Counting Stars (12 page)

Chapter Twenty

. . . I’m sorry. Though I can’t take back the wrong I’ve done you, I hope you will someday forgive me . . .

* * *

Jane frowned as she looked at the address written on the paper in her lap. “You sure this is the right neighborhood?”

“Yeah. It’s older, but hey, the house has the accessory apartment and a yard.” Paul grinned at her from the passenger seat of her Corolla. “Weren’t those your requirements?”

“I said a yard would be
nice
. Being
safe
would also be nice.”

“It’s safe. I grew up—” Paul stopped midsentence and looked out the window.

“What did you say?” Jane asked as she turned the corner.

“Nothing,” Paul said. “There it is. Third house on the left.”

Jane pulled up to the curb of a 1950s ranch-style home and stopped the car. Reluctantly she climbed out and walked toward the house. The exterior siding was gray—a perfect match to the dreary sky. The paint was chipped and peeling, but she could deal with that.

The driveway was another matter. A series of gigantic cracks ran through the concrete, splintering out to various potholes. Pushing a stroller down it would be like four-wheeling, and the sidewalk didn’t appear a whole lot better. But she supposed she could live with the driveway if she had to. It was the yard that broke her heart.

She couldn’t see a single blade of grass in the entire front. Patches of weeds were interspersed through dirt and pea gravel. Besides the weeds, the only other thing growing in the yard were two enormous junipers, so fat they covered much of the front windows. She hated junipers, especially fat, overgrown ones.
Ugh.

Jane sighed, thinking of the perfectly sculptured potentillas that framed the curved stone walk she’d painstakingly laid in her yard last spring.

Paul took her elbow. “Let’s go inside.”

She walked beside him, looking down so she wouldn’t fall and twist her ankle. He stuck the key in the front door and, after a good shove, it swung open, hinges complaining loudly. Jane flipped the light switch, but nothing happened.

“No power,” they both said at the same time.
Of course,
Jane thought. She’d shown vacant houses many times, and the electricity was almost always disconnected. She walked over to the floor-length drapes and gave the string a tug.

The entire thing—drapes, rod, and shade—crashed to the floor.

“You okay?” Paul asked quickly as she stumbled back.

Jane put her hands over her face as she coughed away the dust. “Fine,” she muttered.

“At least we can see now,” Paul said brightly. “Come on. Let’s look at the rest.”

Jane pulled her gaze from the newly formed, three-inch holes on either side of the window and followed him as they completed a quick tour through the 1,200-square-foot house.

The kitchen was tiny, and the psychedelic linoleum and harvest-gold appliances filling the small space made her dizzy. The family room was larger, but it had a rough stone fireplace Jane worried the twins would get hurt on when they started to crawl. The two bedrooms in the main house were decent-sized, though they were all painted baby blue and had gold miniblinds. The blinds, combined with the color of the orange shag carpeting throughout the house, were enough to give Jane the beginnings of a headache.

A glance into the bathroom made it worse. The toilet, tub, and sink looked as though they hadn’t been scrubbed for over a decade. Again, she realized these were all things that could be remedied with some heavy-duty cleaners, a lot of hard work, and a paintbrush, so she told herself it would be okay—until she saw the backyard.

It was, if possible, worse than the front.

Foot-high weeds covered the entire yard, except for the space just outside the family room door, where a concrete patio was covered by a sagging, rusted awning. Two sides of the yard had a decrepit wooden fence, but the only thing dividing the yard from the neighbor behind was a three-foot-high chain-link fence—an open gate right in the middle. In
this
neighborhood, that would never do. It was one thing to live in an ugly house, but she’d never feel safe with that fence.
Anyone
could walk right in.

Jane stood at the sliding glass door looking out at the yard when Paul came up behind her.

“There’s a door out front and another one in the back to the mother-in-law apartment, and it’s got everything I’ll need—a full bath, one bedroom, and a small kitchen. And there’s plenty of room in the main house for you and the twins. This place is great, isn’t it?”

“
Great?
” she croaked.

“Yeah. It even has your yard—”

“Not
my
yard,” Jane said.

Paul continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “The rent is cheap—”

“It ought to be free.”

“And most important, it’s close to the hospital,” Paul finished. He took Jane by the shoulders and turned her gently toward him. “What do you think?”

She looked him in the eye. “I hate it.”

“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Yes, really,” Jane said.

“But think of the twins,” Paul argued. “It’s minutes to the hospital for Mark and—”

“Yes, think of your babies,” Jane interrupted. “Do you really want your children learning to crawl on
that?
” She turned away from Paul and looked out the sliding glass door again.

He looked down at the carpet. “Well, the shag would need to be cleaned.”

“Replaced. And I wasn’t just talking about the carpet,” Jane said. “Look at the grass—or what’s left of it.” She pointed at the yard. “And there isn’t even a real fence in the back. Just some flimsy chain-link thing that the neighbor behind can see right through.”

Paul hung his head and sighed. “We’re almost out of time, Jane.”

She heard the plea in his voice and closed her eyes against it. He was right, and she didn’t want him to be. It was Wednesday. They had until Monday to get settled
somewhere
before the first social services visit. But did that somewhere have to be
here?

The price of rent everywhere else dictated
yes.
That they would each have their own separate unit was also a plus. But as far as Jane was concerned, that was where the positives ended. And they didn’t begin to stack up against the long list of negatives.

But it is close to the hospital.
Jane opened her eyes and looked at the yard once more. Living with a sagging fence, cracked patio, and grassless yard were small prices to pay for a healthy baby boy. She imagined them living in a nice house with a pretty yard—a yard without Mark toddling around in it because something had happened to him and they’d been too far away from the hospital. A shudder ran through her.

Jane left the window and walked back into the kitchen. She ran a finger over the dusty counter and looked at the empty breakfast nook. She imagined Paul’s table there and the four of them sitting at it on a Sunday morning. She and Paul would each be feeding a baby. Paul would have oatmeal on his chin. She would laugh.

She walked into the family room, imagining a Christmas tree in the corner and four stockings hung at the fireplace. In her mind she heard Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas,” and she saw herself sitting in a rocker with Madison on her lap.

Jane swallowed the lump in her throat as she thought of Caroline’s yard with its assortment of children’s toys, headless flowers, and ruts from tricycle wheels. She thought of Caroline’s house—the toothpaste-smeared sinks, the noncommissioned artwork on the walls, the particleboard furniture her sister said they were “getting by with” until they’d saved enough for what they really wanted. And yet, Caroline had what Jane really wanted. She had the husband and darling children. She had a family of her own to love and who loved her. But things hadn’t started out easily for Caroline, and her happy life wasn’t without sacrifice. Jane wondered why she hadn’t realized that before.

Or maybe she had. She’d known it in her subconscious and even offered it to Paul in the parking garage when she’d told him that her house didn’t matter, that she’d give it up in a heartbeat for a chance to be with his daughter. She’d known it and meant it too, and now it was time to make good on her promise.

Folding her arms across her chest, she looked at Paul. He had hope in his eyes, and it gave her the courage she needed. She fished in her purse for a pen, then smiled as she held it up.

“Where’s the contract?”

* * *

Jane slipped her cell phone into her purse as she stood on the top deck of the ferry and watched Seattle’s receding skyline. The earlier clouds had blown away, and it was a gorgeous, clear night. After sleeping at Caroline’s most of the week, she’d left Maddie there for the night, then caught the late ferry. She could hardly wait to get home and climb up on her roof. Nights like this were why she’d bought her house. And tonight, she would enjoy it one last time.

For a fleeting second, Jane felt sad and knew she would feel the same way again tomorrow when she closed the gate on her white picket fence for the last time. But there was no going back. She’d made a decision, and she was going to follow it with all her heart.

Even her parents understood—sort of.

She’d spent the evening at their house, explaining the situation and her choice to move next door to Paul and help him care for his children. Her mother had been shocked at such a sudden turn of events, and her father had expressed his concern over how fast she was jumping into such a difficult situation. To say the least, they had not seemed pleased.

But her parents had called a few minutes ago, not quite giving their blessing on Jane’s choice, but instead telling her they loved her and would support her decision. She was relieved and had already phoned Paul with the good news.

At ten tomorrow morning, she would meet him at the hospital. By noon they’d be back at Paul’s apartment packing, and by Sunday they would each move in. Madison would be hers to care for—hers to love. Suddenly life seemed full of happy possibilities, and Jane looked up at the sky, counting her blessings as well as the stars.

Chapter Twenty-One

. . . I know I can never make up for my selfishness, but I’ve left you three presents. One is taller than the others, but all are equally fragile. Take care of them for me . . .

* * *

“Happy birthday!” The chorus around Jane had ended and everyone was clapping. Chants of, “Wish, wish, wish,” began from her nieces.

“All right,” Jane said, smiling as she looked around at Paul, her mother, sisters, and nieces. Having opted to forgo the traditional girls’ birthday lunch date in favor of packing, Jane had been pleasantly surprised this morning when much of the female side of her family showed up at Paul’s apartment to help with the move. She could tell her mother was still having a difficult time understanding her choice, but she was trying.

“Blow your candles out, Aunt Jane,” her twelve-year-old niece Amber said.

“Let me get a breath.” Jane puffed out her cheeks, though looking at the cake loaded with thirty candles she doubted she was exaggerating her need for air. Elbowing Jessica, she pointed to the cake and began to blow. Jessica and Amber leaned over to help until the last candle flickered and went out.

“Phew,” Jane said. “I
am
getting old.”

“You’re not old,” Jessica protested. “You’re the coolest aunt ever.”

“Let me take that to the kitchen to cut,” her mother said, whisking the cake away from the pile of boxes it had been resting on. “Amber and Jessica, you girls come help me with the ice cream.”

Caroline and Mindy went back to the computer they were boxing up, and Karen and Emily picked up the boxes of CDs and videos and took them out to the truck.

Jane looked at Paul. “Take a five-minute break?” she asked.

He nodded. “Let’s make it
fifty.
I’m beat.” He sank onto the loveseat, and Jane sat beside him.

“You okay?” she asked, concerned.

“Yeah. Just tired, and we’ve got a lot more to do.” He glanced around the room.

“Not really,” Jane said. “The only thing left in the kitchen is the pantry, and that’s pretty bare.” She looked at him knowingly. “Don’t cook much, do you?”

He lay his head back and gave her a wry smile. “No.”

“Me neither. I guess we can learn together.”

Paul turned to her, then surprised her by taking her hand. “You’re really great, you know that?”

“Because I don’t cook?” She laughed casually but felt anything but casual as she glanced down at Paul’s hand on hers. She was shocked at the boundary he’d just crossed.

“
No.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Because of all you’re doing for me. Spending your birthday packing up some other guy’s mess isn’t something a whole lot of people would do.”

“I’m not ‘a whole lot of people,’ and—” She stopped, feeling a slow blush creep up her face.

“And?” Paul prodded.

She met his gaze. “And you’re not just
some
guy.”

“Birthday girl gets the first piece,” Amber called, walking toward them with a plate of cake and ice cream. “I got you a piece with frosting on
two
sides, Aunt Jane.”

Jessica was right behind her and held a plate out to Paul. He released Jane’s hand and took his cake. Jane took hers as well, feeling strangely both regretful and grateful that the spell was broken and their moment of intimacy had passed.

* * *

Paul hesitated, his hand on the doorknob to the spare room, their last to pack. “You ready for this?”

Jane nodded. “It can’t be
that
bad. The room’s only what—ten by ten?”

“Yes, but it’s a crowded—” Paul pushed the door open a few inches before it caught on something. “—mess in here.” He reached into the room, picked a sweatshirt off the floor, then pushed the door the rest of the way open.

“Show me your worst,” Jane said with mock seriousness as she peeked through the doorway. Her eyes widened. “Wow.” He was right—the room
was
crowded, but not in the sense she’d envisioned. File cabinets lined one wall, and much of the bed was covered with piles of clothes and stacks of papers, but the rest of the room was filled to overflowing with items for what appeared to be the ultimate nursery.

On the far side the pieces for two spindled cribs were stacked beneath the window. Next to the cribs was a double stroller, piled high with dozens of baby outfits. The ones on top even appeared to be newborn size. Jane took a step inside the room to get a closer look. Blocking her way to the stroller was a large box containing a car seat that matched Madison’s. An intricately carved, antique high chair stood next to the box. Confused, Jane turned to Paul. “Why didn’t you show me all this before? Why has Madison been sleeping in her car seat and wearing the same three pairs of pajamas when she has a beautiful crib and plenty of clothes?”

Paul shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out the window. “Tami spent months shopping for the babies, and the rest is from her shower. She was on her way home when the accident . . .” His voice trailed off. “I didn’t want any reminders.”

“Oh,” Jane said quietly. She ran her finger over the polished wood of the high-chair tray.

“Tami’s grandfather made that,” Paul said, watching her. “Both she and her mother used it. Tami was glad she had something from her heritage to pass down to our children.”

Jane tried, with difficulty, to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. The past few weeks had been a roller coaster of emotions, but overall she’d been happy—happier and more fulfilled than she’d ever been. How could she have forgotten her joy had come at the expense of another woman’s life?

Jane sat on a corner of the bed and picked up a pair of baby high-tops. Had Tami picked these out? Had she made the teddy-bear quilts hanging over the sides of the cribs? Had she chosen the names Mark and Madison?

Guilt flooded Jane, and her heart ached. Madison was not
hers
. Paul couldn’t love her. He appreciated all she was doing for him, but his heart belonged—and rightly so—to Tami.

“Giving up on this mess already?” Paul asked in a teasing voice as if he were trying to lighten the mood that had descended on them. He sat next to her on the bed.

Jane put the shoes aside. “I don’t want to give up. I don’t
ever
want to give any of this up.”

Paul whistled. “We’re going to need more boxes.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Jane chanced a sideways glance at him. “I’m afraid this will all disappear—you, your children, that I’ll wake up some morning and find out the past few weeks have been a dream. And yet, how can I want this—even feel happy about it—when it must be your nightmare? It seems so wrong.” She picked up an infant dress with crochet around the hem. Her eyes watered as she rubbed the delicate stitching between her fingers. “Why did you choose
me,
Paul? I mean, I
know
you need help with your children, but why me, a complete stranger? What about family?”

“It’s like I told you that first day at the hospital. I have no one. Tami’s sister was driving the car. She died before the paramedics arrived. The only family left is their grandfather who raised them. He’s eighty-five years old and lives in a care center. I visited him after the accident, tried to explain . . .” Paul shrugged. “I don’t think he really understood, and I didn’t try too hard to make him. As for my family—” Paul reached for a photo on the dresser and handed it to Jane. “This is my mom and my brother Peter.”

Jane studied the picture, faded from time. A woman stood on the steps of a house similar to the one Paul had just leased. Her hands rested on the shoulders of the two young boys in front of her. “How old were you when this was taken?”

Paul took the picture from Jane and turned it over, but there was no date on the back. “I’m not sure. Sometime in the seventies though. Look at Peter’s shirt.” He pointed to the wide collar his brother wore.

Jane smiled. “I remember those. My brother looked like that too.” She studied the boys in the photo. Paul wore glasses and was on the skinny side, and his grin revealed a couple of missing teeth. His brother, a few inches taller, wasn’t smiling. “Is he older?”

“A bit.”

If Jane thought his answer was odd, she didn’t say so. “You two were cuties. Peter and Paul and . . .” She raised her eyebrows and hummed a bar of “Puff the Magic Dragon.” “No Mary?”

“No.” Paul’s answer was sharp, and his face grew serious. “My father was killed in Vietnam. It was just my mom, Pete, and I.
No
Mary.”

“I’m sorry.” Jane watched as Paul set the picture back on the dresser.

“It’s all right. It was a long time ago. Mom died of breast cancer in ’98. And Peter—” Paul smiled ruefully. “Pete’s in Iraq doing what he loves best, flying an Apache helicopter and defending our freedom.”

“Does he know about the twins?”

Paul shook his head. “No. The last time I spoke with Pete was just before my wedding. We aren’t exactly what you call
close
.”

“How sad,” Jane said. She couldn’t imagine life without her large, involved, caring family. Granted, sometimes they seemed a little
too
involved, but not having them—not having
anyone—
would be awful. “But he’s your only family—Mark and Madison’s uncle. Shouldn’t you . . . ?” Seeing the pained expression on Paul’s face, she stopped.

“I know.” Paul took her hand in his for the second time in less than an hour. His eyes met hers. “I wish I had a great family like yours, but I don’t.” He looked down at their hands. “I’m as scared as you are, Jane. Only I’m scared that
you’ll
disappear. From that first day at the hospital, there was just something about you—a feeling I had. And now it’s hard to believe all you’ve done already—quit your job, sold your house—”

“It’s a leave of absence,” Jane corrected him. “And the house hasn’t sold yet.”

“But that you’d give it all up . . .
Can you?
” He looked at her again. “Can you really? Because this is no dream.”

Paul didn’t wait for her answer but rose from the bed and made his way toward the corner of the room where a sheet covered a large object. He lifted a corner of the fabric and pulled it back.

Jane’s eyebrows rose as she looked at rolled blueprints and a professional drafting table. Her mind raced.
Was Paul an architect? Or did the table and plans belong to Tami?
Jane realized she’d never asked Paul what he did for a living—or had done before getting sick. Their conversations always revolved around the twins—or occasionally Jane’s family. Even at dinner with her parents the other night, Paul had steered the conversation clear of anything to do with his past. Somehow, without really saying it, he always made it seem that topic was off limits.

Paul took a thick manila envelope from the top of the table and handed it to her.

Jane’s hands shook as she read the words
Last Will and Testament.

“I need you, Jane.” His voice was thick. “I don’t have much to offer—not even myself, but your name is in there. If you’re willing, I’ve found the mother my children need.”

Before she could change her mind, Jane stepped forward and threw her arms around him. “I’d be honored,” she whispered as her tears started in earnest.