top of her. His head nestled beneath her chin, and she felt his heart beating close to hers. His sweet baby scent washed over her along with warm contentment. She would steal a few precious minutes before returning to the chaos that was her family.

* * *

“Jane. Wake up, Jane.” Marsha Warner touched her daughter’s arm gently.

Jane’s eyes opened. “Mom?” She knew immediately from the look on her mother’s face that something was wrong. Holding Mark, she sat up. “What is it? Is Maddie all right?”

“She’s fine.” Her mother picked up Mark. “Someone just called from Paul’s cell phone. He’s in an ambulance on his way to the hospital.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jane sat at Paul’s bedside, half-relieved, half-regretful that he had been given morphine before she arrived. She felt grateful he wasn’t in pain, but she longed to talk with him. His organs were failing, the doctors gently explained. And when they asked if she’d ever considered hospice care, she nodded numbly. The paperwork was somewhere in Paul’s bedroom. He’d shown it to her the night they’d played Scrabble—
Was that only two weeks ago?
Later, she would go home and find the information needed to get him transferred, but for now she wanted to stay in case he woke up. He’d asked for her.

He’d asked for her, and she’d left the house angry.

Jane rubbed her hands together, chilled by the temperature in the room and the dire circumstances. She told herself this couldn’t be happening, but when she closed her eyes and opened them again, everything was very real.
So
real and painful—especially considering she hadn’t even known Paul a full four months now. Tara had sure called this one right. Jane felt very much like she was drowning in a strong undertow.

She pulled her sweater tight and watched the steady beep of Paul’s monitors. They brought a little comfort. He was still alive. He could still have a little longer.

“No more time,” Paul’s voice startled her and she jumped in her chair. She brought a hand to her pounding heart as he gave her a weak smile.

“Paul.” Her eyes clouded with tears. “I’m so sorry I got mad this morning. I didn’t know how sick you felt. I wish you would have told me.”

“Should have.”

Jane reached for his hand. “I’m the one who should have told you more—about where Tamara is and how our Heavenly Father is anxiously waiting for you to return home. It’s true, Paul.” She smiled through her tears. “You’re almost ready to go home. And until then you just rest. I’ll find those papers for the hospice you chose. We can move you there. I’ll do exactly what you asked.”

“Pete.” Paul’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Jane stood and moved closer to the bed. “Your brother? Do you want me to call him?”

He nodded.

“Sure. I don’t know how, but I’ll get my dad to find out.”

Paul’s brow creased. “Tell Pete—sorry.”

“Okay,” Jane said. “I’ll tell him you’re sorry.” She glanced at the monitor that registered Paul’s heartbeat. Was it her eyes, or did it seem to be slowing? “You rest now. I’m going to go tell the doctor you’re awake.” She went to the door, opened it, and stepped into the hall just as the alarm on Paul’s monitor sounded.