One Tuesday Morning

  By Friday night she felt like she was losing her mind.

  That evening after dinner, Jake and Sierra headed into the family room and popped the Cinderella video into the VCR. Jamie bundled up in a sweater and grabbed the phone off its base just as Jake looked back into the room. His smile was easy and warm. “What're you doing?”

  Jamie felt like a convict. She swallowed hard and held up the phone. “I'm going outside to call Sue.”

  “Okay.” He winked at her and pulled Sierra up onto his lap. “We'll be waiting for you.”

  The picture he made sitting in his favorite chair, cuddling Sierra close and watching Cinderella, was so familiar Jamie almost hung up the phone and joined them. Jake's face was still red, still thinner than it had been. His voice wasn't quite back to normal, and neither were his mannerisms. But the man was Jake; he had to be. What was the alternative? Someone else who looked just like Jake had been in the stairwell at the same exact instant … someone who knew the look and name of Sierra.

  It was impossible.

  Still … the few times she'd talked to Sue since their visit the other night, they hadn't discussed Jake, other than to agree that he was doing well—all things considered. Instead, they'd focused their conversations on the search for Larry's body and the hard time Katy was having handling her daddy's death. Not once had Jamie wanted to voice her irrational fears or the comments that Captain Hisel had made.

  Until that moment.

  Now she needed to share every doubt that plagued her, needed her friend to listen and assure her that these crazy concerns were completely unfounded. Most of all Jamie needed perspective, and as she headed outside to the picnic table with the phone, that's exactly what she intended to get.

  Sue was home, and they spent the first few minutes talking about two more firefighter bodies that had been found in the rubble. When there was a lull, Jamie cleared her throat and stared at the stars overhead. A cold wind found its way down the back of her jacket, and she pulled it tighter to her body.

  “I want to tell you something … something about Jake.”

  “Okay.” The anxiety in Jamie's tone was enough to make Sue sound suddenly serious. “What about him?”

  “Captain Hisel called the other day.” Jamie held her breath. She wouldn't cry, not when she wanted so badly to tell Sue what the captain said. “He … he and the guys honestly wonder if Jake's really Jake.” She paused. “Can you believe that?”

  “That's … crazy.” Sue hesitated just a bit too long. “Don't you think so?”

  “Of course I do. That's why I'm telling you.”

  Sue waited a beat. “Jake isn't acting strange, is he?”

  Jamie wanted to stand up and throw the phone over the fence. She worked to keep the frustration from her tone. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I don't know … I mean, you think he's really Jake, don't you?”

  “Yes.” Jamie stood and paced across the yard to her dying flower garden. She'd planned on telling Sue about Jake's strange flashbacks, but then, she'd also planned on Sue acting more shocked about Captain Hisel's phone call. Somehow, instead, her friend seemed almost ambivalent, as though maybe a mix-up really were possible. “Look, Sue, I feel like I'm losing it here.” She raked her fingers through her hair and turned around, her back to the garden. “Tell me I'm having a couple of bad days. Tell me doubts are normal. Tell me that Jake is who I think he is. But don't let me just sway here in the wind.”

  “All right.” Empathy filled Sue's voice, and her tone was softer than before. “You're having a couple of bad days, and your doubts are normal. Is that better?”

  “No.” Jamie's mouth hung open, and she let herself fall back against the wooden fence. “Not if you don't mean it. I mean tell me the truth, Sue, did he seem like Jake to you?”

  “You want the truth?” Sue's voice caught.

  “Yes … I want it desperately.” Jamie's teeth chattered, but not because of the cool night air.

  “Okay.” A shaky sigh made its way across the phone lines. “When you left that night, Katy found me in the kitchen. She asked me a question that has bothered me ever since.”

  Jamie held her breath. “What?”

  “She asked me who the man was with you and Sierra.”

  The phone slipped from Jamie's hands and fell to the dirt below. Ignoring the damp ground, she dropped to her knees and stared at the place where the receiver lay. Breathe, she ordered herself. This is all just a dream, a nightmare, and any moment you'll wake up and everyone will know the truth. That Jake Bryan really was who everyone thought him to be.

  Jamie could hear a small tinny voice coming from the phone. “Jamie … Jamie, talk to me. Jamie, are you there?”

  God … help me. I haven't been praying long enough to know what to say, but help me. I can't stand up underneath this.

  Words that Jake had highlighted in his Bible filtered through her mind. Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

  Jamie's head was spinning. She closed her eyes and forced herself to blow the air from her lungs with slow breaths. The voice was still calling out to her. “Jamie … pick up the phone. Please.”

  Finally, her fingers worked their way across the damp soil and found the receiver. She brought it to her ear and tried to think of what to say. Control, that's what she needed. God would give her rest, but she needed to give herself a little control. She gave two short coughs. “Sue … I'm … I'm sorry. I'm back.”

  “Jamie, are you okay? I can come over if you need me.”

  “No.” Control … control … control … “Everything's fine.” She opened her mouth, and a quiet, strange-sounding laugh came out. “The doctor said Jake wouldn't act like himself until his memory returned. Really, Sue … tell Katy the man was Sierra's daddy. And that everything's okay.”

  “Of course.” Sue's answer came fast. “I mean the guy is Jake. Obviously. I'm just saying that Katy didn't recognize him right off, but that's to be expected what with his broken ankle and his burns, the way he walks and talks a little different. I never meant to …”

  Jamie stopped listening. Sue was rambling, her words running together in an attempt to make up for scaring Jamie. When she was finished, Jamie worked the muscles in her jaw and looked up at the sky once more. “Thanks for listening, Sue. I need to get back inside. Don't worry about me. Everything's fine. We're watching Cinderella tonight.”

  THIRTY

  NOVEMBER 12, 2001

  There was no question Jamie was acting different around him.

  Maybe it was the flashbacks, or something else Jake wasn't aware of. But she seemed distant and distracted, and several times he'd caught her staring at him. Her attitude didn't help ease his concerns—especially in light of the latest flashbacks.

  The newest imagery started appearing over the weekend while Jake was taking a nap after church. His head had been hurting, so he sprawled out on the guest room bed. Almost as soon as he fell asleep, the flashback came. He was standing in an office talking to an older man, a man with white hair. They were in the World Trade Center surrounded by hundreds of office workers and looking out a window. There, in vivid colors, he could see balls of fire and billowing black smoke so close he could nearly touch them.

  Then the memory had stopped, and Jake sat straight up in bed, out of breath as he stared at the closed bedroom door. What office had he been in, and who was the white-haired man? Why weren't firefighters in the picture, and how come he'd been able to see so clearly out the windows at the fire in the other building?

  Nothing about the memory gelled with the idea that he'd been called to the scene with his Engine company and had headed up the stairs to help rescue survivors. Because if that had been the case, he wouldn't have been in an office, looking out a window. He would've been in a stairwell headed up until something—or someone—caused him to head back down. r />
  Wouldn't he?

  The flashbacks were supposed to help life make more sense, not less. And that night after Sierra was in bed, he found Jamie alone in the living room, sitting in a chair and facing out the front window. He came up behind her and worked his fingers into the base of her neck. “You okay?”

  “Mmmm.” Jamie reached up and covered his hands with hers. “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Nothing.” The chair was a swivel rocker, and Jamie turned it so she was facing him. The whole time, she never let go of his hand, but the smile on her face looked unnatural. “Nothing in particular.”

  Jake didn't believe her, but he wasn't about to force the discussion. Not when it might mean she'd get that strange look on her face again, the one that made him think something was wrong. And even though he'd have to tell her about his latest flashback at some point, now simply didn't seem the time. “I'm going to bed.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Good night.”

  She searched his eyes and continued to hold his hand. “Any memories, Jake? You know … of the two of us?”

  “No.” He gave her a sad, knowing look. They both wanted him to remember. It would be impossible to move forward until he did. “But things are happening in my brain. I can feel them. One of these days it'll all come rushing back, and we can be the way we were again.”

  “Right. I know.” She nodded once.

  Something about her face touched his heart. She was nothing more than a frightened little girl. He squeezed her hand and released it. “I'm begging God every night to help me remember. The moment I have anything for sure, you'll be the first to know.”

  “Okay.” She worked the corners of her mouth up a notch. “Good night, Jake.”

  He'd been asleep three hours when a different flashback hit. He was running down the stairwell as fast as he could, and the building was shaking. The sound of breaking windows and creaking walls filled his senses, and he doubled his pace, racing as fast as the crowd in front of him would let him. All of a sudden he could actually remember what he'd been thinking as he ran down the stairs.

  He'd been praying. Asking God to let him have one more chance about something. He rolled over in bed, and in an instant another image flashed in his mind. A blonde woman and a little boy, maybe seven or eight years old. He was still tearing down the steps, one flight at a time, and now he knew why he wanted one more chance. It was something about the blonde woman and the little boy.

  Then a horrible sound rang out all around him, and he screamed out loud. Not the kind of shout he'd let out after his first flashback. But a bone-chilling scream that had Jamie at his door in six seconds flat.

  Again her face was pale. “Jake … what is it?” She tore into the room and stood next to the bed, staring at him. “Is it a flashback?”

  Jake opened his eyes and felt them grow wide. “Yes …” His voice was breathy and filled with fear.

  Jamie sat on the edge of his bed with several feet between them. “What did you remember?”

  Jake's heart raced, and he felt as if he were falling off a cliff. Falling, falling as fast and far as he could to a place where certain death awaited him only moments away. Why weren't his memories headed in the direction he'd expected them to go? He'd studied everything in his journal, every notation in his Bible. All of it told him that when his past returned, it'd be of a terrifying moment trying to rescue someone from the south tower, and other than that they'd be of Jamie and Sierra, of fighting fires and hanging out with Larry. But the flashbacks he was having now contained none of that.

  Who was the blonde woman and the little boy? Why had he been thinking about them as he tore down the stairs of the World Trade Center? Had he been unfaithful to Jamie? Or …

  He blinked and searched Jamie's face. She was still waiting, still staring at him, practically willing him to say that he remembered her, that everything about his past as Jake Bryan, firefighter and devoted father, was coming back to him.

  But it wasn't. And because of that, he needed to tell Jamie the truth about his flashbacks. She'd know what to do, how to help him relax and make sense of the things he was remembering. Maybe he had a sister with blonde hair or a mother. Who could tell what his brain might do as it struggled to clear the fog from his memory?

  They had both caught their breath now, and Jamie crossed her arms, her hands clenched. “Tell me what you remembered, Jake.”

  And then, without waiting another moment, Jake did just that. He started with the memory of himself talking with a white-haired man on one of the upper floors of the World Trade Center. “We rushed together through a series of offices to a bank of windows.” He paused, his throat dry with fear. “That's when we saw the fire. It was huge—worse than anything I've seen on television about the attacks, Jamie.” He placed his hand inches from his face. “It was right here. I could practically feel the heat.”

  “Is that what you remembered just now? When you screamed?”

  He shook his head, and this time his mouth was dry. “It was something else.” How could he tell her about the other flashback without terrifying her, without shaking her certainty that they'd ever find their way back to what they'd shared before? Or worse, without making her doubt that he really was the man he'd thought himself to be these past two months?

  “What, Jake? Tell me.” Her voice was a strained whisper, her face ashen. “I have to know.”

  “You're right.” He reached for her hands and told her about the memory, how he had been running down the stairs as fast as he could go, taking one flight at a time and desperate to get out of the building. “That's when I begged God for one more chance with my family … one more chance to make things right again.”

  “Right again?” Jamie shook her head and dug her fingernails into the palms of his hand. “You were always right, Jake. Everything about you.”

  He stared at her, his mouth open, heart frozen.

  Jamie exhaled through pursed lips and hung her head between her knees for a moment. When she looked up she had just one question for him. “Did … did you picture us? Me and Sierra? The people you wanted another chance with?”

  He turned his head but kept his eyes on her. “I pictured two people … but …” Jake would've given anything to not finish the sentence. But it was too late now. The only way he could make sense of the strange memory was to share it with Jamie. No matter where that took them afterwards. “The people weren't you and Sierra.”

  Jamie let her head drop as she slid her hands over her ears and then down the tops of her thighs. She looked as though she might spring up at any moment and run from the room, but instead she found his eyes once more. “I … I don't understand. Who were they?”

  “I don't know.” As frightened as the memories had made him feel, he was more concerned with Jamie's reaction. He put his hand on her shoulder and bit the inside of his lip. “The woman was taller than you … with straight blonde hair. And the child … was a boy. Maybe seven years old.”

  “Who … who are they?” Jamie sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and shook her head several times.

  “I thought you might know.” He shrugged. “Like maybe she was a sister or a friend, someone married to one of the guys at the station.” He hesitated, his eyes pleading with her. “Tell me you know who she is, please.”

  Jamie stood up then and backed away from him. Without saying another word, she turned and ran from the room. He could hear her bare feet patter across the entryway and tear out the front door into the yard. She sprinted away from the house as fast as she could and after a few seconds the sound faded to silence. Jake thought about going after her, but whatever process she was working through, she needed to do so without his help.

  He sat stone still, waiting to hear her footsteps again. When she didn't come back after a few minutes, he climbed out of bed and paced the room. His boot cast had been removed two days earlier, and his ankle was still tender. But in that moment, he didn't care about the pa
in. He walked over to the dresser and scanned the photographs.

  All he wanted were answers.

  Somewhere there had to be a blonde woman. Why else would he have remembered her? And what about the little boy? One of the pictures must've contained the image of him—maybe sitting on the lap of a favorite uncle or long-lost friend.

  Without thinking Jake pulled open the top drawer.

  What he saw there surprised him. All this time living in the guest room and he'd never looked in any of the dresser drawers. This one was filled almost to the brim with dusty old, framed photographs. Jake was ready to race through the lot of them, when his eyes fell on a simple five-by-seven near the top of the stack. It was a picture of a man in a firefighter's uniform. But that wasn't what caught Jake's eyes.

  It was the man's helmet.

  With almost trancelike precision, Jake lifted the photo from the drawer and stared at the firefighter. Clearly the man was supposed to be him, but something about the helmet set off a flashback that until that moment had been incomplete. Once more he could see himself falling in the stairwell, feel himself being helped to his feet by a man who turned out to be a firefighter. Again, the uniformed man looked identical to himself, but this time the firefighter's helmet fell off, and Jake picked it up. The scene was so real in his mind, it made his head hurt. As he handed the helmet back to the firefighter, Jake saw Sierra's photo taped to the inside. Beneath the picture was her name, scribbled in big block letters.

  Jake could see the little girl's image as clearly as he must've seen it that awful Tuesday morning. The flashback continued, and he remembered looking up, catching the firefighter's eyes, and thinking something very strange, something that hadn't been a part of the flashback until just that instant.

  The thought was this: Never in his life had he seen someone who looked so much like himself.

  Footsteps sounded near the door, and Jake looked up. It was Jamie. Her eyes were red and swollen, but she was more in control than she'd been fifteen minutes ago. She walked toward him, never taking her gaze from his face. When she was just a few feet away, she narrowed her eyes and whispered the same question that was suddenly shouting at him.