Rejoice

by Karen Kingsbury

  They ended the conversation with Brooke’s agreeing to spend an hour Sunday talking to Kari in the waiting room, or wherever they could find privacy. Ryan promised to call Peter at their house later that night and see if he’d join them.

  “You have to believe your marriage is worth saving.” Ryan met Brooke’s eyes one last time. “Otherwise no amount of talking things through will make a difference.”

  “I know.” Brooke released a sad burst of air. “That’s the problem; I’m not sure it is.” She looked at Kari. “But I’ll talk. If it would help Hayley, I’d walk across broken glass.”

  Ryan hugged Brooke and Kari.

  Their mother joined them, and she placed her hand along the side of Brooke’s face. “Don’t give up, honey. God shines a flashlight on even the darkest path. There’s nowhere we can go where he hasn’t already been.”

  They went back in the hospital room to check on Maddie and Hayley, and what they saw stopped them in the doorway. Maddie was standing on the bedside chair. She was leaning over Hayley, blowing short puffs of air onto her face.

  Brooke didn’t run at Maddie, but she moved as fast as she could without startling the girl. “Honey, what are you doing?”

  “I’m helping Hayley.” Maddie looked up and brushed her dirty blonde hair out of her eyes. “Hayley’s brain is hurt, Mommy.”

  “Yes . . . of course, baby.” Brooke was at Maddie’s side now, taking her into her arms and hugging her, stroking her hair. “But why are you blowing on her?”

  “Because, Mommy.” Maddie glanced over her shoulder once more at her little sister. “Hayley needs air.”

  Chapter Eight

  Landon was deep in sleep when the phone rang.

  He smashed the pillow with his elbow and squinted at the alarm clock. Eight-fifteen. For a few seconds he struggled to clear his head. It was Monday morning, his day off, right? So who would be calling him so early? More than a week had passed since Hayley’s accident, and still Ashley hadn’t phoned. Was this her now then? Missing him, knowing how crazy she’d been to keep her distance . . . ?

  On the fourth ring, he grabbed the receiver and hit the Talk button. “Hello?”

  “Blake, it’s Captain Dillon at the station.”

  “Yes, sir.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Why would the captain call him this early, unless . . . images from September 11 flashed in his mind. “Is there an emergency, sir? Do you need me?”

  “Take it easy, Blake.” The captain chuckled on the other end. “There’s no emergency. Guess I forgot how early it was.”

  “Oh.” Landon exhaled. “That’s okay.” He held the pillow against his bare chest and leaned into it. “How can I help you, sir?”

  “I know it’s your day off, Blake, but a few of the brass are holding a meeting here at one o’clock today, and we’d like you to attend.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.” The brass? Meaning the captains and the battalion chief? Why would they want him at a meeting like that? He leaned back and stared out his bedroom window at the buildings across the street. The questions would have to wait until later. “One o’clock then?”

  “Yes.” The captain uttered another laugh. “Now get some sleep, will you? It’s your day off.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.” Landon hung up and stared at the receiver. His year with the New York City fire department wasn’t up until the first of January. It was only October now, too early for his annual review. So what was it?

  Landon slid back beneath the covers and tucked the pillow beneath his head. Had he messed up on some procedure, overlooked a detail in one of his recent reports? He didn’t think so, but then it happened. And when it did, meetings sometimes took place to discuss the offense.

  His empty stomach rumbled in a sickish sort of way. He’d put his entire heart and soul into his job with the FDNY; how could he have messed up a report? Landon stared at the ceiling and thought back over the past few weeks. He’d been distracted, of course. Ashley was always on his mind. And for the past week, ever since Reagan had told him about Hayley, he’d thought constantly about the Baxters.

  But he’d gone on with his routine.

  Men’s Bible study Thursday nights, church on Sundays, volunteer work Monday and Wednesday afternoons—two of his four days off. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened at work in that time, no major fires, no fatalities, nothing that would warrant the scrutiny of the captains, let alone the brass.

  For seven minutes Landon allowed himself to consider the possibilities. Seven minutes of worry before he remembered he wasn’t alone. Why the meeting, God? What did I do?

  My son, do not be anxious. . . . I know the plans I have for you.

  “God?” Landon whispered the word and felt his eyes grow wide. Often he sensed the Spirit’s presence when he prayed, heard the quiet echo of a response that had to have come from God alone. But this . . . the words he’d just heard had been almost audible. If it wasn’t for the phone call from the captain, he would’ve known he was dreaming. What was it he’d heard?

  Do not be anxious. . . . I know the plans I have for you.

  The words were a mixture of verses, Scriptures he’d studied last week at the men’s meeting. They’d been talking about the uncertainty of life since September 11, the uneasiness of living in Manhattan, the constant news reports that terrorists were planning still more attacks on the city.

  And the leader had brought up two Scripture verses.

  One from Philippians. Rejoice always, I will say it again rejoice . . . do not be anxious about anything, but in everything with prayer and thanksgiving make your requests to God, and the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. The leader had underlined the obvious points. Take your concerns to Jesus and he will give you unbelievable peace in exchange.

  The second Scripture was from Jeremiah, and it was one Landon was very familiar with. One he’d shared with Ashley a number of times. God knew the plans he had for his people, plans to give them a hope and a future and not to harm them.

  Again the leader had connected the dots. With the promise of peace and a future filled with hope, they could live a joyful life.

  “Rejoice,” the man had told the group. “God wants us to rejoice no matter what our circumstances. With the guarantee of peace and a hopeful future, why should we worry?”

  Rejoice . . .

  Landon thought about that for a moment, imagined himself feeling happy inside despite the pending meeting, despite the fact that Ashley hadn’t called him since Hayley’s accident, despite her HIV-positive blood, and the fact that she was drawing further away from him throughout the weeks.

  At the time, last Thursday night, he couldn’t relate to the idea. Yes, the people in the Bible might’ve been able to rejoice in the face of awful circumstances. But he wasn’t living in Bible times. He was living in a city still reeling from the effects of the nation’s greatest tragedy ever, a nation stumbling along beneath the threat of future terrorist attacks and an uncertain economy.

  “I’m not sure I see it,” he’d told the group that night. “I can understand feeling God’s peace, believing in his plans . . . but rejoicing? Always? I don’t know.”

  No one had tried to convince him. Instead, the conversation merely shifted to examples from several of the men, ways they’d been able to rejoice in the middle of some pretty awful stuff.

  But here . . . with the voice of God still echoing in his room . . . Landon understood for the first time. The only way he could live in a constant state of rejoicing was if he kept his perspective.

  It wasn’t so different from fighting fires in New York City.

  Every now and then a call would come that looked impossible from the first response. But they’d been trained to take the call in stages. Assess the situation . . . strategize . . . and work the plan. Step-by-step, moment by moment. And in that way no call ever felt overwhelming.

  The same was true with living a life
of joy.

  No matter what the situation, Landon could be certain of the bigger picture. God would be with him, giving him strength and peace. And in the end, God’s plans were good ones, plans that God himself was pulling together. All that and the promise of eternity.

  Landon uttered a single quiet laugh. “I get it, God. I really get it.”

  What wasn’t to be joyful about? Why not rejoice when God already had all the strange and sad details figured out?

  He was still marveling over the revelation when he arrived at the fire station that afternoon a few minutes before one. By then he wasn’t even a little worried about whatever the meeting held. God already knew the details. Landon would merely go along and give the best, most honest answers to whatever they wanted to know.

  “Hey, Blake, we’re in the meeting room.” Captain Dillon spotted him in the kitchen. The man poured himself a cup of coffee and stuck it in the microwave. He shot Landon a look over his shoulder. “Pretty big meeting, Blake. Maybe you better heat yourself a cup.”

  Landon hesitated. . . . “Rejoice always. I will say it again: Rejoice!”

  “I’m good.” Landon smiled.

  Captain Dillon was right about the brass. Landon entered the meeting room and recognized only half of the six men in the room. Their names weren’t necessary; he could see from their uniforms that they were farther up the chain of command than anyone he’d ever met.

  “Sirs . . .” Landon nodded and stood at attention.

  Captain Dillon entered the room behind him, steaming coffee in his hand. “Have a seat, Blake. This isn’t a disciplinary action.”

  Joyful or not, relief spilled into Landon’s veins. His knees trembled as he removed his hat and took a seat at the table with the other men.

  Battalion chief Michael Parsons sat straight across from him. He cleared his throat and began the meeting. “We’re very happy with your work, Lieutenant Blake. You’ve been meticulous in following department protocol, and your attention to detail has saved both buildings and lives in New York City.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Landon sat up straighter and glanced down at the front of his uniform. He expected to see his heart pulsing out past the buttons.

  “The purpose of this meeting is twofold.” The man glanced at a file on the table in front of him. When he looked up, his eyes shone and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “First, we’ve chosen to promote you to captain in January.”

  Landon could feel his heartbeat in his temples. His mouth was dry and his hearing dimmed. What had the battalion chief said? They wanted to promote him to captain? In January? That kind of a move was unheard of. A dozen men at his station alone would’ve been in line for the position ahead of him.

  The chief was explaining the details, how the position was at the smallest station in the department, how the brass had taken into consideration Landon’s years of service in Bloomington. “You’ll have the worst shifts at first, all nights and weekends. The most dangerous time to fight fires.”

  “Yes, sir.” Landon’s heart rate still hadn’t returned to normal, and he felt buoyant, as if he were floating, four—maybe five—feet off the ground. “The shifts won’t be a problem.”

  The man broke into a full smile. “I didn’t think so.”

  “You should know, Blake.” Captain Dillon grinned at him. “At first I told them they couldn’t have you.” He shifted his gaze to the battalion chief. “But then I heard the rest of their plans.”

  The rest of their plans? Landon couldn’t swallow, couldn’t think of anything to say. They had plans for him that went beyond making him captain? The offer was amazing, the kind of promotion a firefighter only dreamed about. But just when he was about to get the rest of the information from the battalion chief, a thought flashed across the core of his soul.

  Was that really what he wanted? A promotion? A higher rank in the FDNY? Didn’t he want to be in Bloomington with Ashley and Cole?

  “That brings us to the other reason we’re meeting today.” The battalion chief tapped the file in front of him. “We have plans for you, Blake. You’re the type of man this department needs, the type we want to build our future around.”

  Their future? The future of the FDNY?

  Landon felt as if he had a mouth full of cotton balls. He ran his tongue along the inside of his lips. “Yes, sir.” He hesitated. “You’re serious, sir?”

  “Yes, Blake.” Captain Dillon spread his hands out in front of him. “This is the first phase of a plan to groom you, my boy.”

  One of the other men leaned back in his chair. “For the top position, Blake. That’s what we’re talking about. A plan to make you chief of the department.”

  Landon gripped his knees and tried to keep from swaying. The words were coming at him from everyone around the table now, but he couldn’t make sense of any of them. They had a plan to make him chief? fire chief of the entire FDNY?

  Captain Dillon was explaining that Landon wasn’t the only one chosen for advancement. “Every five years or so, the brass get together and identify the firefighters who most demonstrate what we’re looking for in department leaders.” He lifted his coffee mug and took a swig. “Not everyone will make it, obviously. But everyone at this table thinks you have an incredible chance.”

  The battalion chief pushed himself back a few inches and crossed one leg over the other. He tried to contain a smile. “We’re fairly sure of your answer; otherwise we wouldn’t have asked. But before we begin training you, grooming you for something bigger down the road, you need to be sure it’s what you want.”

  The question was only a technicality. Landon had given his superiors no reason to believe he wasn’t enamored with his position in the FDNY. He wouldn’t be working here if he didn’t love it, right? He managed a tinny laugh. “Of course. Yes, sir.”

  “What we mean is, take your time and think it over.” The battalion chief gave a firm nod in Landon’s direction. “It’s a lot to take in at once, Blake. The promotion to captain, the plans for your future in the department.” He raised his eyebrows. “You’d be committing your future to this city, to the people of Manhattan.”

  “Right, sir.” Landon’s mouth was operating separately from his heart and soul. Committing his future to the city of New York? He gulped and kept his eyes on the battalion chief. “When . . . when do you need to know?”

  “By Friday.” Captain Dillon looked at the faces around the table. “That should be enough time, wouldn’t you say, gentlemen?”

  Agreement came from each of them. Yes, no doubt, five days should be enough for a young firefighter to commit to a lifetime in Manhattan. No doubt.

  “Very well, then.” The battalion chief stood and held his hand out to Landon. “I happen to think you already know what you want, Lieutenant. And I’m convinced beyond a doubt that we made the right choice in calling you here today.”

  Landon stood and took firm hold of the man’s hand. “Thank you, sir. You won’t be sorry.”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  The handshakes continued around the table, with several men nodding their approval and reminding him to make the call sooner if he was certain about his decision. When he finally left the room, Captain Dillon followed him.

  “I knew what you were thinking in there, Blake.” He stood inches from Landon’s face, his expression serious.

  Did he know? Could he have read Landon’s thoughts about Ashley and Cole and the life that awaited him back in Bloomington. He searched the man’s eyes. “You . . . you did?”

  “Yes.” The captain took a step back and crossed his arms. “You’re thinking it isn’t fair; you’re not next in line for a promotion like this one, right? Isn’t that what you were thinking?”

  The man was partially right. “Yes, sir. Other men should have the chance before me.”

  “You’re right, Blake.” His voice fell to an insistent hush. “But other men aren’t brass material. The decision to promote you was unanimous, and in all my ye
ars one thing has always been true when we agree on the man we’ll promote.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “We’re right.” He brought his tone back to a normal level. “Go enjoy the rest of your day off, Blake.”

  Landon had taken the subway to the station, but now he wanted to walk, to suck in big gulps of city air and sort through everything he’d just been told. His station was only a block from Central Park. As he left, he took long fast strides toward his favorite path, the one that wound east and then north past several play areas and the skating rink.

  The streets were crowded, full of the tourists who came for the fall leaves and milder autumn temperatures. Vendors shouted about T-shirts for sale and off-Broadway theater productions, but Landon hurried past, not paying attention to any of them.

  They wanted to make him captain? in January?

  Instead of the hundreds of people he passed, his mind saw only one face. His friend Jalen’s. Hadn’t that been Jalen’s dream? To make captain and one day find himself among the FDNY brass? Was he up in heaven right now, nudging God and asking that the plans for Landon’s life include his very own long-ago dreams?

  Landon walked harder, pushing himself.

  For two years he’d been too busy to think about the possibility of promotion. Busy finding Jalen’s body in the heap of rubble after the World Trade Center collapsed, busy getting established in the department last January. And most of all busy trying to figure out Ashley Baxter.

  He’d done everything he knew to win her heart, but where was she? The answer caused a bitter burst of air to slip through his teeth. She was back in Bloomington avoiding his calls the same way she’d avoided them back when they were in high school.

  He was in the park now, shaded by the trees that lined the path. A dark-skinned man in a white coat caught his eye and waved an ice-cream sandwich at him. “Ice cream . . . get your ice cream . . .”