Remember

by Karen Kingsbury; Karen Kingsbury

  “Okay.” She slid back some and grabbed his pillow, lodging it beneath her elbow as she stretched across his bed. “What else?”

  “What else?” He twisted his brow. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “You know what I mean, Luke.” She was careful to keep her tone kind. “You’re avoiding practically everyone in the family, like you’re mad at them.”

  Luke stood up and paced to the door and back. “Maybe the whole America thing is getting to me.” He stared at her. “I mean, isn’t it weird? Everyone’s suddenly waving flags and going to church. Because of what? Because terrorists found our weak spot?”

  Confusion clouded his features. “If it weren’t for the Clinton administration, we could have avoided the whole disaster. They let Osama bin Laden attack us three times and never did anything to stop him. Now we’re reaping the results. That’s supposed to make me want to wave a flag?”

  “I know what you mean.” Ashley waited. “At first, I didn’t really get the flag thing either.” She rolled onto her back and doubled the pillow behind her head. “But now I do. People aren’t feeling proud about America’s mistakes. It’s more like a unity thing. We’ve been knocked down, but we’re Americans. We’ll get back up.” She paused, her voice still soft. “You know?”

  He huffed and dropped back into his chair. “I guess.” His eyes grew hard. “Then there’s the whole God thing. You know me, Ashley. My faith used to be stronger than . . . than cement. But not anymore.” He gazed out his window at the setting sun. “I keep thinking, what’s the point?”

  Ashley was quiet, giving him the chance to continue.

  A single laugh came from his lips. “Since September eleventh, people have been flooding the churches. That’s what all the newspapers say, and it’s true. Look at you and Brooke and Peter.” He motioned in her direction. “Why, Ashley? Why do you go?”

  “I don’t know, really.” She sat up and hugged the pillow to her stomach. “September eleventh made me remember what’s important in life. Thousands of people go to work one day, and then, in the space of an hour, they’re all snuffed out.” She paused. “I guess the people I work with at Sunset Hills have something to do with it too. Every day, sitting there watching television, waiting to die.” She shrugged. “Church is the only place I find hope and meaning lately. Where all the senselessness makes a little sense.”

  He squinted at her. “You mean you buy into the whole God thing now? You believe he’s there, watching over us—all that stuff?”

  “I don’t know what I believe.” She reached out and squeezed his sock-covered foot. “I just know that lately I feel better believing that God has a plan, even when things are crazy and out of control.”

  “So what plan could he have? And what’s the point of praying when God—if there is a God—is going to do whatever he wants, anyway?” Luke’s voice fell, and he leaned forward, his eyes glistening. “I begged him to let Reagan’s father live. But that didn’t happen.”

  Ashley wanted to stop the conversation and hug him, tell him it was okay, that they didn’t have to talk about this. But she knew it wasn’t okay. And he seemed determined to continue.

  “Then I got this communications assignment.” He waved at the notebook behind him. “Prove God or disprove him. Back your decision with evidence. I said, ‘Okay, fine, God. Now’s your chance. You can prove you’re real by letting things work out between me and Reagan.’ ” He tossed his hands in the air. “And what’s happened? She won’t even take my calls.”

  Ashley was still thinking about the assignment. “Your communications prof asked you to prove or disprove God?”

  “Yeah.” Luke crossed his arms, the fight suddenly gone. “He won’t actually say it, but he believes the only valid worldview is humanism. You know, belief in reason and the human spirit—people choosing whether to pursue goodness or evil. It makes sense. I mean, people help each other, and the results are obvious—like what’s happened since September eleventh. God doesn’t help us. We help ourselves!”

  Ashley was hardly a Bible scholar, but even she knew a theory like Luke was describing flew in the face of their family’s beliefs—the beliefs he himself had clung to before the terrorist attacks. She dug her elbows into the pillow and searched Luke’s face. “Which side are you taking?”

  Luke was silent. His gaze fell to the floor again, and something defiant filtered through his expression. “I wasn’t sure until Lori talked to me.”

  “The girl who sits next to you?”

  His eyes lifted, and she felt a distance between Luke and her, a distance that hadn’t been there a minute ago.

  “She’s been taking me to these meetings about reason and freethinking. Her father’s an attorney for this civil-liberties group in Washington, D.C. He’s helping us on the assignment.”

  This time alarms sounded in Ashley’s soul. Something about his references to “freethinking” and “civil liberties”—phrases she had heard before from some of the people at the clubs she used to frequent. “You’re trying to disprove God?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  If this had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have been concerned. People questioned God, after all. Look how long she herself had questioned him.

  But Luke? Their steadfastly conservative brother? No wonder he hadn’t been hanging around the family lately. He probably felt like an outcast—the same way she’d felt all those years after returning from Paris. “What . . . what kind of evidence are you finding?”

  Another humorless laugh came from him. “The terrorist attacks are a great place to start. What sort of God would allow that to happen?” He leaned back in his chair. “The fact that so few people were found alive in the rubble is more proof. People talk about miracles happening. What miracles? Everything that happened that day was random.”

  A look that was more sad than angry filled his eyes. “Humanism is the only view that makes sense of what’s happening. You know—people giving blood, donating money, supporting the victims, that kind of thing. Stuff God can’t take credit for.”

  Ashley resisted the urge to wince. What had Pastor Mark said last Sunday about the volunteers in New York? “Watching them on TV is like watching Jesus with skin. God’s at work all over the city.” She thought about telling that to Luke or reminding him of something the pastor had said the week before—that evidence of God is all around, as close as the nearest tree or river or mountain.

  But she stopped herself. This wasn’t the time, and she wasn’t sure she was up to the argument. The best she could do now was show him she cared.

  When he was finished talking, she climbed off the bed, walked over to him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “As hard as everything seems right now, deep inside, you know God’s real. And one day everything about him will make sense again. Just like it’s starting to make sense for me.” She kissed his cheek and shot him a half-grin. “Until then, remember something, will you?”

  His expression softened. “What?”

  “I love you.” She messed up his hair. “And everybody else around here loves you.”

  “Thanks.” He gave her a troubled smile. “I love you too. I wish I wasn’t so grouchy.”

  “It’s okay. We all have our seasons.”

  They were quiet for a bit. “Ashley?” His eyes met hers.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “About . . . about the way I treated you the last few years.” He hugged her again. “I’ve been a jerk. Do you forgive me?”

  “Sure.” A sting of tears flashed in her eyes, and she felt her heart constrict. “I’m just glad things are okay now.”

  On her way home that night with Cole, Ashley thought about Luke’s assignment and the idea of proving God. Crazy, brokenhearted Luke. He was too miserable to see the evidence that existed all around him.

  Okay, so maybe she wasn’t where she should be with God. After all, she’d started praying again only because Landon had asked her to.
And maybe she hadn’t figured out exactly what Bible verses to read for any given situation.

  But God was real. She had no doubt about that.

  Luke’s apology played over in her mind. “Do you forgive me? . . . Do you forgive me?” After Paris, she had been sure the two of them would never be civil to each other again, let alone find that special something they once shared. But now . . . now they actually loved each other again.

  She brushed away two fresh tears as she pulled into her driveway.

  If that wasn’t evidence God was real, nothing was.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kari had just laid Jessie down to sleep when the phone rang.

  She glanced at her watch. Nine o’clock. Ryan’s hour, the same time he always called. And since the attacks on America, he’d called every week. Sometimes twice or three times a week. Kari might have been busy, but she wasn’t so busy that she didn’t notice a pattern developing.

  Not only was Ryan calling more often, but she was starting to count on hearing from him.

  She found the cordless phone on an end table in the living room and clicked the Talk button. “Hello?”

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.” The sound of Ryan’s voice made her feel fifteen again. She was beginning to accept the idea that she could no more stop herself from loving Ryan Taylor than she could stop breathing. The interesting thing was that lately she felt less guilty about it. Maybe that was another sign that she was healing, moving on with life. “How’s my favorite football coach?”

  “Trapped in the middle of a two-game losing streak.” His tone was soft, thoughtful.

  “It’ll turn around.”

  “Yeah.” Ryan yawned. “I hope so. We have twice as many meetings when we lose.”

  Kari stretched out on the sofa. It had been months since she’d seen Ryan. But every time they spoke, despite the distance, she could feel him right there, sitting across from her. She closed her eyes and pretended he actually was. “Hey, I meant to ask you last time—have you seen Landon lately?”

  “No. The team hasn’t been to Ground Zero in a week or so. The schedule has us swamped.”

  “Are there still lots of volunteers?”

  Ryan paused, and she could almost see him gazing out the window of his high-rise apartment, searching for the words to describe what was happening around him. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Kari.”

  “The support, you mean?”

  “Flags flying everywhere. I mean, you can’t look down a single street in New York without seeing dozens of them strung up on buildings, flying from office windows, mounted in planters along the storefronts.”

  “It’s like that here, too. People have flags on their cars, their shirts, their bikes. It’s like the whole country woke up and realized what a great place America really is.”

  “Exactly.” Ryan sighed. “I never thought I’d say this, but I feel a connection to the people of New York. After working down at Ground Zero, handing out water to rescue workers, seeing how they rarely take a break . . . I don’t know, Kari. It gets in your blood.”

  Like football, Kari wanted to say. A strange feeling washed over her. This bond with New York was something new, something she didn’t share with Ryan. She had always pictured him coming back to Bloomington eventually, but maybe he wouldn’t. Her heart sank several inches. Maybe her feelings for Ryan were no more practical now than they’d ever been. “It must be amazing, being right there in the middle of it.”

  “We feel it every time we fly home after a road game.” His tone was thoughtful, deep. “It’s almost like we’re part of the war, especially here. Just by choosing to fly into New York, we’re taking a risk, but we’re also making a statement to terrorists: ‘Go ahead and try to defeat us. We’re still standing. In fact, we’re standing closer together than ever before.’ ”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “You will. First time you fly to New York.” Ryan hesitated, and his tone lightened. “Hey, that’s not a bad idea. What about coming to New York for a game? You could bring Jessie, stay at the hotel near the training complex. Just for a few days, Saturday to Monday—something like that.”

  Kari imagined such a weekend. Ryan would be absorbed in football meetings, team dinners, and the events of game day. She thought back to Ryan’s years as a player and the times she’d been around him then. The wives and girlfriends tended to stay together in a comfortable clique, mostly because the men were too busy to join them. Then there were the groupies, the scantily clad women who waited on the fringe of every dinner or postgame gathering.

  Ryan was kind to ask, but where would she and Jessie fit into that picture? “I don’t think so.” Her voice was tinged with sadness. “Not this season. Jessie’s too young and . . . well, I wouldn’t know anyone.”

  He exhaled just loud enough for her to hear. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

  Kari couldn’t tell if Ryan was frustrated or just disappointed. She shifted onto her side and stared across her empty living room. “Are you mad?”

  “Of course not.” Ryan paused. The line was so quiet she could hear him breathing. “How’s Jessie?”

  Kari was glad he’d changed topics. “Growing fast.”

  His voice was softer than before. “I bet.”

  “Can you believe she’s nearly seven months already?”

  “Wow.” Ryan was quiet for a moment. Was he thinking the same thing she was? That if Jessie was seven months old, it had been that long since they’d seen each other. “Is she sitting up yet?”

  “Almost. And she rolls over all the time now.”

  A subtle beep sounded in Kari’s ear. “Is that your other line?”

  “Yeah, hold on.” When he came back his tone was different, more rushed. “Hey, Kari, I have to take that call. Talk to you later this week, okay?”

  “Okay.” She struggled to hide her disappointment. “Be safe.”

  “I will.”

  Kari felt like someone had thrown a wet rag across her heart. Ryan’s phone calls usually lasted half an hour at least. They gave her something to look forward to.

  After she hung up, she meandered about the house, then decided to turn in early. Why hadn’t Ryan offered to come to Bloomington? Was he so caught up in the experience of coaching and living in New York that the idea of visiting her hadn’t even occurred to him?

  And where exactly was their long-distance relationship going, anyway? They never discussed their deep feelings, never so much as talked about missing each other, let alone loving each other. Maybe he called her only out of some nostalgic sense of friendship and loyalty. After all, they had chosen to go on with their lives long before Tim was murdered. Maybe Ryan merely felt sorry for her, a single mother, raising Jessie by herself.

  What are the plans you have for me, God? When will you let me know?

  She slid under the covers and closed her eyes. Of course, the Lord had already showed her part of his plans for her. Pastor Mark had told her she might be ready to start her ministry soon. In the meantime he wanted her to start meeting with an older woman in the church, someone who shared her heart for helping women in pain. The counseling materials he’d given her had helped too. They’d taught her how to remember God’s truth about relationships.

  “It’s all about remembering what’s important,” Pastor Mark had explained during one of Kari’s meetings with him. “You’ll help the women remember how to love. That type of memory becomes a model they’ll follow as their hearts heal.”

  Remember God’s truth. . . . Remember what’s important. . . . Remember how to love.

  Remembering was a theme that seemed to run through everything that mattered since the attacks: Landon honoring his friend’s memory by sifting through the rubble; Ashley helping her Alzheimer’s patients live in a place that held happy memories. Very simply, a healthy soul was one that took time to remember.

  But what about her and Ryan? Why was she so anxious for his calls lately? And why d
id she spend so little time thinking of Tim these days?

  Kari shifted to her side and pulled the sheets up close to her chin. Somehow, the events of September 11 had served to distance Kari from the pain of losing Tim. But maybe that was wrong. Maybe she was still supposed to be honoring Tim’s memory, thinking about him every hour.

  Say something, Lord. Tell me if my feelings for Ryan are wrong. How can I know what to do when he’s so far away? Certainly my healing doesn’t dishonor Tim.

  My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, daughter.

  Kari blinked her eyes open.

  Was that God speaking to her? Whispering to the secret places of her soul? The words were from Isaiah 55—part of a verse she’d seen in some of the material she was studying. But were they the Lord’s answer for her now? If so, what did the words mean?

  Do you have a different plan for me, God? Something I couldn’t imagine?

  Maybe God planned to let Ryan fade from her life, to become a memory instead of a constant presence. That would be different—and definitely something she couldn’t imagine.

  Kari exhaled hard. That couldn’t possibly be God’s plan for her, could it?

  Then she thought of something that made her eyes open wider. For all she knew, the caller who had broken through her conversation with Ryan might have been a woman, someone he was seeing—maybe someone he was getting serious about.

  Kari closed her eyes again. As she tried to fall asleep, questions pelted her like hail. For some reason she was afraid of the answers—because it didn’t matter how Ryan felt about her or which Scripture verses flashed in her mind. The cloud of guilt and grief that had hung over her for months was finally dissipating, and in its absence Kari’s feelings for Ryan were as clear as the afternoon sun.

  She loved him.

  Because of that, Ryan’s plans really weren’t the issue. Since she’d first met him she’d never taken the initiative, never been bold enough to truly declare her feelings for him. But now she was a grown woman, a woman who’d learned much these past months. It was no longer enough to let life happen around her. Not anymore.