“Okay, little one.” Kari set her Bible down and stretched. “Let’s get you to bed.” She cradled Jessie to her chest, quietly carried her down the hall, and laid her in her crib. “Jesus loves you, Jessie,” she whispered over her sleeping daughter. “Don’t ever forget.”
Normally, Kari would have set about doing laundry and tidying the house. But CNN’s sports was about to come on, and she was dying to see reports on last night’s Giants game. She’d watched it at her parents’ house and several times caught glimpses of Ryan on the sidelines. It was the first time she’d seen him since Jessie was born, and now, despite her chores, she couldn’t stop thinking of him.
Will there ever be a time when we’re together again?
Kari pondered the thought as she returned to the living room and flipped on the television. It was a few minutes before nine, and a talk show was wrapping up. A quick look at current news would come next, and then the sports. Once in a while reporters interviewed the assistant coaches, so chances were good that Ryan might be on this morning. Either way, Kari wanted to hear their assessment of the Giants’ loss.
Kari grabbed a glass of water and nestled into the overstuffed leather sofa she and Tim had purchased three years ago. It felt good to relax. She leveled her gaze at the TV.
Suddenly the screen went blank and a banner appeared across the picture with the words Special Report.
What was this? Kari sat a bit straighter, waiting. Instantly the image switched to a frazzled reporter standing on a rooftop in New York City. Kari’s breath caught in her throat, and she gasped. Behind the reporter in the distance stood the famous twin towers of the World Trade Center—and one of them was on fire.
She turned up the volume. “We have unconfirmed reports that approximately ten minutes ago an American Airlines jet crashed into the World Trade Center north tower.” The reporter’s eyes were wide, his voice strained with fear. “This is a building where thousands of people work and visit every day. We have no reports yet as to how many floors are involved or what the possible number of casualties might be.”
Kari stared at the screen, her mouth open. Reagan’s father worked in one of those towers. Somewhere near the top, from what Luke had said. “Dear God,” Kari whispered, “help them. Please.”
The reporter was still spouting details, revealing them as quickly as they came through his earphone. The jet had taken off from Boston’s Logan International Airport with more than a hundred people aboard. There had been no reports of engine trouble by the pilot. Dozens of fire units were responding to the scene.
Kari could barely breathe. Flames engulfed several floors near the upper part of the building.
What could have caused a plane to swoop down from the sky and fly into a building? It was the most horrific accident Kari had ever seen. And she could do nothing but watch.
No, God. It’s too awful.
Thick billows of black smoke curled up along the side of the tower, contrasting sharply with the city’s brilliant blue sky. The blaze wasn’t merely tongues of flames, but a glowing red furnace that grew larger by the second.
Kari was about to call her parents’ house and see if they were watching when from the right side of the screen another jet entered the picture and flew straight into the second tower. A tremendous explosion shook the building as a fireball erupted into the sky.
“A second plane!” the reporter shouted, his voice frantic. “A second plane has hit the World Trade Center, this time the south tower.” He paused and pressed on his left ear. “Reports now say it might not be an accident but an attack of some kind.”
The entire scene was surreal, like something from a movie riddled with high-energy special effects. It wasn’t possible. Two jets loaded with people couldn’t have accidentally crashed into the twin towers minutes apart. And if this was an attack, who was behind it and what might happen next? Kari continued to stare at the screen, her mouth still open.
Lord, please . . . don’t let this be happening.
The camera panned in closer, capturing the sight of debris and windowpanes and pieces of the building raining down on the streets of New York.
“Oh no!” The reporter shouted in alarm. Kari watched as several people fell or jumped from the burning floors and plummeted to the ground.
The reporter was as shocked as everyone else watching. His words were choppy and panic-stricken. “This is . . . this has to be the worst disaster New York City has ever seen. Hundreds of firefighters are flooding the scene, but the flames are eighty, ninety floors up. People are obviously desperate. It’s difficult . . . difficult to believe that anyone in either of those jets could have survived.”
Either of the jets? Kari’s heartbeat hesitated.
Ryan would have been flying this morning from Denver to New York. What if he’d been on the second plane? Her heart began beating again with a double thud and then raced along at twice its normal rate. She ran to the kitchen for the phone.
Her mother answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s Kari. Are you watching TV? Can you believe this is happening?”
“I turned it on a few minutes ago. Your father called from the hospital. Everyone’s saying it’s terrorists.” Her mother’s voice was shrill, desperate. “Reagan’s father must be right in the middle of this.”
“I’m . . . I’m . . .” Kari was so frightened she could barely find the words. Her hands and arms shook. She moved back near the television, too terrified to sit down. “Ryan was flying home this morning.”
“Oh, Kari . . . no. There are hundreds of planes in the sky.” Her mother tried to sound reassuring, but Kari could hear the tremble in her voice. The reporter had said nearly three hundred people were believed to be on those planes. What if one of them was Ryan?
“I’ve gotta go, Mom. I have to find him.”
“What can I do?”
Kari closed her eyes and forced herself to think. “Pray.” Her voice broke and she blinked, fixing her gaze on the terrible images playing out across the screen. “Pray, and don’t stop.”
The moment Kari hung up, she dialed Ryan’s number. Maybe they’d arrived home earlier that morning, caught a red-eye to beat the rush hour. If so, he might already be back at his apartment. With each ring, Kari’s fear doubled. Where was he?
Come on, Ryan . . . answer!
On the fourth ring, someone picked up. “Hello?”
It was Ryan’s voice, and the flood of relief was strong enough to send Kari to her knees.
“You’re there!” He was alive. Of the countless people who would be grieving a personal loss today, she would not be among them. Tears stung at her eyes. Thank you, Lord . . . thank you . . . thank you. “Ryan, thank God you’re okay.”
“Kari, what? You sound awful.”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what? I just got out of the shower.”
“The World Trade Center’s been hit. Both buildings.” Then she remembered. Ryan had told her he could see the towers from his apartment window. “Look outside. I’m serious.”
She heard the sound of his pulling up his blinds. And then his soft gasp. “What . . . what happened?”
“Turn on the news. Two jets crashed into the towers a few minutes apart.” She was grateful he was alive, but the horror of the moment was still more than she could believe. Her television now showed streams of fire trucks rushing to the base of the buildings. “I thought . . . I was afraid you were on one of the planes.”
“No . . . oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” He groaned as though he finally understood her concern. “We chartered an earlier plane. I got in half an hour ago and went straight to the shower.”
Kari drew a deep breath. “I was so afraid, Ryan.”
“Wait a minute. I’m turning on my TV.” He was quiet. “I can see the whole thing out my window, Kari. It’s worse than the pictures. It takes up the whole sky.”
“Remember Reagan—Luke’s girlfriend?” Kari stared at the screen. Ryan was right
; the fire was tearing through the towers. She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were shaking again.
“Yeah, I think so. You’ve talked about her.”
“Her . . . her father works on one of the top floors.”
Ryan moaned. “Is anyone getting out? Have they said anything about the rescue?”
“It’s a madhouse. People are using the stairs, but they’re saying thousands are still inside.” Kari gripped the phone more tightly. “Pray for Reagan, will you? For her father?”
“What about Landon Blake? Didn’t he take a job with the New York City Fire Department?”
“His start date isn’t until November first. But his best friend’s there—probably at the scene by now.”
She needed to call her family and see if anyone knew anything about Reagan’s father. “Listen, I’ve gotta go, Ryan. Call me later.”
“Okay. I’ll be praying.”
Kari hung up the phone. Dear God, help us . . . help us. So many people are in the middle of that fire, Lord. Please . . .
Almost in response, her Scripture verse from that morning came to mind: The Spirit who lives in you is greater than the spirit who lives in the world.
Kari clenched her teeth. Let it be true, God. Even on a day like this . . . please.
Her next call was to Ashley.
* * *
They had just finished baths at Sunset Hills when the phone rang.
“Sunset Hills Adult Care Home.” Ashley cradled the phone against her shoulder.
“Are you watching the news?” It was Kari. Her tone was strained.
“No. Why—what’s up?” Ashley enjoyed the sound of her own voice these days—light and upbeat, the way Kari’s used to sound.
“Turn it on, Ashley. We’re being attacked by terrorists. Two planes have crashed into the World Trade Center.”
Ashley sucked in a quick breath. “What do you mean?” She had just helped Irvel settle into her recliner. All three women were tucked into their chairs, snuggled beneath blankets, and ready for their morning programs. Ashley flipped on the television, and immediately images of the flaming twin towers filled the screen. “How in the world . . . ?”
Kari sounded like she was crying. “I’m worried about Reagan.”
Then Ashley remembered. “Her father works at the top of one of those buildings, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. I’m gonna call Mom and see if she’s heard anything. I’ll call you back.”
“Okay.”
“Pray, Ashley. This is awful.”
“I will.” Ashley’s answer came before she had time to think. She hung up the phone and pulled an empty rocking chair up next to Irvel, a few feet from the television.
“Is this a movie, dear?” Irvel gestured toward the screen. “Hank doesn’t like me watching violent movies. Gives me nightmares.”
“No, Irvel.” Ashley turned and patted the old woman’s hand. “It’s not a movie.”
“Looks like King Kong,” Helen barked. She pointed to the television. “King Kong was on that building last time.”
“King Kong,” Edith muttered. She fixed her eyes on the screen.
“Yes, I think you’re right.” Irvel pointed at Helen and smiled. “King Kong did that in one of those violent movies. That’s what it is.”
The camera switched to a reporter standing on a New York City street. “We have word now that the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey has closed access to all bridges and tunnels leading into and out of the city. Triage centers are being set up in various locations around the twin towers. Fire officials say they estimate hundreds of people may be injured. There’s no word yet about casualties.”
From the corner of her eye, Ashley could see Irvel staring at her. “You know, dear, you have the most beautiful . . .”
Ashley tuned out the rest and patted Irvel’s hand again. It was all she could do to hear the report, but she was afraid to turn up the volume. The women were already on edge.
“Hundreds of firefighters have responded to the scene, but reports say the heat is too intense to reach the top floors. Thousands of people may be trapped inside and—”
Firefighters? Ashley held her breath. It was September 11. If Landon hadn’t been hurt, he would be there now. Right in the middle of the madness, rushing into a burning building more than a hundred stories high.
She caught her breath and stared hard at the screen. Landon was safe, but what about his friend? Hadn’t Landon told her Jalen’s company was stationed in lower Manhattan—near the World Trade Center? Certainly he would have responded by now.
Irvel leaned forward in her chair and glanced at the other women. “Does anyone know when Hank’ll be back? I don’t like him gone this long.”
“Spies.” Helen slapped her hand against the arm of her recliner.
“Hank’s not a spy, dear.” Irvel sent Helen a simple smile. “He’s been checked.”
Helen pointed to the television screen. “Spies. King Kong has a whole army of spies. None of them have been checked.”
A sound began to come from Edith. Her chair was situated at the far end of the room because she didn’t often participate in the conversations between Irvel and Helen. “No . . . no . . . no . . . no . . . no . . .” The words were mumbled together in a fluid stream, but they were loud enough to understand.
Ashley stood and crossed the room. “It’s okay, Edith. Everything’s okay.”
Edith moved her head back and forth in small, short shakes. She raised a trembling hand and pointed to the television. “No . . . no . . . no . . .”
“Would you like a nap, Edith?”
The woman froze and then nodded. She had the eyes of a frightened child as she took hold of Ashley’s hand and followed her down the hall to her bedroom. “Everything’s okay, Edith. You get some sleep.”
Ashley returned to the living room as quickly as possible. Helen and Irvel were still debating whether King Kong had set the fires, and if so, whether spies were involved.
Meanwhile, the news continued to pour in. A different reporter was updating the public, saying that President Bush had announced the country was under an apparent terrorist attack. All airports in the United States had been shut down.
The country? Did that mean something else was about to happen? Something worse? Ashley folded her arms tightly in front of her and clutched her sides. Her stomach hurt. What if Reagan’s father was still in one of those buildings?
Ashley felt a tap on her arm. “Excuse me, dear. My name’s Irvel. My husband’s fishing with his friends. Can you tell me when he’ll be home?”
Ashley sighed. “It won’t be long, Irvel. Everything’s fine.”
“What about King Kong?” Helen gripped the edges of her chair and slid forward. She waved an angry hand toward the television. “Look at that mess. Who’s going to check those people?”
Ashley ignored the question. She fixed her attention on the pieces of news she could hear: “. . . reports that the fires are out of control in both buildings . . . hundreds of firefighters racing to the scene . . . command posts set up on the seventieth floor . . .”
“Excuse me again.” Irvel took gentle hold of Ashley’s hand. “Hank shouldn’t be fishing today. I’m worried about him.”
“He’s okay, Irvel. Everything’s okay.” Ashley was desperate to talk to Landon, but she wasn’t his wife, and she wouldn’t call him at work.
The reporter’s voice changed tone and grew louder. “We’ve just learned that another plane has crashed into the Pentagon. Officials are evacuating the White House. We’ll take you live to a reporter on the scene.”
Ashley’s eyes grew wide as the image changed. The massive Pentagon complex in Washington, D.C., was masked in thick clouds of black smoke. An entire section of the building was missing, and balls of fire erupted into the sky.
The Sunset Hills women were silent for a moment, staring at the screen.
“It looks violent to me, dear.” Irvel shook her head.
“You
see!” Helen pounded her fist against her thigh. “It’s King Kong! I knew it. My mother told me to look out for King Kong.”
“Hank doesn’t want me watching violent movies.” Irvel made a polite coughing sound and tapped Ashley’s arm once more. “Is this a movie, dear?”
Ashley covered Irvel’s hand with her own. “No, Irvel. It’s not.”
“Oh.” Irvel managed a weak smile. “Well, then . . .” She hesitated. “You know, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Irvel.”
* * *
Today was not a day for business as usual.
That was rapidly becoming clear in Dr. John Baxter’s medical office, where patients and staff alike sat glued to the lobby television set and very little clinical work was getting done.
John Baxter had decided to simply finish with the patients who were there and cancel the rest of his appointments for the day. He was giving instructions to the office manager when Brooke burst through the glass doors of the office.
“Dad, have you seen it?” Brooke was rarely emotional. Intelligent and self-sufficient, she usually handled her feelings with the same precise care as she had once handled studies. But here, in light of what was happening in New York and Washington, D.C., she took his hands, her face frozen with fear. “They’ve hit the Pentagon too.”
“I know.” He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back. “We need to pray.”
“I have been praying—like crazy.”
John resisted the urge to act surprised. Brooke and her husband, Peter, were doctors. Though both were from families where faith was a mainstay, neither clung to those beliefs now.
At least not until today.
John led Brooke to the staff lounge, where two of his partners and several nurses were gathered around the television screen. In all his life John had never seen such horror. Hundreds of people were dead. Thousands more were probably injured. America was under attack.
But even now, John was certain God hadn’t abandoned them. The Lord was there in those burning buildings, just as he was here beside them. God reigned even at a moment like this, and he would work all things out for the good of those who loved him. In the process he would cause the entire nation to remember what mattered in life—what really mattered.
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