One Tuesday Morning & Beyond Tuesday Morning Compilation (41 page)

Beneath that was something Eric had written. It was dated, and suddenly Laura's breath caught in her throat. She stared at the date, not believing what it said. October 15, 1989. It was the birth date of their daughter. The birth date and date of death. Her eyes fell to the words Eric had written, and through eyes clouded by tears, she began to read.

Hello, darling daughter … this card is from your daddy…
.

A sob escaped Laura's throat, and she dropped in slow motion to the floor of Eric's closet. He'd written their stillborn daughter a card? How had he cared that much about the child without ever saying so? She covered her eyes with her free hand and waited until she could see again. Then she pressed her fingers against her eyes and blinked back the tears.
God … how come he never showed me this?

No answer flashed in her mind. She brought the card closer to her face and continued reading.

Your mommy misses you so much, and I know it would only hurt her if I talked about this. But you were my daughter, sweetheart, and I have to write to you now. I want to give you a name, honey. The name your mom and I had talked about before you were born. That way I'll always know that you were real … and that you were part of my life
. Laura closed her eyes for a moment and held back the sobs. Tears would only make it harder to read. She found her place again and continued.

And so I want to name you Sarah. Sarah Anne. And one day when we meet again in heaven, I'll see you and know you … and call you by name. I can't wait until then, to finally get to hold you for the first time. I love you, Sarah. Like the card says, I'll remember you forever. Love, Daddy
.

Laura read Eric's words again, and slowly she closed the card and clutched it to her heart, and in the silence of the closet, she could almost hear God crying. The sobs came then, waves of them. He had cared, after all. But he'd hidden his feelings for more than a decade, buried them beneath a stack of dusty old sweaters.

Why hadn't Eric told her how he'd grieved the loss of their daughter? He'd been upset the first day, but after that he'd never talked about her again. How could she have known that he'd named the child Sarah? The name they'd agreed on weeks before her birth. Years had passed before Laura got pregnant again, and even then Eric never brought up the daughter they'd lost. But here … now … there was no doubting the fact that Eric had grieved her loss. Grieved it from a place he hadn't let anyone see even one time since then.

The truth created a loss Laura had never known. If only she'd found the card before Eric died, they could've used it to walk their way back to the love they'd known before. They could've talked about the real issues at the counseling sessions, how the loss of Sarah Anne had made Eric doubt God and family and love and everything good about life. Somewhere deep inside him, Eric had cared. He'd cared more than he'd ever let on … more than even he remembered.

But now … now it was too late, and that fact was almost more than Laura could bear.

The minutes passed, and suddenly something dawned on her, something that made her smile despite her tears, despite the cavernous loss she felt deep in her heart. Today … somewhere on the streets of heaven … Eric was doing the thing he'd wanted so badly to do.

He was holding Sarah Anne.

T
WENTY
-E
IGHT

N
OVEMBER
4, 2001

The first flashback hit a week later.

It was three o'clock in the morning the day that Jake and Jamie and Sierra had planned to attend a spaghetti dinner at the fire station. One minute Jake had been sound asleep, and the next he was thrust in the middle of a moment so chaotic and terrifying, it took his breath away.

He was scrambling down an endless stairwell in some high-rise building, when suddenly he began to tumble. The fall happened in slow motion, and as soon as he hit the steps, a hand reached out to help him. He took it, and when he looked up, he was suddenly staring into his own face, the image of himself in a firefighter's uniform.

“Help!” He shouted long and hard, and the sound of his own voice woke him up.

Then just as quickly, the image disappeared.

Jake sat straight up in bed, his heart racing.
God … what just happened to me? What was that, and where does it fit into my past?
He licked his lips and stared at his hands. His fingers were shaking, but before he could beg God to settle his heart, the door flew open and Jamie raced into the room.

“Jake … what is it?” Her face was pale as she made her way to the side of his bed and sat down. Her breaths came fast and anxious as she searched his eyes. “You screamed.”

Calm me, God … help me make sense of whatever that was
. He took Jamie in his arms and held her. She was terrified. He could feel her heartbeat pounding hard against his chest. “It's okay … it was just a dream.”

She went utterly still and pulled back far enough to see him. “A dream … or a flashback?”

He knew the answer immediately, but he didn't want to frighten her. Especially when the image still didn't make sense to him. He locked eyes with hers and exhaled as he caught his breath. “It was a flashback, I think.”

“Dr. Cleary said they might come in the early morning. Before you woke up.”

Jake nodded. “It was very, very real.”

“Well …” Jamie studied his face. “What was it? What'd you remember?”

“I was in a building … with a stairwell that seemed to go on forever.”

“The World Trade Center.” Jamie's voice was quietly urgent.

They'd both waited so long for this moment that he knew better than to keep her guessing. He took a slow breath and finished detailing what he'd seen. “The strange thing was that I wasn't the fireman, Jamie. I mean, I was the fireman, but I was someone else too. Someone who had fallen on the stairs. When the firefighter helped me up, I looked at him and it was me.”

Jamie's shoulders fell a bit, and the panic faded from her face. “Maybe it wasn't a flashback. Maybe it was a dream.”

“Maybe.” Jake ran his fingers lightly down Jamie's bare arms. In a handful of seconds, the idea of whether he'd had a flashback or a dream seemed irrelevant. Instead, all that mattered was her nearness, the way she looked sitting beside him on the bed in an oversized T-shirt, the moonlight glistening in her hair. “I'm sorry I woke you.”

“It's okay.” She swallowed, and the space between them began to disappear. “Jake … ?”

“Yes.” His voice was healing, and here in the darkness it sounded almost normal. Like Jake assumed normal would sound if he could remember his past.

“Hold me, Jake. Will you please?” She hung her head, clearly embarrassed by the raw desire in her voice.

Without a bit of hesitation, Jake took her in his arms and stroked her back, soothing away the weeks of separation. Though they'd gotten closer those past few weeks, they'd never had the near occasion to kiss the way they had that one time. But here, in the quiet dark of the night, Jake didn't care if he couldn't remember being married to her. She was beautiful and loving, and they'd obviously spent a lifetime together. He whispered against her neck. “Jamie, you're beautiful. Do you know that?”

“Mmmmm.” She pressed herself against him, and his desire for her doubled. Her voice was thick with passion as she whispered near his ear. “I miss you more each day. This part of you.”

She drew back and their eyes locked. Before he could ask himself whether it was right or wrong, before he could consider the fact that he'd promised to keep his distance until he remembered her, Jake brought his face to hers. Slowly … in a way that seemed as natural as the feel of her in his arms, their lips met, and Jake kissed her the way he'd been dying to do for weeks. “Jamie …” He was breathless when he came up for air. “What you do to me.”

He studied her and realized there were tears in her eyes. Her mouth opened as though she wanted to ask him something, but instead she worked her fingers up along the tender places on his burned face and through his hair. The sensation felt unbelievable, and it lit a fire deep within him, a fire that could only be quenched one way.

“I love you, Jake.” She drew him to her, kissing him again and letting her tears brush against his face. “I love you.”

An impatience began to build, and suddenly he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. He gently pulled her closer, drawing her down onto the bed beside him. “I love you … Jamie.”

She kissed him, balancing over him, not quite letting herself be swept away on this wonderful wave of passion. When she drew back she studied his face, knowing that he saw a fear in her eyes that hadn't been there before. Her voice was only a pinched whisper. “Do you love me … because you remember?”

His eyes closed, and he could feel her pulling away from him, straightening.
No, God … don't let her ask this. We belong together …

In all yours ways acknowledge Me, and I will direct your paths, My son
.

The words sounded on the front porch of his heart and echoed through his being. Jake had no doubts. The still small voice was from God. And if this wasn't the time for Jamie and him, then one day soon their time would come. He sat up and tried to still the flames within him. “Jamie … is it that important?” He opened his eyes and found her watching him, studying him. “I love you. I loved you before, and I love you now. Isn't that all that matters?”

She sat back up, her body close to his, and clasped her hands. Then she stared at the wedding ring on her finger. “No.” Her eyes raised to his. “I don't want to reinvent what we used to have.” She tilted her head, her tone laced with a raw pain that cut at Jake's heart. “I want the real thing, Jake. As badly as I want you right now, I want all of it.” She ran her fingertips beneath her eyes. “All of you.”

He leaned close and with slow, tender movements he kissed her once more. When he pulled back he wanted her so badly, he could barely stop himself from lying to her, from telling her that yes, he did remember. But instead he took her hands in his and bowed his head so their faces came together in a different way. “Pray with me, will you, Jamie?”

Slowly, his passion was replaced with something richer, something etching itself in the walls of his soul. “Pray that whatever woke me up was a flashback, and that it's only the beginning. Because I do want you. But you're right. I want to remember everything else first.”

There in the dark of the guest room they prayed for God's mercy and blessing. Jamie finished the prayer in words that were both simple and sweet. “Bring him home, Lord … all the way home. Please.”

At just after four o'clock that afternoon, they took the ferry across the harbor and went by cab to his fire station. Eight men and their families had gathered there, all waiting for him when he walked in.

Jake wondered if he'd ever been more nervous in all his life.

Because of the strange dream or flashback that had happened earlier, he sort of hoped that seeing the station would jar another series of memories. The same way reading his Bible and journal had seemed to restore his soul. Instead, nothing about it looked the least bit familiar, and when they went inside, he felt like he was back at church all over again.

Men he didn't know began to hug him and shake his hand; women who must have been their wives had tears in their eyes, and they hung on to him as though they were afraid to let go. “Jake, we're so glad you made it!” And “We've missed you, man. When're you coming back?”

Captain Hisel was there, and Jake was grateful. At least he looked familiar, even if it was only because of their visit in the hospital. “Hey, Jake … you're healing up.”

“Yep.” Jake shook the captain's hand and managed a smile. He glanced about the room looking for Jamie. Out of the crowd of people at the station, she and Sierra were his only friends, and he hated being apart from them.

“How's it going with your memory?”

“Slow.” Jake leveled his gaze at the captain. “I picked up a lot from my journal and the notes in my Bible. But I can't really say I've started remembering again.”

Captain Hisel waved his hand around. “Any of this look familiar.”

“No.” Jake frowned and shook his head. “Not a bit.” He stuck his hands in the pocket of his jeans. They were loose on him, maybe a quarter inch too long, but that wasn't surprising. Jamie said he'd probably lost fifteen pounds since the accident. He glanced at the wall behind Captain Hisel and saw a series of photos. Men, all of them firefighters, with two dates listed beneath. The second date for every man was September 11, 2001. Jake took a step closer and scrutinized the faces. “Those our guys?”

The captain worked the muscles in his jaw. “Every one.”

Jake hadn't kept up with the news. It meant nothing to him, since he had no memory of fighting fires or even working in New York City. Besides, he'd been too busy reading his Bible and journal to care what the papers said. But here, now, he was touched beyond words at the enormous tragedy that had happened to the New York Fire Department that awful Tuesday morning. He dropped his tone a notch and stared at the captain. “How's everyone handling it?”

“It's crazy, JB.” Captain Hisel's voice cracked, and he stared at the floor for a moment. When he found his voice, he lifted his chin and met Jake's eyes. “The department had to create its own Funeral Desk.” He ran his hand over his balding head. “Three hundred and forty-three men. Funerals every day, sometimes three and four a day. One Saturday there were two dozen. Two dozen funerals, JB. Can you believe it?”

Jake wasn't sure what to say or how to react, but he was struck by the pain he saw in the captain's eyes. The anxiety within him made him better understand Dr. Cleary's orders to keep his life as simple as possible until he remembered. Should he hug the captain? Maybe utter something about the losses being too bad? He didn't know, and so he merely put his hand on the captain's shoulder and said nothing.

Captain Hisel sniffed and raised his chin some. “Not just that, but ever since the attacks we've become famous.” He shrugged. “I mean we couldn't shut our doors the first few weeks after September 11. Everybody and their brother was coming by, bringing us cookies or meals or flowers. Telling us how wonderful we were, sometimes even getting our autographs.”