Ever After

by Karen Kingsbury

  I miss you, Emily. A little more with every breath. Keep praying. All my love, all the time … Justin.

  She read the letter through again, and when she reached the end, there was nothing she could do to stop the tears from burning two hot little trails down her cheeks. She printed the letter and then hit the reply button.

  Dear Justin …

  You’re famous! I’m attaching a link to the story in Time magazine, and I’m saving you a copy. But I have to warn you. You’ll be signing autographs by the time you get back here. Your picture’s bigger than life. And obviously I know about you running into my mom. Wait till you read her story.

  Emily kept typing. She told him about the magazine piece and her conversation with her father. She told him about her time at the teen center and the reaction of the kids when they saw the article.

  At first, Bo couldn’t stop smiling. He said something about you being his homeboy, out there saving the world. But the longer he looked, the more his expression changed. Bo didn’t want me to see, but he got tears in his eyes, you know? He told me to tell you that he’s proud of you, that you’re doing the right thing. But he and the guys need you more.

  There, I told you.

  She went on, giving the details of her soccer games and the weather and her plans to go to Kelso on Sunday to visit Buster.

  Don’t worry, Justin. I won’t let him kiss me. My lips are off-limits until you come back. And then … well, let’s just say we better keep away from private places, okay?

  She told him about her panic attack at the library, how she almost let fear swallow her whole.

  I get like that sometimes, when I think of you out there on the streets of Baghdad. But God grabbed hold of me before I stopped breathing altogether. He sort of tapped me on the shoulder and was like, “Uh, Emily … I think you’re forgetting about My peace.” And I was like, “Right. How could I forget?”

  Anyway, I can’t wait for you to read the article. It’s a pretty good picture of you. I can’t wait to hear what the rest of the team says when they see it. They keep asking if you’ve got a friend or a brother — someone they could meet. I’ll have to tell them about Joe. Maybe he could get some email, after all.

  I know what you mean about remembering that last day. Sometimes I’m walking across campus, looking at the changing leaves, and I feel your breath on my skin, as close as if you were walking beside me. I’m hanging on, Justin. But only barely. So be safe. I’ll be praying, and when I’m not praying, I’ll be missing you. I love you, Emily.

  She hit the send button and sat back, watching her letter disappear from the screen. As they often did, her fingers found the heart around her neck and she rubbed her thumb across it. All she could think as she signed out, collected the printed email, and headed back to her room, was that Bo was right. They were all proud of Justin and the work he was doing. After today, all of America couldn’t help but be proud. But no matter what he accomplished in Iraq, he was needed more back home. By his family and Buster and the Veterans and the schoolkids. By Bo and the guys at the teen center.

  And most of all, by her.

  SEVENTEEN

  Angela Anderson closed the cover of Time magazine and moved to the front window of her new town house. She wouldn’t call it a premonition, but her heart felt unsettled, the way it had so long ago when she and Bill and the Galanters made the decision to separate Lauren and Shane.

  Now here she was, widowed and living near the Galanters. Everything had worked out for everyone — except the two kids who had loved each other more than life. At first, after their reunion, she had been certain that Lauren’s decision to live in Fallon meant everything would end happily for her daughter and Shane. Lauren had been touched by her father’s death, softened by the restoration of friendship between them and the Galanters.

  But every time Angela talked to Lauren, she felt it coming, felt her daughter pulling away. Lauren wouldn’t be boxed in, not now anymore than when she was a girl. Back then all four of the adults in her life had figured it was best for her and Shane to be apart.

  Lauren had shown them.

  She had done such a great job of disappearing that none of their attempts to locate her had amounted to more than disappointment. Until Emily stepped in.

  Angela held the magazine to her chest and studied the street below. Children played in a grassy field across the way, a game that looked like kickball. Two of the kids — a boy and girl, maybe twelve or thirteen — seemed particularly close, the way Lauren and Shane had been back when they were kids.

  Maybe that’s all this feeling was, the sense of guilt and shame over what she and her husband and the Galanters had done. They’d manipulated Lauren and Shane, and in the process denied them of a life together. At least last winter, when Emily found her parents and brought them together for a final week with Bill, it had looked like their future could still be salvaged.

  But there was no way to get back the years they’d lost, no way to relive the decades that should’ve belonged to them alone, decades that might’ve been golden if the parents in their lives had trusted that Shane and Lauren could actually know real love when they held it in their hands.

  Angela sighed.

  She missed Bill more on days like this, days when it would’ve been good to talk through her feelings. He would have told her they couldn’t waste today regretting yesterday. Their energy would be better spent making tomorrow so good, the glow of it cast bright light even on the dark shadows of the past.

  Something poetic like that.

  She could call Sheila Galanter, and she would. Later. But for now she needed to talk to God more than anyone else. Because she didn’t fully understand why she was feeling this way. The article should’ve brought smiles for the rest of the day. Lauren’s viewpoints seemed to be softening, and Justin Baker was perfect for Emily, a shining example of young patriotism, the sort of boy who gave the older generation hope for the future.

  So what was the problem?

  The longer she dwelt on her unease, the more it seemed like a sense of impending doom. Maybe it was because Lauren had placed herself in such a dangerous place. Journalists were not immune to the violence in a war-torn place like Baghdad. The news told the stories every month or so of how a journalist was captured and tortured or held for a few weeks and then beheaded.

  Angela shuddered. If that happened to Lauren, then how could she live another day out from under the cloud of guilt? That very minute, Lauren should’ve been living with Shane, happily married for twenty years, parents to a houseful of kids, with Emily the oldest.

  None of that had happened. But now — if the article was any indication — Lauren’s heart was changing. Her viewpoints were broadening. Which meant everything was going to be okay — hopefully sooner than later. Lauren could ask her editor if she could work from Fallon once again.

  War was no place for her daughter, not when she’d spent two decades unable to find true happiness. Angela turned and set the magazine down on a lace doily that covered a small round end table. She was tired, more than usual. Fear was probably eating away her energy.

  She sat down in the upholstered chair near the window, leaned back, and closed her eyes. God … what is it I’m feeling? Is it guilt? Is it Bill, another day of missing him? She waited, but there was no response, nothing but the sound of the children playing outside.

  Lord, I beg You. Bring Lauren home to Shane, where she belongs. Please … use the stories and events in Iraq to turn her heart around, and once that’s happened, make her feet turn around too. Bring her home safely. And please, God — keep using Justin Baker.

  When she finished praying, she sat for a while, savoring the sound of the children across the street. Where had the years gone, the ones where Shane and Lauren would play out back for hours and hours? Hadn’t it seemed like life would go on that way forever? And maybe it would have, if only she and the others had been more forgiving.

  The way the Lord had so graciously forgiven her.<
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  By the time she went to the kitchen and put a chicken in the oven for dinner, she had a much better outlook. There was no need to worry. Lauren was going to come home, she and Shane were finally going to marry and find happiness, and Justin Baker was going to keep winning the war in Iraq. They’d had enough sorrow in their lives. Surely God wouldn’t allow more. The unsettled feeling was just left over from all that had come before. But here, today, life was going to be just fine. Even more than the nagging sense of dread, Angela could feel it with everything in her being.

  EIGHTEEN

  They were halfway through November, and Justin was more homesick than ever. The stretch between Thanksgiving and Christmas loomed like a terrible period of exile. It was late at night, and the task that lay ahead the next morning was a considerable one.

  Justin rolled onto his side. He needed his sleep. But he needed to hear Emily’s voice more.

  For a crazy minute, he thought about finding his commander and asking to make an emergency call. Only there wasn’t an emergency, not really. Just the fact that his heart hurt from missing her. He flopped onto his back and stared at the dark ceiling.

  Next to him, Joe was snoring. Rumbling like a slow freight train. Justin closed his eyes and tried to find that calm place in his mind. The one he needed to find every night before he could fall asleep. He and Joe had read the Bible that night, the book of John, chapter sixteen. In it was the verse Justin thought about often when they were out in Baghdad: “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” Indeed. God’s peace and grace and strength were all that got him through.

  Two more U.S. soldiers had died that week. Two guys Justin knew from holding operations around the city’s polling centers. They’d been traveling in a caravan from one location to another, when a car loaded with explosives and traveling the opposite direction crossed the middle line and drove straight into them.

  Justin and his company had seen the fireball from a mile away. Suicide bombers. More terrorists. More insurgents.

  A long sigh pressed through his lips. They should have twice as many troops in Baghdad and around every hot spot in Iraq. Additional surveillance equipment should be brought in, and the army and marines should be given the green light to do whatever it took to get the insurgents. He hated that they seemed so often to be sitting ducks, always on the defensive and never making the first move.

  But how could they increase their efforts unless the people of the United States got behind them fully, completely?

  He flicked on the light overhead. Sleep was useless. Maybe he’d find some peace if he spent time with the scrapbook, the place where Emily lived. Her letters had been like air to him lately. Everything she had to say gave him hope and brought him another reason to count down the days, to long for home.

  Not that he minded serving in Iraq. If he had it to do again, he’d still choose a second tour. But he hadn’t thought the holiday season would hit him with such a longing for home.

  He studied the photo of Emily and him, the one on the front cover of the scrapbook. She was so beautiful. On the outside, yes. But that wasn’t what he saw when he looked into her eyes. He saw the person she was on the inside, her soul. She was taking sociology courses, she’d told him, so she could “be like him when she grew up.”

  He smiled at the thought. Emily … He ran his thumb over the image of her face. You don’t need to be like anyone but yourself. The schedule she’d been keeping was enough to make him tired. Soccer and schoolwork and weekly visits to his parents in Kelso. He teased her about Buster, but secretly Justin was thrilled. How great that she was taking time with his dog. That, and the fact that his parents and his sister looked forward to her visits. They all mentioned her when they wrote.

  But the thing that made him most grateful was that she’d been dropping by the teen center. Guys like Bo and Dexter were easy prey for the corner drug dealer, boys without fathers, kids whose culture centered around narcotics and violence. Teens like that needed a reason to come to the center, a regular face they looked forward to.

  Emily had become that face.

  One time, Bo wrote him an email. Look out, homeboy. When you come home, your pretty mama might belong to me. Justin chuckled softly. Bo’s letter was cocky and brash, but no question the kid expressed a sense of security in hanging out with Emily each week. Almost as if by seeing her, they were assured that one day, when his six months were up, Justin would walk through the door of the center with her.

  He yawned and turned the pages slowly, taking in the light that came from Emily’s eyes, her smile. She thought he was a hero, a guy who had no faults. But that wasn’t true. Every day it was an effort to head out to the streets of Baghdad knowing that something could happen to him, something that would keep him from ever seeing her again.

  That was his secret, the little fear that never quite went away. The secret only she knew about. He smiled at the final photo, the one he’d added into the book their last night together, after he’d gotten back to the fort. It was the picture the old man had taken on the pier, the one with the ship in the background. What had the guy said? Someday, when you’re old and gray like us, you’ll look back on that picture and understand about the passing of time. Don’t blink, young people. Enjoy every minute.

  The first time Joe looked at the scrapbook, he stopped at that picture and shook his head. “You’d never know you were hours from saying good-bye. The two of you look about as happy as any couple I’ve ever known.”

  It was true. That’s what being with Emily did to him. Her presence, her happy heart that day, made him forget the hard times just ahead. And that’s what looking at her pictures did for him now.

  He yawned again. The elusive calm filled his mind. Okay, that’s all I needed, God. Thanks for reminding me how lucky I am. He put the scrapbook away, turned off his light, and in what felt like five minutes, he heard Joe’s voice in his ear.

  “Come on, you bum. Get up!” Joe was in his boxers, one leg in his fatigues, one foot trying to find the other leg hole. “We’re late.”

  “Late?” Justin shot up in bed. “What about the alarm?”

  “Didn’t go off. A few guys from down the hall pounded on the door.” He jumped a few times in place and pulled his fatigues all the way up.“All I know is we have ten minutes before the caravan takes off.”

  Ten minutes? Justin groaned. He was up and dressed in seconds, and he rummaged through the bottom drawer of his dresser for one of the protein bars he’d brought from home. Instant energy for moments like this.

  “You sharing?” Joe had his shirt buttoned, and he was perched at the edge of his bed, tugging his boot onto his right foot.

  Justin grabbed another one and tossed it. “You owe me.”

  “Always.”

  With a minute to spare, they hurried outside and jumped into their spots in their military vehicle. Ace, the driver, turned around and raised a brow. “Cuttin’ it kind of close today, hey guys?”

  “Yeah, well — ” Joe was still tucking his pant legs into his boots — “lover boy here kept the lights on all night.”

  “Not all night.” Justin fastened his chest gear.

  “Girl trouble, huh?” Ace waited until the car in front of him pulled out, and then he gave a burst of gas and their vehicle fell into line. “Forget about her, Baker. Distractions are never good.”

  “She’s not a distraction.” He mouthed a sarcastic thank-you in Joe’s direction. “Things are great between us.”

  “Right. He can’t fall asleep until he’s hung out in the pages of his scrapbook for half an hour.” Joe elbowed him, his eyes dancing.

  “How sweet.” Ace steered the vehicle with one hand. “Did you get briefed on the mission today?”

  “Last night, same as everyone else.” Justin settled back against the seat, ignoring the way the bumpy road jarred his back.

  “We’re checking out another abandoned building, right?” Joe leaned his head against the do
orframe and closed his eyes. “If we can stay awake.”

  “You better stay awake. These are the big dogs, pal.” Ace kept his eyes on the road. Ahead of them the caravan of cars was hard to see through the cloud of dust coming up off the road.

  The big dogs. Justin let the words roll around in his mind, his soul. How many times had they done this? Gotten a tip that gunfire or bombs had come from a specific location, and then gone in, kicking down doors and breaking up another bunch of bad guys? Too many times to count. Medics willing to work the front lines were always needed.

  God … give us Your eyes, Your ears.

  He heard no response, but he could feel the Lord with him. The way he always felt it. He stifled another yawn and slid his fingers down the back of his boot. He pulled up her photograph.

  Even on a hurried day like today, he’d remembered. Her picture was part of his uniform now. When he printed the photos from their lunch cruise that last day, he made a copy of one particularly good shot of Emily. Then he found someone with keys to the public information office, and he laminated it. That way he could keep it with him, and no amount of dirt or sweat would hurt it.

  Most of the time out in the field, he didn’t have time to look at it, to pull it up from the back of his boot and feel the strength it gave him. But today they were traveling from one end of Baghdad to the other, and a half hour in the car meant plenty of time to think about Emily. Sometimes, he liked to picture his homecoming, and how the spring and summer would play out.