One Tuesday Morning / Beyond Tuesday Morning

  Clay still didn't know what Murphy had said. He wrung his hands, balanced on the edge of the sofa as though he wasn't sure if he should stay seated or come to her. “Did they find him?”

  “No.” She stopped and blew a stray piece of blonde hair off her forehead. “He and Allen wouldn't go down with the others. They stayed, Clay, and you know why?”

  His expression changed, and a knowing look crossed his face. “Not for work?”

  “Yes!” She paced again, this time faster than before, with more fury. “They worked while every other person on their floor evacuated.” She hesitated and planted her hands on her hips, searching Clay's face for some kind of answer. “Weren't we worth more than that? Didn't he know he'd be leaving us behind, leaving Josh without a father?”

  Clay bit his lip, and Laura guessed he was keeping himself from stating the obvious. That apparently Josh had never had a father. Not by any practical sense of the word. Instead, he stood up, crossed the room, and held her the way she needed to be held. In a way that pushed her anger aside and let an incalculable sorrow take its place. “Why, Clay? Why'd he do it?”

  “They might still find him, Laura. You can't give up.”

  “I know.” She sniffed and pulled away enough to look at him. Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks. “I'm mad … but I keep telling myself he must be alive somewhere. Maybe he and Allen waited a few minutes and then went down. Maybe they took a different stairwell and missed the other people from Koppel and Grant. And maybe they're at some kind of waiting area, trying to get out of the city so they can make a phone call and tell everyone they're okay.”

  “If we don't hear from him tomorrow, maybe we should go there. Check the hospitals and see if they've found him. He might not have I.D. on him.” Clay's voice was soft as he searched her eyes. “If he's lying in a hospital somewhere unconscious, no one would have any way to know who he was or how to reach you.”

  The muscles in Laura's chest relaxed just a bit, enough for her to catch her breath. “I hadn't thought of that.”

  “See … there's lots of possibilities.” He gave her arms a gentle squeeze. “We'll find him, Laura. I'll do whatever I can to help you.”

  The idea of going to New York seemed outrageous. Especially now. The FAA had said airports could remain closed for days. But if Clay was willing to come with her, it might be their only hope. Then another idea hit her. “We could call first, see if any of the patients are unidentified.”

  “Right.”

  “He's gotta be somewhere.”

  An image came to mind of Eric and Allen talking business on the sixty-fourth floor as the south tower collapsed. If he didn't call by tomorrow, he might be in a hospital or wandering around the city with a head injury, unable to remember his phone number. But the odds were he'd been buried alive. Right next to Allen, devoted to the job until his final moments.

  Another series of sobs gathered in her heart. Who were they kidding? If Eric hadn't called her by now, he was dead. It was that simple. He and Allen had made a last-minute attempt at getting an edge in the financial market, and it had cost them their lives.

  Her emotions shifted again, and this time defeat settled in and made her legs ache. “Hold me, Clay. I can't bear it … I can't.”

  “Oh, Laura. I'm so sorry.” Clay soothed his hand along the back of her head and brought her close again. In his arms she had the slightest sense that maybe … just maybe she'd survive. It was a different feeling entirely than the way she'd felt in his arms a few days ago. All questions about whether she'd married the wrong brother were gone now, and only deep friendship and comfort remained. No matter how bad her marriage had been, no matter how differently she'd enjoyed Clay's company a few days ago, in the course of a few hours that morning everything had changed.

  Not just for Laura and Clay, but for the entire nation.

  SIXTEEN

  SEPTEMBER 13, 2001

  Whenever Jake might wake up, Jamie wanted to be there.

  Now it was Thursday morning, and she'd done nothing but sit by his side, day and night, and try not to think about what was happening across New York and throughout the ranks of the FDNY. Jake's father had driven into the city after the towers collapsed and met with Jamie at the hospital.

  “I'll stay with Sierra,” he told her as he left that afternoon. “I'll be here as long as you need me, Jamie.” He'd cast another look at Jake. “He'll be okay. I can feel it.”

  Jamie had hugged him then, appreciating the way his presence gave her the hint of hope and strength, something she desperately needed. Every minute Jake lay unconscious only worsened the fog of fear for Jamie, but Jake's father was positive.

  “Keep your chin up.” Jake's father had kissed her on the forehead as he left. “Jake needs you. He's going to be fine.”

  Jamie's feelings were all over the board. “The numbers of missing men … I can't … I can't stop thinking about it.”

  A shadow fell across Jim Bryan's face. “More than any of us can imagine.”

  The hours and days that followed had been nothing but a blurry routine. Sit by Jake, catch some sleep, wake up, wash her face at the small sink in Jake's hospital room, call Sierra, talk to Jake's father, and then find her place beside her husband once more.

  Wednesday afternoon they'd done another CT scan and found a buildup of fluid near the injured part of Jake's brain. They'd rushed him into surgery and drained the excess fluid. The operation was a success and had kept Jake's brain from being damaged by the pressure. That night she never slept at all, but simply sat in the chair by Jake's bed trying to comprehend what had happened.

  The death toll was in by then.

  Three hundred and forty-three firefighters were trapped in the collapse of the World Trade Center. Rescue workers were still sifting through the rubble around the clock at a frantic pace, convinced there were people trapped in pockets beneath the surface. But with every passing hour, it seemed less likely that anyone would be found alive in the debris.

  It seemed a lifetime ago that Jamie had been troubled by the death of a single firefighter. Ten a year, twenty a year. Each life was a tremendous loss. But those numbers would never compare to what had happened on September 11. Most of the time it was all Jamie could do to concentrate on the matters at hand—talking to doctors and nurses, encouraging Jake to wake up, remembering to eat. Every spare moment her mind was filled with the awful picture of firefighters, hundreds of them, hurrying up the stairs of those towers. Had any of them guessed what would happen? Could they have known that each step brought them closer to their deaths?

  She hadn't heard from Sue since Tuesday afternoon, but she was certain the other men from Engine 57 hadn't been found. Captain Hisel had been in to visit twice—once Tuesday night, and again on Wednesday. Both times he gave Jamie the update she'd dreaded. The men were still missing, still buried somewhere amidst the tons of debris.

  “If they're alive, we think they'll make it,” Hisel had told her. “They're strong men, all of them, in good shape. The rescue workers think there could be areas where people are still waiting for help. Some of the water being sprayed on the smoldering sections might've gotten down to them. It could be keeping them alive.”

  Jamie had let the man talk, but she wasn't listening. Not really. Who was he kidding? If Engine 57 had been near the sixty-first floor when the south tower collapsed, then the bodies of Larry and the others were smack in the middle of the debris pile. There wasn't the slimmest chance they were alive. But Jamie would nod and look interested. They had nothing if they didn't have hope.

  In the hours since Hisel's last visit, Jamie had resisted the occasional urge to catch an update on the attacks. The entire nightmare was too awful, and the more she thought about it, the less able she was to think of anything else. There was only one way she could remove the awful images from her mind, the pictures of firefighters spread throughout the towers in the moments before they collapsed.

  By sitting stone still and watching Jake breathe.
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  She held his fingers, ran her thumb along his bandaged hand, and whispered whatever thoughts crossed her mind. Sometimes she talked about the old days, back when they were kids in the same Staten Island neighborhood. Or about the way their lives had become such a miracle since Sierra joined them. Watching Jake was the only way she could convince herself it was true, that Jake had actually survived the horrendous devastation at the World Trade Center. That though hundreds of firefighter families were grieving even at that moment, she was one of the lucky ones. Her man had lived.

  Two doctors had been in to talk to her. Dr. Cleary was her favorite, a kind man with a soothing tone and an easy way of explaining Jake's condition. He had a head injury, of course, that much was obvious. But Dr. Cleary had given her other details, things that helped her better understand the process of recovery once Jake woke up.

  The doctor explained that Jake had a concussion, a broken left ankle, and second-degree burns on his face and arms. He had most likely been standing somewhere near the fire truck when the south tower collapsed. Why he was there when the rest of his unit was up near the middle of the building was unclear. Either way, when the tower came down it created a force that must have blown him under the truck.

  “He didn't have his uniform on, and that could've been for several reasons,” Dr. Cleary had told her. He pulled up a chair and looked her straight in the eye, determined only to help her get through the ordeal at hand. He crossed his arms and continued. “But we know the blast blew his shoes off. That alone tells us we're dealing with a fairly significant head injury. We sedated him heavily when he first arrived—to keep his brain from swelling. That danger is past, in fact … the sedation and the surgery probably saved his life.”

  The doctor bit his lip and hesitated. “Unfortunately, the trauma has left him in a coma.”

  “But … he'll come out of it, right?” Jamie hadn't considered the alternative. That he might not wake up from the coma, or that he could possibly spend the rest of his life being fed through a tube in a hospital bed. She shuddered at the thought and ignored a rush of nausea.

  “His brain activity is strong, and the little bit of swelling he had is going down.” Dr. Cleary gave her a kind smile. “I expect he'll wake up sometime this week.”

  The doctor saved the worst news for Wednesday afternoon. He checked Jake's vital signs and then sat down across from her again.

  “Mrs. Bryan, we're somewhat concerned about Jake's memory.” He frowned and checked his notes. “The emergency room staff said your husband didn't know where he was in the minutes before he lost consciousness.”

  It was the first time Jamie had heard about this. Her heart sank to her knees, and she tried to think of what to say. “You mean … all his memory? Like, what's it called …?”

  “Amnesia. Yes, that's a concern.” The doctor sighed. “Head injuries can definitely trigger memory loss. The question is how much loss, and for how long.” He looked down at his clipboard again. “The notes say he couldn't remember his friend Larry … and that Engine 57 meant nothing to him. Would you say that was significant?”

  Significant? Jamie felt the blood drain from her face. She hugged herself and leaned forward, trying to stop the fear exploding inside her. Jake hadn't remembered Larry? Or his own engine company? Jamie's voice was weak, as though she'd had the wind knocked from her. “Are … are you sure?”

  “I am.” Empathy filled the doctor's face. “The notes are very clear. We're hoping it was only a brief memory loss, and that when he wakes up he'll remember everything. That's not unusual with a concussion. But there's chance of a longer amnesia here. I thought you should be aware.” He leaned forward a bit. “So he should know Larry and Engine 57, is that right?”

  Jamie closed her eyes. Her heart was racing again, and she couldn't breathe. Dr. Cleary was watching her, waiting. “Yes, of course. He was born a firefighter, Doctor. His father was one, and now he's one. It's all he's ever known.” She tried to fill her lungs, but the effort only made her feel more anxious. “Larry is his … his best friend. They work together on Engine 57. Jake should've … he should've known that in his sleep.”

  Dr. Cleary shifted his gaze to Jake and stared at him for a moment. “There was one thing he said that might be a good sign, something that might mean his memory loss won't be complete or even long-term.”

  Jamie's hands began to tremble. She waited while the doctor flipped through several sheets of paper. “What did he say?”

  “Here it is.” He read straight from his notes. “The patient called out the name ‘Sierra’ several times before he slipped under.”

  Tears flooded Jamie's eyes and her heart sang. Jake had remembered Sierra! The doctor was looking at her, waiting for a response, but she could barely make out his features. He might not have remembered Larry or his engine company, but he'd remembered his precious daughter. “Sierra is … she's our little girl.”

  “Good.” A smile broke out on the doctor's face. “That's wonderful.” He angled his head and looked at Jake again. “In fact, it's possible with the swelling going down that he won't have any memory loss once he wakes up. We'll have to wait and see. He took a pretty serious blow to the head. Anything's possible.”

  It was Thursday morning now, and Jamie had been awake for half an hour, long enough to know there were no changes in Jake. She crossed the room and stared out the window. The view was obscured by another building, and it was impossible to tell anything other than the fact that night had come and gone. Jamie turned back to Jake and gripped the bars on his hospital bed. Wake up, baby … please …

  She waited, studying him. But there was no change, nothing to indicate he was ever going to come out of the coma.

  Her eyes caught the clock on the wall, and she moved around the bed toward the phone. Sierra would be awake now, and Jamie missed her badly. She sat on the chair by Jake's bed and dialed the number.

  Sierra answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  Jamie closed her eyes and felt the corners of her mouth inch upward. “Hi, honey, how's it going with Papa?”

  “Good.” She sounded small and worried. “When are you and Daddy coming home?”

  “Very soon, baby. As soon as Daddy wakes up, we'll come home, okay?”

  “I'm praying, Mommy. All the time. Papa says God's working on Daddy, making him a little bit better every day.”

  Jamie ignored the comment. If Jake walked out of that hospital, it wasn't because God had allowed it. After all, what about Larry? Larry loved God, didn't he? Why hadn't God kept him out of the south tower that day? There had to be countless others in similar situations, many of them devoted to God, praying to Him faithfully. And for what? For the random chance to live or die, depending on where you stood at nine o'clock Tuesday morning?

  “Mommy?”

  “Yes, sweetie, I'm here.” She concentrated on her daughter's voice. “Are you being good for Papa?”

  “Mmmhmm. Papa said he's gonna take me for ice cream tonight, okay? The 'nilla kind.”

  “Yes, silly girl. You go have your ice cream with Papa. Me and Daddy will be home real soon.”

  Jake's father came on, and they talked about Sierra for a while. When they were finished, Jamie fell silent. There were details about what had happened to Jake that didn't make sense. “Okay.” She sucked in a slow breath. “I have two questions.”

  “Sure.” The man must've been sitting near Sierra, because Jamie could hear her giggling. “Ask me anything.”

  “Why would Jake have left the group and gone back downstairs to the truck?” A frustrated huff slipped from between her lips. “That doesn't sound like Jake at all.”

  “What's your second question?”

  “Why wasn't he in his turnouts? I mean they were fighting the worst fire of their lives, and Jake wasn't in uniform? It doesn't make sense.”

  Jamie heard Jake's father leave whatever room he'd been in and move to a quieter place.

  “I've thought about that. I know Jake as w
ell as I've ever known any firefighter in my life. I spent a few years on the job with him, remember, and you get a feel for these things. But with Jake, of course, it's even more because he's my son. He's a part of me. Not just his technique and skill, but the way he thinks, the way he moves on a call.”

  “So tell me.” Jamie's entire being was focused on Jim Bryan's words. No matter how many ways she'd looked at the situation, it didn't add up.

  “Okay, first … we know Jake went up into the tower on the main stairwell, Stairwell B. That's the only one of the three sets of stairs in the building that goes straight from the top to the bottom.”

  “Right. Captain Hisel told me about that.” Clearly, Jake's father had thought this through. He didn't hesitate as he continued.

  “The way I see it, the men from Engine 57 were probably halfway up to the sixty-first floor when someone going down the stairs got into trouble. Heart pains maybe, exhaustion, panic. Whatever it was, the person couldn't keep walking.”

  “Jake would've been the first to help.” Jamie was beginning to understand. She'd never actually thought it through like this, because she couldn't get past the idea of Jake leaving Larry. It was something he'd never done before.

  “Right. And immediately, Larry would've done the same. But at that point Jake wouldn't have known the building was in trouble, so what would he have done? He would've told Larry to go on without him.”

  “But why? The two of them always stayed together.”

  “Because, Jake would've intended to take the victim downstairs, and then catch up with the other men. There was no point putting Larry through the extra climb when they only had one victim to carry down the stairs.”

  A dawning burst in Jamie's soul.

  The explanation was perfect! Jake's father was right—the way Jake would've figured it was obvious. They hadn't been at the fire yet. They'd only been on their way up. If they'd been at the fire, Jake would never have left Larry. But if only one of them needed to carry a victim down, Jake would've been the first to volunteer, and he never would've asked Larry to come with him. What reason would there have been? Only one man would've been needed to carry a victim down. Jamie swallowed and tightened her grip on the receiver. “But what … what about his uniform? He'd completely lost his turnouts when they found him.”