Ever After

by Karen Kingsbury

  The weeks of summer disappeared, and finally Lauren had to face the facts.

  There had been no improvement between her and Shane, nothing to convince her she should stay. He’d been busy at work, training a new group of pilots and preparing for a series of raids that would take place from naval aircraft carriers located in the waters off the Middle East.

  They were covert operations, plans to bomb headquarters where new terrorist cells were gathering and making plans for attack. All Shane could tell her was that the U.S. government had discovered more terrorist activity, that they knew the whereabouts of the terrorists and which compounds they were using, and that they intended to eliminate them without civilian casualty before they could formulate a strike against the United States.

  He was taken up with the plans while she’d given herself over to stories that seemed empty and meaningless. A feature on the college dropout rate, the difficulty college grads had getting jobs that paid enough, the success of a reading program in inner-city D.C., and the humanitarian work being done in New Orleans more than a year after Hurricane Katrina.

  Okay, so those stories were important to a segment of people. But the war affected every citizen in the U.S. and the Middle East. When she wrote from Afghanistan, she could help sway public opinion, help people know how wrong and ineffective the war was, and what hardships it created for the Afghani and Iraqi citizens. She could tell the truth about civilian casualties and show that the U.S. had been overzealous in declaring war in the first place.

  Maybe her stories would be strong enough to help voters know that it was time to bring in a president who would put an end to the horrors being committed in Afghanistan and Iraq. Those countries would figure out their own way to freedom. If they wanted it badly enough, they’d find a way. But American boys needed to be back home. No matter what Shane thought.

  The longer she pictured Justin Baker bent down using his own shirt to stave off the soccer player’s bleeding, a girl he’d never met, the more she’d changed her thinking. It wasn’t the soldiers’ fault they were in Iraq. They’d been taught that what they were doing was right.

  If Justin was what U.S. soldiers really were like, then all the more reason to pull out of the war. America couldn’t stand to lose a generation of young people like that. Kids who might grow up to be police officers or firefighters or judges, doctors, or lawyers. The very ones who would bring about change in a society that desperately needed it. No, the cost was too great if it meant losing a single kid like the one Emily was in love with.

  She’d tried to talk about it with Shane one night, but the conversation hadn’t gone well. They shared dinner at his house, and afterward they took a walk to the nearby park.

  “Remember when we were freshmen?” Shane held her hand. He stopped and looked at the swings. “We’d walk home together every day past the grade school.”

  “And if classes were out, we’d stop and swing together.” She smiled. The memory was as clear as if it had happened last week. “We’d see who could get the highest.”

  “You won almost every time.” He grinned at her, released her hand, and took a few running steps toward the swings. “Bet I can beat you now.”

  They both laughed, and the feeling was wonderful — so much better than the tension that seemed to always settle between them. She jumped on the nearest swing. “Race you to the moon.”

  “And back again.”

  The same words they’d said every time they’d done this as kids. And as they stretched their legs to the sky, Lauren could almost believe it was possible, that they could look past their differences if only they could spend more time doing this, playing and laughing together.

  Shane won easily that evening. When they slowed their swings, out of breath from laughing and the exertion, Shane held up his finger. “Winner. Definitely the winner.”

  “Okay.” She set her swing into gentle motion and waited until her breathing was normal again. “Hey … guess what?”

  “What?”

  She narrowed her eyes, still holding onto the swing chain. “I’ve changed my mind about soldiers.”

  He looked nervous, as if he was having too much fun to talk about war. “After you got to know Justin, right?”

  “More than that.” She looked into the deep blue sky. “I used to think they were the bad guys, sort of. The people who were in favor of war — ” she gave him a quick look — “which could never be a good thing.”

  Shane moved his swing ever so slightly. He let out a heavy sigh and stared at the ground. “Lauren …”

  “No, really. I have a point here.” She kept her tone light, so she wouldn’t shut him off from listening. “I know differently now. The soldiers, the kids like Justin, they’re the good guys, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.” Shane looked at her, but his expression was wary, as if he knew better than to agree to anything she might say about the war or the military. “They’re definitely the good guys.”

  She twisted her swing from side to side, her eyes never leaving his. “So that’s all the more reason why war’s wrong. Because we can’t afford to lose the Justin Bakers of this country.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t come easily. “Does that make sense?”

  He stood slowly and held his hand out to her. “We better get back. I have an early day tomorrow.”

  Lauren had noticed a trend.

  When they shared an evening together, if she didn’t talk about the war or his job or the Middle East, then they’d find their way to the cozy sofa in his living room. They’d whisper about the past and share kisses — sometimes far later than they meant to. Shane had made it clear that he wouldn’t sleep with her, and she agreed that it was best not to. She’d gotten pregnant once. It could happen again. Besides, no matter how liberal her views, she believed sex outside marriage was wrong. The Bible said so, and she truly wanted to do things God’s way.

  But if the taboo topics came up, their kissing would be quick and marked with strain and distrust, as if both of them knew it was only a matter of time before she’d leave again, and that would be that.

  Now it was the first of September and she’d made up her mind.

  She couldn’t leave Shane, not on her own. Couldn’t tell him she didn’t love him and care for him when she still did, when her feelings for him had never been deeper. But she couldn’t stay either. Shane deserved a wife who would praise him every day for his commitment to national security, who would celebrate covert air strikes as one more sign that America was in safe hands.

  Men needed compliments. Her mother had taught her that when she was a teenager. But how could she build Shane up when she disagreed with what he was doing? And since she didn’t have the strength to break things off, she’d made a different sort of decision.

  To tell Bob Maine yes. Yes, she would go back to Afghanistan, and yes, she would work alongside Scanlon. She would report on the war the way she’d always done, and she would look harder this time — in case she was wrong. She would commit to a full year, and when it was over — if Shane was still interested — they could talk, see if they’d come any closer to finding the common ground she’d prayed about. See if they’d figured out a bridge long enough to span the distance between them.

  They were meeting at the park again that night. Lauren didn’t want dinner — she wasn’t hungry, and after she told him her news, he wouldn’t be either. She arrived ten minutes before Shane and took a spot at their usual picnic table. She had just long enough to study the endless expanse of mesquite bushes that covered the dusty, dry hills surrounding Fallon, just enough time to watch a pair of fighter jets zooming out of sight in the distance. Why had she ever thought it could work?

  Lord … I don’t understand how we got into this mess. Why did You let us find each other? And how come I ever thought I could survive here in Fallon?

  She listened, and after a minute she began to see a Scripture verse forming in her mind. My ways are not your ways.

  The verse was one she
and Shane had talked about before. God’s ways were different than man’s, right? Wasn’t that what it meant? But why would the Lord place that verse in her mind now? She sat still, observing the world around her. Not too far away, an older couple held hands as they walked along the paved perimeter of the park. Closer still, a family with two young boys was having fun on the play structure.

  My ways are not your ways …

  Did God want her to see that maybe her way of thinking wasn’t right? Was that it? If so, she was willing. Lord, if I’m wrong, show me. I only want what’s best for this country, for the soldiers and the people of the Middle East. If my ways aren’t Your ways, then please, Lord … show me Your ways.

  She realized then that her prayer was one of the most common ones uttered throughout the Bible. Not a prayer for her will to be done, or for her way of thinking to be right. But a cry for wisdom.

  What did the Bible say? Wisdom was more precious than gold or silver, better than honey, and worth any amount of searching, right? Wisdom was seeing things as closely as possible to the way God saw them, understanding them the way He understood them.

  And it was admitting that maybe she was wrong — or maybe she and Shane both were — and being open to whatever God wanted to teach her. That was wisdom. Fine, Lord … I’m here, I’m open. I never wanted to hurt Shane this way, never wanted to hurt myself. So please, God … give me wisdom.

  As she finished the prayer, she spotted Shane pulling into the parking lot. He got out of his car and walked over, his steps slower than usual. He knows, she told herself. He has to see what’s coming.

  He took the seat opposite her and folded his hands on the table. “You know something?” His expression was open and vulnerable, and it reminded her of the cold winter night when he drove to her house, the day before his family moved him to California. He had come as a last-ditch effort, desperate for a way to avoid saying good-bye.

  “What?” She felt like a schoolgirl again, lost in his eyes. This was her Shane, the man she’d looked for all her young adult life.

  “My heart still beats faster every time I see you.” He reached across the table and she did the same. Their fingertips touched, and the sensation was warm and intimate. “I’m here because you want to talk.” A sad smile played on his lips. “And knowing you, that can’t be good. But even so,” he looked deep into her eyes, “I see you and I want to shout to the heavens. You’re here. You really are here after all those years apart.”

  “Shane …” She couldn’t be doing this, could she? Meeting with Shane to tell him good-bye? She swallowed hard and searched his eyes. She was right; he knew what was coming. But even so, he wasn’t angry or distant. Instead he held his whole heart out for her. “I’ll never regret coming here, following you here to Fallon.”

  “Hmmm.” His eyes never lost contact with hers. “Why don’t I like that opening?”

  “Because — ” She hung her head and made a sound that was more cry than laugh. When she lifted her chin, she could already feel tears in her eyes. “I admire you, Shane. I don’t tell you enough.” She brushed her fingertips against his again. “You’ve committed your life to doing what you think is right, to living the way you believe is best.” She let her voice drop a notch. “Most people could go their entire lives and not be able to say that.”

  “You admire me, Lauren?” His words were a caress. The longer they sat there, the harder this was going to be. “Is that what you came to tell me?”

  “No.” Her answer was quick and bathed in compassion. “But it’s true. And I don’t think I’ve told you enough. I might not — ” she waved her hand around, frustrated at herself — “I might not agree with you, but I admire you for taking a stand. Really, I do.”

  “Okay.” He looked like he didn’t want to ask the next question. But he had no choice. “So why are we here?”

  She brought her hand back to his. “Because — ” she held her breath — “I’m leaving in the morning.” There was no way around the obvious, not anymore. She had to tell him, because if she didn’t say the truth soon, she’d run around the table and fall into his arms and make promises to him that she could never keep.

  “Leaving? For an assignment?”

  “Yes … no.” She breathed out and let the explanation come. “My editor wants me back in Afghanistan, Shane.” Her emotions caught her off guard. This was the only sane choice, the only answer. The only way even to find out if God’s wisdom went against her own, or if compromise was something she was supposed to work on. She pressed her finger to her upper lip and fought for control. “I’ve told you before. He’s been asking me all summer.”

  Whether he had expected this or not, Shane’s face grew a shade paler.“You’re going back to the Middle East?” He tightened the hold he had on her hands. “Tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes.” She felt terrible, and she wondered at her sanity. If she hadn’t run off to California looking for him, if she hadn’t turned her back on her family twenty years ago, then everything would be different. Back then she would’ve driven to the moon to find Shane, to reconnect with him. Now, here they were, together again, and she was choosing to walk away.

  “So that’s it, huh?” He sat a little straighter, and for the first time since he arrived, there was anger in his eyes, in his tone. “That’s all the warning you’re giving me?”

  “Shane, if I’d told you any sooner, I wouldn’t go. I’d change my mind, because that’s what being with you does to me. It makes me think impossible thoughts, like we could work things out, when nothing that’s happened between us since I moved here makes that look even close to plausible.”

  He released her hand, stood, and turned his back to her. When they were teens, Shane had been willing to live with friends or with a teacher so he could stay in Illinois and marry her the way he wanted to. He would’ve worked three jobs so that after graduation they could live on their own and raise their child.

  But the choice hadn’t been his. That summer, when Lauren was weeks away from delivering, Shane’s parents moved their family across the country. Oh, they promised he and Lauren would stay in touch, but that was a lie, same as the lie her parents had told her — that they’d connect with the Galanters as soon as they settled in California.

  Now it was like the same thing was happening all over again. Shane had been willing to make things work, willing to listen to Lauren’s arguments, willing to go to counseling or take longer trips away from Fallon.

  But like before, the choice wasn’t his.

  He crossed his arms, his shoulders stiff and unmoving. If his heart was breaking, he wasn’t showing it. She sat there, helpless. “This is all my fault, Shane.” A couple of young moms walked by. Lauren waited until they had passed before finishing her thought. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Understand?” He spun around and put one foot on the bench where he’d been sitting a few moments ago. He leaned closer. “Lauren, you give me no time even to breathe, let alone understand.”

  “That’s because I just made up my mind last night.” She wanted to go to him, fall into his arms, and stay there. But it wasn’t the time. “I’ve thought about it all summer, Shane. Wondered if I was crazy to want to leave, or crazier still to think I could stay.”

  “I love you, Lauren.” He clenched his jaw and shook off the emotions that seemed to battle in his eyes. “What do our views on the war — ” he spat the word like it was poison — “what do they matter? Certainly there must be more we can talk about than that.” He waved his hand over his head. “Like the years we lost … and our role in Emily’s life and the stories you’re writing and what plans we have for the future. We can talk about our faith, and how important it is to find a church where we’ll both fit in.” He did a single laugh, one that held no humor whatsoever. “See, Lauren? Have you thought about those things?”

  While he was talking, another pair of fighter jets soared into the sky overhead. The sound shook the park, and the little boys with
their parents looked up, staring and smiling. Lauren waited until the sound died off. Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. “I live in Fighter Town, U.S.A., Shane. Sometimes I can’t think at all for the constant sound of the jets overhead.”

  “So that’s it?” He tossed his hands and put his foot back down on the ground. “We meet here and say good-bye, we go our separate ways like we never found each other again?”

  “No.” She was on her feet now. She moved around the table and stood before him. “I’m not leaving you, Shane. I’m taking a job in the Middle East. One year, that’s what I’ve promised. And something else.” She waited until he met her eyes. “I’ve asked God to show me if my beliefs are wrong or too strong. If I should compromise somehow. I’ve asked Him for wisdom.” Tears clouded her eyes. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  For a long while, the anger lingered in his expression. But then the fight seemed to leave him. He held out his hands and took her into his arms. “A whole year? What if He shows you before that?”

  “Then I’ll come home.” She met his eyes and touched her fingers to the side of his face. Then she brought her lips to his. Their kiss was borne of desperation and longing and sorrow. When it was over, there were tears on both their cheeks. “I’ll come home, and I’ll pray with every fiber of my heart that you’ll still be here waiting.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “In the meantime … you’ll have a lot less stress at dinner parties.”

  He smiled, but it faded before it reached his eyes. “Promise me something?”

  She wanted to tell him yes, anything he asked. But they both knew that wasn’t true. Instead she angled her head and prayed he’d see her heart. “I can try.”

  “Promise me you’ll go back with open eyes.” His tone was tender, filled with meaning.

  “Okay.” It was an easy promise to make. She’d already prayed for wisdom, and though she expected to feel even more strongly against the war a year from now, she could promise him to keep her eyes open. At least that. “If I’m wrong, I’ll say so.”