Remember

by Karen Kingsbury; Karen Kingsbury

  Where are you, God?

  The thought hung in the stale air awhile and drifted away. How long had it been since he’d read his Bible or really shared his heart with God? He knew the problem. Working at Ground Zero made him feel isolated, as though even God couldn’t understand how he felt.

  Landon drew a deep breath and coughed. The temperatures outside were dropping, but his body was hot and sweaty in his uniform. He sat up again, running the jacket sleeve across his brow. His faith was still intact. Nothing could shake that. But in all his life he’d never felt so far away from everything that mattered to him—Ashley, his family, his God. Even his reasons for becoming a firefighter seemed foggy, filtered through the heart-wrenching experience of working at Ground Zero.

  A blonde volunteer wearing a tight sweater and bright lipstick brought him a glass of water and set it in front of him. She waited by the table for a moment. “You okay?”

  The corners of his mouth lifted mechanically. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He wanted to eat and get back to work. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  Fine? Landon exhaled hard as he watched the volunteer walk away. Nothing could be further from the truth. Desperation penetrated every fiber in his soul because of one very painful truth: They still hadn’t found any sign of Jalen.

  Landon had been unable to do the one thing he’d come to do—find his friend dead or alive. Instead he’d taken on the role of a machine—a machine that wasn’t supposed to notice the broken cell phones and money clips and wedding rings mixed among the chunks of debris in the hundreds of buckets that passed through his hands each day. A machine dedicated to retrieving the dead, nothing more.

  The blonde volunteer was back. This time she had a tray with an oversized turkey sandwich and a pile of chocolate-chip cookies. She set them down and slid into the booth across from him. Landon lifted his head and studied her. She was maybe twenty years old, but her eyes looked thirty at least. He picked up the sandwich. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” She stuck out her chin, her tone gentle. “You don’t look fine.”

  “Yeah, well”—Landon didn’t recognize his own voice—“I can’t find my friend.”

  The blonde knew better than to rush into conversation after a line like that. She waited, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’m sorry.”

  Landon shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. Like the others.”

  “He was a fireman?” She crossed her arms.

  “Yep.” Landon leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. Volunteers had talked with him before, but none of them had sat down and joined him for lunch. The diversion was almost enjoyable.

  “I’m Kaye.” She held out her hand.

  Landon took it, but only long enough to be polite. He didn’t offer his name. “What brings you here?” He stretched out his legs and accidentally brushed hers in the process.

  “I worked at the World Trade Center.” Her gaze fell briefly to her manicured nails. “I took reservations for the restaurant. You know, the famous one at the top.”

  Landon took a bite of his sandwich and waited.

  “I was supposed to work that day, but my little brother was sick.” She helped herself to a sip of Landon’s water. “No one I knew made it out.”

  Sadness came over Landon, and for a long while his eyes held hers. The two of them shared something that everyone at Ground Zero seemed to have in common, something the rest of the world couldn’t understand. A pain, a sense of incalculable loss that only those in the middle of it all could completely grasp. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere to go—no job, you know. So I figured I could volunteer here for a while. At least I’d be doing something to help.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  Landon finished his lunch and offered the young woman a cookie. There was a comfortable quiet between them, as though meaningless conversation was a luxury of the past. Somehow their shared experience made Landon feel connected to her. She was a complete stranger, but she knew what he was going through, what they were all going through.

  “Where are you from?” She took another sip of his water.

  “Bloomington, Indiana.” The young woman across from him was the best thing his eyes had taken in since he’d arrived in New York. What had she said her name was?

  “You got a girl back home?”

  The question pulled up and parked in the front of his mind. He could picture Ashley, the way she felt in his arms, the way being with her this past summer had almost made him cancel his plans and stay in Bloomington. Why hadn’t he called her? Was it because the sound of her voice, one slightest bit of interest from her, would have had him on a plane in an hour?

  Landon let his gaze fall to the table. That was exactly why he hadn’t called. And he couldn’t go home now, couldn’t leave until they’d found Jalen. He pulled himself from the memory and stared at the blonde. She was waiting for an answer. “Sort of.”

  “I figured.” She stood and took off her hat and apron. “Listen, my shift is up. Wanna take a walk?”

  It had been half an hour since he left the work line, but Landon wasn’t on anyone’s schedule except his own. Volunteers were allowed to come and go as they pleased, and none of them needed to be asked to get back to work.

  Still, he had to walk back to Ground Zero, didn’t he? What would it hurt to walk with this girl, whoever she was? “Sure.” He slipped out of the booth, stood, and put his helmet back on.

  They stepped outside, and the pungent air made them wince at the same time. “The smell of death.” The girl fell in beside him.

  “No doubt.” In the light of day, Landon could see that she had long legs and a striking figure. Something about her made him feel almost alive for the first time in weeks.

  Halfway to the rescue site they found a bench and sat down. “So . . .” She was wearing old tennis shoes, and she gave him a light kick. “Why’d you become a fireman?”

  Landon needed to get back to work. Maybe this was the day. If only they could move a little faster. If only they had more people on the line, they would find Jalen. He brought his thoughts back to the girl’s question. “It was in me, something I found out in college.”

  For reasons Landon couldn’t understand, he began to tell her his story, how he’d gone to Texas to study animal science, how he’d planned on coming back to Bloomington and setting up shop as a veterinarian.

  “Then I met Jalen.” Landon stared across the street at the recovery effort going on in the distance. “It was like finding a lost brother. We were that much alike.”

  The blonde said nothing but moved a few inches closer. Her eyes never left his face.

  Landon told her about how he and Jalen had become volunteer firefighters, and he told her about the house fire that changed his life. “Backup units hadn’t made it to the scene, so Jalen and I joined the others looking for victims inside.” He sucked in a quick breath. “Jalen found a woman collapsed just outside a bedroom. The room was fully involved—flames everywhere.” Landon leaned his head back, seeing the terrifying moment in his mind once more. Then he shifted his attention to look at the blonde beside him. “The woman was half dead, but as Jalen carried her out, she screamed for her baby.”

  “Her child was still inside?” The eyes of the blonde were wide. She moved even closer to him.

  “Yeah, a little girl.” Landon stroked his chin and once more gazed straight ahead. “I grabbed a blanket and beat out the flames in the doorway to her room.” He shook his head. “It was all I could do to find her crib. I carried her outside to her mother, but it was too late.” He turned to the young woman beside him. “The baby was already dead.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “After that, I knew I couldn’t be a veterinarian. It would never be enough to help animals when people like that little girl need my help.”

  They were quiet for a while, watching the trucks pull away one at a time from the mountain of debris. Then, without saying a wo
rd, the blonde slipped her hand into his. “Life is too short.”

  Shivers of electricity coursed through Landon’s body, emanating from the place where the young woman’s hand was connected to his. Maybe there was life in him after all. There must be if he could still react this way to the touch of a pretty woman.

  What am I doing? The question rattled the windows of his conscience. I need to get back to work.

  But the moment felt bigger than life, more real than anything else waiting for him outside Ground Zero. He angled his body in the direction of the blonde, and before he could make himself stand and walk away, his arms were around her and they were kissing. Oblivious to everything around him, Landon and the woman kissed for a long moment. Finally she drew back and grinned at him. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  Her statement was like a splash of cold water. Had he lost his mind? What was he doing sitting on a New York City street bench kissing a stranger? He gently pulled free of her grasp and uttered a nervous laugh. “Landon. Landon Blake.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

  The girl slid closer to him again. “Don’t apologize. I mean, what’s life about if you can’t share yourself with someone? Especially after”—she nodded toward the debris—“after what happened.”

  He stared at her. What did she mean by that? He stood and straightened his jacket. “Look, I have to get back to work.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for listening.”

  Before he could walk away, she handed him a card with her name and phone number. Obviously she’d planned on giving it to him all along. “Call me.” She gave him a knowing look. “My family’s out of town. I’m alone tonight.” The expression on her face held no apologies, no embarrassment. “Maybe if we shared the night, it would be easier to spend another day down here. You know?”

  Landon folded the card and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks. You might be right.” He nodded his head once in her direction and set off toward the rescue site. “Nice talking to you.”

  When he was a block away, he turned around, relieved to find her gone. What was wrong with him? Did he really tell her she might be right—that two strangers spending the night together would somehow cancel out the stench of death at Ground Zero? He headed toward the rescue site, but something was welling inside him, something that made it impossible to get back to work just yet.

  He wandered around a corner and up a mound of twisted concrete and steel to the place where the makeshift cross still stood. Dozens of flower bouquets surrounded its base; hundreds of messages had been scrawled on the steel or taped to the beam. Almost always, people were gathered here. But in this moment, midway through the afternoon, Landon found himself alone.

  Suddenly the thing that was welling within him forced its way to the surface. A cry came from him, a cry that was too soft to be heard above the heavy machinery but racked his entire body all the same. He fell to his knees and hung his head. “God, what am I doing? I feel like you’re so far away from me!”

  Then, as though God himself had pulled a plug on his emotions, tears spilled from his eyes. He cried for Jalen and for the workers at the restaurant where the blonde had taken reservations until September 11. He cried for everyone buried beneath the rubble and for the senselessness of how all their lives had come tumbling down with the twin towers.

  He could picture his friend Jalen, how he must have looked in the minutes after getting the call to the World Trade Center. His blue eyes would have been serious, heart racing as his hook and ladder made its way to the scene. Jalen would have been one of the first ones up the stairwell, one of the first to reach the victims. He’d probably made it to the top of the tower before the building collapsed. No doubt he’d been helping people down the stairs even as the floor gave way.

  “Why, God?” Landon shouted the words and balled his hands into tight fists.

  Minutes passed, and suddenly Landon felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and locked eyes with a kind, black man whose energetic smile was known across the country. The man was an author and speaker, a regular at Promise Keepers and other national conferences. Someone Landon deeply respected.

  He blinked to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

  The man knelt beside him. The two of them were still the only people near the cross. “I saw you over here.” He gave Landon a sad smile. “You’re a believer, aren’t you?”

  Landon nodded, speechless.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Landon.”

  The man reached out his hand and introduced himself—as if that were necessary. “May I pray with you?”

  Landon’s heart was beating hard. “Sure.”

  The man took Landon’s hand and bowed his head. “Lord, this is a dark time for our nation, but particularly for those who serve, those who honor America with their dedication, sometimes with their lives.” He drew a quick breath. “Please comfort Landon, meet him in this place, and remind him of his first love. It’s easy to be distracted here among so much death. But please, Lord, restore life to Landon’s heart and help him see you, help him feel your touch. Even here at Ground Zero. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Before Landon had time to ask questions, the man was gone, off to find another hurting person to pray with. Dumbfounded, Landon stared up at the cross. His heart felt like it had been brought back to life. God, you heard me. You knew what I needed, and you sent someone I could trust.

  Landon remembered the man’s prayer. “Remind him of his first love. . . . Remind him of his first love.”

  That was it, wasn’t it? His hours at Ground Zero had been so taken up with death that Landon had forgotten to fill his mind with thoughts of life. Thoughts of God, of his goodness and plans for his people. Every good thing he knew to be true about God, every promise and divine truth, had been covered in ash—all but unrecognizable since he’d arrived in New York City.

  Yes, he’d forgotten his first love. Not just God but Ashley as well. Someday when this nightmare was over, he would go back to Bloomington. And when he did, he would find Ashley and convince her beyond any doubt that they belonged together. Whether that was a month or a year from now didn’t matter. Time wouldn’t change the way he felt about her.

  The last thing he did before returning to the line was pull the card from his pocket, the one with the blonde’s name and phone number. He ripped it in half and stuffed it deep into the layer of debris near the base of the cross. Then he dusted off his hands and headed back to work.

  This time he no longer felt alone. He could sense the Lord at his side, his presence as real as if the two were walking shoulder to shoulder. He stepped into the line and grabbed hold of his first bucket of rubble, suddenly knowing what he would do that night—if not that night, then sometime soon. He would make the call he should have made a long time ago.

  Not to the blonde stranger, but to a girl who was in his blood no matter what life dealt him. A girl he prayed would one day recognize God as her first love also.

  That afternoon while he worked, Landon prayed for Ashley as he’d never done before. Constantly and with fervor, hour after hour.

  Let her find you, God, please. Meet her where she is and let her know you’re real. Nothing I can say or do will ever bring her close to you. But you, God—you can reach her. I know it.

  Just before dark, a peace came over Landon, almost as though the Lord had hugged him. Landon wanted to raise a victory fist in the air. The peace could mean only one thing: His prayers had been answered. One day—however far off—Ashley Baxter would give her heart to God.

  Whenever that day came, Landon had no doubt that she would feel as strongly for him as he did for her.

  Now it was a matter of surviving until then.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Thanksgiving Day was quieter than usual.

  By three o’clock the dinner was ready, and John Baxter called everyone to gather at the table for the blessing. H
e glanced at the circle of familiar faces and wondered why the atmosphere was so subdued. Certainly Luke’s attitude played a part; he’d spent the entire day holed up in his room. It was Erin and Sam’s last holiday season before they moved—that must have been on the hearts of some of them.

  But most likely his family’s mood was a direct reflection of their nation’s. In light of September 11, most Americans had a greater sense of appreciation for their faith, their families, their freedom, but also a deep sense of sadness, of mourning. The Baxters were no exception.

  The country was at war with Afghanistan, and that, too, made for a more somber atmosphere. Reports were coming in daily about bombing missions and the potential for ground troops to be deployed. The Baileys down the street had a son serving on the USS Theodore Roosevelt in the Arabian Sea. The boy was a friend of Luke’s, a fighter pilot. He hadn’t had a day’s rest since the war began.

  Everyone held hands as John surveyed the group. Pastor Mark and his wife, Marilyn, had joined them for the second straight year. Everyone was present except . . .

  John stifled an exasperated sigh. “Luke!” His voice carried through the house, and the others turned toward the stairs. “Time to eat.”

  There was a pause, and then they heard a bedroom door open. “Go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

  A knot formed in John’s stomach. Luke had been hiding in his room lately. His absence made John’s few conversations with him tense and brief. John had shared his concerns with Pastor Mark, and now the two men exchanged a knowing glance. Around the table, several others did the same.

  Next to John, Elizabeth squeezed his hand and nodded—her way of saying she would make the next attempt. “Luke, come down.” Her voice was pleasant but firm. “It’s Thanksgiving. We’re waiting for you.”