“He didn’t want to die.” Pride rang in his voice. He pressed his lips hard together, struggling. “He didn’t want anyone to die. But he believed that … that all men have the right to be free. To live without fear.” He gripped the podium and took a half step back, hanging his head, overcome for the moment. When he looked up, there were tears on his cheeks. “I love Justin. And I know you love him too. There is … no way to measure his loss.”
Emily rested her head on her dad’s shoulder and took a tissue from her mother. She pressed it against one cheek and then the other, her eyes never leaving the gripping scene playing out at the front of the church.
Joe inhaled and seemed to hold his breath. He looked slowly at every one of the Fort Lewis soldiers standing at attention around the front of the room. “He told me to tell you to win this thing!” He nodded at one group of soldiers and then the other. “Win this thing for Justin Baker.”
One soldier in the middle, a clean-cut black guy, slowly brought his right hand to his brow, and with an intensity that matched the tears in his eyes, he saluted Joe. And all around him, down the line on either side, the other soldiers did the same. Ignoring his wet cheeks or the way his eyes filled with fresh sorrow, Joe returned the salute.
Emily could feel something happening behind her. She turned and looked, and around the room, first one soldier, then two more, then dozens from each side of the church, stood and saluted Joe in silent compliance with Justin’s dying request. And before Emily could absorb the show of support, others began to stand — retired military and current military, no doubt.
Then from a row near the back, Justin’s Veteran friends stood. It took them longer. Three used their canes for support, one had a walker. The white-haired man in the crooked jacket sat a little straighter in his wheelchair, and each of them also saluted.
Joe held his salute, his mouth tight, stoic in the face of the dramatic show of support. Finally, he raised his hand toward the heavens and said, “They heard you, buddy. They heard you.” Then he leaned toward the microphone and gave a last look at the crowd. “Thank you.”
Emily wasn’t sure who made the first move. It was quiet at first, and then it built in intensity. Applause from people in the room. Again Emily turned around. First on his feet was Bo, and with a look, the other teens joined him. Then, all over the church, people rose from their seats, hands clapping. Not the way they’d applaud if this gathering were to welcome home the troops, but loud and long in a show of support that couldn’t have been stronger.
Across the aisle, Emily caught a look at the Bakers. Justin’s parents sat on either side of Jill. All three clung to each other, weeping, clearly touched by the outpouring. Justin’s dad stood, turned, and gave a single wave to each side of the congregation, silently thanking them for caring, for understanding the sacrifice their son had made on behalf of his country.
On behalf of them.
Joe joined the applause, and when after a minute it died down, he returned to his place in line with the other soldiers.
After that, Pastor Kirby did most of the talking. Speaking with a smile and a sparkle in his eyes, he told about a freckle-faced kid who one time brought a water gun to Sunday school along with a wadded up pair of socks. Quiet laughter sounded around the church.
“You see — ” the pastor motioned toward the mourners — “those of you who knew Justin best are nodding.” More laughter. “And some of you probably know the story. Mrs. Ellis, the Sunday school teacher, pulled him aside and asked him what he’d brought.” The pastor paused, his eyes smiling. “ ‘A gun and a hand grenade,’ Justin told her.”
The pastor raised his brow, and a few more ripples of laughter came from the congregation. “ ‘Why in the world would you need a gun and a hand grenade at Sunday school?’ Mrs. Ellis asked. Well, you know that way Justin had of grinning and making you forget he’d done anything wrong? That’s what he did. Just grinned at Mrs. Ellis and said, ‘If the bad guys attack our class, I’ll keep it safe.’ ”
Emily hadn’t heard the story before. There were more. Stories from Justin’s days as a Boy Scout, and how he’d earned his Eagle award a year ahead of schedule. “It wasn’t that long ago we gathered right here in this building as Justin accepted his Eagle badge — something only a few young men ever accomplish.”
Surprise filled Emily’s heart, and she looked across the aisle at Justin’s parents. She had known he was a Scout, but an Eagle Scout? He hadn’t told her, same way he hadn’t told her at first about his volunteer work.
Pastor Kirby was going on. “Justin stood right here — ” he pointed to the spot next to the pulpit — “and promised to uphold the Scouting tradition, to be a person of principle and integrity and virtue.” He gave a confident nod. “Justin was that young man everywhere he went, right until his very last moments.”
As the pastor finished talking about Justin, he commented on the lives Justin had touched. “I’ll bet we could spend a week in this room, letting each of you come up and tell what Justin meant to you.”
Emily glanced across the aisle to the second row. Bo and Dexter were nodding.
“And so we must do the thing Justin would want us to do. We look to the flag and believe in its worth.” A few “amens” rose up from the crowd. “And we must look to the cross, to the ultimate sacrifice, the true source of our hope. Where Justin’s hope came from.” Pastor Kirby smiled, but he hesitated. His face twisted up just enough for all of them to know. He too was struggling that day. “He would not want us to walk away from this room weeping and mourning. There is a time for that, yes.” He sniffed.“But today Justin would want us to walk away celebrating his life, happy for all that he brought to us, and he would want us to be determined. Determined to live our lives the way he lived. With passion and purpose, with his eyes on the flag, and his arms outstretched to the cross.”
Pride filled Emily’s heart, and she linked hands with her parents. Justin was everything people said about him. And none of them — none of them — would ever be the same now that he was gone. But the pastor was right. Justin’s was a life worth celebrating. And in that instant, Emily made a decision. She would cry when the tears came, and she would mourn. But she would not rest there, not stay there. Justin would not have wanted her to live in a dark place, grieving the days his death had taken from her. He would’ve wanted her to smile at his memory. Celebrating every single day they’d been given.
She had lost much, so much. But with Justin, she could never look at his loss without also looking at the incredible gift she’d been given, the gift of knowing him, of loving him.
No matter how short the time.
TWENTY-SIX
Lauren survived most of the service with only a few tears. Not that she wasn’t grieving Justin’s loss same as everyone else. But her heart and mind and soul couldn’t seem to land on the same page. Every moment of the memorial was a reminder that Justin was no longer with them, that the nation had lost someone golden, one of its very best.
And for what?
She had seen the good things American soldiers were doing, and for the most part she’d come to trust the military public information office press releases — whereas before she’d disregarded them out-of-hand. Despite warring ethnic groups and the threat of civil war throughout Iraq, she’d also seen the desperate desire on the part of most of the people for freedom without violence, the need for democracy for themselves and their children.
In addition, she’d been privy in recent months to details of terrorist plans that truly would’ve made the events of September 11 seem small in comparison. The war efforts in the Middle East and the covert operations taking place on U.S. soil had prevented those, no doubt.
But was anything worth losing a young man like Justin? Could America really support a war where thousands of soldiers had lost their lives? She was just one reporter, after all. Without support from the media and the masses, the war in Iraq really might be pointless, right?
And everything she
read — even from reporters she knew well and trusted — said that support for the war was at an all-time low. So where did that leave guys like Justin? Lauren wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t clear her head of the thoughts, couldn’t feel quite right about any part of the funeral service.
The only certainty was the sadness, because it filled every heart, every pair of eyes in the room. None of them, of course, sadder than her precious daughter’s. Emily had wept through the service, taking a fresh tissue every few minutes. Lauren felt a mix of heartbreak and protection, responsibility and sacrifice as she and Shane sheltered their daughter, feeling the way the sobs shook her slim frame.
What if Emily hadn’t found Shane and her? How could she have gotten through this morning without them? She would’ve had her grandmother, of course. Lauren’s mother. But still, Lauren found herself thanking God throughout the memorial, grateful that though she’d missed Emily’s first steps and first smile, first words and first day at kindergarten, she was here for this: to hold her up as she walked through a season of grief that would no doubt change her forever. Emily would always have a special relationship with her grandma. But here, on a day when she was being forced to say good-bye to the only boy she’d ever loved, she needed her mom and dad.
When the service was over, Gary Baker asked them to be second in line in the motorcade procession to the cemetery. When they filed out of the church, Emily looked at Shane and then at her. “Let’s get to the car, okay?”
Lauren understood. With all the emotion of the afternoon so far, she didn’t want to talk to mourners, not yet. She wanted to take her place in the procession — the hearse, the Bakers, and then the three of them. As close to Justin’s body as possible. Behind their car, Joe Greenwald had agreed to drive the van with the teens from the center.
“We’re family,” Bo had said. “We go after you.”
There were no arguments.
Shane took Lauren’s hand and led the way. She melted a little more each time he looked back at her and Emily. Shane Galanter, who knew her better than anyone and loved her anyway. The love in his eyes was something no other man had ever shown her, even after she’d left him again. He would’ve laid down his life for her, he loved her that much. A love she had spent a lifetime searching for. A love that would resonate in her heart as long as she lived.
But would he want her now? After all the grief she’d caused him?
Lauren held Emily’s hand as they followed Shane through the milling crowd. This wasn’t the time to think about Shane. That would come later.
They were driving a rental SUV, and the three of them climbed in, Lauren in the passenger seat and Emily in the back. As soon as they were situated, Shane reached over and wove his fingers between hers. The feeling reminded Lauren that she was still alive. They both were. She breathed in and felt new life stir inside her soul. After this dark day — if God would give them a miracle — they might finally find the life together they’d always dreamed of sharing.
Shane pulled up behind the Bakers’ car, and in the side mirror, Lauren watched Joe steer the van into place, and after that, a convoy of military vehicles fell in behind them. Lauren wasn’t sure what to say, and she decided on nothing. The moment seemed to demand quiet — a deep, honoring silence. She stared out the window and replayed yesterday evening, the hours they spent at the Bakers’ house.
Carol had brought out Justin’s keepsake book from his first tour in Iraq. “I think I’ll set it up at the service. In the back.” She angled her head and studied the book in her hands, then held it out toward Lauren. “Here. Emily’s already seen it.”
Panic tried to bury her, but Lauren resisted. Looking at the book would remind her of the cost of war, but it would also remind her that in some ways she’d contributed to that cost.
She took the keepsake book from Carol Baker and drew a slow breath. Then she took the book to the Bakers’ sofa. Carol followed and sat on one side, Emily on the other.
The cover was adorned with fancy stick-on letters spelling out Lieutenant Justin Baker — One Soldier’s Journey.
Lauren studied Justin’s picture, his striking face and the grin that lit up his eyes. But all she could see was the young soldier playing catch with Iraqi children in an empty lot fifty yards down the street from a mob of protestors. A young soldier whose love and care for those kids had stopped her cold.
“He always wanted to be a soldier.” Carol leaned in so she could see the pages better. “I remember,” her eyes grew distant, “he was seven years old, and once in a while he’d still wake up frightened in the middle of the night. He was such a sweet little guy.” The corners of her lips came up in a sad smile.“Anyway, one night we woke up with him in the middle, and as he opened his eyes, fresh from sleep, he looked at me and said, ‘I had a dream, Mommy.’ ” She looked at her son’s photo again. “I asked him what he dreamt about and he said, ‘I got to try out for the army.’ ” A tender laugh rippled from her throat. “He told me, ‘I did drills and pushups and running!’ ”
Lauren and Emily listened, imagining the scene.
“His older cousin had just been in a play, and the night before we’d talked about how they staged tryouts and picked the best actors to be on stage. And I told him that — ” she looked up — “you know, you don’t have to really try out for the army. They take every healthy, law-abiding guy who signs up.”
Carol’s voice grew soft, and she looked off. “And I’ll never forget. He said, ‘But you should have to try out, Mommy, because only the very best boys should get to fight for America.’ ” Her voice broke. “Only the very best.”
Emily reached across the book and took hold of Carol’s hand for a moment. Her daughter wasn’t shaking or sobbing like at other times in the days since Lauren had been back, but her face was wet, her eyes never leaving the photograph. Then she linked her arm through Lauren’s and laid her head on her shoulder.
Pictures danced to life in Lauren’s mind, the little boy, blond back then, tanned and green-eyed, waking up with his bed-head and telling his mom about his dream. And that same boy running out to the soccer field, ready to help the fallen player. “Carol …” Lauren could barely eke out the words. “If there were tryouts, he would’ve been first picked.”
“Thanks.” She nodded. “I know. He was born to wear the uniform.”
They spent the next hour looking through the keepsake book. With every page, every layout, Lauren felt her views leaning hard in the other direction again. Justin had sent home photos of him and Joe and a few other soldiers from his company surrounded by Iraqi men. Men grinning and cheering and waving Iraqi flags and American flags all at the same time.
Several photos, with different groups taken on different days.
Beneath, his mother had included emails Justin sent home. One of them read, It’s an amazing feeling, Mom. Helping these people find a freedom they’ve only dreamed about. It makes every minute here worth it.
There was a photo of Justin and a teary-eyed Iraqi man, their arms around each other’s necks. Below the picture, Justin’s letter said:
This is Ali-Abdul. He’s a young father here in Baghdad, a guy with four kids. We were protecting the market where he gets his food, and he came up and gave me his change. I don’t know, a bunch of coins worth maybe a dollar or so. But I got the feeling it was all the guy had. He wouldn’t take it back either. Wouldn’t hear of it. I mean, Mom, I really tried to give the guy his money. But he started crying, then he shook his head and started to walk away. You know me with my camera. I had to get his picture. He told me he would die a thankful man for what Americans have done for his country. Wow. I mean, I know there’s lots of bad over here, because war is always bad. Always. The sacrifice is unspeakable. But this is what I see time and time and time again. People like Ali-Abdul. No matter what you read in the papers, this is what’s going on over here.
Taped to the page next to that layout were six Iraqi coins. The change from Ali-Abdul.
Lauren play
ed Justin’s last line over in her heart. No matter what you read in the papers … Or in a magazine, right? The sorts of stories she had churned out every week without ever thinking about the repercussions. Because repercussions weren’t her problem. War was wrong for any reason, and she had a right to say so. That’s how she’d always felt.
Until the last few months.
She turned the page to photos of children waving and people working in makeshift marketplaces, all signs of a new sort of freedom. Only a few letters talked about Justin’s fear, his realization that he wasn’t merely on some kind of humanitarian expedition.
There is an insurgent group here in Baghdad that hates us, Mom. I studied this stuff in college; and I understand. At the root of this war is a spiritual battle that has been waged against mankind and against God’s people since the beginning of time. But still … it’s weird, you know? Being here and knowing that hiding just about everywhere are people who hate me enough to kill me.
Just because I’m an American.
A couple of the photos showed a more playful side to Justin, and it reminded Lauren that he really wasn’t much older than a kid. A picture of him and Joe sitting on the dirt outside a tent, a small basin of water between them. They each had a toy sailboat, and like a couple of little boys, they were sailing them across the surface of the water. Under the photo, his email read in part, I won the sailboat race, in case you have to ask. I mean, look at my tricked out boat. And yes, the water was wonderful.
Emily laughed, but it mixed with the sound of a stifled sob. “He loved being on the water. We sailed on the Puget Sound before he left.” Her smile faded. “We were … going to take a cruise to the Bahamas.”
What impressed Lauren most about the keepsake wasn’t any one picture, but the preponderance of them. The message — from Justin’s emails and from Ali-Abdul’s coins and especially from the photographs — was loud and clear. The war in Iraq was more complicated than she’d ever wanted to see.
Ever After Page 27
