Counting Stars (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Atypical of Seattle, it didn’t rain the day of Paul’s funeral. Jane wore her coat anyway; it was long and black and heavy—appropriate for her melancholy. Her sister Emily came by at nine and took Mark and Madison for the day. Jane had debated taking them to the funeral but thought the better of it. Instead, she decided to write everything down to tell them later.

Her mother, bless her, had made all the arrangements. Jane had only to show up, and even that was made simple. Caroline and Ryan came by for her at eleven, and after the services at the funeral home, a rented limousine drove them to the cemetery.

Jane watched as the dark walnut casket was unloaded and carried over to the newly dug grave. The men of her family, whom Paul had hardly known, were the pallbearers. That was the first thing that started her crying. How was it that such a wonderful man had so few people to remember him?

She’d run the obituary in the paper for three days. A few people had called—two colleagues of Paul’s and his attorney. Dr. Kline had come to the funeral home as had some friends of Tami’s. But that was it—the sum total of Paul’s mourners. Jane was baffled. So what if he’d left his job months ago. So what if he hadn’t been able to go out much because of the chemo. Where were the old friends who should have remembered him no matter how long it had been? She knew, from Paul’s own admission, that he’d always been somewhat of a recluse. But he’d said that, growing up, his lack of friends never bothered him—having a brother had more than made up for it. And right now, that was what bothered her most . . .

Where was his brother?

The night Paul died, she had placed a call to Iraq. It was early morning there; she’d imagined she might have a chance to actually speak with Peter. But he’d been out on a flight, and the best she could do was a promise that the chaplain would convey her news. She left her phone number but no call had come in return. She had no idea how the military worked, but surely Peter could have at least called if he wouldn’t be able to attend his own brother’s funeral.

Jane took a seat on the folding chair closest to the casket and pulled a wad of tissue from her purse. Behind her, Caroline gave her shoulder a squeeze. Jane reached back and touched her hand.

“I’m all right,” she whispered. But she wasn’t.

The next hour was surreal, each scene passing by like a slow-moving motion picture. Paul’s associates shook her hand and spoke with her briefly. One of his doctors from the hospital came over to give her a hug. Two couples who’d been friends of Paul and Tami lingered afterward for a few moments but did not speak to her. What was there to say?

Finally everyone left except her family.

Jane looked at Caroline. “Could I . . . ?”

“You bet.” Caroline nudged Ryan and took her father’s hand. “Come on, let’s wait by the cars.”

“Are you sure?” her mother asked, her own eyes red with tears.

“Yeah, Mom,” Jane said. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Jane watched as they walked across the lawn, then she moved to the head of the casket. Fingers trembling, she bent and placed the yellow roses she had brought with her on top of the polished wood.

“Well, Paul.” She gave a shaky sigh. “Caroline warned me about this, and I didn’t listen.” She brought a hand to her mouth and bit back a sob. “I brought yellow roses, for friendship. But really . . . I felt red.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and lowered her head, letting the tears fall freely to the ground.

“I always believed in fairy tales, Paul. I believed in knights in shining armor and happily-ever-after. I believed in miracles. But now you’re there.” She gazed upward through the trees to the clear sky above. “And I’m still here. Your children are here. What kind of a happily-ever-after is that?” Jane stepped back from the casket, her head shaking.

“Good-bye, Paul. Be happy with Tami. Thank you. Thank you both for Madison and Mark.”

* * *

When Caroline dropped her off after dinner at their parents’, Jane felt more exhausted than she ever had in her life. She walked in the door and dropped her purse on the stool and her keys on the counter. Shrugging out of her coat, she let it fall to the floor, then kicked off her shoes on the way to the couch. She sank onto the worn cushions and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

The house was eerily quiet. She opened one eye and glanced at the clock. There was still over an hour until Emily brought the twins back. Jane lay down on the couch, curling her legs up and wedging her toes under the cushion for warmth. The room felt cold. She looked at the thermostat on the wall above the couch and saw that it was seventy-six degrees—plenty warm for the twins. So what was wrong with her? Was she getting sick on top of everything else? A stab of fear coursed through her. She couldn’t get sick—not ever again. She was all Mark and Madison had, their
only
means of support, their only parent.

This solemn thought motivated her to roll from the couch to the floor and crawl on her hands and knees toward her old trunk with the fleece blanket folded on top of it. Jane reached for the blanket and pulled it to her, covering herself. She lay on the floor, curled in a ball, shaking. Whether from sorrow, sickness, or fear, she didn’t know and didn’t care to analyze at the moment either. Getting the blanket had taken what energy she had left.

Jane closed her eyes once more, thinking she would rest for a few minutes before getting up to prepare bottles and pajamas for the twins. But when she opened her eyes again and looked at her watch, she found that half an hour had passed. She was still alone. She’d been alone her whole life, it seemed, and she hated it.

She was also still cold, and it was too quiet in the house. Jane stared at the television and the remote, just inches away. She should watch something. That would take her mind off things. Jane stretched, her fingers reaching for the remote, when she saw the stack of movies in the entertainment center.

Sitting up, she scooted over to the glass door. She opened it, pulled out the first video and held it in her lap, studying the title.
While You Were Sleeping
.

While I was sleeping, you were dying,
she thought.

Jane set the video aside and pulled out a second.
Somewhere in Time
. Again, appropriate.

She reached for a third tape.
Ever After
—how long she’d be missing him.
The Princess Bride
DVD case slid from the shelf. She stared at the cover and her vision began to blur. She was anything but a princess, and
never
a bride. Jane hurled the case across the room, then got to her knees and scooped all the other movies off the shelf. The titles, nearly all romances, mocked her, reminding her of what she’d never have. She began pulling them from the boxes, throwing them at the trash can. When she came to
Sweet Home Alabama,
she snapped the DVD in two, then ripped back the plastic and tore the picture to shreds.
How dare you have
two
,
she thought,
when I can’t even have
one
man to love me.

Jane grabbed the next movie from the pile.
Serendipity.
She ran her finger over the title. A chance encounter. A moment in time. Fate. She’d experienced such a moment herself—one day a few months ago outside the intensive care nursery at Swedish Medical Center. Only her moment hadn’t led to a lifetime of love.

“Liars,” Jane shouted, shaking the box until the video fell out. She pried the back open and began pulling until a mound of shredded tape lay in her lap. She pushed it aside and wiped her eyes.

One movie remained on the shelf.

Reverently, Jane pulled
Casablanca
out and clutched it to her chest. She sobbed, rocking back and forth as if she were holding one of the twins.

“You understand, don’t you Ingrid?”
You lost him forever, too.
Still holding the video, Jane lay back on the floor, sobbing, amidst her sea of broken dreams.

Chapter Thirty

Richard Morgan glanced up at the woman sitting across from him. Jane Warner’s face had gone suddenly pale and her fingernails—painted bright pink with happy face stickers on them—curled into the leather arms of the wingback chair as if she were hanging on for dear life.
And is that a cold
sweat breaking out across her forehead?
He was disappointed but not surprised. He’d seen this type of reaction many times before—always when he was reading a will and always when there was a lot of money concerned. Money that shouldn’t necessarily be given to the person in front of him.

Richard let out an inaudible sigh and continued reading. “All funds remaining from the sale of property belonging to Paul C. Bryant and Tamara L. Bryant, along with life insurance monies from policy MLB783562, name of insured Paul Christopher Bryant, shall be deposited in a joint account of the legal guardians for Mark Peter Bryant and Madison Tamara Bryant. These monies are to be used for the sole purpose of—”

“Wait,” Jane interrupted. “Wait a minute. What do you mean by that—
joint?
”

Richard Morgan laced his fingers together and leaned forward over the desk.

“I assure you there is ample money, Miss Warner, for you to provide for the children’s needs for quite some time, so long as you are prudent in your spending. However, Mr. Bryant’s will
does
stipulate that the account be in both your name and Peter’s, as you will both be providing for the children.” Richard frowned at Jane. Her mouth hung partly open, and he could see that her emotions were wavering somewhere between shock and anger. “Perhaps,” he suggested, none too gently, “Paul specified the money be shared this way so you would have some accountability as to how the funds were spent.”

Jane rose from the chair, her eyes blazing. Richard could see she had moved full tilt to fury.

“I’m not talking about the
money,
” she said. “He can have every last cent, for all I care. I’m talking about Mark and Madison.”

“Yes, I am certain you don’t care about the money—unemployed as you are. Sit down, Miss Warner,” Richard said, trying to contain the irritation in his voice. “We’ve much more to discuss.” To his surprise, she ignored him.

Jane pulled her coat from the back of the chair. “I am not
un
employed. I took a leave of absence to care for the twins so Paul could spend what time he had left with them. Without me, they’d be in foster care.
I
am the one who has been caring for them—day and night. Changing diapers, feeding them, taking them to the doctor, reading stories, washing clothes, taking pictures.” Her voice faltered. “I’m the one who loves them. And I know I’m the one Paul specified as their guardian. He told me himself. He never said anything about Peter—their
uncle
.” She said the word with disdain. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Morgan. My attorney will be in touch. You may speak with him.” She gave a curt nod, then turned toward the door.

“Miss Warner.” Richard rose from his chair. “Do you expect me to believe you knew nothing of this arrangement—that Paul led you to believe that you alone were responsible for his children?”

Jane stopped but did not turn around to face him. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely audible. Then she opened the door, leaving the office before Richard could ask her anything more.

Nonplussed, Richard returned to his seat. He still didn’t like her, but there was something . . . He buzzed his secretary.

“Joan, will you discreetly follow Miss Warner to her car? Then come to my office after she’s left.” He waited several minutes, his fingers flipping impatiently through the file on his desk. Paul had
promised
he’d tell them both. Surely he had, unless . . . It was only two weeks after their visit that he’d died. Richard looked up to see Joan standing in his doorway.

“Well?” he asked, hoping her information would end his confusion about Jane Warner. It wasn’t all that unusual for him to request that Joan follow clients after they left the office. Often a person would give his or her true character away with simple facial expressions or conversations. A person’s choice of car and how fast they left the parking lot also told him volumes. Many times he’d wished he could put surveillance cameras in the elevator or outside the building.

Joan pursed her lips. “She’s crying.”

“
What?”

“She started before she even left the office. She took the stairs, not the elevator, and she’s still sitting in her car right now, bent over the steering wheel. Crying her heart out.” Joan looked at him accusingly. “What’d you do to her?”

“I don’t think it’s what I did.” Though, now that he thought about it in a different light, Richard was sure he hadn’t helped. “I think it’s what Paul Bryant
didn’t
do.” He looked at Joan, a grim expression on his face. “I’ll need a background check on Miss Warner. I want to know everything there is to know—right down to her bank account balance and her shoe size. And I’ll also need—” He glanced at his watch. “—well, today if possible, I need you to find a number for Peter’s reserve unit in Iraq. It’s probably too late, but this call needs to go through as soon as possible. The information you’ll need is in here.” He handed Joan the folder. She nodded and, mumbling something about insensitive men, left his office.

Richard leaned back in his chair, trying to recall every detail of Paul’s funeral. There wasn’t much to remember, except . . . an image of a tearful Jane Warner, clutching a bunch of yellow roses. Richard swore under his breath. “If you’ve done what I think you have Paul . . . it’s a good thing you’re already dead.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Jay propped his feet on the window ledge and leaned back in his chair. He watched the blinking Christmas lights on the house across the street and felt a pang of what he imagined must be homesickness. Funny, he thought, how he should feel something like that, considering the home he’d been raised in. There’d been no stockings hung by the chimney with care. No pies. No mythical jolly old man delivering presents. It had been just Dad and him—celebrating the holidays with Chinese takeout instead of the usual frozen pizza. They’d maybe catch a movie together at the mall theater, and afterward he’d show Dad the computer game or book he wanted for Christmas. It didn’t seem like much to miss, and Jay wondered again why it was that his father’s death had messed him up so badly. Why had it sent him, during his senior year of high school, straight into his mother’s arms and her drug-addicted life?

Jay reached for his guitar and propped it on his lap. His fingers found the chords on their own, and he began strumming “White Christmas.” He stared out the window, watching as sporadic snowflakes fell through the twilight. He wondered what the weather in Seattle was like right now.

He wondered what Jane was doing.

* * *

Jane hung the two small stockings her mother had sewn for Madison and Mark on the fireplace mantel. Her own stocking lay on the table—folded and pressed flat from its year of storage in her Christmas box. It seemed silly now that all these years she’d been hanging her stocking each Christmas Eve. It wasn’t as if her fairy godmother would put an engagement ring in it and she’d find a prince under the tree Christmas morning. Jane gave an indelicate laugh, then swallowed quickly as a tear spilled from her eye.

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered. “Think of the good.” She turned away from the fireplace and looked at the twins playing on the new carpet her family had surprised her with for Christmas. Jane still didn’t know what she was going to do about the fireplace when the twins started crawling. She knew, for Maddie at least, that wasn’t too far away. At five months, she was already trying. A smile lit Jane’s face as she watched them.

Mark lay on his back and was doing his best to get a toe in his mouth. Madison had progressed to sitting up and was stretching to get a toy that was just out of reach. She grabbed for it, bending forward until her little body was nearly parallel to the floor. Her fingers brushed the rattle just as she lost her balance and fell over sideways.

“Good try, Maddie,” Jane said as she sat down between the babies, handed Madison the toy, and picked up Mark.

“I love you, little guy,” she said, placing a kiss on his cheek. “You too, Maddie.”

Mark smiled at Jane and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She put her hand over his and felt a surge of joy and protectiveness. She missed Paul so much, but she was going to be okay. She had two beautiful children, and she was going to do everything in her power to keep them. Maybe it wasn’t in the cards for her to have a husband, but she could still have a happily-ever-after with her babies.

Still holding Mark, Jane stood up and went over to the stereo. She put in her favorite Christmas CD and danced Mark around the room to “White Christmas.”