Ever After

by Karen Kingsbury

  “You’ve been praying, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Mom tells me even she’s been talking to God.” Shane smiled. “Read her stories. The pictures alone are something most Americans have rarely seen.” He remembered that she was in a hurry. “I’ll call you later. I want to hear what you think about it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, and also … I want to fly out to see you one of these weekends so I can catch a game.”

  “We’re still undefeated.”

  “That’s my girl.” He ran his fingers over the still open magazine. “Talk to you later, sweetie. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  They said a quick good-bye and Shane slipped his cell phone back in his pocket. Once more he read the article, and this time he could almost hear Lauren talking to him through the lines of the story. Yes, war was tragic, yes, it was complicated. No one wanted war, least of all the members and families of the military.

  But some things were worth defending. Freedom and democracy and a way of life that Americans had become accustomed to, a way of life the people of Iraq were only now getting to taste. He could hear her saying all that, and something else.

  Not yet, maybe, not so soon, but if these were the types of stories she might find in the middle of Iraq, then one day not so far off, the two of them might figure out that they weren’t that different after all.

  The article might be the bridge they’d spent most of the past year looking for. Because only a change of heart would’ve allowed Lauren to present the story the way she’d done here. And in the quiet of that morning, he had to wonder. Maybe events like these, stories like this, would become a regular part of her war reporting. If they did, then her time in the Middle East just might give them the thing they’d never been able to find.

  Common ground.

  SIXTEEN

  Emily couldn’t get to the library fast enough.

  She believed her dad, that something in her mother’s article was proof that God was opening her eyes, changing her heart. But even more, she wanted to see the photo of Justin. She carried her books in her backpack and jogged down the paved path to the old brick library, the place where she’d spent countless hours studying.

  She’d chosen a minor in sociology, something she’d fallen into because of Justin. The impact he had on the Veterans and schoolkids — and especially on the teens — was impressive. She’d always pictured herself as a writer, even a reporter. Only she would present the facts without bias, at least as much as possible.

  But now she wasn’t sure she could be a responsible journalist without also being involved in the community around her — volunteering the way Justin did. Her writing courses had always been easy, and she wasn’t far enough in her studies to work for the campus newspaper yet. So her fall schedule had three sociology classes. But social studies required hours of homework and reading. After the soccer field and the little campus chapel, the library was where she spent much of her time.

  She came to the stairs and took them two at a time. The image she had of Justin, the one she carried in her heart, was the one of him in his dress uniform, standing beside her along the railing of the cruise boat. He was tanned and at ease, his eyes shining with love. Twice so far, he’d sent her digital photos of himself in Iraq. He and a buddy named Joe, standing in front of their barracks, or him and a group of Iraqi children, where it was impossible to tell who was enjoying the moment more — Justin or the kids. She hurried through the double doors and over to the counter where the library kept its periodicals. She found it almost immediately, several copies of the newest edition of Time. Okay, God … show me what my dad saw. Let me know if she’s starting to see things differently. Please …

  She grabbed the top copy and plopped down in the closest chair. It took her seconds to find the layout. And suddenly there he was. She brought the magazine closer and studied him. Somehow seeing him in Time magazine made his situation terrifyingly real.

  It was one thing to look at a digital photo attached to an email. But here … there was no denying the obvious. Justin was a world away, smack in the middle of one of the most dangerous parts of Iraq. She inhaled sharply, refusing to give in to the tears building in her throat. Her feelings were a mix of sorrow and longing and the very deepest pride.

  Because there was Justin, doing what he did best. Helping people, leading by example. War was raging a hundred yards down the street, but Justin was watching over the children of the protestors. If he and his company hadn’t been there, then what? Then the little boys and girls in the picture would’ve been gathered around their protesting fathers.

  And when bullets rang out, the children would’ve likely been among those killed. She studied the faces of the children. No doubt some of them had lost dads that day, but they hadn’t lost hope. Because the American soldiers in their midst gave them and their parents and their city a reason to believe that no matter how great the losses along the way, freedom would win. Democracy would rule.

  But even as her heart swelled with pride, a sick feeling spread through her. Justin … what are you doing so close to snipers, on the same streets as terrorists? As she looked at his smiling face, at the strength in his arm as he cocked the ball back, ready to release it, the magazine in her hands began to tremble.

  Not even one month had passed, and every day, every hour, placed him in danger. She tried to exhale, but only a tiny bit of air eased through her lips. Panic surged inside her. What if he didn’t have the right safety gear, the right weapons? What if on that same street, that very day, terrorists in another building took aim — in his direction?

  Her lungs wouldn’t work, and she felt a layer of perspiration building on her forehead. Her legs shook — and suddenly she realized what was happening. She was having a panic attack, something she hadn’t felt since the days before she found her parents. Sometimes she got so caught up in worry — that she’d never find her parents, that they might already be dead, or that they wouldn’t want to meet her even if she found them — that her body simply tried to shut down.

  That’s what was happening now.

  The what-ifs loomed larger than life, towering over her, suffocating her. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for someone who might help her, but the only one she could see was the librarian — far in the other corner of the library.

  God! I can’t breathe! She set the magazine on the table and bent over, resting her arms and her forehead on the hard surface. What if Justin never came home? How would she ever survive the loss? How would —

  Daughter, I am with you … my peace I give You.

  Like a punctured tire, the air slowly released from her too-tight lungs. Lord … is that you?

  Be still and know that I am God.

  Every cell in her body felt the command, heard the words. Her muscles responded, relaxing, and finally her lungs filled with air. The Lord was with her. He was here watching over her as she looked at the magazine, here listening to her thoughts as panic began to take hold of her.

  He wasn’t going to let her fall apart, and He wasn’t going to abandon Justin or her mother. She exhaled again. Thank You, God. She straightened slowly and leaned back against the hard, cold chair. She could do nothing to change the facts. Justin was in Iraq because he believed in being there. He was doing what he felt born to do — defending the cause of freedom, no matter the cost.

  She mustn’t do this again, let her thoughts and fears run away with her. Okay, Justin’s picture was in Time magazine. That didn’t make his being there more real. He was there. For another five months he’d be there, and she would have to find a way to deal with her feelings, her fears.

  The way was obvious. God … I forgot You were with me, but You are. You’re right here. She closed her eyes and felt herself beginning to cool down, felt the panic leaving her body. You spoke to me even before I called out. She took another breath, a cleansing, slow drink of oxygen.

  Then she turned her eyes to t
he story, her mother’s story. Fifteen minutes later, when she’d read every word, she knew two things for sure. Her father was right — something was changing in her mother; otherwise she never would’ve presented the day’s events in this light.

  And second, God wasn’t only with her, helping her through the panic. He was with her mother and with Justin and with every child smiling in the picture. For a long moment, she considered the loss of the U.S. soldier, the nineteen-year-old who had been first into the building, shot down by insurgents. Somewhere on the East Coast, the boy’s family was getting the news, being dealt the worst blow of their lives.

  The cost was high, and too often the cost had a face, a name, a history. But the young soldier had gone into battle knowing the risks, aware of the costs. Same as Justin. She could only hope that in the days to come, as the boy’s family and friends gathered to pay him tribute, they would thank God this generation included young men and women willing to sacrifice everything — the way military people had been willing to do since the country’s inception.

  All so that Americans could go on living a life they’d come to expect, one they so easily took for granted.

  She no longer felt sick, and the panic that had threatened to dominate her minutes ago subsided entirely. The Bible had much to say about peace. But almost always the picture Scripture presented wasn’t one of God calming the storm. Rather He calmed the person caught in the storm. John 16:33 told the truth about life on earth: “ ‘In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.’ ”

  It was that last part that made all the difference. And after she checked out the magazine, as she headed off for class, Emily could feel God’s peace the way it was described in Philippians, chapter four. A peace that passed all understanding.

  Her classes lasted until after lunch that day, and soccer practice kept her on the field in the pouring rain until three. When it was over, she did something she’d been doing at least once a week. She went to the teen center. This time she took her copy of Time magazine, tucked safely in her backpack. It was too rainy to play basketball, but inside the center was a ping-pong table, and the guys were just as competitive about that as they were about hoops.

  The teens seemed to look forward to her visits, and though at first they intimidated her with their tough exterior and baggy pants, now she saw them the way Justin saw them — as boys without dads, kids lost in a world that often moved too fast to notice them.

  “Hey, pretty mama! You came back!” It was Bo, the teen who’d been most affected by Justin’s absence.

  Emily grinned at the group.“Today’s the day, Bo. You and me at the ping-pong table. You’re going down.”

  He made a sound that told everyone in the room she was as wrong as she could possibly be. “I’m ready, girl. Say the word.”

  “Okay.” She came closer. “But first I have to show you something.” She set her backpack down and pulled the magazine from inside.

  “You brought us something to read.” Dexter, another of the guys who’d been close to Justin, made a teasing sort of frown. “Come on! I thought this was a teen center, not a library.”

  The others laughed, but Emily held up her hand. “Justin made the magazine.”

  It took a few seconds for the information to sink in. Bo was the first to her side. “My main man, Baker?” He peered over her shoulder. “Show me.”

  The guys gathered around, and she turned the pages to the spread in the middle. “See?”

  Bo took the magazine from her and scrutinized the photo. As he did, as his buddies pressed in behind him getting a closer look, something in Bo’s face changed. His eyes softened, and the tough-guy exterior fell away. He smiled and a quiet chuckle came from his throat. “That’s my homeboy … out there saving the world.”

  Dexter took hold of the left page, and for a moment Emily thought about warning them. She still needed to buy her own copy. This one had to be returned to the library intact. But Dexter didn’t damage the pages. Like the others, he was transfixed by what he saw.

  “See, man?” One of them shook his head. He tapped the article with his finger. “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s why I’m enlisting.” Marcus — the shortest in the group — jabbed his finger in the air for emphasis. “That’s what Justin’s always telling us, how the war’s getting things done over there.”

  “Over here too.” Another teen bobbed his head, pride written in the lines on his forehead. “When’s the last time you saw a plane crash into a building, huh? That’s what I want to know.”

  Bo was silent, his attention still fixed to the picture of Justin. Emily had stepped back. They needed their space, needed to have their moment, proud of their friend, awed by the sight of his face in Time. Absently, she touched the small heart that hung around her neck. Justin’s heart. She turned her attention to Bo again, and that’s when she saw it. Two teardrops fell from his face and splashed onto the page. He wiped at them, clearly embarrassed. Then he sniffed hard and lifted his eyes to Emily. “Can you give him a message?”

  “Of course.” Her throat was thick, her heart heavy for Bo.

  “Tell him …” Bo’s eyes fell to the picture again. He touched Justin’s face with his fingertips. “Tell him that he’s doing a good thing, okay?” He looked at her again. “But tell him to hurry himself on back here, because we — ” His voice was strained with tears. He made an angry face that hid his sorrow. He pinched the shoulder of his T-shirt between his thumb and forefinger and plucked it, the way kids sometimes did. He sniffed again. “Because we need him more than they do.”

  “Yeah.” Dexter nodded and slung his arm around Bo’s shoulders. “Tell him that for me too.”

  Later, when the magazine was put away and a dozen ping-pong games had been played, Emily was headed back to her car when Bo stopped her. “Could you do me a favor?” He looked over his shoulder, as if he didn’t want the rest of his group to hear him. “Could you bring me a copy of that magazine? Maybe we can, you know, put it up on the wall here. So we don’t forget to keep watching the door for him.”

  Emily reached out and squeezed the teen’s hand. “Of course.”

  Back at her residence hall, Emily hurried to the bank of computers on the second floor. This was what she’d been waiting for all day, the chance to hear Justin’s voice through the lines of his email. She signed on, feeling the jangle of her bracelet against her wrist. While the computer worked, she glanced at the engraved heart. Emily and Justin. Genesis 29. Suddenly her mailbox appeared. Sure enough, there was his email address and a subject line that said only, “Missing you.”

  Her heart skipped around, the way it always did when she was about to read his letters. God’s peace kept her going, but Justin’s letters gave her something to look forward to, one way of counting down the days until he returned.

  Her eyes raced to the first line, ready to drink in his words like a person dying of thirst. She pictured him, the way he’d felt that last day, hugging her, whispering good-byes. With his voice alive inside her once again, she started to read.

  Dear Emily,

  The violence is heating up. We can feel it. It’s always this way before elections, and it underlines the reasons we’re here. These people want democracy, and we won’t win this war until they have it, until they’re capable of hunting down and capturing terrorists on their own, so that nothing could threaten their freedom ever again.

  Okay, enough of that.

  I have to tell you, you’re spoiling Buster. Scraps from the cafeteria? By the time I get back home, he won’t remember me.

  She smiled. They both knew that was hardly true. Buster’s loyalty ran straight through him. She kept reading.

  The days are getting cooler here, which is a good thing. But nothing seems to make the time pass fast enough. I guess you probably know I saw your mom. Maybe when you get this, you’ll already have the next magazine. I’m anxious to see what she writes. That day was pretty intense. I think it touched her,
Emily. Really. I guess time will tell.

  Oh, Joe says to tell you he’s jealous. I get all the email and he gets none. But don’t feel too bad for him. I read him your letters and that makes him feel a little better. Entertained, he says. And don’t worry. I reserve the right to censor as I’m reading. Some things need to be just between the two of us.

  Hey, help me out on something, okay? Don’t let Buster kiss you. He can’t if I can’t, that’s the way I see it. And how about the guys at the teen center? Have you been back to play ping-pong with them? Oh, and ask Bo about his grades. He’s a junior this year, and he promised me nothing less than a C. Especially in science and math. Tell him I’m talking to God about him — every day. The other guys too.

  You won’t believe this. Joe says I’m a slob. Even when I only have a duffle bag full of stuff to take care of, I still can’t keep things clean. Oh well. There’s not much around here that’s really all that clean, anyway. And something else. I haven’t made much time for my morning workouts. We get up and eat and hit the road almost immediately. You’ll blow me away in a race when I get back, that’s for sure.

  But give me time. I’ll be ready by summer, for sure.

  Emily’s eyes clouded, but she smiled anyway. As if Justin could ever really be out of shape. He cared too much about giving his best to let that happen. She scrolled down.

  So, yeah. This is the part I hate, the end part. I sit here and all I can see is you, the way your eyes looked on the boat that day and at your dorm afterwards. I don’t hear the wind howling outside, or the sound of gunfire and explosions, but your voice, asking me to take you with me, begging me not to go. I feel your face beneath my fingers, your lips against mine.