Remember

by Karen Kingsbury; Karen Kingsbury

  “Definitely.” Luke finished the conversation and hung up the phone once more.

  The moment he did, Reagan moved her finger toward the Playback button. This time Luke held up a gentle hand and stopped her. “Reagan, don’t.”

  She jerked his hand off and glared at him, her blonde eyebrows knit in a fury that took Luke by surprise. “Leave me alone. I’ll listen to it as much as I want.”

  “It’s not going to help.” He kept his tone patient, kind. The brush of his fingers against her elbow was the only support he felt free to give. Wasn’t there anything he could do? His heart ached for a way to help her, but clearly she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Small wonder after what happened last night.

  He cleared his throat. “Your mother wants you to pack your things. She made you a bus reservation.” He raised his hands a few inches and let them fall to his sides again. “You leave this afternoon at four.”

  Reagan moved away from the machine, her shoulders slumped forward, defeated. “I . . . I didn’t take his call.” She slid off the sofa, fell slowly to her knees, and sat back on her heels, her body bent. “Luke!” She cried out his name, and something in him snapped. It didn’t matter if she pushed him away. He dropped to the floor beside her and put his arm around her, hugging her close.

  “I’m sorry, Reagan. I’m so sorry.”

  “Why?” She looked at him, her face twisted in sorrow. “What did we do?”

  “We didn’t mean to, Reagan. It just happened.”

  Reagan cried out again and gave way to a battering series of sobs that shook her body until she could barely draw a breath. “It’s my . . . my fault, Luke. If I would have taken his call . . .”

  It was the same thing Luke was thinking. If only she’d taken his call.

  Reagan and her dad would have chatted about the Giants, and her father would have caught her up on the latest family news. They would have talked about a visit to Bloomington and how Reagan’s new classes were coming along. She would have told him she loved him. And by the time she hung up, the moment of passion he and Reagan were caught in would have been over. They would have called it a night, maybe joked about the close call and promised to never again let themselves be alone together like that. Not for any reason, even a Giants game.

  If only she’d taken his call.

  Luke wiped the palm of his free hand against his jeans. “You didn’t know.”

  “God!” She wailed out the name, letting her grief have its way. Her head dropped back, and she stared at the ceiling. The word was barely understandable through her weeping. “Why?”

  She turned to Luke and held out her hands like a broken child. “Help me!”

  He put both his arms around her this time, holding her as she collapsed against him. “I’m here, Reagan. I’m here.”

  “What kind of Christian am I?” Her voice was broken, beaten. Luke couldn’t tell which hurt her worse—her father’s death or that she’d intentionally missed having a final conversation with him. “My dad always told me . . . he knew I’d wait for marriage.” She squeezed her eyes shut, the tears coming in torrents. “He . . . he told me I was one in a million.”

  Luke felt miserable, like his guts were being ripped out. Not only had Reagan lost her father. She’d lost him hours after doing something that would have broken his heart.

  And it was all Luke’s fault.

  He rubbed his hand awkwardly along her lower back. “We didn’t plan it, Reagan. It was an accident.”

  Reagan’s shoulders shook again. “It . . . it doesn’t matter if it was an accident.” She gulped back a series of small sobs. Her eyes showed equal parts pain and guilt. “Don’t you see, Luke? I didn’t get to say good-bye.”

  “You can’t think like that.”

  Her eyes were vacant. She isn’t hearing me. He searched his mind, desperate for something to say, something to do. He should pray. That’s what Christians did at a time like this. But what good would praying do now? It wouldn’t bring Reagan’s father back or restore the twin towers.

  The reality of that left Luke dry and desperate and trapped. He had nowhere to turn, and absolutely no one to turn to.

  He worked the muscles in his jaw. No, for the first time in his life he didn’t feel like praying. He had nothing to say to God.

  Nothing at all.

  * * *

  The line of blood donors wound down the sidewalk and out to the street.

  After leaving his office, John Baxter worked alongside Brooke and Peter at the hospital for most of the day, helping supervise the drive. The Red Cross had too many volunteers to deal with, and their officials had made a quick arrangement with the staff at St. Anne’s, naming the hospital as an alternate site for people wishing to give blood.

  As busy as he’d been that day, every now and then John caught a news report.

  At one o’clock that afternoon, President Bush came on TV and promised that the United States would “hunt down and punish those responsible for these cowardly acts.” Several major airports had been evacuated for precautionary reasons, he said. In all, a total of four planes had gone down in what appeared to be a major terrorist attack.

  John moved from table to table in the hospital cafeteria, where the temporary blood bank had been set up. He’d never seen anything like it. The people in the line were from all walks of life—college kids, old men, clergy, young women. The university’s entire football team showed up in uniform to give. Several of them held American flags.

  “Have you seen the line out there?” Brooke found him at one of the tables. Her straight dark hair was damp, her forehead glistening from the effort of getting people through the line.

  John’s heart lifted as he looked out the window. The river of donors was even longer than before. God was up to something amazing even now, in an hour cloaked in darkness.

  His throat felt suddenly thick, and he worked to find his voice. “Those terrorists wanted to tear this country apart today.” John swallowed hard and shook his head. “But you know something?”

  “Yeah.” Brooke gave him a sad smile tinged with hope. “It’s made us remember everything important in life. In all our days, we’ve never been more together.”

  * * *

  Ashley was in the Sunset Hills kitchen, ten minutes away from being done for the day, when the doorbell rang.

  Laura Jo and Bert were napping in their rooms, Edith was asleep in her chair, and Helen and Irvel were watching The Sound of Music on video. Ashley had set up a small television in the kitchen to catch news updates on the attacks. She saw no point in upsetting the residents. Old movies were part of their routine. So even on a day that might change the course of history, the girls would watch Julie Andrews and be none the wiser.

  None of the residents was expecting visitors, but then nothing about the day had been normal. She’d been tempted to call Landon, but the idea made her too uncomfortable. She’d never called him at work before. And today, especially, he was bound to be caught up in the tragedy at hand. He had to be worried sick about Jalen. From the reports coming in that afternoon, most of the firefighters who’d responded early were buried under the rubble of the twin towers.

  Unless Jalen was off today—or unless his station hadn’t been called to the disaster scene—the news couldn’t be good.

  The bell rang again. Ashley dried her hands and headed for the door.

  “Dear . . .” Irvel waved at her from the recliner and motioned toward the door. “I think it’s Hank.”

  “Wait!” Helen stared hard at the door, her brow lowered. “Hank’s been checked, right?”

  Ashley flashed a smile in Irvel’s direction as she unlocked the door. “Let’s see who it is first.”

  She opened the door and saw Landon, still in standard-issue, black firefighter pants and a white buttoned-down shirt. The rims of his eyes were red and swollen, despair written across his face. He neither moved nor spoke a word as Ashley went to him, taking him in her arms.

  �
��I wanted to call you.” She spoke in a whisper. “Have you heard anything?”

  He brushed his cheek against hers. “I talked to his mother.” He cleared his throat, his tone flat, broken. “Jalen was working today. His company was one of the first to respond.”

  Ashley felt the blow. “No, Landon.”

  He lifted his head and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I need you to take me to the bus stop.”

  “The bus stop?”

  “I’m going, Ashley. I can’t leave him buried beneath those buildings.”

  “What . . . what about your job?”

  “I was nearly finished, anyway. The sooner I get to New York the better.”

  Ashley could think of a dozen quick reasons why Landon should wait. There would be enough people helping with the rescue effort. It was still too soon after the attacks. What if the enormous pile of debris wasn’t stable? Landon could be hurt or killed if he put himself in the middle of the mayhem in New York.

  But the most pressing reason was this: She wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. They would have no long good-bye, no last week or last day or last time together, the way she had pictured it.

  From inside the house, Irvel called out, “Dear, is it Hank?”

  “No, Irvel.” Ashley blinked. “It’s not Hank.”

  Landon motioned inside. “Can I wait here until you’re done?”

  “Sure.” She stepped back into the house, and he followed.

  Once inside, he dug his hands into his pants pockets. “I have my stuff in the front seat. You could follow me home so I can drop off my car, then give me a ride to the station. The bus leaves at four.”

  “Of course.”

  “I already said good-bye to my parents.” He met her gaze and held it. “I told them I wanted you to take me.”

  Irvel was waving her hand again. “Hello, dear. I’m Irvel.” Her smile drifted from Ashley to Landon. “And hello to you too. Aren’t you a handsome young man!”

  Despite the tragedy of the day, the uncertainty of Jalen’s welfare, and the staggering losses that were still being reported, both Ashley and Landon smiled. It lasted only a second or two, but the break in the sorrow felt wonderful.

  Landon nodded in Irvel’s direction. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  He had been to Sunset Hills one other time. After hearing about Irvel and her friends, he’d wanted to meet them. Now, just a few weeks later, it was clear by the looks on their faces that neither Irvel nor Helen remembered his visit.

  “I’ve seen you somewhere before.” Irvel held up a single finger as she studied Landon’s face. “You’re one of Hank’s fishing friends, right?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve never fished with Hank.”

  Irvel shook her head. “I guess not. Hank’s friends are a bit older than you.”

  “He’s okay.” Helen barked the statement from her chair a few feet away. “He’s not a spy.”

  Ashley smiled and took Landon’s hand. “No, Helen, he’s not a spy.”

  She wove her fingers between his. Could he feel the way her hand trembled? Everything was happening too fast. In one hour Landon would be on a bus to New York City. Who knew when she might see him again? Or if she would?

  Her stomach ached from the uncertainty. She forced herself to focus. Helen was talking about the people at Sunset Hills who’d been checked.

  She glanced at Landon. “Did you hear about King Kong?”

  Landon looked at Ashley, his expression blank. “King Kong?”

  “It’s a long story.” Ashley gave him a crooked grin. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “By the way, dear”—Irvel switched her attention to Ashley—“you have the most beautiful hair. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  A sad smile lifted the corners of Landon’s face as he elbowed Ashley.

  “Yes.” Ashley nodded. “Thank you, Irvel. That’s nice of you to notice.”

  The door opened, and Krista, the care worker for the next shift, walked in. “Sorry I’m late. It’s been a long day.” She shut the door behind her and leaned against the wall. Her face wore a haunted expression. “My best friend’s cousin was on one of the planes. I met her last year.” Krista hung her head for a minute before looking up. “She was twenty-four.”

  Ashley let go of Landon’s hand, crossed the living room, and hugged Krista. “I’m sorry.”

  Krista was a soft-spoken, heavyset college girl who was nothing but kind to the residents at Sunset Hills. She and Ashley hadn’t had many opportunities to talk, but in their brief conversations they’d agreed that Belinda’s harsh treatment of Irvel and the others was uncalled for.

  Krista gave a quick glance at Landon and noticed his wet eyes. “I guess we’ve all been touched in one way or another.”

  Landon nodded.

  “Well.” Irvel folded her hands sweetly on her lap. “It looks like everyone’s here. Time for peppermint tea.”

  Ashley gestured to Krista that she and Landon had to leave. Krista nodded and moved to Irvel’s side. Tea had become a regular part of the afternoon since Ashley’s arrival. She and Irvel and Helen had peppermint tea after lunch and sometimes again before her shift was over. Krista had begun including tea as part of her evening routine as well.

  Belinda thought the tea was a waste of time, but she didn’t forbid it. And today she was out of the office, so it wouldn’t matter.

  Krista patted Irvel’s hands. “I think it’ll just be us today, Irvel.”

  Ashley grabbed her purse and keys. She waved to Helen and Edith and kissed Irvel’s cheek. “See you tomorrow, Irvel.”

  Uncertainty flashed in Irvel’s eyes as she studied Ashley. “No violent movies tomorrow, okay, dear?”

  “King Kong’s loose,” Helen interjected. She slapped the arm of her recliner. “Someone needs to catch him.”

  “Okay, Irvel.” Ashley swallowed a lump of sadness. “Just the happy ones tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” Irvel’s features relaxed. “Just the happy ones.”

  Five minutes later, Ashley pulled up behind Landon in front of his house. He grabbed his things—two oversized duffel bags—and climbed in beside her. One of his friends at the Bloomington Fire Department was planning to rent Landon’s house while he was gone. Originally he had planned to stay with Jalen once he moved to New York.

  Landon said nothing of those plans or anything else as they drove. He merely reached over and held Ashley’s hand, working his fingers gently between hers. By the time they reached the bus depot, it was three-forty.

  Ashley parked, and for a minute they sat there, unmoving. “When do you get to New York?”

  “Seven tomorrow morning.”

  She leaned against the steering wheel and studied him. The fear that was building within her was so real she could hear it in her voice. “Get some sleep if you can.”

  Landon nodded. “Ashley . . .” His lips parted, and a sigh escaped. He turned to her. “This summer . . .”

  His words trailed off, and she bit her lip. “I know. It was great.”

  “It was more than that. It was . . .” He narrowed his eyes and stared straight ahead. She watched the muscles in his jaw flex; then he turned his attention back to her. “I’ll never forget a minute of it.”

  “Neither will I.” She took his hand, her voice choked with feelings.

  Landon glanced at his watch. “Walk me in?”

  Ashley nodded, her throat too thick to speak.

  Hand in hand they made their way to the ticket counter and then to the gate. For a while they stood there, lost in an embrace that said more than words ever could. Finally he stepped back. “I better go.”

  She wanted to thank him for being honest with her back when he was lying injured in the hospital bed last July, thank him for loving Cole, thank him for taking the time to listen about Paris. Thank him for loving her even when she’d given him no promises, nothing to hang on to in return.

  But there wasn’t time. So she slipped her arms around his neck and brought her lips
to his. It was a single kiss, one she hoped would tell him everything her words could not. When she drew back, she studied his face, his eyes. She saw the goodness there. She opened her mouth, but it took a moment before her choked voice worked. “Be safe.”

  “Will you do something for me?” His fingers came up along the sides of her face.

  “Anything, Landon. You know that.”

  “Pray for me. Pray I find Jalen.” His eyes welled up. “Pray I’m still the same person after all this.”

  Ashley tried to hide her relief. For a moment she had wondered whether he’d ask her to wait for him. It was the one thing she couldn’t promise. It wouldn’t be fair to him. He needed to go to New York with no strings attached, remembering her and the summer they shared as the coda to a wonderful friendship. What more could it ever be?

  No, Ashley couldn’t offer to wait for him, but she could agree to pray. She felt a smile inch partway up her face. “Yes, Landon. I’ll pray for you. I promise.”

  A peaceful smile filled his face. “That means a lot to me, Ashley.” He ran his thumb beneath her lip, his touch so light she barely felt it. “Thank you.”

  She gave a quick nod, blinking back her tears.

  Praying wasn’t something she thought about much. Not since Paris. She no longer believed there was anything helpful about talking to God. But she would keep her promise to Landon. It was the least she could do. In a matter of hours their lives had been riddled with sorrow and uncertainty. With Landon traveling to the heart of the battlefield, she could manage to say a prayer or two. Even if all it did was make Landon happy.

  “Good-bye, Ash.” His eyes found hers again.

  “Good-bye.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  Don’t tell me that. Don’t make me promises—not when I have none to make in return. She hugged him once more. “Go find Jalen.”

  He nodded and stepped away, heaving a duffel bag over each shoulder. Their eyes held a moment longer; then he turned and walked through the double doors.

  Good-bye, Landon. God be with you.

  Tears filled her eyes when she turned to leave. As she did, her breath caught in her throat. There in a small, semiprivate alcove stood her brother, Luke. He was talking in hushed tones to Reagan, and both of them looked upset. What were they doing here?