One Tuesday Morning (11 page)

He waited until her laughter faded. Then he framed her face with his hands and gave her a kiss that was both long and unhurried. When he drew back, he let his forehead fall against hers. “No, crazy girl. I love being with you. Everything about you.” He eased back some and his eyes locked on hers. “I love you, Laura.”

And suddenly the memory was playing out before him as clearly as the scene from the restaurant earlier that evening. Yes, there it was … Laura's eyes
had
sparkled like the stars above them. Like the eyes of the woman in the restaurant. The memory blurred some, and Eric forced himself to think. What had happened next? Something important, wasn't it? Something he'd thought about often after that night until … until their baby girl died and life somehow fell flat. Until some point when it had stopped being important.

He opened his eyes and stared at the dark hotel ceiling. Gradually, the rest of the memory returned, and he closed his eyes again. Laura had stood up and made a small, slow circle, glancing at everything around her—Eric … his guitar … the picnic table … the bunker … even the cracked cement patio where they'd spent so many evenings.

“What're you doing?” He'd been amused by her actions.

“I'm taking it in.” She leaned her head back and breathed in deep through her nose. “Every single detail.”

“Of this?” Eric had given a short laugh. “This is nothing.” He stood and caught Laura in his arms. “But one day, Laura, one day I promise you'll have it all.” He studied her face. “You'll live like a queen, the way you deserve to.”

Laura had only smiled at him. “You don't get it, do you?”

“What?” He'd searched her eyes.

“I already do. No matter how much money we make when we're older, all I need is you, Eric. You and God.” She took another slow breath, as though she were trying to bottle the moment deep within her. “Nothing in the world could make me happier than I am right now.”

The images in his mind faded, and he opened his eyes again. Instinct turned his head to the clock on the nightstand. It was after midnight. He'd be going on fumes all day tomorrow if he didn't get some sleep. Yet as he lay there, still the memory haunted him. And in that moment, still groggy from the wine, his conversation with Murphy came back to him. The one about power and money and success.

How had those things replaced what he and Laura had shared that night outside the bunker? And why had he stopped playing the guitar? The soft refrains had comforted him back then, mingling with the evening breeze and giving him the sense that all was right with the world. Playing the guitar had been one way he could slow down, focus on God and the people in his life and not just the tempting, all-consuming notion of getting ahead.

That was all that mattered to him these days. Eric blinked and rolled onto his other side. Was there anything wrong with that? With thinking and acting differently than he'd done a decade earlier?

It wasn't that he wanted to forget about physical or emotional love, really. It was just that there wasn't time for those things. Back when he and Laura first married, they'd had all the time in the world. That had changed as the years went by, and it didn't make life better or worse now. Just different. Anyway, love could wait; Laura wasn't going anywhere. She and Josh would be around when he was finished climbing the ladder and slowed down some. Either when he took over for Grant or sooner, if they picked up the right accounts.

In the meantime Laura didn't want for anything. In fact, these days if she stopped and looked around the way she'd done that night at the bunker, she'd see that he'd more than made good on his promise. A Cadillac SUV in the garage, five thousand square feet of custom home in the nicest area of Westlake Village. An in-ground pool and daily maid service. Memberships to all the right clubs and, for Josh, enrollment at Westmont Academy, an elite private Christian school.

Laura might not be perfectly happy, but one thing was certain: She lived like a queen.

The fact was enough to ease Eric's mind. In a matter of seconds, his eyes closed once more, and he could feel himself drifting off to sleep. He comforted his conscience with one last fact before he dropped off. The hours he put in at work were all for Laura and Josh. And love? Love would come later.

They had all the time in the world.

S
EVEN

S
EPTEMBER
10, 2001

Laura was trying to keep busy.

She and Josh had spent Saturday with friends and Sunday at church. Earlier that morning she'd volunteered in Josh's classroom, worked at the library fair after school, and met up with another Westmont family for dinner. As long as she was busy, she wouldn't have time to worry about her life, or the fact that her marriage barely had a pulse.

But now, at ten o'clock with Josh asleep down the hall, Laura lay wide awake in the dark, and the thoughts came unbidden. Somewhere out there under that same September sky, Eric was sound asleep in New York City. But was he alone? He spent more time away from home every year, and Laura had begun to wonder. Their physical relationship had been infrequent and hurried for years—more a release than a show of love. Even his declarations seemed shallow and contrived. Not the kind of sentiment that accompanied a lingering look or whispered words of passion.

Laura thought about that. Passion.

That's what was missing in her life. It was the thing that made divorce so appealing—the thought that someone else out there might be able to give her the passion she so badly missed. Laura's heart skittered into an irregular beat. It had done that off and on for the past eight years. But it was worse lately, and it meant sleep would be just about impossible.

She sat up and turned on the light. On nights like this peace came from just one source. She reached into the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out her worn blue leather Bible. Eric had bought it for her as a wedding present. Laura tried not to focus on the irony. It had been a decade since Eric had been remotely interested in Scripture. Since before her first pregnancy.

The pages were soft and thin, some crinkled from use more than others. Philippians chapter four was that way—the entire section. Laura found the text she was looking for and let her eyes settle on the fourth verse.

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus
.

Laura read the passage again and again. She savored the part about God's peace guarding her heart and mind, and she felt the tension leave her arms and legs. Finally, even the pit in her stomach—the one that had been there since Josh's birthday last week—unwound and faded away.

Instead of falling asleep, Laura thought about the passion missing from her life. Eric had been passionate back then, hadn't he? Wasn't that what had attracted her to him in the first place? Those early days played again in Laura's mind like a movie she hadn't seen in years. Had she only been young and naïve? Or had Eric really been in love with her, really promised her he'd love her forever?

Suddenly, from the deepest part of her heart, memories began to surface. Memories she'd all but forgotten in the years since Eric graduated with his doctorate and took the job with Koppel and Grant.

For the first time in years, Laura didn't order the memories back where they belonged. Instead, she returned her Bible to the nightstand drawer, turned off the lights, and sat there in the dark, willing back everything about Eric Michaels and a love that began the fall of her junior year at Canoga Park High School.

Laura halted the memories for a moment. If she was going to go back, she might as well go all the way. Back to the summer of 1974, when she was just three years old. That was the year Laura was taken away from her parents and placed in a foster home. Laura didn't understand it at the time, but later she was shown copies of the court records.

Her parents had operated a methamphetamine lab in the backyard of their Topanga Canyon home, and four times they'd been arrested for making and selling illegal drugs. Always they paid fast-talking lawyers and were given stiff fines and another chance. But on the fifth arrest, the judge was finished with them. The two were given twenty years to life and sent to separate penitentiaries. Their parental rights to Laura were severed permanently, and she was put up for adoption within California's social services system.

Laura's foster parents applied to adopt her, but a year later, they divorced and changed their minds. Laura lived in a series of state homes until she was seven, when a family in Canoga Park, just west of Los Angeles, agreed to take Laura as part of a foster-adopt program.

The Paige family was large and multicultural with four birth children and four adopted—two Hispanic and two Romanian. Laura was the family's ninth child, but with so many children in the house, Laura rarely received one-on-one time with her adoptive parents. They were kind Christian people, but there was no getting around the camplike atmosphere that pervaded their home.

Years passed, and Laura Paige was a freshman at Canoga Park High School when she walked into second period health class and took the only empty seat in the room. Beside her, half-hidden behind a stack of books, was a blonde boy with glasses.

He poked his head around the stack and smiled at her. “Hi. Remember me?”

Laura had felt herself blush from the roots of her hair to below her neck. The boy looked familiar, but the two of them had never talked. And the teacher had already started talking.

When she said nothing, the boy continued. “I'm Clay Michaels. We're in leadership club together. Remember? At lunch the other day?”

Before she could answer, the teacher walked up to them. His eyes were narrow and angry. “There'll be no talking in class. Not now or at any time during the school year.” He boomed the words and looked directly at Clay. “Is that understood?”

Clay's face had gone red. He slouched behind the books and leveled his gaze toward the front of the room. A few guys nearby shot him silent smirks. Laura dismissed the entire incident. She'd been a shy, academic girl who ran with the smart kids in Honor Society and after-school study sessions. The kids with a life outside the social circles at Canoga Park High. She had nothing more than a passing interest in boys—even one in leadership class.

Still, they had several classes together, and by the end of that year, Laura and Clay were friends. Sure, once in a while he'd pass her in the hallway and wave. But other than that he made no attempt to ask her out or make more of their friendship. That was fine with Laura. She knew there was nothing remarkable about her. She didn't bounce around the school giggling about Friday night football games. She had no desire whatsoever to be a cheerleader. Her single goal in life was to work hard enough to earn a scholarship to a local state college. Then maybe get a teaching credential and work with children.

Boys and dating and relationships could all wait. And when it was time, she doubted she'd fall in love with someone like Clay Michaels, someone shy and awkward who had never even made her heartbeat quicken. No, she'd find someone she felt passionate about, who would dote on her and treasure her and be her very own.

Someone who made her heart stand still. And that someone definitely wasn't Clay Michaels.

Then, in the fall of their junior year, things changed.

This time Laura and Clay shared a math class, and Laura began to notice something. Clay had changed. He was wearing contact lenses, and he'd not only gotten taller, but he'd filled out. He'd never been athletic in the years she'd known him, but that year he looked like he was lifting weights. And something else, something about the way he carried himself. A confidence she hadn't noticed before.

At the end of the first week, when Clay suggested they study together, Laura's heart beat a bit faster than before.

Laura thought about it for a moment. “You mean here? After school?”

“No.” The look in Clay's eyes was deeper than before. “I mean at my house.” He shrugged. “I have a car. We could study together once a week, and I could give you a ride home.”

“What's in it for me?” Laura was playing with him, but only in part. For the first time since she'd known him, she liked the idea of spending time with Clay Michaels. It sounded more fun than studying alone.

“For you?” Clay's mouth hung open. “Uh …” He broke into a quick grin. “I'll make you laugh … I'll sing and dance for you.” His smile faded, and he tossed his hands in the air. “Ah, come on, Laura. We'll be better together.”

Laura laughed at his pitiful expression. “Fine.”

For eight weeks she and Clay spent Monday afternoons at his house working on math, and not once did Laura ever guess he had an older brother. The house was modest and sparsely decorated, and when Laura met Clay's mother, she was cordial but distant. Laura guessed something wasn't entirely right with Clay's family, but she didn't know him well enough to ask.

The one time she met Clay's father, she was struck by two main details. First, the man was strikingly handsome, and second, he was as nonverbal as his wife. Laura and Clay were finishing up a session of algebra when he opened the front door, hung his jacket in the closet, and turned to them.

“Clay.” The man said, then he gave a single nod of his head. “I assume this is your study partner.”

“Yes, Father.” Clay stood and cast a nervous glance toward Laura. “This is Laura.”

“Laura.” Clay's father nodded again. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, sir.” Laura remained seated and waited for him to approach Clay, hug him, or ask him about his day. The man did none of those things.

“Is he mad at you?” Laura whispered when Clay's father left the room and walked upstairs.

“Who?” A blank look fell across Clay's face. “My dad? No.” He hesitated. “My parents have a lot on their minds.”

“Is everything okay?” She hated asking.