Chapter Two
September 5, 1978
Jaime stared out the window of her childhood bedroom - long since made into a guest room by Mrs. Noah, the current owner, who'd invited Jaime to spend the night there and prepare for her wedding in her room. Her late father's rosebushes were much taller than they'd been when Jaime had spent so many happy hours daydreaming from this very spot on the window seat when she was younger. The bright yellow roses still bloomed faithfully every year, and Jaime had chosen them for the base of her bouquet, as a way to hold her father close to her heart,
The old tree house she and Steve had spent an entire summer building had been partially destroyed by years of wind and rain, but pieces of it still existed, and even though Mrs. Noah and her late husband had never had children, Jaime's swing set and sandbox still sat in the backyard. There were too many memories attached to them for anyone to think of tearing them down...
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September 14, 1954
Tears stung Jaime's face as she dug fiercely into the piles of sand, packing her little pail full and trying to understand why her new friend had been so mean to her. She and Steve had been walking home from school together every afternoon since they'd met, spending an hour or two each day doing 'stuff' together afterward. They rode bikes (Jaime's still had training wheels, but she was unusually fast), ran races through the fields (she was really, really fast, and he was a little pudgy), and even having dinner at each other's homes. They truly were becoming friends; or so Jaime had believed, until that afternoon.
For the very first time, Jaime had spotted Steve on the playground during his recess and right before her kindergarten class was to begin. She went bouncing up to him in her usual isn't-the-world-wonderful mood, unaware he'd told his classmates he walked home with her because her parents had paid him to make sure she got there safely. (It wasn't true, of course, but a guy's got an image to protect!)
"Hi, Steve! Wanna swing? Bet I can get mine higher than yours!" she'd chirped.
Steve turned to stare at her with a look of utter contempt on his face. "I think your mommy's got a nice, warm bottle for you, so why don't you find your blankie and go home, Kid?"
Jaime stared back at him, stuck out her tongue for good measure, and stomped away. When school was over, she didn't wait for him, taking off on her own and walking fast enough that she knew he wouldn't catch up.
When she got home, Jaime devoured her cookies, probably setting a new speed-eating record, and headed out to her sandbox to work off some anger. Once she started dwelling on it, she felt more hurt than angry and the tears began to fall. She dumped the fully-packed pail onto the sand, drove her fist into the mound she'd made, and began shoveling again. She was on her fourth mound when a very humble Steve approached the sandbox.
"Hi," he said quietly, suitably ashamed of himself when he saw she was crying. Jaime didn't answer. Suddenly, packing that pail completely full was the most important thing in her world. "Look, I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it. Jaime?"
"Go away. I'm busy."
"You wanna ride bikes, or something?" Steve asked, genuinely trying.
"Nope."
"C'mon - I said I was sorry."
Jaime stood up to her full height (which, even in the elevated sandbox was still much shorter than Steve), raised the filled bucket and...dumped the contents directly on top of his head.
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September 5, 1978
"Jaime? It's time to put on your dress, Dear." Helen's voice pulled Jaime out of her reverie. Jaime turned to her legal guardian (more of an adopted mom, really) and smiled radiantly.
"I found Mom's hanky," she told Helen happily. "The one her grandmother made, and my grandmother and my mother both wore during their weddings."
"It's beautiful, Dear. And it's your 'something old' and 'something blue' since it has that little flower in the corner."
"I just wish Mom and Dad were really here," Jaime said wistfully. "Being back in this house, and in this room, makes me realize how much I lost and how much I miss them..."
"They are here, Jaime."
"I know. And so are you, Mom," she said, hugging Helen tightly. "I don't know what I'd have ever done without you."
The older woman felt a tear forming in her eye; that simply wouldn't do, at least not right now. She picked up Jaime's dress from the bed and held it out to her. "It's time."
The dress was beautiful - and perfect: delicate antique lace over silk for the bodice and full skirt, with tiny flowers for buttons in the back. The full train and flared sleeves were made of the lace alone, as was Jaime's veil with its band of embroidered flowers at the hairline. Helen helped her slip the dress over her head and then buttoned the back. This time, she couldn't fight the tears as she stepped back to admire the young woman she'd always thought of as her daughter, even before Jaime's parents had been killed.
"Mom, you're gonna make me cry..."
"I'm sorry, Dear," Helen said, allowing herself a few more happy, nostalgic tears before dabbing her eyes with a tissue. "It's time to finish getting you ready to become Mrs. Steve Austin!"
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