Counting Stars (10 page)

Chapter Fifteen

At noon on Friday, Jane shut down her computer and locked up her desk. Paul usually arrived at the hospital around one or two in the afternoon. Today she was going to be there first. As she walked out the office door, her brown-bag lunch in hand, Tara ran up behind her.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, stepping in front of Jane. “You’ve been acting strange for almost two weeks now. I want to know what’s up.”

“Nothing’s
up,
” Jane said, looking warily at the cloudy sky as she stepped around Tara.

“You’re a lousy liar.” Tara walked beside her. “You’re not still sore at me about that thing with the Sweviecs, are you?”

Jane shook her head. “I’m not mad. Just in a hurry.” She glanced at the traffic, then stepped off the curb and started toward her car, parked across the street.

“Because I’m
really
sorry,” Tara said, following her. “I’d never have said anything if I’d known it would cost me your friendship.”

When she’d reached the sidewalk again, Jane stopped, turning to face Tara. “I’m still your friend. And when the deal closes, I’ll take you out to an expensive dinner to prove it.”

“I don’t want an expensive dinner—well, maybe I do—but what I really want is for you to talk to me. For us to do lunch a couple of times a week like we used to. It’s no fun drowning my sorrows at the bakery by myself.”

“I’m sorry.” Jane squeezed Tara’s hand. “I didn’t mean to leave the orange rolls all to you.” She began walking again. “So tell me your troubles.”

“No,” Tara said, her face sullen.

Jane opened her bag, pulled out a cookie and waved it in front of Tara’s face. “No? These have the same medicinal qualities as the rolls at the bakery.”

Tara sighed and snatched the cookie. “If that’s the best you can do.” She took a bite. “Mmm,” she sighed again.

Jane smiled. “Exactly.” Refraining from looking at her watch, she sat down on a bench by her car.
So much for being at the hospital before Paul
, she thought. “Tell me how things are with Zack.”

Tara took another bite and closed her eyes in bliss. “Zack? Who’s he? These could almost make you forget your problems.”

“They work for about an hour,” Jane said. “Then you’re more depressed than ever—there’s a whole pound of butter in that recipe.”

Tara’s eyes flew open. “A
pound
of butter? That’s
awful
. I’ll have to stay for the second aerobics class tonight.”

Jane laughed. “Well, I’m glad to hear that at least Zack is letting you out of the house again.”

“Letting me?” Tara snorted. “He’s got me enrolled at two different gyms. I’ve exercised more in the last two weeks than I did in the past six months.”

“Uh-oh.” Jane frowned. “Tara, he’s doing it again. He’s trying to mold you into his idea of the perfect woman.” She softened her voice. “If he was the right one for you, then he’d love you just the way you are.”

“I know, I know,” Tara said, then looked down at her lap as the first tear drop splashed onto her cookie.

Jane hurriedly dug through her purse for a tissue. “Crying is good,” she reassured Tara. “Here.” She handed her the last tissue from the small package.

Tara took it and blew her nose. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Listen, if you’d like to take a break from Zack for a while, you could come stay at my place.” She smiled. “I have a full cookie jar right now.”

“I can’t,” Tara said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Okay. But the offer still stands—anytime.” Jane rose from the bench.

Tara did the same, staring at the wrapper in Jane’s hand. “That was your last tissue,” she said, stunned.

“I’ll get more,” Jane said, walking toward her car.

“No.” Tara placed her hand on Jane’s shoulder. “I mean that was your
last
tissue. Who else has been using those besides me?”

Jane shrugged. “My niece Megan had a cold last week.”

Tara looked at her skeptically. “I thought your family dinners were only the first Sunday of the month. That was two weeks ago, and last week, at the bakery, you had a whole pack of tissues.”

“I’m having allergies,” Jane lied.

Tara rolled her eyes. “And Zack bought me another cat. What’s going on, Jane? You’re out of tissues and you’re baking in the middle of the month? What gives?”

Jane opened her car door and turned to face Tara. “You know I love chocolate, and
I
used the tissues, okay?”

Tara’s eyes widened. “You’re seeing Paul.”

Jane pursed her lips. “I’ve got to go.”

“But he’s making you cry, isn’t he?” Tara demanded. She snapped her fingers. “I know. You’ve been crying because of Madison—because Paul isn’t quite over her and—”

“You should be a psychic,” Jane said, her voice serious as she sat down in the driver’s seat. “You’re right. Paul will never get over Madison.”

“Oh, Jane. Not you too,” Tara wailed. “If you’re desperate enough to fall for a guy with those kinds of problems, then I
really
know it’s hopeless for me.”

Jane closed her car door but rolled down the window a bit. “Don’t worry about me,” she said as she turned the key in the ignition. “I like Madison too.”

Jane smiled with satisfaction as she glanced in her rearview mirror and drove off. It was the first time in her life she’d seen Tara speechless.

* * *

“First Green Taurus beats me every day, and now Paul,” Jane muttered as she watched him through the nursery window. After another minute, when he still hadn’t looked her way, she crossed the room, grabbed a gown, and began to wash. She still didn’t know him well enough to judge his moods, and she could only hope he wasn’t too upset that she’d missed yesterday.

Amy opened the door for her, and Jane walked across the room.

“Hi,” she said tentatively as she sat in the rocker beside Paul.

“Hi.” His voice was quiet and he didn’t look up.

Jane launched into her apology. “I’m really sorry about yesterday. I had an appointment that ran way over, and when I got here you were already gone. Did you get my messages?”

“Hmm?” Paul asked, looking at her absently.

“Messages,” Jane repeated. “On your answering machine. I was worried when you didn’t return my calls.”

“Oh, sorry,” Paul said. He looked down at Madison again and continued to rock.

Perplexed, Jane sat back in her chair and watched him. Lines of worry creased his brow, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. In contrast, Madison’s eyes were closed, her tiny lips puckering as she slept peacefully.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked after a few moments.

Paul looked at her. “No.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Jane glanced toward the double doors that led to the other side of the NICU. “Is it Mark?”

Paul shook his head.

“Has your—did you see your doctor? I thought your MRI wasn’t until next week. Are you—?”

“Madison is coming home on Monday.”

Jane’s face broke into a relieved smile. “That’s wonderful.”

Paul spoke mechanically. “She’s doubled her birth weight. Her lungs have matured. She’s eating well.”

“Well don’t sound so solemn about it,” Jane chided. “You should be ecstatic.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Jane asked, incredulous. “You don’t want your daughter to leave the hospital?”

“I can’t take care of her.”

“Of course you can. If you’re worried about diaper changing, making bottles, and all that other stuff, I can help you. Or better yet, we’ll get my sister—who has changed about a billion diapers and is the ultimate baby expert—to come teach you everything you need to know.” Jane’s smile widened. “This is really great. I’m so excited for you.”

“That’s good,” he said, looking up at Jane. “Because I’m terrified.”

Chapter Sixteen

Jay glanced at his receipt a final time, then took his bags off the counter and left the bookstore. He scowled, thinking that though the bags were heavy, his wallet was considerably lighter. Who would have thought the average first-year law book went for one hundred forty dollars? It was criminal.

He walked toward his apartment, leaves crunching beneath him. Mentally he added up his expenses for the coming semester. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was going to have to get a second job. For a moment he entertained the idea of making big bucks for little work. He was certain that somewhere in this college town—probably even on campus—there were drug deals going down. It wouldn’t take much for him to sniff them out. It would be a piece of cake to get in on the action . . . and the money.

Disgusted with himself for even thinking about it, Jay pushed the thought aside, turning onto the street and away from his apartment. He would stick with the old-fashioned,
honest
way to make a buck. Work—plain and simple. He already had a great job playing weekends at a nightclub just south of campus, but that wouldn’t pay the rent. There were other jobs around here, but he hadn’t gotten any he’d applied for.

He was pretty certain he knew why, so he walked another block, then stopped in front of Clyde’s Barber Shop. A quick look at the sign on the door and then at his watch told him Clyde’s was open for another half hour. Jay set his bags down on the sidewalk and took out his wallet to see how much cash he had left.

There was just enough.

Too bad, he thought as he put his wallet away and looked at his reflection in the glass. His long hair was a part of him, a symbol that he saw things a little differently than most of the world. It was a symbol of what he’d come from, what he’d survived. But it wasn’t, Jay realized suddenly, a symbol of what he
wanted
to become.

A corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile at this realization. As he thought of Jane, he knew instinctively that she’d see him differently with short hair. She’d noticed the other changes in him already; she’d been unable to hide her surprise—and pleasure, he thought—when they’d met on the ferry. Jay bent down and picked up his bags again, then pushed the barbershop door open with his shoulder.

“Eleven months until I see you again, Jane, and already I’m changing.”

Chapter Seventeen

. . . In the weeks since her death, I’ve been reeling. There are days when the pain seems almost too much to bear . . .

* * *

Jane glanced over her receipt as she walked toward her car in the parking lot.

“How does Caroline do this?” she wondered aloud as she added up the cost of two packs of newborn diapers, a set of bottles and disposable liners, a case of formula, burp cloths, a package of onesies, and some infant sleepers.

It was a good thing the Sweviecs’ closing was tomorrow. After this purchase, she could certainly use some money in her checking account.

Jane opened the trunk of her car, then thought better of putting anything in there when she realized she’d forgotten to vacuum out the dirt from the rose topiaries. Instead, she loaded everything into the backseat, then climbed in and headed toward Paul’s apartment. Madison had been napping when she’d left, and Jane had promised she wouldn’t be gone more than an hour. Even after a week of having Madison home, Paul still didn’t like to be left alone with her. But today it couldn’t be helped. They’d used up all of the diapers from the hospital, and Paul was feeling too sick to go out. Jane didn’t dare take Madison with her. It was cold and rainy today, and the NICU staff had advised them to keep her at home for at least two months.

A twinge of worry nagged at Jane as she glanced at the dashboard clock. She’d been gone for fifty minutes. Stopping at a red light, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Madison was probably up from her nap by now, and Paul would be getting anxious.

It was good for him, she reasoned. He needed to gain confidence in his abilities as a father, and he never would if she kept taking over. Not that she minded spending time with Paul or Madison, but Paul’s idea of “help” had certainly entailed more than she’d imagined. The first two nights Madison was home, Jane had been there all night, and in the week since, she’d spent every possible minute at Paul’s apartment.

At last the light changed, and four minutes later Jane pulled into one of Paul’s two allotted parking spaces at the Olympia Apartment Complex. She unloaded her purchases, entered the building, and climbed the stairs, carefully juggling the diapers in one arm and three bags in the other.

At 42B, she thought she heard a baby crying.

The sound grew louder as she walked briskly past the last two doors. Reaching Paul’s apartment, she pounded on the door.

“Paul, I’m back.” On the other side of the door, she heard Madison’s wails. Her voice sounded hoarse, as if she’d been crying a long time. Panicked thoughts ran through Jane’s mind as she pictured Madison as she’d left her, in the car seat on the sofa.
Was she strapped in?
Jane couldn’t remember, and her heart lurched as she imagined Madison’s tiny body falling to the floor.

“Paul,” she yelled again, then dropped her bags and tried the doorknob. It was locked, but Jane twisted and pushed on it as she continued to call out.

Inside the apartment, Madison’s cries escalated, but there was no sound from Paul. Jane pounded on the door once more, then pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed 911. Shaking, she gave the operator the address.

“Send an ambulance. The door’s locked. He’s sick, and there’s a baby,” she explained in breathless spurts as she tried the door again and again.

Jane waited just long enough to hear that help was on the way before she ran down the hall. “I’ll be right back, Maddie. Hang on, Paul,” she cried as she rushed to find the manager’s office.

* * *

By the time Jane had located the office and discovered no one was there, she heard the ambulance sirens. She ran to the parking lot, arriving just in time to wave down the two firemen emerging from their truck. The ambulance pulled in right behind them.

“Second floor. This way!” Jane yelled. “There’s a locked door.”

The two firefighters followed her upstairs, a paramedic right behind them, and another unloading a gurney from the back of the ambulance.

Jane took the stairs two at a time and arrived out of breath at Paul’s door a few seconds later. On the other side, she could still hear Madison crying. Jane spoke to the firemen as they worked.

“The baby is only ten weeks old—and a preemie. She just came home from the hospital last week. I left her sleeping in her car seat, and her dad was in the other room. He wasn’t feeling well. He’s got cancer.”

Jane watched as the clawlike tool took hold and had the door open in less than a minute. Practically jumping over one of the firemen, she pushed the door open and ran straight to Madison, who lay exactly where she’d left her over an hour ago—strapped, thankfully—in her car seat on the couch.

“Oh, Maddie. Come here, sweetheart,” Jane crooned as her trembling fingers undid the buckles. From the corner of her eye she saw the paramedic’s bag as he rushed past.

“The kitchen is to the right. The bedroom on the left,” Jane said as she picked up Madison. “I’ll be right there.”

“Just take care of the baby,” the medic called as he disappeared down the short hall. One of the firemen headed for the kitchen.

“No one in here,” he shouted a few seconds later.

“Got him.” Jane heard the call from the bedroom.

Jane scooped up Madison, who was beyond hysterical, her face red and blotchy, her body tense and shaking. Jane sang softly, to calm both herself and the baby as she walked toward the bedroom. One of the firemen stood at the door, blocking her.

“It’s best to let the paramedics work alone,” he said.

“But—”

“Doesn’t she need to be fed or something?” the fireman asked, looking at Madison.

Jane swallowed, then nodded. She looked past the fireman, toward the bedroom once more. “His name is Paul. You’ll get me if you need anything?”

He smiled kindly. “Of course.”

Reluctantly, Jane went to the kitchen to make a bottle. Her attention felt divided. She should have been in the bedroom with Paul, but Madison was starving, and her crying
would
probably make things more difficult for the paramedics.

Jane held the baby in the crook of her arm as she filled a bottle with warm water and measured the formula. Instead of being relieved at not finding Paul passed out on the kitchen floor, she found herself even more scared of what might have happened to make him ignore Madison’s cries.

She knew he’d had a rough couple of days, but what did that really mean? He still hadn’t told her much about his cancer—his treatments, his prognosis, how serious it really was. She assumed he meant to, but there simply hadn’t been time. It seemed every moment they were together revolved around taking care of his newborn children—a daunting task for a normal married couple. It was proving an overwhelming one for a widower with cancer and a single, working woman.

Jane screwed the lid on the top of the bottle, shook it several times, then gently nudged the nipple into Madison’s open mouth. It took Madison several seconds before she realized she was finally being fed and stopped her screaming enough to latch on.

“Poor, Maddie,” Jane whispered. “I’m
so
sorry.” What she felt was
so scared
. She leaned forward, peeking over the counter into the living room. It was empty, and she couldn’t hear what was going on in the bedroom.
Oh, Paul,
she thought.

Madison hiccuped and began to cry again. Jane hummed a lullaby and rocked her as she worked the nipple into her mouth once more. Madison latched on, sucking greedily.

“I know, I know. You’re hungry and you had to wait,” Jane said. “But your daddy’s sick.” She walked out of the small kitchen just as the gurney bearing Paul was rolled through the living room.

Jane gasped. His eyes were closed, and he looked deathly pale. “Is he—?” The words died in her throat as she noticed the IV pole and the tubes running down to Paul’s left hand.
He’s
alive.
Relief flooded her as he was rolled past and out the apartment door.

“Wait,” Jane called. “What happened? Is he going to be okay?”

“Brad will speak to you, ma’am,” one of the paramedics said as he walked by.

The fireman standing next to her nodded to him. “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

The gurney wheels clicked as they hit the concrete and rolled down the hall. She turned to the lone fireman left in the apartment. “What happened?” she repeated.

The man looked her straight in the eye, his expression grim as he held up a plastic bag filled with prescription bottles.

“It looks like a drug overdose.”