Counting Stars (25 page)

Chapter Forty-Four

Jay stuck the paper in his folder, shoved the folder in his backpack, and left the room. Instead of feeling self-conscious—as he usually did—about his inexpensive backpack next to the leather attachés he saw his classmates with, he felt great. The professor’s remarks on the top of his paper burned into his mind.

Brilliant. At the end of the semester, see me about an internship
.

What a wonderful thing that would be, Jay thought. Most internships paid considerably more than he made now, and with a little luck he’d have a great start to his résumé
and
a leather attaché by the time school started again next fall.

Jay left the building and zipped up his jacket as he walked across campus. For late March, the air felt bitter cold; he was still accustomed to the more temperate climate of Seattle. He thought—as he did every day—of the ocean, the city, and Jane. The promise of spring was in the air. Soon he’d have finals. Summer would be here before he knew it. Over half the time had passed until he would see her again.

He wondered what the past seven months had been like for her. Had she met someone? Did she ever think of him?

He’d dreamed of her again last week. She was downtown, walking around, looking at different vendors, milling through a crowd. She’d had a smile on her face—the prettiest he’d ever seen. And though they hadn’t spoken in his dream, he could sense her happiness.

Jay waited for the light to change, then crossed the street. Dreams usually came to him for a reason. It had been that way in his family for as long as their history had been recorded. He found himself grateful for this dream now and hoped it was a sign of things to come.

Chapter Forty-Five

Jane walked into the family room and handed Mark to Peter. “I’ve just changed both their diapers, so they’re good for a couple of hours. Their pajamas are on the top shelf of the changing table, and you could probably skip their baths tonight.” She took a can from the counter. “The formula is right here—you remember it’s one scoop for every two ounces, right?”

Pete nodded.

“There’s half a jar of peaches in the fridge and another of applesauce,” Jane continued. “Try to feed them those before their bottles, okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Pete answered, his attention on Mark and his toes. “This little piggy went to Pizza Hut,” he began, wiggling Mark’s big toe.

“Remember, after you’ve fed Mark, please watch him carefully if he’s on his back. And just in case, I’ve written down the pediatrician’s number and poison control. Of course, you know 9-1-1.”

“I’m vaguely familiar with that one,” Pete said dryly. He pulled his attention from Mark’s toes to Jane’s anxious face. “I’m not twelve.”

Jane set the paper on the counter. “I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I’m a little nervous is all.”

“A
little?”
Pete asked. “All morning you’ve been acting like you’ve never left them before.”

“Well, I haven’t,” Jane said. “At least not for this long, or . . .”

“With me?” he guessed.

Jane looked out at the backyard. “Well yes, that too,” she admitted.

Pete got up from the couch and put Mark in his exersaucer—the latest in the string of toys Pete had purchased in the past month. He walked over to Jane. “Listen,” he said, gently turning her face to him. He was surprised to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He’d known she was worried, but . . . “I’m not
that
bad, am I?” he teased.

She shook her head. “You’re not bad at all. You’re great—the perfect dad.” She took a deep, shaky breath and looked into his eyes. “I . . . I need to know that Mark and Madison will be here when I get back.”

“Of course they’ll be—” His eyes widened as understanding dawned. “You’re still worried I’ll try to take them.” It was his turn to feel hurt.

“Well you see it all the time on those flyers in the mail,” Jane’s voice wavered. “And you admitted you’d thought about it.”

“Whoa. Wait just a minute.” Pete held his hands up and took a step back. “That was over a month ago. I’d hope by now you’d know I could never do that. I
love
Mark and Madison, and I want what’s best for them. I know that’s you. How you could even think . . . ?” Shaking his head, Pete returned to the couch and sat down.

Jane stood silent a moment, her arms folded across her chest, head down. Finally she walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This whole situation is just so strange—and difficult. My
life
has been so strange and difficult since I met your brother.”

Pete looked at her but did not say anything.

She tried to explain. “Paul never talked about you, and because you weren’t around to help him during those last weeks of his life, I really made you out to be the bad guy. When you didn’t come to his funeral, or even call, I was downright incensed. I felt justified in raising the twins by myself, which is why I wouldn’t use any of the money or do anything else that might be used against me in court. I hired an attorney, and I was ready to do whatever it took to keep
my
children.” She looked down at her lap, fingers anxiously twisting her purse strap. “Then you came, and you were nothing like I’d imagined.”

“Thank goodness,” Pete said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“From that first day, you were great,” Jane continued. “A natural with the twins—truly the perfect father. And now I know I’d never win in court against you. Even if you weren’t an attorney yourself—” Jane bit her lip. “I’d never
want
to win, because Mark and Madison deserve to be with you. You’re family. You’re how I believe Paul would have been.”

Pete leaned back against the sofa cushions but did not look at her.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said again. “But I can’t imagine my life without Mark and Madison. They’re everything to me.”

Pete sat up and reached for her hand. “They’ll be here,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes. A slow grin lit his face. “I hate court, and besides,
you’d
win.”

* * *

Exhausted, Pete sank onto the couch. He looked over at the clock in the kitchen and saw it was two in the afternoon.
So much destruction in so little time,
he mused, looking at the family room strewn with toys. Maddie’s newest game was to take everything out of the toy basket and throw things as far as she could. She actually had a pretty good arm.
There might be a softball player in her.

Glancing in the breakfast nook, he remembered that he’d left the high chairs and table messy from lunch. Globs of banana stained the kitchen floor, and mashed cracker pieces reached all the way to the refrigerator.
Yep, that’s some arm, Maddie
. Empty bottles lined the counter, and a small stack of messy diapers balanced by the back door, waiting to be taken to the big garbage can outside. Pete looked at the clock again.

Jane had only been gone
four
hours.

She’d be away the rest of the day, all night, and most of the day tomorrow, trying to finish up a landscaping job at Sequim Bay. She’d been excited about her work, he could tell, but she’d also been a wreck about leaving the twins. Whereas he’d been fine with the whole arrangement—eager, in fact, to have some time alone with Mark and Madison and prove to Jane that he could handle the weekend thing just fine.

Fool.
He frowned at his own naivety. Coming over to play for a couple of hours each night wasn’t the same as caring for two babies all day—alone. Still, he planned to have the twins fed and bathed and the house clean when Jane walked in the door tomorrow night.

With that goal in mind, Pete knew he should get up and clean before things got any worse, but the twins were napping right now, and . . . He kicked his legs onto the couch and adjusted the pillow behind his head. He’d take care of the mess soon—right after a short nap of his own.

Chapter Forty-Six

Pete backed quietly out of the twins’ bedroom. He paused in the hall, waiting to see which one of them would cry this time. Two minutes passed without a sound and he smiled with relief. Victory
—finally.
It was 10:30, though. An hour and a half later than Jane managed to get them to bed each night. What had he done wrong?

He stretched, his muscles complaining about the hours he’d spent on the floor today. Of course, falling asleep on the lumpy old couch hadn’t helped any either. He ought to buy Jane a new couch.
You ought to buy her a lot of things,
he thought.
No, you shouldn’t,
he argued with his conscience. Jane wasn’t his girlfriend, she was . . . a wonderful mother to his niece and nephew—something just
slightly
more important.
You should be providing for her, or at the least helping her more.
Plagued by such guilty thoughts, Pete turned in the hall and headed toward the laundry room. He pulled the baby monitor off the shelf and checked that it was working, then went out the back door and walked over to the door of the attached mother-in-law apartment.

Paul’s
apartment. He’d never once seen the door opened, and Jane had confided that she hadn’t been in there since Paul died, hadn’t so much as changed the sheets. She’d simply closed the door, leaving it to be dealt with later. It seemed that later was tonight. He would do it for her.

Pete remembered Jane’s hesitation this morning when she’d told him he was welcome to sleep in her room while she was gone.

“If you’re bored tonight, you might visit Paul’s apartment—and go through his things.”

He’d caught the hint of suggestion in her voice and knew she hoped he would take over the task of going through Paul’s belongings. Still, it was a job he was loathe to do. Only the thought of doing something to please her made his hand turn the key and twist the knob of the door. He opened it, reached inside, and flicked the light on.

The galley kitchen appeared bare, and the door to the bedroom was slightly ajar. Reluctantly he crossed the small room and went inside. Seeing the bed stripped bare, he let out a sigh of relief. A neat stack of blankets and sheets lay folded at the foot. A note was on top.

Peter,

If you’re reading this, then you’ve decided to go through Paul’s things. Thank you so much. It was something I simply could not do. I am learning there are many things I can’t do without your help. Thank you for giving it so freely.

Jane

Pete picked up the note, folded it carefully, and put it in his pocket. He was touched that she’d thanked him, that she’d braved coming in here to get the bed ready.
Thoughtful,
he added to the mental list of characteristics he’d been keeping about her for the past six weeks. Jane was thoughtful and brave, and he would be too. Looking around the sparsely furnished room, he imagined Paul’s last days. The books piled up beside numerous pill bottles on the dresser painted a clear picture. With a sigh of resignation, Pete crossed the room and opened the closet door.

* * *

The last number on the digital clock on the nightstand turned over, making a subtle click. If the room and apartment were not so eerily quiet, Pete would have missed the sound. But he didn’t, and looking up he saw it was 1:45 a.m. After more than three hours, he was almost done.

Paul’s belongings, clothing mostly, lay sorted into piles to be donated to Goodwill. Tomorrow, Pete decided, he would load up the Mercedes and take as much of it over as he could. Then he’d vacuum the room, open the window, and air everything out. Even if the rest of the house was a mess when she got home, Jane would be grateful he’d taken care of Paul’s things.

Returning to the closet, Pete reached for the last item hanging on the rack—Paul’s letterman jacket. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Thus far he’d held it together. He’d been brisk and businesslike about the whole experience—quickly gathering up the more personal items, like Paul’s toothbrush, razor, and prescriptions, and taking them out to the trash. But for some reason, the jacket—identical to the one hanging in the back of his own closet at home—stopped him cold.

It seemed like both a lifetime ago and yesterday that he and Paul had received their jackets. It was their junior year, and they’d both been star players on the varsity baseball team. He’d pitched. Paul was first baseman. Together they’d played an amazing season, leading their team to the state championship.

Clutching the burgundy wool, Pete felt his eyes begin to sting as the reality of Paul’s death sank in.

His best friend—his brother—was gone.

Memories were the only thing left of all their years together—and Pete knew he’d shortchanged them both on those. Holding the jacket a minute more, he brought it to his face and inhaled, letting the musty fragrance take him back in time to the glory days of high school when he was the big man on campus, and his brother was always right there at his side.

At last he set the jacket by the door, in the small pile of things he wanted for himself. Blinking rapidly, Pete returned to the closet for the remaining items on the shelf. Reaching up, he pulled down an electric blanket and a plain, brown grocery bag. He tossed the blanket in the pile of things to be donated and carried the sack over to the bed. Laying the bag on its side, he noticed Paul’s writing on the brown paper.

Tamara’s things. Keep for Mark and Madison
.

Pete stared at the words on the bag and realized, for the first time, that Paul would have been the one to go through Tamara’s things after
she
died. What had that been like?

Sympathy was an emotion Pete had not felt toward his brother in a very long time, but he allowed it to surface now as he thought about the anguish Paul must have felt at losing his wife, fighting cancer, and knowing he wasn’t going to be around to raise his children.

Pete’s fingers trembled as he reached for the first item in the bag. He knew he didn’t need to go through these things—if Paul had wanted them saved, then they would be saved—but something compelled him to reach for the tissue-wrapped package that lay on top of everything else.

Carefully unwrapping it, Pete was surprised to find nothing but a large bandage inside with a piece of paper stapled to it. Folding back the paper, he began to read.

December 1, 2003

Dear Mark and Madison,

You were the love of our lives, even before you were born. How your mother and I looked forward to meeting you, how we wanted to be with you. Please know we tried. Your mother held on long enough for you to be born safely. And I stayed as long as I could. We will always be watching over you. Be happy. Love your parents. There isn’t a better father or mother on earth than those we have chosen for you.

Love,

Dad

The burning in his eyes returned as Pete reread the last line of his brother’s letter.
There isn’t a better father . . .
Had Paul really
felt
that? How could he when the last time they’d met—

Pete pushed the memory aside. He didn’t want to remember that time of ugliness between them. Wasn’t it better to dwell on the good times they’d had?

His eyes watered as he lifted the paper to read the blurred writing on the bandage beneath.

God must have known I couldn’t live without you, Paul. Find our babies a mother. You know who their father should be. I’ll be waiting.

I love you.

Tami

Pete’s fingers shook as he held the bandage and read it again. When had this been written—and by who? The writing wasn’t Tamara’s, and why a bandage for paper? He glanced at Paul’s letter again.

Your mother held on long enough for you to be born safely . . .

Pete hadn’t considered before that Tamara might not have died instantly in the accident. But the note implied she hadn’t. She must have held on—long enough to tell someone her wishes. And one of her last thoughts had been of him. Astounded by that knowledge, Pete’s trembling fingers released the bandage, and it fell to the floor.

It had been
Tamara’s
idea first.
She
had chosen him to care for their children. And Paul had agreed.

I stayed as long as I could.

Stayed and found Jane,
Pete could have added. His brother had done the best he could with what little time he had.
You took the gamble of your life, and your children’s, that I’d come through for you,
Pete thought. He remembered the strange email he’d received from Paul—the missed opportunity for reconciliation.

All the foolish words Pete had said, the anger he’d harbored. The guilt that still weighed on him rushed to the surface, bringing a pain so great he could hardly bear it. If only he’d had one more minute with each of them. If only he’d forgiven them sooner . . . If only.

Burying his face in his hands, Pete bent over on the bed and wept.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the window, and Pete cracked open an eyelid to look at the clock. It was 6:40 a.m. The twins would be awake any minute now. Kicking off the covers, he rose from the bed. He had a lot to do today and a new determination about him. Last night, after going through Paul’s room and the bag of Tamara’s belongings, he’d made peace with at least some of his demons.

Paul had loved Tamara,
really
loved her, to the bitter end. And Tamara had been one hundred percent devoted to her husband. The pages from Tamara’s journal that Pete had read in the wee hours of the morning told the story from her perspective and made him realize things he never would have. Contrary to the original angst Tamara’s love for Paul had caused him, Pete now felt oddly comforted by it. He found himself grateful she’d been with Paul through most of his ordeal with cancer. Pete had read of her sorrow and fear for his brother, and the long hours and days she’d stayed by his side through one gruesome treatment after another.

He’d seen the note and the box with the pacifier in it and felt a portion of the joy Paul and Tamara must have had, knowing a miracle had happened and they were going to be parents after all. He saw the plans for their dream house that Paul had so carefully drafted.

Pete knew he’d loved Tamara—still did in some measure—but he finally realized it wasn’t with the same depth Paul had. Instead of feeling it was his ex-fiancée who had died in that car accident, Pete now thought of his brother’s wife who had died—his sister-in-law. His old sorrow was gone. In its place were regrets that he hadn’t forgiven earlier and spent what time he had with the two of them.

Pulling up the comforter, Pete tossed the pillows onto the bed. He cast a last, cursory glance in the direction of the brown bag on the floor—the bag that had revealed so much about Paul and Tamara’s life—and his own.

Wedged in amongst the myriad emotions was a feeling of relief; the scene he’d made at their wedding, his bitterness, hadn’t ruined anyone’s life. Paul and Tamara—in all the roller coaster of their brief marriage—had been happy.

He felt awed and inspired that they had
both
chosen him as Mark and Madison’s father. It was no accident or last-minute decision made out of desperation. Paul could have found a loving, adoptive couple. He could have given full custody to Jane. But he hadn’t. He’d wanted them both.

The question was, what else had Paul wanted? Pete mulled over the last letter—long since memorized—he’d received from Paul.

I’ve left you three presents. One is taller than the others, but all are equally fragile.

A corner of Pete’s mouth lifted. Fragile wasn’t exactly the word that came to mind when he thought of Jane—following through with her threat to dial 911, showing off her arsenal of power tools, telling him in vivid detail the intricacies of Mark’s heart condition. Yet fragile she was where the twins were concerned. He’d seen that yesterday when she’d tearfully asked him if they would be here when she returned. Pete wondered if she was also fragile with matters concerning her own heart. Given what he knew about her, he guessed she might be. She might even be lonely and scared . . . like he was.

Take care of them for me.

Paul had known he wasn’t going to be around very long. Pete wondered suddenly if his suspicions about Paul and Jane’s relationship had been all wrong. Maybe the only thing between them had been a mutual love for the twins. And what if Paul
had
intended Jane and him to end up as more than co-guardians? Pete struggled to decide if Paul’s intentions really mattered to him anymore. What good was there in avoiding such a thing at all costs, just to spite his brother? There wasn’t. But what might be lost if he didn’t at least explore the option? Much. A relationship like Paul and Tamara had shared. A mother and father—together—for Mark and Madison. A family.

Pete finished making the bed and left the room. As he closed the door behind him, he remembered his mother’s words of wisdom after he’d had a fight with Paul when they were teenagers.

“When you hold a grudge like that—against your own brother—all it’s doing is cutting off your nose to spite your face. Now you march up to your room and think about that.”

He’d had a lot of years to think and knew she was right. Pete also knew, with sudden clarity, that he was interested in Jane Warner, and it didn’t matter to him at all what Paul had or hadn’t thought about that. The real question was what would Jane think about it, and what had she felt toward his brother?

A large dose of apprehension mixed with a thrill of anticipation surged through Pete as he thought of Jane. It had been a very long time—over three years—since he’d tried to get a woman to be interested in him. He wondered what his chances were now. Was it possible Jane felt the same tug of attraction he did?