Rejoice

by Karen Kingsbury

  Maria’s eyes were wide, fearful, but she nodded and made her way to Helen. “Come on, dear. It’s time for our TV shows.”

  Helen left with only one glance over her shoulder. The moment they were alone, Ashley took Irvel’s wrist. It was warm but limp, completely nonresponsive. “Irvel, wake up!” With a forced calm, she checked the woman’s pulse, but found none. Next she passed her hand in front of Irvel’s nose and mouth, and felt no breathing sensation whatsoever.

  “Irvel.” Ashley bent close to the woman’s feathery soft face and gave her shoulder a gentle shake. “Irvel, wake up. Come on. . . . You’re going fishing with Hank today, remember?”

  No response.

  “Irvel!” Ashley’s voice was urgent, more persistent. She eased Irvel’s head back and only then was she sure about what had happened. Irvel’s eyes were open, blue and translucent, forever still. Her hands were together, still gripping the picture of Hank, and on her face was the slightest trace of a smile.

  “Oh, Irvel . . .” Tears stung at Ashley’s eyes as she put her arms around the woman and hugged her.

  Maria rushed back into the room, her task with Helen complete. “Ashley, what is it? What happened?”

  She still had Irvel in her arms, but she looked up and met Maria’s frantic look. Then, with a sadness she couldn’t express, she shook her head. “Get her file, please, Maria.”

  Protocol at Sunset Hills was that they call for emergency help if one of the residents was suffering a heart attack or a stroke. But if the person had already died, the call would go to the funeral home—a detail each of the residents had on file.

  Ashley had no doubt that Irvel was dead, and the loss was greater than she’d ever imagined. Irvel was her friend, the one who had convinced her to work at Sunset Hills in the first place. Ashley and Irvel had shared a hundred hours of conversation about Hank and God and the merits of tea. But now she was gone, and Ashley was sure her heart would never be the same again.

  Alone with Irvel again, Ashley studied the woman’s face and ran her fingertips over her wrinkled cheeks. “Thank you, Irvel . . . you taught me so much.”

  Ashley thought of all that would come now. She’d have to tell Cole that Irvel had died, and contact Irvel’s family about a service. No matter that Irvel was safe in the arms of Jesus, the next few days would be some of the saddest Ashley had known.

  She hugged her old friend once more. “Good-bye, Irvel . . . I’ll miss you.”

  Working carefully, slowly, Ashley closed Irvel’s eyes. She reached down to remove the photograph from Irvel’s fingers, but then she stopped short. Let the caretaker remove the picture of Hank. Ashley couldn’t bring herself to separate Irvel’s fingers from the photograph any more than she could will the old woman back from the dead.

  “God . . . be with her.” Ashley whispered the words against Irvel’s cheek.

  Irvel’s words from this morning came back to her, and a strange feeling made its way through her heart. Had she known? Had God given her some idea that this morning would be her last, that come this afternoon she and Hank would finally see each other again the way they hadn’t seen each other for so many years?

  Then suddenly Ashley was certain. Her old friend must’ve had an idea, because for the first time she hadn’t planned to spend the day waiting for Hank to return from a day of fishing with the boys.

  And now, at long last, the waiting was over.

  Irvel was no longer an Alzheimer’s patient living out her days at Sunset Hills Adult Care Home. She would never again get confused about Helen’s name or wonder why some people were violent when all they had to do was love God to find joy.

  No, Irvel was finally free from the binds of earth. And today, even at this moment, Irvel was a citizen of heaven, sitting on the banks of a lake in paradise, doing the very thing she’d planned on doing that day.

  Fishing with her beloved Hank.

  Chapter Thirty

  The warehouse was fully involved in flames long before Landon and his engine company arrived at the scene. His position as captain had been delayed for two months because of a personnel switch, so he was still with his original station, the station Jalen had worked at, and this afternoon he’d been on duty five hours when the call came in.

  A rush of adrenaline coursed through Landon’s veins as his truck pulled up and waited for instructions. Huge balls of fire leapt from one side of the building, and for a fraction of a moment Landon stared at it, mesmerized. Jalen had told him about fires like this, but never—until now—had he seen one for himself.

  Sure, the fires he and his men responded to were often major. Many had involved the rescue of civilians and other firefighters. But nothing Landon had seen had been as massive as the fire playing out before them now.

  “Blake!” Captain Dillon’s expression was tight with tension. “You and the others get a ladder up the south side of the building stat. Command says four men are trapped near the center of the roof.”

  “Roger that, sir.” Landon led the way with Barry, John-John, and three other men behind him. Normally the ladder companies handled roof assignments, but they were the only available men, and there was no time to think about other options.

  The group worked their ladder to the far side of the building, the place where the flames hadn’t quite come through the roof. Landon and John-John grabbed hoses and scrambled up the ladder first. The moment they reached their position, the other four men climbed past them in search of the trapped men.

  Be careful, guys. . . . Landon directed a spray of water at the most threatening flames, the ones that shot through the roof between them and the center of the structure. Come on, God . . . let the water hit it right, take down the flames so we can see the men.

  It took three seconds for four of the men to disappear through the smoke and flames in search of the victims. Landon tightened his grip on the hose and gave it everything he had, but still the pressure wasn’t enough. Another wall of flames shot through the roof, blocking off one of the few escape routes from the center of the building.

  Landon could barely make out a host of sirens in the distance. More units were coming, but it didn’t matter. The building was shaking, the roof shuddering beneath the ladder where he and John-John were anchored. Thick smoke billowed past them, cutting visibility to almost nothing.

  Steady, Landon . . . breathe steady. He checked the fitting of his face mask and sucked in a slow mouthful of oxygen. His position on the ladder was steady, but the ladder rested on the roof. If the roof gave way . . .

  Then suddenly a piercing crack filled the air, rising above even the roar of the fire. In slow motion, a rumbling began to build and grow until it was deafening, the sound of a freight train bearing down on them.

  Or the sound of a collapsing structure.

  Landon tightened his grip on the ladder.

  “Hold on, Blake.” John-John’s voice sounded over the radio monitor in his helmet. The man was hanging from the other side of the ladder, looking like he might fall at any minute.

  Just then another crash sounded and shook the flaming building, and the ladder jolted a few feet to the side as a cloud of debris rose out of the thick smoke.

  Landon used all of his strength to keep his grip. The smoke and debris were so thick, he couldn’t tell what had happened, couldn’t see if the roof was still intact. Loud static sounded in his helmet, and he could barely make out a handful of words.

  “Evacuate the roof . . . evacuate the roof.”

  The command was muffled, and Landon wasn’t sure he heard it. Why would they want him to evacuate? He continued spraying the hose, staring through the relentless smoke, desperate for a sign of life among the flaming beams.

  Beside him John-John began making his way back down the ladder. He motioned at Landon once and then continued toward the ground.

  “Wait!” Landon shouted the word into his face mask and felt his grip on the ladder loosen. He was suddenly so tired he wasn’t sure he could hang on another
minute. Landon felt the ladder shake again, and he closed his eyes.

  I can’t leave those men, God . . . not if I can help them.

  Son . . . obey. I’ll take care of the men.

  The thought came to him so directly Landon wondered if maybe he’d heard it over the radio. But when he opened his eyes, he was completely alone. John-John was gone, descended through the cloud of black smoke. And still he had no way of knowing whether the roof was even intact, let alone whether anyone was trapped there.

  He hesitated for another moment, and then once more his ladder sank several feet closer to the roaring inferno below.

  Go, son . . .

  Landon gritted his teeth and with the hose still spraying, he began his descent. Inside his sweltering uniform he was drenched with sweat, barely able to breathe, blistering from the flames beneath him. One step, another. Breathe, Landon . . . keep going. Another step, two more.

  Finally, after five minutes, he reached the ground.

  Immediately he was whisked away from the building, and only then did he realize he was in trouble. His feet wouldn’t work, and he felt sick to his stomach. Heatstroke, the condition that lulled a number of firefighters to their death each year. Landon allowed the men on either side of him to drag him to a staging area, where they ripped off his helmet and held a cup of water to his lips.

  Landon wasn’t sure what was happening. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and more than anything he wanted to sleep. He uttered a weak cough and felt his knees buckle.

  “Drink.” It was Captain Dillon, and when Landon didn’t reach for the cup, the captain splashed half of it onto his face. “Come on, Blake; drink the water.”

  The cold wetness against his face snapped Landon to attention, and he gave a hard shake of his head. “Wait . . . what . . . what happened?”

  “Drink.” The captain had more water.

  This time Landon smacked his lips. They were parched and swollen. He opened them as wide as he could and let the cool water run into his throat. Medics joined them now and gave the captain a full bottle of water, which he held to Landon’s lips.

  “Keep drinking.”

  “Let’s get him to the truck.” One of the medics led them toward the bumper of the closest fire truck, and Landon worked his legs in front of him, then stumbled. His feet wouldn’t work and his legs were shaking. Not just his legs but his arms, hands, even his mouth. Almost as if he were shivering. The medics peeled away his uniform until his turnouts were off.

  “Heatstroke.” One of the medics covered Landon’s mouth with an oxygen mask. “Breathe deep. You’ll be okay.”

  Five minutes passed while Captain Dillon and two medics alternated giving him water and oxygen. Finally, seven minutes later, Landon’s head cleared some, and he started to remember. He’d been at the top of a ladder, spraying water onto the flames coming through the roof, and . . .

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Captain Dillon ignored the question. “You okay, Blake?”

  “Fine.” Landon straightened, searching the firefighters milling about for the faces of his friends. “Where’s Barry and John-John?”

  The captain clenched his jaw and gave a shake of his head. “The roof collapsed.”

  “What?” Landon’s heart thudded hard. “Where’re the men?”

  “On their way to the hospital.” It could’ve been the smoke, but the captain’s eyes were red and damp. “Eight of them were trapped in the collapse.”

  Eight men? The four who were trapped initially, and four from . . . “Four from our engine company, sir?”

  “Yes.” The captain narrowed his eyes, wrinkles bunching up at the corners. “You’re a praying man, right, Blake?”

  “Yes, sir.” Landon wanted to run, chase after the ambulance and make sure his men were okay. Make sure all the men were okay. “Are they hurt bad, sir?”

  The captain paused, and for a moment his gaze fell to the ground. “Pray, Blake. Pray hard.”

  By seven o’clock that evening, everyone in the department had the news.

  The collapsed roof had claimed the lives of six men, one of them Barry, Landon’s colleague and friend. Combined, fourteen children were fatherless that night because of one New York City fire.

  One lousy fire.

  Landon arrived at his apartment just before eight o’clock and fell onto the sofa. His clothes still reeked from smoke. He’d spent two hours getting intravenous fluids at the hospital, orders of Captain Dillon, and his body was no longer in trouble. But his heart was devastated.

  How had it happened?

  Four men were trapped, so how had they lost six? Six men who had gone to work today the same as any other FDNY man, only tonight they lay dead, their families devastated. Because of what?

  A warehouse fire.

  The fire would’ve burned out eventually, so who had sent them skittering to the roof to spray water at it? Landon crossed his arms and willed himself to stay calm; he could do nothing about the losses now. And the department had been following protocol. When a warehouse was involved, they could often stop the fire by attacking it from the top.

  And that meant putting men on the roof.

  He stayed there for a while, anchored to the sofa, his legs stretched out. God, I asked you to help.

  Men are like the grass, son. . . . What is your life but a mist?

  The Scriptures were ones he was familiar with, verses that had struck him on several occasions before. Verses that reminded him that life was too short to hesitate, words that had pushed him to come to Manhattan in the first place.

  He closed his eyes and he could hear Jalen again.

  “Fighting fires in Bloomington is a pastime, man. But in New York City it’s a passion.”

  Hadn’t Landon thought about that when he made the decision to come? Life was short, little more than a mist. Why wait around Bloomington for Ashley when his job could become a passion in New York City?

  But now, in light of the day’s losses, the Bible verses made him wonder why—if life was so short—he’d want to spend it putting out warehouse fires a thousand miles from home.

  The thought buzzed around in his head until he was thirsty again. The doctor at the hospital had told him he’d be thirsty through the night and the next day. Night had fallen outside, and Landon flipped on a light as he headed for the kitchen and a glass of water.

  As he walked by the phone he noticed the message light blinking on his answering machine, and he paused long enough to press the button.

  The voice that sounded through the speaker was John Baxter’s. Landon reached down and turned up the volume.

  “Hey, Landon, wanted you to know that Irvel died this morning.” Mr. Baxter’s voice was mixed with sorrow and compassion. “Ashley was with her, and . . . well, she’s taking it pretty hard. The service will be Sunday at one o’clock.” He paused. “Just thought you’d want to know.”

  Landon hunched over the machine and hit the Off button. Not Irvel, too, God.

  There was no response this time, and Landon gripped the countertop. What was he doing, so far away from everything that mattered to him? Hadn’t he come to this truth before, after finding Jalen’s body in the rubble of the collapsed World Trade Center? and again before Kari and Ryan’s wedding?

  And what about his week with Ashley after Christmas?

  Hadn’t he known he could never live without her? Sure he could convince himself that Ashley had made up her mind, and that the captain position was God’s way of showing him a different plan, one that didn’t involve Ashley Baxter.

  But what was God telling him now?

  Life was short, a mist that appeared for a little while and then vanished. He could stay in New York and devote his life to putting out flaming warehouses. Sure, once in a while he’d help with a rescue and maybe save a life. But there was one person who needed him more than any fire victim ever could. Because there would always be a firefighter to take his place at the department.

  But
no one else would ever love Cole Baxter the way he did.

  And even if he never convinced Ashley to let him love her, there was still Cole. And without a dad in his life, without a man who could take up where John Baxter would leave off one day, Cole could very easily slip through the cracks.

  Suddenly the smoke in his life cleared, and everything about his future came into focus. It was only a matter of time before the body that slipped through the roof of a flaming building was his. And where would that leave Cole? He wasn’t afraid to die, not hardly. Rather he was afraid to miss out on living, on embracing the kind of life that would be filled with meaning and joy.

  Landon stared at the phone and thought about the calls he needed to make in the morning. He would call Captain Dillon and put in his two weeks’ notice. Then he’d contact his old captain back at the Bloomington station and see if he could get his job back. He’d thank Jalen’s parents for the use of the apartment this past year, and he’d pack up his things.

  But first, he had a memorial service to attend, and that meant one phone call he could make tonight.

  A phone call to the airlines.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Very few people remembered Irvel at her service on Sunday.

  The memorial was held at a small downtown church, a place Irvel had never attended, since she hadn’t lived in Bloomington except for her time at Sunset Hills.

  Ashley had given the pastor a brief sketch of Irvel’s life, the fact that she’d loved Jesus and Hank, not always in that order. And the truth that even after Alzheimer’s had taken her mind, she remembered to be kind and compassionate, a Christian woman with grace and manners.

  Three of Irvel’s grandchildren and two nieces made the service and sat in the front row. Her grandson would take over her affairs, since he lived the closest.

  Ashley’s parents and Cole sat with her also, near the front of the church. Maria and a few other workers from Sunset Hills sat in the row behind them. Ashley had thought about coming by herself, without Cole, but she wanted her son to see this, the closed casket and the parting words for someone who no longer lived on earth, but had crossed over to heaven.