Praise for Almost Forever:
“Deborah Raney books always captivate me! Almost Forever is a beautifully written and enthralling read. It made my heart sing, dance, cry, and turn more than a few flips!”
—Cindy Woodsmall, New York Times bestselling author
“As a Deborah Raney fan, I expected a great read and I got it. Almost Forever began with a gripping scene and held me enthralled to the end. Don’t miss this one!”
—Karen Young, bestselling author of Blood Bayou and Missing Max
Praise for Deborah Raney’s Clayburn Novels:
“Anyone who has loved and lost … and dared to love again … will celebrate Doug and Mickey’s journey.”
—Kim Vogel Sawyer, bestselling author of My Heart Remembers
“Deborah Raney writes from the heart with a story that probes the depth of human sorrow, the grit of endurance and the ability of love to rescue us when we’ve forgotten how to dream. Yesterday’s Embers will leave you warmed long after the last page”
—Harry Kraus, MD, bestselling author of Salty Like Blood
“Two broken souls from different worlds. … A heart-warming tale, with a pulse-pounding finish.”
—Creston Mapes, author of Dark Star (about Remember to Forget)
“I was enthralled from start to finish … Raney’s books always touch the heart in deep ways that keep me thinking about the undercurrents long after I turn the last page. The Clayburn series is a keeper!”
—Colleen Coble, author of The Lightkeeper’s Daughter
Praise for Deborah Raney’s A Nest of Sparrows:
“Raney intertwines poignant moments with genuine humor and refuses to make her characters one-dimensional.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Readers will lose their hearts to the characters in this jewel of a story. Polished and excellently plotted, Raney’s novel is engrossing from start to finish.”
—Romantic Times
Published by Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Forever After © 2011 by Deborah Raney
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Howard Subsidiary Rights Department, Simon & Schuster, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
In association with the Steve Laube Agency
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Raney, Deborah.
Forever after : a Hanover Falls novel / Deborah Raney.
p. cm.
1. Firefighters—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3568.A562F67 2011
813’.54—dc22 2011001884
ISBN 978-1-4165-9993-7
ISBN 978-1-4391-2363-8 (ebook)
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
HOWARD and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Manufactured in the United States of America
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Edited by Dave Lambert and Holly Halverson
Designed by Stephanie D. Walker
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
For Max Daniel
Content
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Reading Group Questions
About the Author
Acknowledgments
My deepest gratitude to the following for help with research, ideas, proofreading, and “author support.”
My critique partner and dear friend, Tamera Alexander, Kenny and Courtney Ast, Ryan and Tobi Layton, Terry Stucky, Max and Winifred Teeter, Courtney Walsh, the writers of ACFW, and especially the Kansas 8, who give wings to my ideas.
Steve Laube, best agent in the whole wide world.
Deep appreciation to my amazing editor Dave Lambert, and also to Holly Halverson at Howard Books/Simon & Schuster for great direction and encouragement.
My amazing husband, Ken, and our growing family—precious children, grandchildren, and the wonderful extended family God has given us: you all bring me so much joy!
Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?
MATTHEW 6:25–26
He tried to move again, but the pain robbed him of breath.
1
Thursday, November 1
Lucas Vermontez clutched the mask to his face and forced out a measured breath, scrabbling to remember everything he’d learned in training. His air-pack fed a steady line of filtered, compressed air, but the thick bank of smoke in front of him carried him to the brink of claustrophobia.
The concrete beneath his feet shuddered. Next to him, he felt his partner, Zach Morgan, drop down on all fours. Lucas followed suit. Catching a glimpse of Zach, he wondered if his own eyes held the same wild fear.
He sucked in air and exhaled again, fighting panic. This was no training exercise. This was the real thing. Statue-still in the smoky darkness, he strained to discern the voices he was sure he’d heard seconds earlier. But his helmet and hood created their own white noise, and no sound pierced them save the roar of the fire overhead.
A split second later an explosion rocked the building, throwing him flat on his belly and knocking the breath from him. Debris rained down on them, and when he could breathe again, he scrambled for protection.
Zach motioned frantically behind them toward the entrance they’d come in. In the aftershocks of the explosion, the copper pipes overhead trembled and the thick wooden beams bowed beneath the weight of the building.
Lucas forced out a breath and counted, trying to
slow his respiration. If the structure collapsed, they didn’t stand a chance. They were in the belly of the beast—the basement of the former hospital that now housed a homeless shelter—with three stories stacked on top of them.
“Go!” He motioned Zach out, his own voice ringing in his ears.
Zach scrambled ahead of him, hunkered low trying to stay in the two-foot clearing beneath the bank of smoke.
Lucas sent up a prayer that they’d gotten everybody out. His father, the station captain, had radioed moments ago that all but one of the shelter’s residents were accounted for. He’d ordered the crews to evacuate and had sent Lucas and Zach in to search for the missing man.
It always filled him with pride to hear Pop’s commanding voice. Manny Vermontez was the best fire captain Hanover Falls—or the state of Missouri, for that matter—had ever had. And that wasn’t just the opinion of a proud son. Pop had worked hard to get where he was, and the whole family rightfully had him on a pedestal, even if it sometimes caused conflict at home. Ma swore her prematurely graying hair came from having a husband, and now a son, who put their lives on the line almost daily.
“Lucas!”
He spun at the sound of Pop’s voice. Not on the two-way like he expected, but inside the building—down here.
“Pop?” He turned back, straining to see through the thick smoke. He saw no one. “Zach?”
His partner must have gone ahead to the entrance. Good. Zach would make it out okay. But what was Pop doing down here?
“Pop? Where are you?”
Nothing. The crew from Station 1 must have arrived. Either that or somebody was still trapped inside the building. Pop would never leave the control engine otherwise.
The smoke banked downward and he had no choice but to crawl on his belly, commando-style. He still had air, but everything in him told him to get out. Now.
But he couldn’t leave. His dad was down here!
The building groaned and shuddered again.
“Lucas!”
There it was again. He rolled over on his back and propped himself on his elbows, trying desperately to figure out which direction the shout had come from. He listened for a full ten seconds but heard only the deep roar of the fire above him.
He started belly-crawling again, but in the orange-black he was confused about which way he’d been headed. He needed to follow the sound of Pop’s voice. His dad would lead him out. But where had they come in? Everything around him looked the same. Panic clawed at his throat again.
Once more he heard the voice. Weaker this time, but he didn’t think he was imagining it. The old-timers told stories about hearing voices, seeing things—hallucinations—in the frantic moments where a man hung between life and death. But he wasn’t in full panic mode—not yet. And he knew his father’s voice.
He crawled deeper into the blackness, forearm over forearm in the direction of the voice, grateful for the heavy sleeves of his bunker coat. But he heard nothing now. Nothing except the raging fire and the ominous creak of beams somewhere above his head.
He stopped again and listened. He smelled smoke and the unique odor of the air-pack, but there was something else, too. Something had changed.
A new sound filtered through his helmet. The clanging of engines? A crew from Station 1 had been requested. That must be them arriving. But the sound was coming from behind him. He’d been heading deeper into the building.
He reversed his direction. Thank God for those engines. Their clamor would guide him out. The taut thread of fear loosened a bit. Help was on the way.
“Pop?” he shouted. “You there?” He waited for a reply before moving forward. His air supply seemed thinner than before. Smoke choked him. He couldn’t stay down here much longer. He would have sold his soul for a two-way radio right now. He prayed Zach had gotten out … that his buddy would let them know he was still down here.
At that moment, a faint glimmer caught his eye. The voices of his fellow firefighters drifted to him. He crawled faster, heading toward the light.
“Hey! It’s Vermontez!” Molly Edmonds shouted. “Lucas is out! Tell the chief!”
Lucas collapsed on the damp concrete outside and felt strong arms pull him out, then help him to his feet.
He stripped off his mask and hood, gulping in the sooty air. “Where’s Pop? Where’s my dad?”
“He went in after you!” Molly yelled over the roar of the blaze. “Didn’t you see him down there? What about Zach?” She jogged back toward the building.
“Anybody seen the captain?” someone yelled. “Where’s Manny?”
“Morgan’s still in there, too!”
Yanking his headgear back on, Lucas stumbled to his feet and jogged after Molly.
He heard the men shout for them to retreat, but he didn’t care. His father was in that inferno looking for him.
Molly disappeared into the mouth of the building. He followed. A split second later another explosion rocked the earth, knocking him to his knees. Oh, dear God! No! God, help me!
He scrambled for the entrance, but the opening had disappeared. Someone grabbed him in the darkness. He clawed at the rubble around him, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel his legs. Something was pinning him in.
He heaved against the weight on his calves and searing pain sliced into his thigh. He tried to move again, but the pain robbed him of breath. He found a crumb of comfort in the fact that he still had feeling in his legs.
“My dad’s down there!” His voice was raspy from the smoke. He couldn’t seem to get enough air to propel his words. “Somebody get down there! Pop! God! Help!”
The wail of sirens drowned his cries, and everything faded into blackness.
One year later, Saturday, November 1
Lucas jerked awake, sitting straight up in bed. He put a palm to his racing heart, then wiped a fine film of perspiration from his forehead. Sirens wailed in the distance outside his bedroom window. Or was that only part of the dream?
He stilled to listen and heard only the quiet rustle of his bed sheets, and the frantic rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker in the backyard.
Through the haze of sleep, he eased leaden legs over the side of the bed and reached for his cane. It felt like an extra appendage after all these months.
He stretched his legs out, averting his eyes from the crazy-quilt of scars that stitched from knee to ankle on his left leg, and the mottled burn scars that went from the top of his foot up his calf on the right. More than thirty bones in his legs and feet had been shattered. He hadn’t known the human body contained that many bones. His long, muscular runner’s legs had been his best feature before the fire. They’d inspired Cate Selvy to affectionately nickname him “Legs.”
Before pity could seize him, he forced himself to look in the corner of his room where the folded wheelchair was parked, and beside it an aluminum walker. He murmured a prayer of gratitude. It could be worse. Had been worse. He should probably store the wheelchair and walker away now, but they were good reminders of how far he’d come in one year.
Today was an anniversary he’d never wanted to celebrate.
His bedroom door nudged open a few inches, and Lucky slinked through the opening, purring loud enough to be heard across the room. Lucas clicked his tongue and the large tom tiptoed over last night’s dirty laundry. Lucas ran his hand over the silver gray fur.
He’d adopted Lucky—then a nameless kitten—two years ago after rescuing him from the ruins of a burned-out warehouse on the outskirts of the Falls. Once the cat’s scorched paws and singed whiskers had healed, he’d turned into a handsome animal.
Lucas hobbled into the bathroom with Lucky trailing him. His physical therapists—and his mother—had tried to talk him into getting rid of Lucky, worried the cat would trip him up. But Lucky was one of the bright spots in his life these days. One of the few.
Now there was a depressing thought. But he wasn’t about to get rid of one of the few friends who’d stood by him through it all.
He
opened the medicine cabinet and stared at the bottle of Vicodin, steeled himself to not need it today. He’d been off pain meds for almost three months now, but the memory of the torment he’d endured wouldn’t let him throw the bottle away. Not yet.
In the kitchen down the hall, dishes rattled in the sink. Any minute Ma would be in to badger him to eat a breakfast he wasn’t hungry for.
He bent over the sink and splashed cold water on his face, waiting for the nausea to hit him, as it had every morning since that awful night. The sick feeling came in waves as the icy water shocked him awake. Pop is dead. And the other firefighters … Zach is dead. Molly. All of them. Why did that truth have the power to crush him again with each new day?
Because he should have gotten Zach out. Because Pop had died searching for Lucas, trying to save him. He heard Pop’s voice inside his head now, clear and strong, telling his family, “Anyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” Pop had quoted the words again and again.
Well, Lucas Vermontez had called out to God that awful day. And maybe God had heard him. He didn’t know. God hadn’t saved Pop. And since He had saved Lucas, Pop’s oft-quoted verse begged the question: saved for what?
Because it was starting to look like Lucas Vermontez wasn’t worth being saved.
Clarissa sat with her jaw hanging open. “How on earth could you let this happen?”
2
Wednesday, November 5
Jenna Morgan stared at the numbers on the bank statement in front of her and punched the figures into the calculator one more time. It was her third try at reconciling her checking account, and for once she wished the stupid checkbook hadn’t balanced. This couldn’t be right! Her account was overdrawn by almost eight hundred dollars.
Trying to quell the panic rising in her throat, she got the bank’s number off the statement and dialed it. She hadn’t even paid the mortgage yet, and it was already two days late. That would set her back another two thousand dollars, plus the late fee, never mind that she’d paid last month’s payment with a credit card.
The statements spread on the table beside her laptop warned that she was over the limit on two of her three credit cards already.
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