Strange how the planning and preparations for this day felt something like a wedding. The wedding she and Justin would never have. There was the church and the white roses and the special music and the close friends and family who would share from the pulpit. People would wear nice dresses and dark suits, and afterward there would be a reception in the church hall. There was a guest book and even several hundred printed programs, small booklets that had kept Justin’s mother and her working late into the night, folding and stapling each one.
Everything but Justin.
The memory of the casket, of the soldiers carrying his body down the ramp, and of Joe — straight and stoic, tears coursing down his face — would never leave her. She couldn’t go five minutes without seeing it play again in her mind. From the moment Justin picked her up that day at her residence hall and told her the news — that he had a deployment date — she’d pictured his homecoming.
Pictured, as clear as day, flags and confetti and people cheering. And Justin — back straight and proud, walking off a plane and into her arms.
That was the homecoming he should have had. Not this.
Never this.
She checked her features in the rearview mirror. Her eyes had been dry all day so far, but fear ran in the small lines near the corners of her eyes. From the moment she climbed out of the guest-room bed in the Bakers’ house until now, every minute, every step, every heartbeat took her closer to one o’clock. The hour Justin’s funeral would begin.
The drive north from Kelso had been filled with song. She’d made several CDs in the days since hearing about Justin. One was all praise music — songs like “I Still Believe” and “Walk by Faith,” by Jeremy Camp; and “Dare You to Move” by Switchfoot. On it she had written in permanent ink just one word: “Help.” Because singing to God, praising Him in the midst of this, her darkest hour, was sometimes the only way she could get through.
Last night, after the funeral programs were made and stacked in a box, she lay in bed reading her Bible. She read 2 Chronicles, chapter 20 — the scene where God’s people had come under attack. In it the Lord promised that He would fight the battle. But not until the people joined hearts and voices in praise to Him did victory come.
And so she sang.
Another CD held songs that were special to her and Justin, and songs about losing someone. She played it when the only way to let the sadness out was to weep. Today, when she still had so much ahead of her, she didn’t dare play that one.
Now she was minutes from the teen center. The guys didn’t know she was coming to get them, and from their reactions the day she told them the news, they probably thought she’d arranged some sort of public transportation. And at the time, Emily wasn’t sure how she was going to pull this off. Just that she was.
Because God would make sure those kids had a way to Justin’s funeral.
The minutes passed, and she reached the center exactly at ten. She took a parking spot on the street adjacent to the small building, and that’s when she saw them. Emily uttered a small gasp. The scene waiting for her brought with it the first tears of the day. Clustered just outside the front door of the center were the boys, the tough teenagers, who but for Justin, might’ve been running with a gang that day. Bo and Dexter and the rest, all dressed in what had to be their nicest clothes. Baggy belted jeans and dress shirts, their hair neatly combed. They looked sad and scared and out of sorts, their hands deep in their pockets.
Before they had time to notice that she was driving the van, and that the van was for them, something caught her eye. One of the boys who had been missing from the group darted out of a secondhand store with a bag in his hand. As he reached the others, he pulled a buttoned-down from the bag, jerked off his T-shirt, and slipped into the new shirt.
Emily bit her lip. So that was it. The boys — most of them anyway — must’ve scraped together a few dollars and gone to the secondhand store. So they would look appropriate at Justin’s service. She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “No. No crying. Not now.”
Bo noticed her then. He led the others, sulking closer, his eyes confused, suspicious. She rolled down the window that separated them, and he pointed to the van. “What’d you do? Steal it?”
“No.” She laughed, and the release felt wonderful.“Crazy kid, get in before I leave without you.”
They piled in, admiring the van’s paint job and the upholstery on the inside. She could imagine that in normal circumstances, a two-hour drive with these boys might be a bit wild. They’d ask for loud rap music and wave at pretty girls along the way. But not this time.
Each of them found a seat, and what little conversation there was died down before she hit the freeway. She played her “Help” CD and the guys were quiet the rest of the way. Along the drive, Emily wondered if any of them had even been out of the city. They were a mixed group, some black, some Hispanic, some white — but all of them had that tough inner-city look, and all of them were bound to feel out of place in a small town like Kelso.
But they’d come anyway. They’d come in their secondhand dress shirts, trusting that somehow a ride would show up for them at ten o’clock. All for the love of Justin. Emily tried not to dwell on it. Otherwise, her eyes would be swollen shut before the funeral.
The church the Bakers attended was on the south side of town, and Cowlitz View Memorial Gardens, on the north. She reached the church just after twelve noon, and already a crowd of people stood outside, waiting for the doors to open. Emily parked the van and stared wide-eyed at the people gathered there.
They were all ages, older couples and young children, families and groups of high school kids. Many of them held flags, and some held signs. Justin, We’ll Miss You! and Stay Strong America and Justin Believed in the U.S.A.
Emily blinked back tears.
“Wow.” Bo’s voice held a level of awe that hadn’t been there before. “Looks like he was their homeboy too.”
Uniforms dotted the crowd, some worn by white-haired men and others by young Boy Scouts. That’s when she saw them. A group of uniformed Veterans near the back of the crowd, one of them in a wheelchair with a jacket that wasn’t quite straight on his shoulders.
They’d come. The Veterans Justin had befriended had traveled south for his service. Emily caught two tears and brushed them off her cheeks. Not yet, she couldn’t cry yet. She turned around and sized up her group of teens. “We’re early.”
Dexter pointed at the crowd. “Or not.”
“We are.” She nodded. “I want you to follow me. We’ll go in through the back, and you can find seats.”
“The front row.” Bo lifted his chin. “I wanna be in the front row.” His chin shook a little. “As close as I can be.”
“Well …” Emily wanted to hug him. She held her breath and tried to find her voice. “The … the first row is usually for family.”
Bo plucked at his shirt and nodded at his friends. “We’re family.” His face twisted and it looked like he might cry. “Look — ” he sat up straighter, his eyes flashing anger. “I ain’t never met my dad, and my mama’s in prison. When I was eight I tried to knock off a liquor store jus’ so I could be with her.” He clenched his jaw. “My grandma died when I was ten, and my aunt … she’s gonna kick me out when I turn eighteen.” The anger left as quickly as it had come, and something in his eyes made him look like the child he still was. He pressed his lips together. “Justin’s all the family I got.”
“Bo …” The heartbreak all around her was more than she could take. “You can sit where you want. Whatever you think’s best.”
Dexter looked from Bo to her, and back again. “What she means is, the first row’s for his mom and dad and stuff.” He gave Emily a sad but understanding smile. “I get it.”
“Fine.” Bo wasn’t backing down. “Second row, then.”
They filed out of the van, an unlikely procession, and went around the crowd to the back of the church. Bo led the way, but he stopped when they walked inside. The ca
sket was already there, positioned at the front of the church, the flag draped over it like before.
Emily knew it would be there, but the teens …
Bo shook his head and buried his face in the crook of his arm. He stifled a sob while the others stood behind him, not sure what to do next. Those with baseball caps removed them, and after a while, Bo lowered his arm. He looked at the casket. “Man … why’d you have to get yourself killed? I told you we needed you more.”
He walked down the aisle, his eyes never leaving the coffin. When he reached the second row, he kept walking. Emily followed behind with the others, glad they were early. She was a little worried about what Bo might do next. But Justin would’ve wanted the guys to have this time, this chance to express their feelings.
Bo reached the casket, stopped, and crossed himself. Then he took a tightly folded piece of lined notebook paper from his pocket, and put it on the casket. He kept his hand there, leaning on the coffin, and he hung his head. “I shoulda been there too, man. I shoulda had your back, the way you always … always had mine.”
Dexter joined him, and then, one at a time, the others did the same. They surrounded the casket, placing their hands on the flag and uttering quiet, heartbreaking good-byes. After several minutes, Bo left the note, took a step back, and saluted. He didn’t use two fingers, he used all five, and it wasn’t the crisp military salute that would mark the rest of the day. But it was the one Emily would remember long after the service was over.
Bo moved into the second row, first spot near the aisle, and the others filled up the seats beside him. They were set, so Emily excused herself — and that’s when she saw the lone soldier on the other side of the church, sitting in the back, his hat in his hands.
Joe Greenwald.
Emily steadied herself and headed in his direction. When she reached the pew where he was sitting, she took the seat next to him. “How you doing?”
“Not so good.” His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked dazed, as if he hadn’t quite figured out how a few days ago he and Justin were teasing each other about dirty clothes stuck beneath the bed and now he was at a church in Kelso about to tell him good-bye.
Emily covered his hand with her own. “At Justin’s parents’ house … the other night. You said you needed to talk to me?”
“Yes.” He opened his mouth but no words came out, and he made an exasperated sound as he hung his head.
She wouldn’t push him, not now. Joe had been with Justin when the bomb went off, he had knelt by him in his final moments. When the time was right, she wanted to hear the details, what Justin had said, his last thoughts. She patted Joe’s hand and eased back. “Maybe later, okay?”
“Okay.” He didn’t look up, didn’t make eye contact.
She stood quietly, giving him his space, and went to find her parents and the Bakers. After a round of hugs and quiet words, she opened the church doors so the crowd could file in. Then she worked her way through the people until she reached the old Veterans.
She bent down and gave the white-haired man in the wheelchair a hug. “Sir … Justin would’ve been honored that you came.”
The man sat tall and straight in his chair. “We would’ve driven all day to be here.” He straightened his jacket. “We loved that boy.”
“Yes.” Emily nodded. “Me too.”
She stayed with the group of Vets, and by the time they were inside, the church was almost full. A military contingency in dress uniform filled the front of the church, standing guard near the casket and on both sides of the pulpit area. Joe Greenwald was one of them.
For a single moment, Emily stopped. Until she blinked, until she took a closer look, any one of the soldiers might’ve been Justin. And she realized he would have been standing there if the fallen soldier had been someone else. An ache greater than she’d ever known filled her heart. The soldiers up front were so real, so alive. If only she could’ve had one more chance to be with Justin, even just in the same room the way she was in the same room with these soldiers. To hug him and hold him and hear his voice close beside her.
Just one more time.
That’s when Emily saw what was happening. People were placing things near the casket. Everyone seemed to have something for Justin, a card or a letter, a flower or a teddy bear. Joining Bo’s simple folded note now were so many items, it was impossible to see the flag.
Emily hurried to find Justin’s mother, and the two of them found a stack of wicker baskets in one of the church closets. They returned to the sanctuary and set them on the floor around the casket. Then, carefully, they placed every item into one of the baskets.
“Thank you.” Carol took her hand as they finished the job. “I want to take these home.”
Just then a group of parents entered the church with thirty-some schoolkids between them. The children all wore shirts that said Elmwood Elementary. The school where Justin volunteered his time talking to the students. Emily whispered an explanation to Justin’s mother, and then together they went to meet them.
“I’m Emily. I spoke with your principal.” She shook the adults’ hands.
One of the men stepped forward. In his arms was a box.“The kids made cards and letters for Justin a few weeks ago.” The man wasn’t crying, but his eyes were damp. “We were getting a package together to send him for Christmas. The kids … the kids collected twenty-three pounds of Jelly Bellies for him and his buddies.” He held it out. “Is there some place we can put it?”
Justin’s mother covered her mouth, too shocked to speak. Emily slipped her arm around the woman, hugged her, and then motioned for the man to follow them. The box was placed next to the last of the baskets. Emily looked inside it. Dozens and dozens of letters and cards and Jelly Bellies.
Further proof of the lives Justin had touched.
That’s the way it went as the church filled and overflowed out into the courtyard, everyone coming with a different gift, a different reason why Justin had mattered in his or her life. There was a group of Kelso football players, guys who knew about Justin and planned to be career military men because of him, and a cluster of teachers who had taught Justin when he was in high school.
Neighbors and church members and a hundred soldiers from Fort Lewis. One of the last people to file in was Vonda. She wore a dress and held an embroidered handkerchief. Emily went to her and the two embraced.
Vonda didn’t hold back her tears any more than she had held back her opinions. She looked at Emily straight on. “That boy was crazy in love the moment he laid eyes on you.”
Emily couldn’t fight off the tears another moment. They came like constant reminders of all she had lost, all she would never have again. “I know.”
“Now don’t go tellin’ yourself that things didn’t work out.” Vonda’s tone was strained, her words hard to understand through her muffled weeping. “They worked out, you hear? Because one day with a boy like Justin Baker woulda been worth all this sadness.” She took two quick breaths. “Mr. Smooth Talker.”
Emily couldn’t speak, so she nodded, never breaking eye contact with Vonda.
Her voice fell to a painful whisper. “He was gonna run the place, remember?”
“I know.” She held onto the woman again. “I know.”
Vonda touched her handkerchief to her eyes and gave a single shake of her head. “I’m gonna miss that boy something fierce.”
“Me too.”
Vonda turned away and found her seat, and just like that it was time for the service to begin. Emily took her place in the front row between her parents; on the other side of the aisle, the Bakers huddled together. Only then did Emily realize that her grandparents were there also. All three of them. Emily gave each of them a sad smile and then turned her attention to the front of the church.
The service passed in a blur. Most of the time Emily couldn’t take her eyes off the coffin and the large portrait of Justin his father had set there. The eyes, the smile, the charisma coming from the picture almost made i
t feel like Justin was there, looking over all of them, urging them to believe that he was fine, happy and whole and anxious to see them again one day.
A pianist started the ceremony by playing and singing a song from MercyMe,“I Can Only Imagine.” The song moved the entire room, and by the time it was over, after the final refrain built to the place of wondering whether upon his death a person would fall to his knees or dance before Jesus, everyone was weeping.
Now it was time for sharing. The first person to speak was Joe Greenwald.
Emily had heard him and Justin’s dad talking about the funeral the other night at the Bakers’ house, but she wasn’t sure if Joe was actually going to get up. The way he’d looked before the service, she was pretty sure he’d declined. But now, walking stiffly in his uniform, Joe moved up the few stairs and took his place behind the podium.
“I’m Lieutenant Joe Greenwald.” He leaned into the microphone, and a squawk sounded from the PA system. He eased back, his discomfort as plain as his army dress greens. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and looked at it. Ten painful seconds passed, and then he exhaled hard and slid the paper back into his pocket.
He looked at the crowd, and his eyes welled up. “I’m here for Justin.” He blinked twice and steadied himself. “He … he asked me to tell you something.”
Emily’s heart went out to the guy, the one Justin had considered a comrade and brother, a believer and friend. He seemed quieter than Justin, but the compassion in his expression, the honesty in his eyes, was hauntingly familiar. No question the two shared a kindred spirit. Emily closed her eyes for a brief moment. God, give him the words. Hold him up the way You’ve been holding me.
Joe swallowed hard. “He wanted to be in Iraq; he believed in what we’re doing over there — no matter how complicated.”
Silently Emily cheered on Justin’s friend. He was standing straighter now, conviction taking over where fear and sadness had reigned only an instant ago.
Ever After Page 26
