One Tuesday Morning (40 page)

“You believe, Jamie. I could feel you there beside me, believing every word the pastor said.”

Jamie's mind raced. No … he couldn't say that, couldn't make her admit to something she wasn't ready to admit to herself. “I've … I've never believed.”

This time he looked at her. “Yes, you did. At camp that year, back when you gave your life to Christ and told me you'd never felt better in all your life.”

“Jake …” Time seemed to stand still, and Jamie could feel the color drain from her face. “You remember that?”

His eyes met hers, and he searched her heart. “Yes.” The uncertainty in his eyes matched what he must've seen in hers. “I mean, I've read it five times in my journal. But yes … I remember it.” He looked away. “At least I think I do.” A few minutes passed while they both watched Sierra. Jake slipped the shoe off his good foot and wriggled his toes in the sand. “It feels so good to be out here. To be with you and Sierra … after being together at church with you. Like it's the most right way we could've spent our Sunday.”

Jamie crossed her arms. Her heartbeat was fast and jittery. She was still trying to catch her breath from the idea that Jake might be remembering, that he could—at least in part—recall their time at summer camp that year. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure?” Jake's expression was bathed in peace.

“I'm afraid about God.” There … she'd said it. She'd voiced a thought that even she hadn't been sure of until that very moment.

“Why?” Jake brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “What about God scares you?”

“He …” She leaned back in her chair and clenched her jaw. Angry tears forged their way down her cheeks, leaking from a place in her soul that had been boarded up for too many years. “He took my parents.” She made a fist with her free hand and placed it over her heart. “I was just a girl, Jake. But my parents both died and … and neither of them believed in God.”

Jake listened, giving her the space she needed to finish.

She sniffed hard and wiped at her tears, but they only came harder. “What am I supposed to think? That a loving God would allow my parents to die and go to hell? All because they made the fatal mistake of not believing?”

Jake waited a moment, and when he finally spoke, his raspy voice was filled with a tenderness that felt achingly familiar. “Did you ever think … that maybe as they lay in that car that night they might've changed their minds? The Bible says God doesn't care when people come to Him—He just cares
that
they come. I read that the other day. Maybe your mom and dad cried out to God in those last moments … maybe they're in heaven even now, Jamie. Did you ever think of that?”

Maybe they were in heaven?

The idea made Jamie dizzy, but it struck a note inside her heart that had never been played. What if Jake was right? What if just maybe her parents had given their lives to God there on the highway, amidst their dying moments? And even if they hadn't, a God who could stand beside His friends and weep with them wasn't one that would make a mistake with her parents. “Okay, but why did they have to die? Can you tell me that?”

Jake looked at her again, his eyes tender. “People die, Jamie. There're no promises here on earth. God didn't make your parents die that night; and He didn't bring the World Trade Center down. The devil did that.” Jake hesitated. “One of my favorite verses in the Bible—at least lately—is a reminder that the thief comes only to kill, steal, and destroy. But God … God comes to give us life—life to the fullest.”

A sob worked its way up from Jamie's breaking heart, and she let her head fall into her free hand. “God wouldn't want me anyway, Jake. I'm … I'm not good like you.”

“Good?” He slid his chair closer to hers. “Sweet Jamie, God isn't looking for us to be good or perfect. He's just looking for us to be His. That much I remember.” Jake paused and released the hold he had on her hand. Instead, he ran his fingers lightly over her back, comforting her in ways he couldn't even know. “That's why I raised my hand in church today. I couldn't go another minute without telling God that even though I can't remember my past, I want Him to be with me. Today and tomorrow. Forever.” He exhaled, and the sound of it breathed peace into her. “I have to tell you, Jamie, the feeling of knowing I'm safe with God was better than anything I could imagine.”

Jamie sniffed and peered at him through the spaces in her fingers. “Can I go with you again next week?”

“Of course.” He grinned and helped her to her feet. “But right now we have a little girl to play with.”

Jake led her to the place where Sierra was struggling with the outside frame of her sandcastle. Jake plopped down next to her, sticking his boot cast out to one side so it wouldn't get too sandy. Then he twirled his finger into one of Sierra's ringlets and kissed the child on the head. “Next week I get to curl your hair, okay?”

Sierra's eyes lit up. “Really, Daddy?”

Jamie watched the exchange, her mind numb once more. Jake wanted to curl Sierra's hair? Was there a detail Jake missed in that journal of his? And at what point would the details of his past come from his memory, and not the pages of a book?

They finished the sandcastle and then walked along the shore, the three of them, hand in hand. Halfway back to their chairs, Jake stooped down and patted his backside. “Is the princess ready for her horsey ride?”

Sierra clapped her hands and squealed. Then she ran toward Jake and easily propelled herself onto his back.

“Jake—” Jamie felt a rush of concern. He wasn't strong enough to carry Sierra yet. “Be careful.”

But even before she finished the warning, Jake was off, hobbling down the beach with Sierra bounding along on his back, occasionally digging her heels into his side, her little-girl giggle mingling with the sound of the surf. “Faster, horsey! Faster!”

****

That night as Jamie fell asleep she realized that the day was a breakthrough in more ways than one. Not only had Jake begun living again, but her time at church and their discussion afterwards had left her vulnerable to the reality of God in a way she'd never guessed would be possible.

The changes from that day ushered in a period of two weeks in which Jake wanted to do everything they'd once done together, everything he'd mentioned that afternoon in the guest room. The temperatures had dipped some, but it was still unusually warm, and together they picnicked and played games and continued to go to church.

Early one cool sunny afternoon they left Sierra with the neighbor and brought the jet ski out to their favorite spot. Jake slipped a plastic bag over his boot cast, and Jamie gave him a gentle ride across the cool harbor, reminding him the whole time of how the machine operated and how they'd once used it. On the way back to shore, he gently squeezed her waist. “Faster, Jamie. Like we used to ride.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Jamie opened the throttle until they were flying across the water. She even cut across a few mild wakes.

“No wonder I loved this!” A cold windy mist brushed across them, and Jake nuzzled his face next to hers, his words filled with exhilaration. “As soon as my cast's off, I get to drive, okay?”

Jamie laughed. “You got it.”

And taking the jet ski out became something they did twice more that week, even once when temperatures hovered in the sixties and a light drizzle fell. Jamie didn't care and neither did Jake. The relationship they were rebuilding between them was warmth enough. Jake's memory wasn't exactly returning, but his place in their family was almost what it had once been. At least outside their bedroom.

Jamie credited the Bible and Jake's journal, of course. But each week Pastor Ritchie made her realize that his slow return had to be more than that. It had to be an act of God Himself. And finally, on Jamie's third Sunday, when the pastor asked if any of them wanted a friendship with God, Jamie's hand was one of the first ones up. After a lifetime of running from her husband's God, she'd finally come full circle. And that morning her running led her right into His holy arms, to a place where she and Jake and Sierra could love and serve Him forever. A place she would never have known if Jake hadn't been hurt.

Because of that, Jamie could see a truth playing out in their lives, the one Jake had talked about at the beach after her first Sunday service. God had indeed come to give them life—all of them. And not just any life, but life so full that she was nearly bursting with joy. After all, she had Jake and Sierra and a friendship with God that was only just beginning. One day soon Jake would have his memory. And even though he was falling in love with her all over again, she could hardly wait for the day when everything about his past would come rushing back. And it would … because God was making good on His promise—giving them life to the fullest possible measure. And as wonderful as things were now, Jamie knew her life was about to get even more full. It would happen the moment she and Jake could get back to sharing not only their days.

But their nights as well.

T
WENTY
-S
EVEN

N
OVEMBER
3, 2001

Laura hadn't planned to do anything more than clean Eric's closet.

Clay had taken Josh to play basketball, and Laura had made the decision days ago that Eric's things needed to be gathered and packed away. It wasn't something she wanted to do with Josh around. The first hour passed without anything too emotional. She'd come to grips with the reality of the loss of Eric, and still her greatest grief was that they'd never figured out what had driven them apart. The deep ache that went along with that was something she would hold forever.

But still, his closet needed to be cleaned.

She worked her way through his dirty clothes basket and his dress slacks and ties. Next she began packing a stack of sweaters from his top shelf. Eric didn't get rid of things easily, and Laura uttered a sad laugh as she lifted the dusty clothes from the shelf and placed them in the box. He hadn't worn the sweaters since before Josh was born, but he'd saved them anyway.

Now she would pack them up and give them to the local rescue mission.

She was pulling off the last sweater when something white slipped from the shelf and drifted to the floor. Her eyes followed it, and as she leaned over, she saw that it was a white envelope with nothing written on the outside. Laura dropped the sweater in the box, picked up the envelope, and lifted the flap.

Inside was a greeting card she'd never seen before. Her heartbeat quickened as she pulled it out. Why would Eric keep it here, beneath his sweaters? Was it from some secret lover, someone Laura had never known about? Were her fears in the months before September 11 justified, after all? A part of her screamed to put the card back in the envelope and throw it away, never look at what her husband had kept hidden here in his closet.

But she had to know, and she turned it over so she could see the front. A blue and white sky was punctuated by a single word printed across the background.
Forever …

Laura clenched her teeth and stared at the card. Then without waiting another second, she opened it. The rest of the printed message read simply, “Forever I'll remember you.”

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.