Beyond Tuesday Morning

  They all laughed, and Jamie realized she had an answer for that question too. One that didn't feel painful or frightening or rushed because no matter how often she told herself she wasn't ready, she'd been thinking about it a long time. She locked eyes with Clay and grinned. Good thing his arms were around her, otherwise she would've floated away.

  “Well?” The uncertainty was gone from his expression.

  “Yes.” Jamie said it once and the second time she practically shouted it. “Yes!” She tightened her grip on both Clay and Sierra. “I'll marry you, Clay, and I'll move right into Disneyland if you want.” Her voice softened and a chill passed down her spine at God's provision, His perfect timing. “Sierra and I will be wherever you are, Clay. From now on.”

  The certainty in her heart was stronger than cement. It was sweet and sure and mingled with the sorrow of good-bye, because after today she would never again live in a memorial. In a little while, she would never again work in one. Her past—beautiful as it was—would simply be her past.

  Her yesterdays belonged to Jake Bryan, where they would always belong.

  But because of God's goodness, because He had led her to choose life, her future had a home that was calling to her. And not just her, but Sierra. A future suddenly bright and full and colored with happy expectations. A home together.

  And maybe, one day, a home blessed with another child.

  She would no longer be Jamie Bryan, except in her distant memories. Because her tomorrows would take her to a place where she had a new name, a name she was breathless to take on—Jamie Michaels.

  The most amazing feeling flooded her. Jamie Michaels. The sound of it rang across the quiet places of her heart. Clay's touch on her hand made her turn. Through eyes blurred with happy tears, she leaned closer and kissed him. A kiss of joyful excitement over a future that was even now just beginning.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Sierra was almost finished packing.

  Mommy had given her a big suitcase for her clothes and special things. Special things didn't go on the moving truck; they went with her on the airplane. Sierra got jumbles in her tummy whenever she thought of the moving truck, because it was coming in two days and then some mover guys would come into the house and take everything into the back of the truck.

  Even their van!

  But the jumbles and rumblies were extra moving around now that the truck was coming so soon. Because that meant they had to finish packing and do the thing Sierra didn't really want to do. Tell Katy and Mrs. Henning good-bye.

  She'd already told her class friends good-bye. James jumped up and down and gave her a little punch in the arm when she told him she was getting a second daddy too. Just like he got a second daddy. Her teacher said the class would miss her, but she would have a wonderful life in California.

  Sierra sat on her bed next to Wrinkles and studied her open suitcase.

  It was true. She couldn't wait to get to California. They were going to live in something called a 'partment for a little while. Until summertime. That's when Mommy and Clay were getting married, and after that Sierra could call Clay the thing she wanted to call him.

  Daddy.

  A sad feeling came into her heart. But not her first daddy, because nothing could ever erase her first daddy's face from her heart. Clay would be her second daddy; just as nice and wonderful as her first daddy, but different.

  She was running out of room in her suitcase, and she knew why. The helmet took up half the space. It was her first daddy's helmet, the one he wore when he was fighting fires. The one he was wearing when the Twin Towers fell down. She dropped to her knees next to the suitcase and patted the top of the helmet. It was big and strong looking, the way her first daddy had always looked.

  The helmet made her remember some special times with that daddy. Times when he gave her horsie rides and curled her hair and did butterfly kisses and took her to church and sang songs with her. She looked around her room. Sometimes when she wanted to remember him she only had to move her eyes so they would see a special place. Like the chair she and Daddy sat in or the place on her bedroom floor where they used to play horsie.

  So what about when she didn't have this house anymore?

  Stinging happened in her eyes and she blinked. Wrinkles jumped off the bed and curled up next to her on the floor.

  “Wrinkles, you know what?” Sierra stirred her fingers in the soft hair at the top of her cat's head. “Maybe I don't really want to move.”

  The cat yawned very big and did a few slow blinks. Probably he wasn't getting enough sleep.

  Sierra looked at the place on the floor a little ways away, where she and Daddy used to play. At the same time, two hot little tears splashed down her cheeks. Then she looked at the helmet in her suitcase. And suddenly in her heart an idea started.

  If she looked hard enough at her daddy's firefighter helmet, she could see him. She had always been able to see him. So maybe she didn't need her very own house to remember him. Maybe she could remember him even in a 'partment. And something else too.

  Mommy said her first daddy would always be in her heart. Because in her heart she would always be that little girl with long yellow curlies walking into church, holding her daddy's hand.

  And he would always be her hero.

  She put her hand on the helmet and looked hard at it. Her first daddy wouldn't want her to stay in the old house if it meant not having Clay. Because Clay was very big and strong, just like Daddy was. And plus he liked Lion King just like her, and he even liked to play dress-up.

  In California they would have other family too. Clay's family. And that meant she would get to see Mr. Michaels. Mommy said Mr. Michaels would be her uncle after they got married, and Josh—the nice boy who played Frisbee with her—would be her cousin.

  So that was pretty nice. And after school was over and Mommy and Clay got married, they would all live in a house with a swimming pool! A real in-the-ground swimming pool!

  She patted Wrinkles on the head. “We can get a little boat for you, Wrinkles. And you can go sailing while I swim, okay?”

  Wrinkles closed his eyes, because he needed his rest. Mommy said he wouldn't sleep much in the plane because he had to be in a big box down with the luggage. Sierra hadn't told Wrinkles about that yet. Some things were better if they were surprises, actually. Plus also, Wrinkles might not want to go if he knew he was flying to California with the luggage.

  Once more she looked at the helmet, and this time she picked it up and held it to her heart. She kissed the top of the helmet and then held it a little higher and gave it butterfly kisses, first with one set of eyelashes and then the other.

  When she was done, she set the helmet back in her suitcase and a smile came to her face. Because she could still see him, her first daddy. Tall and nice and laughing, standing right beside her. And deep inside she could hear God telling her some good news. Yes, her daddy would always be there, the same way he was now. Whether they lived in Staten Island or California, he would be there.

  Forever and ever and ever.

  Jamie stood in the doorway and stared into her empty house.

  The movers had come and were already headed west. She and Sierra had stayed one last night, and at four o'clock they would fly nonstop to Los Angeles. Now they had all day to say their good-byes.

  The old house was first on the list.

  “Okay, Sierra.” Jamie glanced at her daughter, sitting on the front porch steps sticking her finger through the holes in Wrinkles's air carrier box. The For Sale sign was fifteen yards away, sticking out of the snow. “Come say good-bye to your house.”

  Sierra looked up. “I already did, Mommy. After the movers left yesterday.” She bit her lip. “Can I stay out here with Wrinkles?”

  Jamie gave her a sad smile. “Okay.” She looked back through the front door. “I'll hurry.”

  She started upstairs with Sierra's room, the same room she and her sister had slept in as little girls. She welcomed the torrent of memorie
s, little moments that formed the skeleton of her entire life. It was a small room with a single window. Nothing remarkable, except the fact that it had been hers since she was born.

  Now it would belong to someone else. “Good-bye, little room.” She stepped out and closed the door.

  The next room would be hardest of all. Her bedroom. The place where her parents had slept so many years ago; the place where she and Jake had shared their love for nearly a decade.

  Jamie worked the muscles in her jaw and squinted, blinded by the brightness of the past. This was why she needed to move, why she couldn't welcome Clay into her East Coast world. Because in this house, her memories were so alive they fairly breathed. She would take them with her, of course. They were woven into the fabric of who she was. But if she was to have new life, she would need new surroundings.

  She closed her eyes, stepped back, and closed that door.

  The rest of the house was easier, though the memories of all that had happened there—family dinners, birthday parties, movie nights, and a thousand other memories—were not. She floated through the rooms, hating the emptiness, allowing the image of those warm old walls to burn a forever impression in her mind.

  Soon she was back at the front door, taking one last look. She breathed in slow—she would even miss the smell of it, the old wood and windows.

  It smelled like home. The way home had always smelled.

  Jamie had known this day would involve tears, and it was no surprise that they kicked into action now. She hesitated. God … bless whoever comes here next, whoever lives here and loves here and laughs here the way we did. Bless them that they might feel Your Spirit and know You are in this place.

  Then, her eyes blurred, she stepped back, closed the door, and locked it.

  Sierra looked up at her and immediately she understood. “Mommy, it's okay.” She stood and gave her a hug around her waist. “California will be good too.”

  “I know it will.” Jamie sniffed. She gave Sierra a sad smile and looked deep into her eyes. “Crying is okay, you know why?”

  “Why?” Sierra's eyes were damp too. The day was bound to be hard for both of them.

  “Because if you cry a lot when you say good-bye, it means you loved a lot.” She stooped down and kissed Sierra's nose. “Do you understand that?”

  “Yes, Mommy.” Sierra lowered her brow, very serious. “Then today will be a lot of crying. Because I loved living here and being friends with Katy Henning a very lot.”

  At that moment, the Hennings' car pulled up. Sue was picking them up and taking them to lunch. After that, Jamie and Sierra would board the ferry to Manhattan, and from there catch a cab to the airport.

  Sue climbed out of her pickup truck, and the moment their eyes met, Jamie saw she wasn't the only one affected. Sue was crying too. She crossed the yard, her eyes on Jamie the entire time. Sierra ran to the car to see Katy and little Larry, both buckled into the backseat.

  ;“I'll miss you so much.” Sue hugged her, expressing the sorrow Jamie knew had been building for both of them since she accepted Clay's proposal. Sue stepped back and dragged her hand across her cheeks. “I'm sorry; you don't need this. It's just ὞” Her features twisted as she gave a sideways nod of her head. “You're like a sister to me, Jamie. After all we've been through. The guys … our faith—” Two short sobs interrupted her. “I can't … imagine life without you.”

  “Oh, Sue.” Jamie held her again. “I'll visit. I promise I will.” She took her friend's shoulders and leaned back enough to see her eyes. “And you will too. Okay? This spring you fly out, and we'll take the kids to Disneyland, okay?”

  Sue nodded, but still the tears poured down her face. She stared at Jamie's house for several seconds and then grabbed a suitcase with each hand. When the car was loaded and they drove off, the conversation lightened up. They spent the morning at the Henning house, talking about old times, remembering the friendship between Larry and Jake, how fun they were together, how well they embraced life right until the end.

  They shared lunch together and cried again when Sue dropped them off at the ferry. Less, this time, because of their own sorrow than the sadness of seeing their daughters say good-bye.

  Sierra hugged Katy tight. “Don't forget me, Katy. Best friends forever, okay?”

  “Best friends forever.” Katy ran to Sue's side and buried her face in her mother's jacket.

  Both girls were crying too hard to say more than that. Jamie gave one last wave to Sue, and a look that told her this wasn't the end. That a friendship like theirs, forged out of the very best moments and the most horrifically painful ones, would not end simply because of a move.

  Sue and her children turned then and headed back for their car; Jamie did the same, pulling their suitcases while Sierra clutched Wrinkles's carrier. Just before they boarded the ferry, Sierra stopped, stooped down, and spread her hand out on the ground.

  “What're you doing, honey?” Jamie felt her tears drying in the winter wind. She pulled up and watched her daughter.

  “Saying good-bye.” Sierra stood and picked up Wrinkles again. “Good-bye to Staten Island.”

  The ferry ride felt faster than usual, and they found a cab without any wait. Jamie directed the driver to St. Paul's, promising to pay him extra if he'd wait while she and Sierra ran inside.

  She'd had her last shift two weeks earlier, but it wouldn't be right to pass by the area without a final farewell. Someday she'd come to St. Paul's again, but once the new buildings were built—the ones that would stand where the Twin Towers had stood—the atmosphere at the chapel would change.

  Items that formed the memorial inside the little church would be moved to the official memorial, the one planned for somewhere in the new construction. And St. Paul's would return to being only a nice little chapel in the middle of Manhattan's financial district. A landmark, yes, but not the mission it had been in the years after September 11.

  Jamie wasn't sure she wanted to see St. Paul's that way.

  Neither did most of the other volunteers, those who helped remove the pile of debris and those who served and offered their time. She was part of a community of people who would never enter St. Paul's without seeing the place lined with posters and pictures and letters, without seeing photographs of the dead and pews full of vacant-eyed firefighters, covered in soot and weary from the grim task of working the pile.

  This … this final good-bye, was the last time the chapel would look the way she would always remember it.

  She led Sierra by the hand, jogged lightly across the street, up the steps, and inside. The place was quiet, as usual. She turned to the first table, the one on the left of the front door, and immediately found Jake's picture.

  Sierra stayed close at her side. “That's Daddy!”

  “Yes.” Jamie had always figured she would know when it was right to bring Sierra. But they'd run out of time, so right or not, this was the moment. “Remember when I would do my volunteer work?”

  “Yes.” Sierra looked at her, eyes wide.

  “Well—” Jamie shifted her eyes back to Jake's picture—“this is where I would come.”

  “Oh.” Sierra looked at the picture again too. Then she caught a quick breath and pointed. “That's my letter to Daddy!”

  “Yep.” Jamie put her arm around Sierra's shoulders and hugged her. “It'll stay with his picture for always.”

  Sierra thought about that for a minute. “I like that.”

  One of the other volunteers approached her then, an older woman who had connected often with Jamie. She knew why Jamie was there and she introduced herself to Sierra. “Want some cookies upstairs? I baked them this morning.”

  Sierra looked at Jamie. “Can I?”

  “Yes.” Jamie cast the woman a grateful look. “But only for a minute. The cab's waiting.”

  Sierra went off with the woman. Once she was gone, Jamie turned and found Jake's picture again. Sweet Jake, the man who had prayed for her and cherished her and written words that
guided her way still. The man who had led her to God.

  She looked deep into his eyes. So much of their time together she had worried about him, that he would lose his life fighting fires. What a waste of time. If she had it to do all over again, she would choose to love Jake, even knowing their time together would be short.

  The lessons he'd taught her would live on, as would the memory of his love. Yes, the page was turning. She could feel it in her heart, feel the way St. Paul's didn't quite have the same hold on her as it once had. She didn't need a memorial to remember Jake, to honor him.

  She would do that with her life.

  The volunteer returned with Sierra, and Jamie hugged the woman. “Tell the others good-bye, okay?”

  “I will.” She pulled an envelope from her pocket. “Aaron Hisel told me to give this to you. He heard you were moving.”

  Jamie's heart sank. Aaron had been important in her life for a time, one of the reasons she'd been able to process the pain of losing Jake. She would miss him, even though their time together had ended long before she decided to marry Clay.

  “Did … did he say anything?”

  The woman smiled. “He wanted you to hear it from him.”

  Jamie nodded. She slipped the envelope in her coat pocket, said another quick good-bye, and led Sierra back outside. She walked to the corner and for a moment she stared at the empty sky, the place where the buildings had stood.

  It would be good to get away from that part of the skyline, good to know she could drive to the market without catching a glimpse of the emptiness. Jake went into those towers because it was the right thing to do. She had no doubt that even until the last few seconds, he and Larry were helping people, probably praying with them and telling them about Jesus.

  She didn't need St. Paul's or Ground Zero to remind her of that.

  “That's where the Twin Towers were, right, Mommy?” Sierra squinted up, shading her eyes so she could see despite the glare from the snow and white cloudy sky.

  “Yes.” Even now she hated the past tense, hated how it reminded her that such an awful thing really had happened. “That's where they were.”