All The Stars In Heaven (18 page)

Chapter Thirty

“Here it is.” Trish cleared her throat and read loudly from the paper so Jay and Sarah, sitting in the back seat of her Oldsmobile, could hear. “2:50 p.m. Friday—a graduate student had credit cards, assorted IDs, keys, clothing, and a backpack stolen from a secured locker in the Malkin Athletic Center.” She paused, then leaned over, giving Archer a quick peck on the cheek. “Nice work, Arch.”

“It was nice work, all right,” Jay muttered. Thanks to whoever it was that had stolen his wallet, he was practically penniless for this trip to the Yale game. His bank and credit card companies were issuing him new account numbers, but the new cards wouldn’t arrive until next week. And without his ID, he couldn’t even withdraw from his local account.

“I don’t know about ‘assorted’ IDs,” Archer said. “I think I should’ve used ‘various.’”

“It means the same thing,” Trish pointed out.

“
Various
would’ve sounded better, though. And a reporter has so few words to get the whole story in, so it’s important he choose each one carefully.”

“At least you got the story.” Trish scanned the rest of the brief article, then passed the paper back to Sarah.

“Yeah.” Archer glanced in the rearview mirror. “Thanks, Jay. For once it was nice to cover something before Morris got to it.”

“Glad to help.”
Happy that getting my locker broken into worked out well for someone.
Jay frowned as he looked out the window. He wished he had at least some idea of who might have stolen his things.
Is there any possibility . . .

“Just for that, I’m going to cover the toll.” Archer followed traffic onto the ramp toward I-90 and Worcester.

“How come you were at Malkin anyway?” Trish asked. “Didn’t they just finish that big, fancy remodel on the gym over at the law school?”

“Yeah,” Jay said. “And I usually work out at Hemenway. But I was meeting Sarah at the pool, and I thought it would be easier if I used the weight room there.”

“Dumb luck,” Archer said. He switched on the radio. “What do you want to hear, Trish?”

“Why don’t we let Sarah choose?”

Sarah looked up from the paper. “Oh, whatever will be fine.”

“No, really. You choose,” Trish insisted. “Who’s your favorite band?”

Sarah sent Jay a pleading glance.

“Enya,”
he said, picking something mellow. It was time he remembered this trip was about having fun with Sarah. He needed to get over having his locker broken into. If he wasn’t careful, it would ruin their weekend. He passed the CD forward, grateful he hadn’t had his music collection stolen. There was something to be said for not being able to afford an iPod.

Archer passed the CD back. “We can listen to that later. We need some good, get-in-the-mood-for-the-game tunes. Find something else.”

Jay flipped through the case and handed another CD to Trish. “
Queen.
Number sixteen.”

She popped the disc in the player and turned up the volume. A few seconds later the steady beat of “We Will Rock You” shook the car.

Sarah cast a concerned look at Jay as she took in Trish and Archer, heads bobbing, in the front seat.

“Sometimes they play this at games,” Jay said. “It’s a
classic
.”

“And if all goes well,” Archer put in. “On the way home we’ll be listening to ‘We Are the Champions.’”

* * *

On the ride home that night, Jay brushed Sarah’s hair back from her face and marveled—as he had on their first subway ride home from Boston—that this beautiful woman was sitting next to him with her head against his shoulder. Friday’s theft still bugged him, but the miracle of having Sarah at his side put everything in perspective. His wallet was replaceable. Sarah was not.

You’re my best friend
. His thoughts echoed the sentiments of the song playing on his
Queen
CD. They’d popped it back in for the victory ride home.

In the front seat, Trish slept, her head on a pillow against the passenger window. Archer drove, yawning frequently, munching and spitting out sunflower seeds to keep himself awake.

The four-hour-plus, triple-overtime game had been intense—even Sarah had been on her feet and shouting in that last quarter. And after the game they’d gone out to eat, celebrating Harvard’s 30–24 victory. Over milkshakes, fries, and burgers, they’d talked and laughed like four friends who regularly hung out together. Even Sarah had opened up at dinner.

But she’d been shy again when, at the end of their meal, the waitress brought her an ice cream sundae with a candle in it, and the whole restaurant chimed in to sing a twisted version of “Happy Birthday.” Jay had never seen her face so red, and the ice cream was well on its way to melting before she could look up enough to eat it. Still, he hoped she had as much fun as he had.

The trip couldn’t have gone better. Though he hadn’t been able to buy her that crimson blanket as he’d imagined, she’d enjoyed her hot chocolate. It seemed that was quickly becoming her favorite treat.

She
had already become his. Jay felt content as they entered Cambridge and neared home. He realized that these past few weeks were the happiest he’d ever lived. No longer was he the guy wondering what it would be like to have someone waiting for him at lunch, someone to walk across campus holding hands with. He had those experiences every day now, and he loved it—was starting to love her. Life was very, very good.

He dozed for a while, enjoying the feeling of doing so with Sarah snuggled against him. He woke up when they were almost home, as Archer turned onto Banks Street.

“What—there’s a fire!” Archer braked quickly. The street was filled with emergency vehicles.

Jay rolled down his window and stuck his head outside. “That’s our house!”

Sarah and Trish were wide awake now too.

“Stay here,” Jay said. “I’ll be right back.”

Archer parked the car behind a fire truck, and he and Jay jumped out.

“Lock the doors and roll up the windows,” Jay instructed. He took off running after Archer.

Within a few seconds his nose burned from the smoke. He could see flames shooting out of Mrs. Larson’s kitchen window.

Please let her be okay.
Two houses away the policeman stationed at the barricade stopped them.

“We live there,” Archer said, straining to see around the officer.

“Sorry,” he said. “Until the fire’s out, it isn’t safe.”

“Our landlady—” Jay began.

“And roommates,” Archer added.

“I’ll see what I can find out.” The officer took a two-way radio from his belt.

“Where’s Mrs. Larson? Is she all right?” Breathless from running, Sarah stopped next to Jay. She placed her hands on the barricade and stood up on her tiptoes, trying to see farther down the street.

Jay could hear the voice coming through the radio. The officer caught his eye and turned away. Jay’s heart sank. He reached for Sarah, just as the officer turned around again. To Jay it seemed he took an extra long time returning his walkie-talkie to its clip on his belt.

He looked at Archer first. “Four male students were evacuated from the building.” He cleared his throat. “Are you the two who were out of town?”

Jay and Archer both nodded.

“I live there too,” Sarah said. “On the ground floor with Mrs. Larson. She’s elderly and doesn’t get around much.”

The policeman looked over his shoulder.

Jay’s arm tightened around Sarah’s waist as the officer looked at her and spoke.

“The fire started with an explosion on the ground floor. Crews still haven’t been able to get inside all the rooms, and . . . I’m afraid she isn’t accounted for.”

Chapter Thirty-One

“‘A predawn November 20th fire resulted in the tragic death of 78-year-old Marjorie Larson, longtime resident of Cambridge. Four tenants of the other two units in the building escaped unharmed, climbing out windows and down an adjacent tree. Mrs. Larson was asleep at the time of the blaze, which gutted the three-story home . . .’” Trish’s voice trailed off, and she let the newspaper drop to her lap. “What if you
had
been home?” She scooted closer to Archer, sitting on the sofa beside her.

We
should
have been home.
Sarah’s head rested in her hands as she leaned forward over the kitchen table in Trish’s apartment Monday morning.

Jay took the paper from Trish and continued reading. “‘Lt. Brad Huggins of the Cambridge Fire Department said the fire’s official cause has not been determined, though it does not appear to be related to recent gas work in the area near the home or to the nearby construction on campus. The investigation will be ongoing. As a safety precaution, the Banks Street home will be razed later this week.’” Jay ran his fingers through his hair. “And to think a couple of days ago I was complaining about my backpack getting stolen.”

“Let me see that,” Archer said, reaching over Trish to grab the paper. He scanned the article. “Ha! Morris used the word ‘home’ three times. What an idiot. Should’ve been my story.”

“Archer.”
Trish and Jay spoke at the same time. Even Sarah lifted her head to stare at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“How can you even think about the stupid article at a time like this?” Trish demanded.

“The news isn’t stupid,” Archer said. “It’s important that it be done right. All I’m saying is that I do a better job than Morris, and he’s vying for editor next year, and it’s bugging me.”

You’re bugging me,
Sarah felt like saying, but she didn’t. She stared dismally at the Formica table.
What now?
The only thing she could do was go home, but she wasn’t sure her father would even take her back. And if he did, he certainly wouldn’t let her continue school.
I’m as bad as Archer. Poor Mrs. Larson is dead, and I’m worried about where I’m going to live.
Sarah leaned back in her chair, wrapping her arms around herself.

Across the room, Jay rose from the couch and came over to her. “Walk you to class?”

She tilted her head back to look up at him. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Let’s not make things worse by getting behind in everything.”

“But my books—my notes and assignments . . .”

“Talk to your professors,” Jay encouraged. He took Sarah’s coat from the back of the chair. “Tell them what happened. They’ll understand. This afternoon, we’ll figure out where to go from here. I’ll stop by the bank to see if they can rush my new card.” He gave her a hopeful smile. “We can go shopping.”

“I can’t spend your money, Jay.” Sarah stood and let him help her into the coat. They walked past Archer, still perusing the article, red pen in hand, crossing out words, and Trish, curled up on the opposite end of the couch.

“Thanks,” Sarah called.

Trish lifted her hand in response.

I mean
really
thanks,
Sarah thought as she left the apartment. The future was suddenly very uncertain, and she wasn’t sure when or if she’d see Trish again
.
Her throat constricted.

Jay took her hand as he did every time they walked. Today she gently squeezed
his
fingers. He looked over at her, an eyebrow raised.

“Stealing my move?”

Sarah shook her head as fresh tears surfaced. After crying most of the day yesterday and half the night, she’d thought she was through. But these tears were for herself. Before, she’d cried about sweet Mrs. Larson. But now, the reality of her own life and dire circumstances sent her into deeper despair. She’d been lonely before, but now it would be a million times worse. She studied Jay’s profile, memorizing it, though it was the face in all her dreams.
How will I survive without seeing you, talking with you, touching you each day?

“I don’t know why I’m bothering to go to class,” she managed to say. “I don’t see how I’ll be able to keep going to school now. I’ll have to go home. There’s no way I can support—”

Jay stopped walking and pressed a finger to her lips. He led her over to a bench outside the sorority house and sat down beside her. “I have a better idea.”

“Mooching off of you is not better.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“I think it would be, but . . . that’s not what I had in mind.” Jay turned sideways so he could face her. He touched her arm. “Please listen to me before you make any decisions.”

She eased back onto the bench, arms still folded as she waited.

“Here’s the deal—or what I think might be the deal, anyway.” Jay paused, a pained look on his face. Sarah could tell he didn’t want to tell her what he was thinking. “What if someone set that fire on purpose?”

“What makes you suggest that?”

“A hunch. A feeling. I get them sometimes. It’s kind of a hereditary thing. Long story.”

“You say that a lot, you know.”

Jay nodded. “Yeah. And there’s a lot about me I need to tell you—but now’s not the time.”

“So, anything else, aside from a feeling?”

“The obvious one,” Jay said. “My backpack. Wallet. Keys. Whoever took them on Friday would’ve had everything he needed to know about me—including where I live and the key to the main house.”

“Oh, no.” Sarah’s hand covered her mouth and she began rocking back and forth. “You think—”

Jay put his arm around her. “I don’t know for sure, but yes, I think it might’ve been Carl. My locker was the only one broken into. It wasn’t a random act.”

Sarah turned her face into his shoulder as the tears came more freely. “This could be my fault. Mrs. Larson is dead because of me.”

“Shh.” Jay wrapped his other arm around her. “It’s
not
your fault. We don’t know anything for sure yet, and even if I’m right, you aren’t the one who started that fire.”

“What am I going to do? If you’re right—and Carl’s finally snapped—then he won’t stop. He’ll hurt you next.”

“Hey.” Jay lifted her chin and smiled. “You told me yourself I could hold my own against Carl. Have some confidence that this is a fair fight.”

“But it isn’t,” Sarah argued. “Carl doesn’t fight fair. He’ll do something like set your house on fire while you’re asleep. He’s a criminal, Jay. He’s got a record.”

Jay’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Well, if that’s all it takes to convince you I can handle him . . . I’ve got one too.”

* * *

“Jay’s right,” Kirk said. He finished scooping the ice cream and put the lid back on the five-quart tub. “You shouldn’t go home right now, at least until we have more information about the fire and the break-in at school.”

“We’d love to have you here.” Christa put spoons in everyone’s bowl. “Jay tells me you love disinfecting things, and I could use some help cleaning up our basement.”

“I couldn’t impose like that,” Sarah said.

“And I could use a babysitter—especially during those times I’m giving haircuts. Maybe you could even teach those rambunctious boys of ours to do something with the piano besides beat on it.”

“They beat it?” Sarah said, aghast, the spoon stopped halfway to her mouth.

Christa nodded. “Stay with us for a while. We can take it day by day or week by week, but for now, I think we’d all feel much better if you’re here.”

“Please stay, Sarah,” two little voices chorused from the other side of the kitchen door.

“Back to bed,” Kirk shouted. “Or I won’t save you any ice cream for tomorrow.”

The four adults exchanged smiles as they listened to the sounds of two pairs of feet scampering across the living room floor.

“I appreciate the offer,” Sarah said. “But you’ve both done too much already.” She looked at Kirk. “If my father found out your part in this . . .”

“He won’t,” Jay said.

“You can’t know that,” Sarah said. “Did you have any idea that Carl would follow you and break into your locker and then your home? How do we know he isn’t watching us right now?”

“We don’t know for sure it
was
Carl,” Kirk reminded her. “But we’re watching
him.
”

“What?” Sarah and Christa asked at the same time.

“It’s a weird . . . coincidence,” Kirk said. “I’ve been watching this park on O’Brian.”

Sarah swallowed uneasily. She knew that park well.

“The amount of drug activity there has escalated since Rossi’s release, so another officer and I are taking turns watching it. Anyway, your cousin’s been there a lot lately. He has some new wheels now.”

Carl at the park? Is he taking my place?
Confused and guilty thoughts tumbled around in her mind. “You’re watching him?” she asked, still trying to figure out what was going on with her father, Carl, and the undercover narcotics team.

“Not all the time,” Kirk said. “But right now, we know he isn’t here. And there are some things we can do to ensure he doesn’t find out where you’re staying.”

“No,” Sarah said again. “If Jay’s right and Carl started the fire, you’ll be in danger too. I won’t do that to you or your little boys.”

Christa reached across the table and placed her hand over Sarah’s. “If you’re worried about our house burning down, don’t. If those two—” She looked at the kitchen door where two sets of eyes were peeking through the crack. Suddenly it swung shut. “They think we don’t know they’re listening.” Christa rolled her eyes. “Anyway, if those two haven’t burned it down yet, I think we’re good.”

“You don’t know my cousin, don’t know what you’re dealing with,” Sarah argued.

“No?” Christa raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I need to get out some photos of the kids we took in when we lived in LA, children who stayed with us while their parents were trying to kick their meth habit. More often than not they kicked their kids instead—and occasionally our front door or window.”

Sarah sat quietly, unable to come up with another rebuttal.

Christa caught her eye. “We know it’s dangerous. We’re going to be very careful. And you’re going to be safe.”

Sarah finally nodded in defeat. She looked over at Jay, who’d been uncharacteristically silent this afternoon—all day, really, since his startling comment about having a criminal record. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that. He’d refused to elaborate, other than to tell her it was long ago, that he was very sorry about what he’d done, and that he had no current legal issues. He
had
promised to tell her everything in detail soon—if they ever managed to spend an evening alone. “Where are
you
going to stay?”

“We’ve found another apartment,” Jay said. “Archer, Mike, Charlie, and I.”

“Is it very far?” Sarah asked.
Maybe I do know how I feel about it. I trust Jay. I want to be with him.

“No,” Jay said. “I’ll still walk you to classes each day. Though we’ll meet on campus. Some other students will be with you until then.”

“I see.” It was all planned out, and she didn’t really have much say. Though what
were
her choices? She could go home to her father, never see Jay again, likely never go to school again or even sing in the church choir, or . . .
Let these good people help me.

It wasn’t much of a decision.

* * *

“Can I help with anything else?” Sarah finished polishing the last of Christa’s silver and tried not to think about Mrs. Larson doing the same task just a few days earlier. Sarah set the piece on the crowded table, next to the paper turkey Jeffrey had made at kindergarten.

“I think we’re good now.” Christa stirred the gravy while using her other hand to open the microwave to remove a bowl of vegetables.

Sarah lingered by the door, feeling out of place in the cramped kitchen. The table was set for nine—three other students would be joining them for Thanksgiving dinner. She wasn’t looking forward to making conversation with so many people, though compared to the group that had been here earlier, nine was a small crowd.

This morning, Kirk and Christa’s young adult group had shown up, laden with bags and boxes—all full of clothing and other items to replace those lost in the fire. Overwhelmed by so many people as well as their generosity, Sarah had hardly been able to put two words together to thank them. She owned more clothing now than she had when living with her dad.

With a pang of guilt she thought of her father, all alone today.
What has he been eating? It’s not like he or Carl can cook anything.
Then Sarah thought back to those awful moments in her father’s office when he had made it painstakingly clear that he viewed her more as a servant than a daughter. The guilt from a moment before dissipated.

“I think I’ll go see what Jay’s up to,” she told Christa and went to the living room, where Jay, Kirk, Jeffrey, and James were sprawled across the floor creating a Lego city.

Sarah knelt next to James. “That’s a great little building you have going there.”

“Jeffrey taked all the blocks.”

“They’re Legos, not blocks.” Jeffrey stood up. “Let’s play cowboys now. Let’s watch—”

“Let’s not,” Kirk said, grabbing his oldest by the seat of his pants before he could reach the DVDs. “Sarah, maybe you could play something on the piano for us.
Please?
”

A mischievous look in his eyes, Jay leaned over and whispered in her ear. She looked skeptical. He winked.

“What are you two up to?” Kirk asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Jay said, whistling.

Sarah sat down at the piano. For a few seconds she placed her fingers on various keys as she tried to remember the tune Jay had requested. Raising her fingers, she began an energetic arrangement of the
William Tell Overture.

“Oh, no.” Kirk lay back on the carpet.

“Come on, boys,” Jay said. He stood, poised to run. “To your horses. It’s the Lone Ranger.”

“Hi ho,
Sliver,
” Jeffrey exclaimed, slapping his sides. He scurried to get behind Jay before his brother could. The threesome began to gallop around Kirk, still lying on the floor, hands to his face.