Ever After

by Karen Kingsbury

  But this time she didn’t look out at the water; she bent almost all the way over. Fill up, lungs, come on. And after a minute, they did what she asked of them. She straightened and tried to remember what she was doing. The Bakers had come up from Kelso and they’d been crying.

  Be tough, Emily … be tough.

  She needed to read the papers in her pocket, but which one first? She knew before she took another breath. The letter of course. The letter that would fill her heart and mind and soul with Justin’s voice, his laughter and wisdom, his compassion and love. She was still shaking, even harder than before. She took the papers from her jacket and figured out which was which.

  In a rush, she thrust the CNN article back in her pocket. Then she opened the other page, slowly, reverently. And suddenly her hands weren’t shaking anymore, and the breeze felt like his breath, his touch. Talk to me, Justin … talk to me …

  She scanned the top of the email. It was dated three days ago. She swallowed hard and tried to ignore that single detail. The date didn’t matter; this was Justin, alive and talking to her. Her eyes found the place where the letter began.

  Dear Emily,

  I can’t believe it! I read the article finally, and, well … I mean, I believed you, of course. But wow! Your mom! Are you sure she wrote that story? Just kidding, but still … you and your dad are right. Something’s happening in her heart, no doubt.

  Emily closed her eyes. She clutched the letter with both hands, picturing him. This was something new — he’d read the article. She opened her eyes and kept reading.

  I’ll never forget that day. Talk lately is that the Iraqi people are afraid to come out of their houses. I don’t know. I guess that might be true in some regions, but around here they come out. Even the kids. Obviously. And you know why?

  Because we’re here. Maybe your mom is seeing that too.

  Emily smiled. Yes, Justin, you’re right.

  She was halfway through the letter, so she slowed down. As long as the letter was in her hands, as long as Justin’s words were echoing through her mind and her heart, then he wasn’t gone. No matter what the next piece of paper told her. She found her place.

  Anyway, enough about that.

  Did I tell you I carry your picture with me? Because I do. I know, it’s a little sappy, but how else can I survive another four months without you? Joe thinks I’m going soft, but I told him the same thing I told him before. He’s just jealous.

  So yeah, I took one of the pictures from the cruise and I laminated it. I keep it in my boot so that if there’s ever enough time, I can take it out and look at it. I figure there you are back in Tacoma drinking lattes out of my mug and looking at our pictures. I need something to look at too. Even if I’m thousands of miles away from my next cup of Starbucks.

  Something else has been helping me lately.

  Emily closed her eyes. Slow down … you have to slow down. What would she do if by some crazy chance the Bakers were right, or if her eyes really had seen Justin’s name in the CNN article? Then this would be her last time to hear him, the last time she would feel his arm next to hers leaning against the railing overlooking Puget Sound. Okay. She drew a steady breath. Slower.

  Something else has been helping me lately. Whenever I get tired of all the dust and grime and desert, when the violence seems like it’s never going to end, I let myself do a little dreaming. Even in the middle of the day. I can picture myself coming home and finding you that ring. The simple one.

  You’re smiling, I know it.

  Okay, so then I take it a step further, and I can see the wedding, Emily. The tux and the dress and the people filling the pews, and I can hear the doors of the church open, and there you are. Stunning. My precious bride. I can feel you in my arms, dancing that first dance and knowing that if I have my way, I’ll never leave you again. Not ever. And there it is. One more way I can stay sane until I see you again.

  You know how I thought last summer was amazing? Well … it’ll be nothing compared to this one. I can’t wait, Emily. To see you, to touch you, to hold you. You’re with me always. You have my heart. I love you, Justin.

  Emily refused to take her eyes from the page. She could read that last part a thousand times and it would never be enough. You’re with me always … you have my heart … I love you.

  And then, somewhere deep inside her heart, the wall began to fall. It didn’t happen slowly, but all at once. Like the Twin Towers.

  She lifted her head and looked out at the Sound, as far out as she could see. And suddenly, as surely as she knew her name, she knew it was true. She didn’t need to read the CNN article. It was there all along.

  Justin was gone.

  Rain started to fall, and it mixed with her tears, as if God Himself were there beside her, weeping over Justin the way He’d wept over Lazarus. She didn’t want Justin’s letter getting wet, so she slid it back into her pocket.

  Sobs didn’t come, not right away, and she wasn’t surprised. They would come later, but for now she couldn’t picture him lying on a street in Baghdad, couldn’t picture him torn apart. Because that wasn’t the Justin she knew, the one she would keep forever alive in her heart.

  The ocean breeze sent the rain sideways and it washed against her face, against her silent stream of tears. What was it? Had he been too good to be true, was that it? She wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t consider the depth and breadth of his loss. Not fully. He was gone, and that was enough for now. As if she was only being given a small peek into the pain and sorrow that lay ahead.

  If only she hadn’t finished reading the letter. She would’ve pulled it out and read it again, but she didn’t want it to get wet. Instead she had everything else about him alive and within her. His voice and his smile, the smell of his cologne. It hit her then, why she wasn’t falling apart. Because in every possible way, Justin was still alive, real and good and whole and strong.

  There was too much good about Justin Baker to feel only sadness, even with the knowledge that he was gone. Before she could mourn his loss, or even imagine it, she had to celebrate him. Her eyes lifted, beyond the water to the sky. The rain was still falling, but there in the distance, was a break in the clouds and a section of the purest blue.

  He was there. Somewhere beyond the clouds.

  God … You’re so lucky. She smiled and the slightest laugh sounded on her lips. She could imagine a heavenly version of Vonda, introducing Justin to the rest of the gang and shaking her head. You know Justin. Wants to run the whole place someday.

  Her smile faded. God … You must have big plans for him. Because if he can do more up there for You than he could down here, well … that would be something. And I know he will. Because … Her eyes filled with another layer of tears. Because You wouldn’t have taken him otherwise.

  Countless questions lined up around the perimeter of her heart, peering in at her, making themselves known. What would happen to Buster, and who would talk to the Veterans, and how would a generation of schoolkids learn about the good things soldiers were doing in Iraq?

  And what about the teens?

  But she couldn’t face any of the questions. Not yet.

  She could see her coach’s face again. Be tough, Emily. Be tough. But this wasn’t the time to be tough. By loving a soldier, this was the risk she’d taken. That one day, this moment might come and his name would join the thousands of others on a military tombstone. No matter what she told herself, she’d always known this could happen.

  She wiped her nose, wiped the rain from her cheeks and her chin. Never mind the end, she would’ve fallen for him all over again if she had the chance, spent the summer dreaming with him and playing with him and figuring out for herself everything her mother had ever said about love.

  But still …

  She hugged herself and watched the patch of blue, watched it until the clouds swallowed it up and the sky became all cloudy gray once more. She needed to go, needed to get back to her room and fall into Justin’s mother’s a
rms. But she couldn’t pull herself away. As long as she was here, as long as she had his last letter in her pocket, then she didn’t have to think about the questions storming the edges of her heart. Here she could look at Pier 55 and at the cruise ship. The very same cruise ship where he’d promised her his heart. And she could feel the rain on her skin the way she’d felt his touch that day.

  She looked out at the water again. Talk to me, Justin … talk to me.

  And his words were there, as close as her next heartbeat. I can’t wait, Emily. To see you, to touch you, to hold you. You’re with me always. You have my heart. I love you.

  There was much she had to do, and she would do it proudly, with strength. The way Justin would’ve wanted her to do it. She’d take care of everything he would’ve taken care of, and when the tears became sobs and she couldn’t breathe for the pain, she would know it was okay to fall apart.

  Because God would do what Justin had done for her that summer.

  He would walk beside her, and when she fell, He would be there to catch her.

  With that knowledge, she pulled away from the metal railing and walked back to her car, her feet moving slowly along the cobblestone roads, remembering every time she’d walked them with Justin. Somehow she made it to her car and shut the door. She held the steering wheel with both hands, but it was an effort even to start the engine. As she pulled away, she could barely see the road for her tears, but it wasn’t until she walked into her room, until her eyes met Mrs. Baker’s, and then Mr. Baker’s, that she felt the full force of Justin’s loss.

  “Justin …” That was all she could say. She stumbled across the room and collapsed into his father’s arms.

  “It’s okay, honey.” The man stroked her back, rocked her as if she were his daughter. “We’re going to get through this.”

  “I can’t …” she sobbed against his chest, her body reeling from the loss. Justin was dead? How could it be? His email was still in her pocket. “I don’t … I don’t think I can …”

  She felt his mother come up alongside her, and the three of them stayed that way for a long time, hugging, holding onto each other, and doing what they could to convince each other that Justin’s dad was right.

  Somehow they were going to survive without him.

  And deep inside, Emily knew they would. They would survive, but without Justin, how were they ever going to live? And that was the question that shouted at her the loudest, more than any of the others.

  The question only God could answer.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Lauren hadn’t left her cramped quarters at the journalists’ compound for two days. Fighting had picked up, and her editors had asked her and Scanlon to stay put. Better to do the wrap-up story, the what-happened story, than to wind up in the middle of the action.

  That sort of coverage was for dailies and television news, not Time magazine. And so she’d used her time to work on an opinion piece and catch up on her email. That, and sit by her window looking out at the desert and wondering about the stories she’d seen play out since she’d come to Iraq.

  Apparently Scanlon could sense the change in her. He was in her room now, sitting in the chair across from her bed. There was no escaping the suspicion in his eyes. He drummed his fingers on his knees. “Okay, look.” His hands went still. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What?” She had her laptop open, but she set it down beside her. “I’m not turning soft, if that’s what this is about.”

  “No, not soft. Just …” Scanlon took hold of the arms of the chair and surveyed her. “Different.”

  “Okay, so sue me. I’m different.” Lauren hated her tone. Clear proof she hadn’t taken the time she needed to actually process the things she’d seen. Sure, she’d had fleeting thoughts of regret or remorse. Doubts about her opinions of the past, whether she’d led Americans to the wrong conclusion about the war. But she and Scanlon had been too busy to really think things through.

  Scanlon looked hurt by her response. He leaned over his knees. “I’m your friend, remember? I’m out there with you. I see the same things you see, hear the same stories. I have my doubts too, okay?” He sighed. “I just wanted to hear it from you, what you’re thinking. What you’re feeling.”

  What was she feeling? Antsy. Ready to get on the next flight home, that’s how she felt. Crazy for how badly she missed Shane. That everything she’d thought was written on her heart in ink was now only sketched in fading pencil. But how could she say that? “I don’t know, Scanlon.” She reached into her dresser drawer. “Emily sent me this.” She held out a folded piece of paper.

  Scanlon stood, crossed the room, and took it. “What’s it say?”

  “Read it.” Lauren swung her feet over the edge of the bed and walked to the window. She could hear Scanlon opening the paper. She remembered the way she felt when she first read the email a few weeks ago. Emily had copied a section of Lauren’s long-ago journal right into her letter.

  Here, Mom, the email said, read it and see if you remember loving Dad like this. And then it began. A whole section Lauren wrote on love, back when Shane was everything to her. Some of the lines were profound, much deeper than she remembered feeling. But since reading those long-ago words, she couldn’t shake them. Couldn’t get them out of her head, even if she wanted to.

  The letter was all she needed for a whole parade of memories to return. Even the memory of making chocolate chip cookies. Shane was her best friend back then, and she lost him. The loss had changed her, darkened her entire existence. She vowed to find him, to love him, no matter how long she had to search.

  Behind her, she heard Scanlon lower the paper. “Profound.”

  “Yes.” She turned around and folded her arms. “I miss him.”

  “You knew you would. That was never the question.” Scanlon lowered himself to the chair again. “The question was whether you could agree with him.”

  Scanlon was right. Missing him was never the question. And yes, they’d been busy, but she knew the answer, didn’t she? It wasn’t an easy one, wasn’t one she even knew how to live with yet, but slowly, assuredly, she nodded. “Yes.” Her voice held a fear she hadn’t known before. The fear that possibly she’d been wrong. “Yes, Scanlon. I think I can agree with him now. About some very big things.”

  Frustration flashed in Scanlon’s face, but only for an instant. He stood and brought the letter back to her. “I wish you would’ve said so.”

  Now it was her turn to feel frustrated. She tossed the letter on her bed. “I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure.” She looked out the window again. “I watch people falling in the streets and write about soldiers being ripped apart by roadside bombs, and I hate this war more than anyone ever could hate it.”

  Scanlon was quiet for a moment. “You hate it … but you understand it.” His voice dropped a notch. “Is that it?”

  “I think so.” She faced him again and leaned on the windowsill. “What if we’d never declared war on Afghanistan or Iraq?” She made a sound that was part laugh, part dawning realization. “Can you imagine? I mean, I never thought about it that way. War is wrong. Period. That was my mantra.”

  A mantra Shane had responded to that first night when they were together at her parents’ house in Wheaton. She remembered his words and repeated them now. Not because Shane had said them, but because she was starting to understand them. And believe them. “What happened on September 11, Scanlon, that was only the beginning. Everyone knows that now. The terrorists’ plans were beyond anything we can begin to fathom, even now.”

  Scanlon exhaled hard.

  “Don’t dismiss me.” She stood, angry. “You said you’re my friend. Then listen to me. I’m not talking rhetoric here, I’m talking firsthand observation.”

  He frowned. “Meaning what?”

  “How can we think anything but the obvious? It’s been five years, and the terrorists haven’t harmed a single American on

  U.S. soil. So the war must be working, right?
Is there any other conclusion?”

  “Maybe it worked at first, when we made the air attacks, but what about now?” He waved his hand toward the window. “All that violence out there can’t be doing any good.”

  “So what’s the answer?” The debate had raged inside her ever since she spotted Justin Baker playing with the Iraqi children. It felt wonderful to finally put words to her feelings. She waved her hands in the air. “Just walk away and hope things work out for the people here? ’Cause you and I both know what would happen if we did that. The terrorists would recruit another generation of kids, and new cells would start up, and a dictator would rise to power. And before you know, we’d be staring into the rubble of another catastrophe, wondering what went wrong.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and his shoulders fell an inch or so. “I don’t want to fight with you, Lauren.” His eyes told her he was astonished, amazed at the things she was saying. “Is this really how you feel?”

  His question hit straight at her soul. “I’m not sure. But it’s starting to make sense, starting to make me wonder if maybe Shane and Justin Baker are right.”

  Scanlon looked skeptical. “About what?”

  “That what this war needs is more support, more financing. So we can finish the job right and then get home.”

  He was about to respond when the phone on her desk rang. Lauren looked at it, startled. The line was for incoming and local calls only, something her editors at Time had established for her. Cell phone reception was spotty, so the landline was the best way to keep open communication. She hesitated. Maybe it was Bob Maine giving them the all clear to hit the streets and find the stories in the recent wave of violence.