Ryan was right. Kari lifted her head and searched his eyes. “We don’t, do we?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Never again.”
From the moment she walked into Ryan’s apartment the day before, Kari had wanted to kiss him. Now the feeling was more than she could resist. She felt him draw closer, and he brushed his mouth against her neck, her cheek, her ear. Her eyes closed as he whispered against her face in a voice she’d memorized back when she was a teenager. “I love you, Kari. I’ll always love you. Believe me, okay?”
She nodded, her cheek touching his. “I love you, too.”
Slowly, in a dance that had been planned before time began, their lips found each other. For the first time since his football injury, the moment was neither hurried nor bathed in guilt. This was the passionate kiss of two people who had spent a lifetime longing for each other.
A kiss that said more about the way they felt now than any words ever could.
* * *
Kari had already checked out of her hotel and had her suitcase by the door. The cab would be there in five minutes, and she and Ryan stood in a private area of the lobby, inches apart, trying to find the easiest way to say good-bye. Tears welled up in Kari’s eyes before she said a word.
What was keeping her in Bloomington, anyway? Why didn’t she go home, grab Jessie, and get on the next plane back to New York? She could stay here as long as he had a job with the Giants. With her contacts, she could probably even get some catalog work.
But that wouldn’t be right. Ryan would be busy, and she had no support here—no pastor helping her work through her past, no fledgling ideas about a ministry with hurting women. No family. No one to baby-sit Jessie. New York City—even the kinder, gentler New York that had emerged after September 11—was no place for a single mother with a new baby. Her heart would always be with Ryan. But for now, at least, Bloomington was her home.
That didn’t make leaving him any easier.
She let herself fall against him and rested her head on his chest. “I wish I didn’t have to go.” Her arms came up around his neck, and she held him, remembering a dozen other times when she’d said good-bye to him.
“Then stay.” He slid his hands around her and latched his fingers near the small of her back.
“I can’t.”
He studied her face. “I know.”
They were quiet for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes. “If I look at you long enough, maybe I can keep a part of you here with me.”
They shared a long kiss, but in the end they said very little. What was there to say? They couldn’t talk about the next time they’d be together or make promises of seeing each other soon. There was no telling when the next time would be.
The only sure thing was how they felt about each other. And for now that would have to be enough.
Ryan walked her outside and waited until the taxi appeared. Then he hugged her once more. “Take care of my little girl.”
Kari nodded, dabbing at the wetness on her cheeks. “Bye.” Ryan set her suitcase in the trunk, and she climbed inside the cab. Their eyes held long after the door was closed, until the driver pulled away and turned a corner.
Only then did Kari let the tears come freely. A deep, agonizing sorrow welled within her and came out as the simplest prayer Kari had ever uttered.
Please, God, let us be together one day. Please.
* * *
The pain of watching Kari leave was so strong, Ryan felt it with each minute that passed. By the time he got back to his apartment, he was tempted to call the Giants’ front office and tell them to find someone else. He was going back to Bloomington.
But that wasn’t his style. He needed to honor his commitments—the way his father had taught him.
No, he couldn’t leave New York now. He owed it to the team to stay and finish the season. After that, though, he and Kari would have some serious possibilities to discuss.
He was fairly sure the Giants would extend his contract another year. If not, he could find a position with another NFL team. But where would that leave him and Kari? Would she marry him and move to New York? Would she want to follow him across the country while he worked his way into a head coaching position? Was that what the Lord wanted for both of them?
He sighed. There were too many unknowns. At this point there was only one thing Ryan was certain about. Kari had been away from him for less than an hour, and already he couldn’t wait to see her again. He poured himself a glass of milk and settled into the sofa—the same spot where he’d sat the day before and kissed her. She would be arriving at La Guardia soon.
He pictured her, a beautiful brunette turning heads as she made her way through the airport, and a twinge of anxiety sliced at his heart. He’d never worried much about flying, even the first few weeks after September 11, when the whole country seemed to fear the skies. But now he felt compelled to pray for the safety of the plane Kari was about to board.
Because after finding her again, he couldn’t bear to lose her now.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The numb feeling was creeping back.
Landon needed a break from Ground Zero, needed to take a day and sit in the local chapel and weep over all he’d heard and seen and smelled these past two months. But still he kept working.
He’d worked through Thanksgiving and barely taken time to eat a cold turkey sandwich put together by some volunteers. Since that strange afternoon a month ago, he’d stayed away from Nino’s. He wasn’t at Ground Zero to socialize or commiserate with other hurting folks. He was here to find Jalen.
When it became clear his friend was dead, Landon moved into Jalen’s two-bedroom apartment. He and Jalen’s parents boxed his clothes and belongings, and afterward it seemed only right that Landon stay there. After all, they’d been planning to share the place.
Staying in Jalen’s apartment kept Landon focused, but he spent as little time there as possible. Every hour was a reminder that the job he’d come to do wasn’t finished yet. It wouldn’t be until he found Jalen.
Now it was Monday afternoon, Landon’s eighty-second straight day of sifting through rubble, clearing bucket after bucket of dusty human remains and other debris from the place where the World Trade Center once stood. Sometimes he slept a dozen hours straight before finding the strength to come back. But he always came. Day after day since the moment he’d arrived in New York.
A bucket went by, and then another, and another. Landon’s hands were numb from the sameness of the job. They were still finding body parts fairly often, but it had been a long time since they’d found a firefighter.
It was two in the afternoon, and Landon figured he’d work until dark. He did that most nights, and sometimes he stayed later, working with the night crew. He had nothing waiting for him back at the apartment except a telephone. And he couldn’t bring himself to call Ashley. Hearing her voice would only make him want to get on the next flight home, forget he’d ever spent a single day in the nightmare that was Ground Zero.
Another bucket went by. And another.
Then from the front of the line, the lead workers waved their hands, and one of them called out, “I’ve got a fireman.”
Landon’s insides reacted the same way they always did when he heard those words. His stomach fell to his knees, and images of Jalen flashed in his mind—times when the two of them had run together on those early Texas mornings or shared volunteer time at the station. He could almost see Jalen—smiling, waving to him, telling him to hurry up and get to the East Coast.
Landon swallowed as something he’d told Ashley echoed in his mind once more: “Fighting fires in Bloomington is a pastime. In New York it’s a passion.”
The captain at the front of the line knew about Landon’s friendship with Jalen. If they found his body, the man had promised to let Landon know immediately. The endless parade of buckets had stopped, and several rescue workers were trying to remove the latest body from the rubble. Landon could see a firefighter
’s boots and jacket.
Landon held his breath while the captain tramped down the pile of debris and headed in his direction. A slow breath escaped through Landon’s teeth. It couldn’t be, could it? After all this time? And with so many firefighters still missing? Had they actually found Jalen?
The captain slowed as he approached, and his eyes met Landon’s. “Blake?”
Landon struggled to find his voice. “Yes, sir?”
The man’s eyes fell for a moment and then lifted to Landon’s. “We’ve found your friend. I thought you’d like to help us up front.”
Landon’s head began to spin. His mouth was suddenly dry, his movements slow and deliberate as he passed his bucket to the man next to him and stepped out of line. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
The others tried not to stare as Landon fell in behind the captain and headed up the hill toward the front of the line. Halfway there, Landon caught a look from the old retired fire captain, the one still looking for both of his sons. Their eyes held for a moment; then the older man looked away.
Landon kept walking, staring at the circle of firemen ahead of him and the outline of a body in their midst. He had dreaded this moment since he arrived in New York, dreaded it and longed for it. It wasn’t right that Jalen’s remains stay buried beneath cement and twisted steel. But at the same time Landon feared what they might find. A partial body? A skeleton? It was bad enough to see mutilated strangers removed from the rubble.
But Jalen?
A knot of sorrow lodged in his throat, and Landon gulped it back. He moved into the circle surrounding Jalen’s body. The sight of his friend—lifeless, mangled, forever still—knocked the wind from Landon. His knees buckled. “Dear God, no . . .”
A fireman nearby put his hand on Landon’s shoulder, steadying him. Landon leaned into it, drawing the strength to stand. A surge of nausea rose within him, and he put the back of his hand to his mouth, determined to handle the moment in a way that would’ve made Jalen proud.
His friend had been one of the lucky ones. His body was intact, protected like several of the others because of his fire gear. Jalen’s face was partially decomposed and marked by the tons of debris that had covered it. But he was recognizable, if only by the gold name tag still pinned to his jacket. It was scratched but legible. Lieutenant Jalen Hale.
Landon reached down and touched the toe of Jalen’s boot as a mountain of anger rose within him. How dare those terrorists do this to his friend? How dare they cost the world someone as good as Jalen?
He drew a tired breath and let the anger fade. In its place an overwhelming sadness began to build.
It’s okay, buddy. We got you out. You can rest now.
Landon let go of Jalen’s boot and moved closer, adjusting his friend’s helmet so it fit firmly on his head. I should’ve been with you, buddy. Maybe then we would’ve survived this thing together. Landon hung his head and struggled to breathe. Why didn’t you get out of there before it fell, Jalen? Why?
There was a stir of motion behind him, and Landon turned around. The morgue workers had arrived. He sucked in a quick breath and straightened himself. He hadn’t been there on September 11 to help Jalen out of the building before it collapsed, but he could help now. He joined the others and maneuvered Jalen’s body onto a bag laid out across a stretcher. Gently Landon took Jalen’s lifeless hands and, one at a time, crossed them respectfully over his still chest.
One of the workers zipped the bag as the captain handed Landon an American flag. “You do the honors, Blake.”
“Yes, sir.” Landon took the flag and stared at the red, white, and blue. His entire body shook. You did us all proud, Jalen. This country will never forget you. I’ll never forget you.
A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he shook it off. How was it possible that the bag before him held the friend he’d laughed with so often, planned with and schemed with? That face of his, so full of life, would never smile again. Landon wanted to drop to the ground and weep, but he couldn’t. A hundred pairs of eyes were on him, and there was still one thing left to do.
The chaplain wasn’t around, but that didn’t matter. Landon took his helmet off, clutched the flag to his chest, and bowed his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the others down the line do the same.
“God, we give you our brother Jalen. He’s . . .” Landon’s voice cracked, but he refused to give in to the riptide of emotion tearing at him. “He’s your man now, God. Make him a captain, and give him one of your best stations up there, okay?” He sniffed hard, forcing himself to be strong. “And let him know we love him.”
Landon lifted his head and stared at the dark, zippered bag on the stretcher. Moving with great care and respect, he draped the flag over his friend’s covered body.
It was time to carry Jalen out.
“You okay, Blake?” The captain laid a hand on his shoulder.
Landon cleared his throat. “Fine, sir.” He anchored one side of the stretcher. “Let’s go.”
Several firefighters joined him, and together they carried Jalen’s body down the pile of debris, a hundred yards away to the refrigerated truck.
A county official led them inside and to the left. “Thank you.” He nodded at Landon and the others. “We’ll take it from here.”
They passed the stretcher to four morgue workers, who disappeared with it around a makeshift partition. The other firefighters turned to leave, but Landon stayed. The county official was waiting, but for a moment Landon couldn’t find the words. He swallowed hard and shook his head, pointing in the direction they’d taken Jalen.
“He . . . he was my friend.” Landon pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling. “Take care of him for me, okay?”
Protocol would require the county official to agree and nothing more. But this was Ground Zero. There, in the refrigerated makeshift morgue, the graying man crooked an arm around Landon’s neck, pulling him close. “I’m sorry, son.” His voice was thick. “I’m so sorry.”
The tears came then, and Landon could do nothing to stop them. “Jalen . . .” He bent his knees and squatted down, unable to see. “Jalen loved fighting fires here.”
Although he’d worked at Ground Zero for over two months and had seen the county official nearly every day, Landon didn’t know the man’s name. But the official gripped Landon’s shoulder and allowed him to cry, allowed him to weep and groan and grieve Jalen’s loss the way he hadn’t been able to do since first seeing the attacks on television.
Because Jalen’s death had never been real until now.
Two minutes passed, and Landon couldn’t get a grip. He felt buried beneath the death and destruction and loss the same way Jalen had been buried beneath the twin towers. It wasn’t right! So many firefighters, all driven to save lives, all rushing up the stairs into a death trap. Why hadn’t someone stopped them?
How would he tell Jalen’s mother? What details would she want to know? And what about all the others still waiting to find a friend or family member? What about the retired fire captain still working the line, still waiting for his reckoning moment?
Landon wanted to struggle to his feet, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to return to the pile again; he wanted to walk to the back of the truck, find Jalen’s body, and sit by him for a while. They needed more time together, time to talk. Time for Landon to apologize for taking so long to get him out. Time to tell him about what had happened and how the country was responding.
The sobs shook his body until he felt another hand on his shoulder. “Blake . . .”
He turned and saw the captain, the same one who had led him to the front of the line when they first realized the body was Jalen’s. “Y-y-yes, sir.”
“When’s the last time you had a day off?” The man’s tone was gentle, almost fatherly. Landon guessed this wasn’t the first time he’d seen one of his own break down since September 11.
“Well, sir . . .” Landon’s knees shook as he stood up. He pinched the bridge of his nose and s
queezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear the tears enough to see. “I haven’t had a day, sir.”
The captain’s eyebrows lifted. “Not a single day? Not since you got here?”
Two quick, silent sobs racked Landon’s shoulders. “No, sir. I . . . I wanted to find Jalen, sir.”
“Look, Blake”—the captain took hold of Landon’s upper arm—“you need to go home.”
“Home, sir?” Landon blinked. His head was spinning . . . any minute he was going to pass out. “I work here now, sir.”
“I realize that. But you won’t be of any use to us if you don’t take care of yourself.”
Landon waited, still longing to be with his friend one last time.
“We have a lot of shortages in the department, as you know.” The captain’s voice was firm but compassionate. “I need men like you manning a station, not sifting through rubble.”
He paused, his gaze direct. “Go home, Blake. Take a few days. Then come back and report for duty at headquarters. Your one-year contract will begin December tenth, and it will begin in the firehouse. You’ve done more than your share here at Ground Zero.”
Landon had no idea how he made it back to the apartment that afternoon. But somehow he found a way to contact Jalen’s parents and his own, and book a flight back to Indiana. He’d done what he set out to do. He’d found Jalen and helped remove him from the rubble.
In the process he’d said good-bye to one of his closest friends.
Now it was time to spend a few days with the other.
Chapter Thirty
Ashley was in no hurry to get another job until after Christmas.
She still had a little of the accident settlement money left, and besides, she and Cole were having a wonderful time together. They took trips to the library and read a dozen Dr. Seuss books—Cole’s favorite. Evenings were spent watching Dumbo or The Lion King and eating Ashley’s homemade oatmeal cookies.
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