Joe’s parents lived in Ohio, the Akron area. He was the youngest of six kids, the sometimes quiet one in a loud and fiercely loyal family. Three of them had already decided on military careers. Emily liked hearing stories from Joe’s childhood, the growing-up years, how Joe and his brothers would wrestle and chase after each other and stage contests for everything, from eating hot dogs to swimming across the river that ran through town.
His parents thought Joe was headed for a military career too, but he was only serving for a season, getting money for college. Joe wanted to be a doctor. “There’s a lot of ways to help people,” he had told Emily. “Serving your country in war, or serving your fellow man in a doctor’s office.”
She agreed with him and found their discussions more fascinating all the time — whether they centered around Iraq, and Joe’s thought that the country should be divided into three states — one for the Kurds, one for the Shiites, and one for the Sunnis. Or whether they were talking about the application process for med school. Joe was twenty-one back then, a year older than her, and already he’d taken enough classes between tours in Iraq that he was midway through his sophomore year at the University of Washington.
That same month, when Joe first made contact with the teens at the center, they took the first of several trips down to Kelso. Buster was getting slower. Maybe because he missed Justin, or maybe because he was getting older. Either way, he needed to be walked, and Emily had developed a fondness for him.
Justin’s parents welcomed them like long lost friends, though Emily caught his mother looking at her, watching the easy way she had with Joe. That first time, the two of them went outside and hooked Buster to his leash. Justin’s old matted sweatshirt was in his doghouse where he had been sleeping.
“Hey, boy … remember me?” Emily petted him behind his ears, the way Justin had always done.
Buster wagged his tail.
“See that?” She smiled at Joe. “He likes me.”
Joe stooped down and patted the dog. “Justin was crazy about him.”
Buster hid behind Emily’s leg, fearful and maybe a little puzzled over the young man who had some of Justin’s mannerisms, but yet wasn’t Justin.
They walked Buster through the Bakers’ neighborhood, and after an hour, the dog warmed up to Joe. Before they left, Justin’s mother pulled Emily aside. “I’m glad you and Joe are … you know, becoming better friends.” She smiled, but tears filled her eyes at the same time. “Justin would’ve wanted that.”
Suddenly Emily understood the haunting looks she’d been giving them since they arrived. She must’ve thought Emily was developing deeper feelings for Joe, feelings that went beyond friendship. And only one month after Justin’s death. Emily shook her head, her voice low so she couldn’t be heard by the men in the other room. “Mrs. Baker, there’s nothing between us.” She shrugged and felt her own eyes tear up. “We have Justin in common, that’s all.”
Mrs. Baker gave her a sad smile, and she nodded as if to say she understood more than Emily on this matter. “It’s okay, Emily. You’re young.” She put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “No one would expect you to stop living. Especially not Justin.”
The conversation stayed with Emily and troubled her. For another three months she worried about what people might think, what they might say. When she talked to her parents — who were happier than ever — she downplayed the time she was spending with Joe.
Meanwhile, she and Joe continued to spend all their free time together. They met with the teens once a week, and every now and then they visited the Vets at the American Legion hall.
“I love this,” he told her once, “carrying on in Justin’s place.” The look in his eyes was deep and sincere. “But there’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Those roadside bombs maim as many guys as they kill. If you’ll go with me, I think I’d like to start visiting the VA Hospital.”
And so they did that too, spending an afternoon every few weeks hanging out with soldiers who had lost an arm or a leg, or who were recovering from some other sort of war injury. Emily enjoyed the conversations they had with the soldiers, but even more, she liked watching Joe. She was struck by the easy way he had with people, his sense of humor and how it created an almost instant bond with anyone he met.
On the six-month anniversary of Justin’s death, they spent a day at Blake Island State Park, a tiny oasis in the middle of Puget Sound, eight miles out from Seattle’s waterfront. They hiked the trails and explored Tillicum Village and spotted a pair of bald eagles diving for fish near the shore.
But not until after lunch, when they were sitting on a fallen log staring at the ocean, did Joe turn to her. And suddenly, there it was. The one thing they’d never discussed, never dared to imagine. At first he said nothing, but he didn’t have to. His eyes told her that he was feeling the same way she was.
Somewhere along the path of healing and holding onto Justin’s memory, a special sort of love had taken root. And now it was deep enough that they could no longer ignore it, no longer spend an afternoon together without somehow acknowledging the feeling.
He took a long breath. “Can you feel it, Emily?” His voice was so soft, it mixed with the ocean breeze and resonated deep in her soul.
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. Her eyes held his. “Yes … I feel it.”
A consuming guilt gathered around them, staring them down, daring them to state the obvious. Emily couldn’t look at Joe. She let her eyes find a place in the sand near her tennis shoes. How had it happened? Having feelings for Justin’s friend was wrong. She’d known when she lost Justin that she would never love the same way again, that no one could ever take his place. So how had they come to this place, to these feelings? And worse, how could they deny their strength, when quietly, beneath the surface, their hearts had already started something too strong to walk away from?
Joe reached for her hand. “We can take it slow, Emily.”
The touch of his fingers against hers sent shivers down her spine. She could barely breathe, had to will herself to stay there beside him. What would Justin think? How could they live with themselves for letting this happen? Justin had asked them to be friends, nothing more.
But even so, she didn’t let go of his hand. What had he said? They could take it slow? She nodded. “Yes. We … we have to.”
“Look at me, Emily.” Again his voice was tender, resigned.
She lifted her eyes and realized that her knees were shaking. It was May, and the weather was still cool. But the chill inside her came from their conversation and not the temperature.
He looked long at her, studying her eyes. “Justin wouldn’t be angry with us. He …” Joe’s chin quivered. “He asked us to spend time together. Deep inside — in those last minutes — he had to know.”
Emily thought that through. He had to know? Was it possible, that as he lay there dying he had asked Joe to be her friend so that one day she could find a love with him, the love Justin could no longer give her? She swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” She felt sick, ashamed of herself for being attracted to Joe, for having feelings for him. “It’ll take time.”
And it had. Their first kiss came seven months later, on Christmas Eve. By then there was no denying the obvious. Through a trail of grief and sorrow, God had forged in them a friendship that would never be broken. Could never be broken.
The bond they shared was deep and anchored in a faith that had survived the most difficult test. Her parents celebrated with her when she told them the news — that she and Joe had moved into a dating relationship. And Justin’s parents had rejoiced as well, telling the two of them that it was right and fitting that they find their way together.
“Justin would’ve wanted this,” his mother said. “I saw it coming, Emily. We’re happy for you both.”
Emily appreciated their support, though she suspected they had shared tears over the situation as well. Same as she and Joe. This wasn’t how things were supposed to work out, but t
hey had. Now everyone involved needed to find a way to understand and move on.
Some nights, before she returned to her room, they would sit on the bench — the one she and Justin once sat on — and they would hold hands in silence. Simply missing Justin and all he’d meant to them. But by the time they reached the one-year anniversary of his death, after they took a week over Christmas break and visited her parents in their Fallon home, this much was clear: Justin had brought them together.
There was nothing guilty or shameful about that, and they agreed to let the New Year define a change, an end to the constant grief and sadness, and a tender new beginning for the two of them.
Emily opened her eyes and let the memories of the past eighteen months fade. She had Joe now, and she loved him with everything inside her. No, he would never be Justin, but that was okay. What she and Joe shared would always — in some ways — be deeper, stronger, because of the painful journey they’d traveled together.
It was fitting, really. That the trail of tears they’d walked would end and begin here on this day, Memorial Day, the day when Justin would always be first in their minds. As long as she lived she would remember their summer together. He had given her happily, but he had promised her more.
And now, because of him, she and Joe had found that elusive something, that thing that for a while seemed lost for all time.
And maybe somewhere down the road, they would even find ever after.
FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Friends,
Thanks so much for journeying with me through the pages of Ever After. I learned much about myself and about love as I wrote this book. I learned about sacrifice and patriotism. Without a doubt, I learned that I have a deep-seated respect and gratitude toward the men and women who serve our country through the armed forces, and for their families — all who sacrifice some, and some who sacrifice all.
My family often teases me when I write a novel. They sneak into my writing room with a cup of tea or a bowl of grapes or a sandwich, and they wonder at the tears in my eyes. “They’re make-believe people,” my husband tells me.
But not to me.
In my heart, they live and breathe and move, and when I write, I feel like a reader. The story is always entirely a gift from God, and me, the humbly grateful soul who gets a first peak at it. But this story was different. I wept more than ever before while writing Ever After. For the first time since I started writing books, I had to keep a box of tissues on the table beside me. One morning Kelsey walked in.
“Hi, Mom. Do you need anything?”
“Hi.” I turned to her, a tissue in one hand, tears streaming down my face.
“Oh. Sorry for interrupting.” She gave me a strange look. “But … uh, can I get you anything?”
“Yes.” I looked at her through clouded eyes. “Counseling.”
And that’s how I felt through the writing of this book. I was happy and joyful with my kids and family one minute, and then five minutes later I’d be at my laptop weeping over the loss of Justin Baker and the complexities of war. My emotions were so strong, and the story so vivid, that one day after breaking my personal record for words written in a given day, I found my husband and told him, “I love writing more than breathing. I just have to tell you. I absolutely believe this is where God wants me, and I love what I’m doing more today than ever in all my life.”
Which is a good thing, since I’ve got lots more books ahead, God willing.
But the depth of my emotions made me sit back and ask myself where the feelings were coming from. And that’s when I realized that they came from my gratitude for the men and women who fight for and defend our country. The story of Justin and Emily is all too real for thousands of people across our great land. Sacrifice is very much a part of living life as an American — and a story like Ever After lets us take time to remember that, to acknowledge it.
This book so completely filled my heart that I wrote it faster than any other. Like a living picture, it poured out of me in just five days. Five days. I was gripped by the story, and all I could picture was that in many ways, there was nothing fictional about Justin Baker’s story. Like all of you, we know young men and women serving our country, people who need our utmost respect and support. People who lay down everything out of devotion to America.
If there was a point, a message I pray you received from Ever After, it was this: Love is not possible without sacrifice, and sacrifice is not possible without love. Isn’t that what Jesus taught? He died on the cross as the greatest sacrifice, the greatest gift of love, and it’s through His grace and salvation that we can do anything good and lasting.
Regardless of our differing political views, we must — as Americans — agree to pray and be grateful for the people who put their lives on the line so the United States can remain a free nation. I found myself loving Justin for who he was and for all the tens of thousands of young people he represented. These people are the heartbeat of America.
The cost of freedom is great.
Our family heard that message on Memorial Day this year, just as I was finishing the story of Ever After. At a quiet military cemetery in our town, I stood in dark sunglasses next to my husband and kids, crying silently through the entire ceremony. I was struck by the pride in the hunched over World War II Veterans, and the deep pain still in the eyes of the Vietnam Vets. I watched the flag being raised over the cemetery at the end of the service, and I clutched tightly to my family, thanking God for the privilege of living in America.
I pray that you might understand love and sacrifice a little better for having read Ever After. If you aren’t familiar with Jesus Christ and His sacrifice on the cross, or if you’d like to know more about how you could receive His gift of salvation, please contact your local Bible-believing church. You could also write to me and put the words, “NEW LIFE” in the subject line. I’ll be happy to send you a Bible and pray for you, that you’ll find salvation in the only One who can give it.
The gift is free to you, but it was never really free. Jesus paid the price.
In the same way, living in the U.S. is free to all of us, but freedom is never really free either. A cost is being paid every day by the military men and women and families in our midst. Let’s not forget that.
If you are among those serving our country, I thank you. With all that I am, I pray you will know how grateful I am, how grateful our family is, and how often we pray for your safety and success. Likewise, if you are among the hundreds of thousands of family and friends of those serving, my heart goes out to you. Thank you for allowing your loved one to serve and to sacrifice.
The price you are paying has not gone unnoticed.
You see, my little Austin — eight years old — is a kid like Justin Baker was. He plays army games and talks about “trying out” for the army one day — so that he can be among the best soldiers fighting for the United States. “I wanna keep America safe,” he’ll tell me.
He’s just a kid, and I’m sure his interests could change over the coming years. But today, I see his tender heart and his great conviction, and I know — already I know — the great sacrifice it would be to take him to a recruiting office and let him begin a soldier’s journey.
So for now I hold on a little longer to all my kids, and I remain grateful. Grateful to a God who would give us a land called America where we can live and serve Him and exist in freedom. And grateful to this country’s military families. I pray for God’s hand of protection and blessing on you all.
One more thing. You might remember at the front of this book, I dedicated Ever After to the memory of soldier Joshua Dingler. I learned about Joshua long after I finished writing this book. But the more I found out about Joshua, the more I discovered that his life had an uncanny resemblance to my fictional character, Justin Baker.
Like Justin, Joshua left behind a girl he planned to marry. He went into battle proud to help a nation find freedom, and in his brief life he was known for the way he helped other people
. Like Justin Baker, the real-life Joshua Dingler was remembered by an entire city at his funeral. The day of his memorial service, thousands of people lined Highway 92 from the Pickett’s Mill Baptist Church to the cemetery. People holding flags, men saluting from the bed of a truck, and endless rows of men and women with their hands over their hearts.
But Joshua Dingler is not a fictional character. He is real, and I pray that this book brings honor to his memory. What defined Joshua was not his death in Al Mahmudiyah, Iraq, south of Baghdad, August 15, 2005. For that reason, please visit my website at www.KarenKingsbury.com and pray for the military members represented there. Also, please send in your photos and bios of your loved ones serving our country. Check my website for details.
Finally, as always, I’d love to hear from you. My website is growing constantly and has become a community of readers and people like yourself. There is a link where you can post a prayer request or pray for others in need, and there are links for book clubs and readers looking to connect with each other. I’ve also included a blog with constant journal updates and a look into the writer’s life, as well as my life as a wife and mother. It’s my way of helping us all feel like friends.
There are also contests all the time. One ongoing contest is this: When you finish reading this book, lend it to someone who hasn’t read one of my novels. Then email me and write, “SHARED A BOOK” in the subject line. In the message, tell me the first name of the person you shared with and why you shared the book. You will be automatically entered into a drawing that will take place each spring. The winner will bring a friend and spend a day in the Northwest with me and my family. Check my website for details, updates, or changes to this or any contest.
In the meantime, know that I am praying for you and yours. May God’s face shine upon you. Until next time,
In His light and love,
Karen Kingsbury
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