Counting Stars (33 page)

Chapter Sixty-One

“Kind of hard to see the stars from the city,” Robert Warner remarked as he joined Peter on the deck.

“It is,” Pete agreed, “but I think the grandchildren had fun trying.” He turned the knob on the telescope’s frame and began the process of disassembling it. “Fireworks are cool, but nothing beats a real shooting star.” As he worked, he was conscious of Jane’s father beside him, watching. An hour earlier, Jane had told her parents of their wedding plans, and Pete had suspected her father would want to talk with him.

Minutes had passed without further conversation when Pete ventured, “I imagine there are a few things you’d like to say to me.”

“And some things I’d like to ask,” Robert said.

“Sounds fair.” Pete bent over, securing the straps on the telescope case, then stood and faced his future father-in-law. “Go ahead.”

Robert placed his hand on the railing and looked him in the eye. “How much do you know about temples?”

The question caught Pete off guard. He’d expected to be asked if he loved Jane and how he planned on treating her—maybe even if he’d support her in the Church—but temples . . . He answered as best he could. “I know Jane wanted to be married in one.”

Her father nodded. “What else?”

Here goes,
Pete thought. “And if she marries me, that won’t be the case.”

“Hmm.” Robert folded his arms.

“I love your daughter, Mr. Warner, and I’ll do everything I can to make her happy. But I won’t pretend to be something I’m not. I respect your religion, but it’s not for me.”

“I see.” Robert revealed a hint of a smile. “I appreciate you sharing that, but what I was really wondering was if you’ve ever seen the Salt Lake Temple.”

“I have,” Pete said, feeling more confused by the minute. What was Jane’s dad getting at?

“Did you know it took forty years to build?”

“Seems like I heard that somewhere.” During the time he’d lived in Utah it was hard
not
to hear about Mormons or the temple.

“The foundation took just over fourteen years. First time around they used sandstone, but some of the small rocks and mortar between the blocks cracked. President Young preferred the sandstone but realized granite would prove more stable, so the entire eight-foot foundation was removed and rebuilt.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.” Sensing he was in for a lesson or something, Pete set the telescope on the table and turned to lean against the railing and look out over the yard.

“It was an incredible amount of work. I’m certain some grumbled about starting over, some who thought the
prophet,
of all people, should have gotten it right from the get-go.” Jane’s father paused, letting his words sink in. “I imagine it was pretty difficult for President Young to tell the Saints they had to start over. Fortunately, he didn’t let his pride get in the way. He understood that a building is only as good as its foundation.”

Peter looked up to find Jane’s father staring at him.

“A marriage is much the same way—as good as its foundation. And,” Robert continued before Peter could speak. “That’s all I’ll say about that. One thing more and I’ll let you pack up and get home. I know the twins are sleepy.”

Pete glanced toward the house and caught a glimpse of Jane and her mother, each holding a baby as they sat in the matching recliners in the family room.

“It may interest you,” Robert said. “To know that Orson Pratt, one of the prominent early Church members, was also an astronomer. He took great care to make certain the symbols chiseled on the outside stones of the temple were correct—even going so far as to set up an observatory.”

“What kind of symbols?” Peter couldn’t help asking, though he knew he was taking the bait Jane’s father held out.

“The sun, moon, and stars—each with a particular meaning relating to the gospel.” Robert leaned back, looking up at the sky. “My favorite has always been the Big Dipper, with the pointers ranging to the North Star, symbolizing that the lost may find their way by aid of the priesthood.”

“Interesting,” Pete said. “Next time I’m in Salt Lake I’ll have to take a look.”

“You do that.” Robert stepped away from the railing, signaling the end of their conversation. “Just remember, if you run into any rough patches while taking good care of my daughter, there’s always the North Star to guide you home.”

Chapter Sixty-Two

Sniffing the air exaggeratedly, Pete walked through Jane’s family room into the kitchen. Jane’s mom stood on the other side of the counter, a frilly apron tied around her waist as she stirred something on the stove. Three loaves of bread sat cooling on the nearby cutting board.

“Homemade bread? You’re the best, Mrs. Warner.”

Jane’s mom smiled at him warmly as she picked up one of the loaves and began slicing it. “I know it’s summertime, but with it being overcast, I thought bread and soup would be a nice lunch.”

“You shouldn’t spoil me so much,” Pete chided as he took a seat at the counter. “I’m going to have terrible withdrawal when I return to Iraq.”

“
Hopefully
from more than just the food,” she said, giving him a knowing look.

Pete grinned. “Definitely.” He took the thick slab of warm bread she handed him. “I’m going to miss Jane and Mark and Madison more than I can imagine.” After slathering butter on the slice, he brought it to his mouth.

“Ah-ah,” Jane’s mom scolded. “Aren’t you forgetting—”

“The prayer.” Pete set the bread down beside his bowl, folded his arms, and bowed his head, waiting expectantly. After several seconds of silence, he lifted his head, opening one eye just a little. Marsha Warner, her arms also folded, stared at him.

“Go ahead,” she urged.

Pete swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. In the past six months of their shared lunches, she’d never once asked him to bless the food. “I’m not sure—”

“Nonsense,” she cut him off. “You’ve heard dozens of prayers,
and
you’ve now heard all of the discussions. It’s time—”

“Discussions?’ It was Peter’s turn to interrupt. “What are you talking about?”

She looked away guiltily, wiping crumbs from the cutting board. “The discussions cover the basic gospel principles. I memorized them with the boys before each of their missions.” She turned to Peter again, her warm smile back in place. “I always felt I would have a chance to use them someday.”

A part of Peter wanted to feel angry that she’d tricked him into hearing these so-called “discussions,” but he had to admit he’d enjoyed their conversations. Aside from that, Jane’s mom seemed so similar to his own mother it made his heart ache sometimes. Getting angry would only hurt them both. He’d learned that lesson the hard way with Paul.

He decided to make light of the situation and finagle his way out of the prayer with a distraction. “And here I thought you just enjoyed my company and liked to cook.”

“I do,” she said, nodding. “I enjoy your company so much that I wanted to share the two things most precious to me—the gospel and my daughter.”

Unsure how to respond, Pete looked down at his bread and soup, growing cold.

Jane’s mom surprised him by reaching across the counter, placing her soft, aged hand over his. “You’ve heard all of it, Peter. The plan of salvation, the restoration of the gospel, the fulness and truth in the scriptures. There’s only one thing more to be done now, and
you
must do it.”

With a will of their own it seemed, his eyes sought hers.

“You have to ask,” Marsha said. “Get down on your knees and ask God if it’s true.”

“I can’t,” Pete said.

“I know.” She squeezed his hand, then pulled away. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be if you haven’t prayed before, and that’s why you have to start small—today—blessing this meal.” She glanced toward the hall, listening for sounds of the twins waking up from their naps. “I’m going to go check the babies. I’ll leave you alone.” She paused, looking at him intently. “Promise me you’ll pray.”

He found he was powerless to deny such a simple request. “I will.”

* * *

Pete crawled into bed, sighing as his head hit the pillow. He was exhausted. Today he’d wrapped up the Holland custody case—no happy resolution there—and after work he’d headed straight over to the house to see how it was coming along. It was coming—just not fast enough—and before he’d realized it, he’d spent two hours on the roof laying shingles. Now his head ached from the mental strain of the day, and his back ached from the physical labor.

Reaching his arm out, he pulled the chain on the lamp. Darkness flooded the room, and he was certain he’d be asleep in minutes.

Promise me you’ll pray.

Pete groaned and rolled onto his side.
Not now.
He tried thinking of the things he needed to take care of at the office tomorrow. He needed to go over his probate cases with the new intern. Then he’d need to tell Richard about the stipulations for—

There’s only one thing more to be done now, and
you
must do it.

Pete pulled the pillow over his head and made a mental list of things he still needed to buy for the house. Paint for the front door. A mirror for the new vanity in the bathroom. A rug for the entry. Another box of cobblestones to finish the path out back.

Promise me you’ll pray.

“I did,” Pete said aloud. Sitting up in bed, he scowled into the dark. Jane’s mom was making him crazy—except that it wasn’t really her mom. It was a figment of his imagination, a memory of their conversation two days earlier. He
had
prayed, a hasty, whispered prayer thanking God for the food. Peter felt he deserved a clear conscience about his promise. Except . . . The promise she extracted from him had referred to much more than a blessing on his lunch.

And they both knew it.

He’d avoided lunch at Jane’s the past two days, certain Mrs. Warner would ask the inevitable and he wouldn’t know what to say. He hadn’t prayed about the things she’d shared with him, didn’t know if he could.

Pete ran his fingers through his hair, then got out of bed and walked to the window, looking over the backyard toward Jane’s house. She loved him as he was, and he was grateful for that. Her family accepted him too. He and Jane, Mark and Madison, were going to make a great little family. If it wasn’t for Iraq looming before them, life would be perfect. Everything was good the way it was.

He knelt down and looked up through the window at the few visible stars. “I’m a good person,” he whispered. “I’ll love her. I’ll love the twins. But—” He swallowed, aware of the sudden lump in his throat. “But if I’m supposed to be something else,
know
something else, you’re gonna have to let me know somehow. Not a sign,” he added hastily, recalling what happened to sign seekers in the Book of Mormon. “No sign,” he repeated. “Just a little help.”

Pete waited quietly for another few minutes. He tried closing his eyes and listening. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, then out at the stars, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he returned to bed.

It was a long time before he fell asleep.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Caroline rapped on the dressing room door. “Come on out, Jane. Let’s see it.”

“This is silly,” Jane protested from the other side. “There’s really no point—”

“You’re Mom’s last bride, Janey.” Mindy held a finger to her lips as she and Karen showed Caroline the veils they’d found.

Caroline pointed to the one in Karen’s left hand. “Do it for Mom.”

Jane frowned at her toes, barely peeking out beneath the hem of the heavy satin gown. If she came out they’d only ooh and aah over her and try to convince her—for the hundredth time in the past five days—to have a traditional wedding. And she couldn’t do it. She’d agreed, for Mark and Madison’s sake, to marry Peter, but it would be simple. The white suit she’d already chosen would do fine for the vows they’d exchange at the courthouse.

Her fingers brushed the delicate scallop of the neckline. To wear a gown like this would only raise false hope—and make her look a fool in front of Peter. He’d made it so very clear that they were marrying as friends. This marriage was all about what was best for the children. She was still plain Jane—no princess.

And this was no fairy tale.

Another knock sounded on the dressing room door. “Jane, dear.”

Mom. Oh, no.
Jane’s left hand went to her waist over the fitted bodice as the fingers of her right hand began massaging her temples. She leaned forward, racking her brain for an excuse to deny her mother what she felt was her due.

“Please, just let me see. I know you don’t want to wear it to your wedding, and that’s fine. But I’ve waited a long time to see my baby in a real wedding gown.”

“It’s not a
real
wedding,” Jane muttered under her breath, but she grabbed the handle of the dressing room door and pulled.

“Oh,” her mother gasped. “It’s beautiful. Perfect.”

“Come see.” Caroline reached in and grabbed Jane’s hand, pulling her toward the pedestal and surrounding mirrors.

“This is silly,” Jane protested again, but Karen was right behind her, pushing her along. “For Mom,” she whispered in Jane’s ear.

Reluctantly, Jane gathered the full skirt and stepped onto the dais. Karen climbed up beside her and began buttoning the row of pearls down the back of the gown. When she’d finished, she placed the veil in Jane’s hair.

“Let’s attach the train too,” her sister-in-law said. Kneeling beside Jane, Amy fastened the train to the back of the dress. Caroline and Emily fanned the fabric out across the pedestal.

Jane lifted her eyes to the mirror and felt her breath catch. The dress
was
magnificent—everything she’d ever imagined her wedding dress would be. She stood silent for a full minute, allowing herself the luxury of feeling truly beautiful, imagining how heavenly it would be to own this dress, to kneel across the altar from Peter, love and adoration in his eyes.

The saleswoman returned. “I’ve spoken with our seamstress and the alterations to your suit will be finished by noon Monday . . .” She broke off, seeing Jane in the gown surrounded by her mother and sisters. “Oh my, you look positively ravishing. Have we changed our minds, then?”

Jane turned to her, the spell broken. “No, I still want the suit. We were only—pretending. I was just going to change.” She reached up, removing the veil from her hair. Caroline took it from her, and Mindy unfastened the train while Amy helped with the buttons. When they were finished, Jane retreated to the dressing room.

Caroline waited until the door had closed before glancing at the price tag on the veil. She looked up at her sisters, whispering. “Who’s got a credit card with them? With the veil, I’m going to be over my limit.”

“Give it to me,” her mother said, reaching through the circle of her daughters. “I’ve had a long time to save for this.” She smiled as her fingers examined the flowers on the circlet. “Keep your sister busy while I pay and arrange for everything to be delivered.”

* * *

“Are you happy, Caroline?” Jane asked, frowning as she sat across from her sister at the small table in Waterfall Garden.

Caroline chewed her bite of sandwich as she contemplated how to best answer that question. Since leaving their mother and sisters a half hour ago—they’d all had excuses lined up as to why they couldn’t go to lunch, and only Caroline knew they were really heading to the bakery and florists for more wedding preparations—Jane had seemed particularly melancholy. Caroline was pretty sure the wedding gown she’d tried on had something to do with it.

“Sure, I’m happy. Why do you ask?”

Jane shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just that you and Ryan had a rather unconventional start to your marriage.”

Caroline snorted. “You mean how we almost didn’t
get
married? Ryan was an hour late and Dad was ready to murder him.” She made a face. “What a disaster.”

“I thought your wedding was nice,” Jane said.

“As nice as it could be, considering the circumstances.” Caroline took a drink of her smoothie. “It was after the reception things really got ugly.” She picked up a french fry and bit it, her face bunched up as she remembered.

“What happened?” Jane asked.

“We had a colossal fight, that’s what,” Caroline said. She reached for another fry. “Ryan felt trapped. I just felt nauseated. For some reason when I was pregnant with Jessica, I got night sickness instead of morning sickness. The super-control-top nylons I’d been wearing all day only made things worse.” She waved her fry in the air. “Anyway, I told Ryan what an insensitive jerk he was—a little more explicitly than that, but we’re in public—and then I threw up all over his rented tuxedo. After that I spent most of the night in the bathroom. I remember putting towels all over the floor so I wouldn’t have to lie on the tile.”

“That’s
awful.
” Jane looked horrified.

“It was pretty bad, but about two in the morning—when I finally felt better and I’d fallen asleep—Ryan came in and got me. He carried me to bed and apologized profusely. We stayed up the rest of the night talking . . . and we prayed together for the first time. Afterward, I felt that we actually might be okay.” A faraway look came to Caroline’s eyes. “Love, combined with the gospel, is amazing. You’d be surprised what it pulls you through.”

“Peter and I are getting married as friends—his words—remember?”

“I know,” Caroline said. “But I’ve seen the way he kisses you. You don’t walk around kissing
friends
like that.” She took another drink. “Peter’s problem is that he’s worried about leaving you—and a small part of him is worried you’ll dump him like Tamara did—so he protects himself by saying you’ll just marry as friends.”

Jane frowned. “Since when did you become a therapist?”

“Since I married Ryan, but don’t ask me to figure myself out.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it must be working.” Jane leaned back in her chair. “Everything turned out good with your marriage. Ryan is active in the Church, you were sealed in the temple, and all these years later, you still seem madly and passionately in love.”

“I have Mom and Dad to thank for Ryan’s activity. They were really great that first year. When we told them I was pregnant, they were both so hurt and angry, but from the day we married, they accepted Ryan and made him feel an important part of the family. I don’t know if we’d have made it without them.”

A half-smile curved Caroline’s lips as she remembered the good and bad of their early marriage. She looked at Jane. “You’re right though.
Mad
and
passionate
certainly describe our relationship. I’m either furious with Ryan—especially lately with those stupid baseball games—or I can’t keep my hands off him.” A warm contentment flooded over her as she thought of her husband. She
was
happy with her marriage, especially those precious times she and Ryan had alone.

Across from her, Jane was staring absently into space, sorrow in her eyes. Caroline focused her attention back to her sister.

Normally, Waterfall Garden was one of Jane’s favorite places in the city. The tiny alcove was surrounded by a rock wall, and a cascade of water tumbled over the stone. Caroline knew it was one of the places Jane used to come for her First Friday romance indulgences. She’d once confided that sitting in such a peaceful place she could imagine good things happening to her, romantic things, like the heroines in her romance novels experienced.

Today, Caroline saw no trace of the hopeless-romantic sister she loved so much. Instead, Jane seemed depressed. She’d hardly touched her lunch, and by the expression on her face, Caroline guessed she was a million miles away. Peter was doing his best to make things right, but Caroline knew that wasn’t going to matter if she didn’t figure out what was wrong with the bride.

“What are you thinking?” Caroline asked.

Jane faced her. “I keep thinking about Tamara. I don’t know how I’ll ever compete with a ghost, so why should I even bother? I’ve convinced myself to marry Peter for the twins. Unfortunately he’s right—with Mark’s surgery coming up, that whole insurance thing
is
a big deal. But I don’t think I can go through with it. When I tried on that dress . . .”

“Go on,” Caroline urged, pushing her sandwich aside so she could lean closer to Jane.

“I love him,” Jane said miserably. “I can wear a plain suit and marry him at the courthouse, but that won’t change a thing. I’ll be dying inside because I’ll have him, but not really. I’ll have him as a friend for mortality, but nothing more.”

Caroline reached out and squeezed Jane’s hand. “This much I know. Tamara isn’t a ghost, and Pete doesn’t love her anymore. As for having him only while on earth . . . that
is
how it stands now, but don’t give up. He’s a really good person, Jane. And he loves you.”

Jane looked doubtful.

Caroline rose from her chair. “You’ve got to have a little faith—and keep dreaming. Some happy endings just take a little longer and are harder to come by.”