Remember (25 page)

No, Ashley couldn’t offer to wait for him, but she could agree to pray. She felt a smile inch partway up her face. “Yes, Landon. I’ll pray for you. I promise.”

A peaceful smile filled his face. “That means a lot to me, Ashley.” He ran his thumb beneath her lip, his touch so light she barely felt it. “Thank you.”

She gave a quick nod, blinking back her tears.

Praying wasn’t something she thought about much. Not since Paris. She no longer believed there was anything helpful about talking to God. But she would keep her promise to Landon. It was the least she could do. In a matter of hours their lives had been riddled with sorrow and uncertainty. With Landon traveling to the heart of the battlefield, she could manage to say a prayer or two. Even if all it did was make Landon happy.

“Good-bye, Ash.” His eyes found hers again.

“Good-bye.”

“I’ll call you.”

Don’t tell me that. Don’t make me promises—not when I have none to make in return.
She hugged him once more. “Go find Jalen.”

He nodded and stepped away, heaving a duffel bag over each shoulder. Their eyes held a moment longer; then he turned and walked through the double doors.

Good-bye, Landon. God be with you.

Tears filled her eyes when she turned to leave. As she did, her breath caught in her throat. There in a small, semiprivate alcove stood her brother, Luke. He was talking in hushed tones to Reagan, and both of them looked upset. What were they doing here?

Then it hit her.

Reagan must be taking the same bus as Landon, going to be with her family in New York. Ashley had talked to Kari midway through the day, but neither of them had heard from Luke about Reagan’s father.

Ashley dried her tears, found a seat just out of sight of the alcove area, and waited. After a while she saw Reagan board the bus. Then it pulled away, and a minute later Luke rounded the corner. He was crying. The little brother who had been her closest friend when they were kids was walking aimlessly toward the exit, tears streaming down his face.

At first he didn’t see her, but when he was a few feet away, Ashley stood. The moment their eyes met, Luke froze. The walls shot up between them instantly.

Warily she looked at him, at the pain in his eyes, the devastation in his face. Whatever the news about Reagan’s father, it wasn’t good. They stared at each other for an interminable minute longer, stunned by what was happening.

For all their differences, here they were at the same bus depot, saying good-bye to people they loved in the wake of one of the most horrific days the United States had ever faced. As the realization dawned for both of them, the walls began to fall, crashing to the ground with as much force as the twin towers.

Only this collapse didn’t leave a mountain of debris. It left brother and sister, their hearts raw and wide-open, needing each other in a way that made their differences seem petty and insignificant.

Ashley took the first step, and he matched it. In an instant they were in each other’s arms, hugging, crying.

“How . . . how could it happen?” His words were a strained whisper, uttered from the deepest place in his soul.

Ashley hadn’t realized just how much he’d grown in the last few years. But now, even as his sobs gently shook her body, she felt small and safe in his embrace. He said nothing else, but that was okay. Yesterday Ashley might have needed apologies or explanations before feeling love for Luke. But not today. Not after the losses they’d both been dealt. Not after all that had happened.

Here, now, Ashley needed no words.

The feel of her brother’s arms around her was apology enough.

Chapter Twenty-One

They met at the Baxter house. The place where the family came together to celebrate and mark the passing of seasons. The place where they came to grieve. And the evening of September 11 was no exception.

Though John Baxter was tired from a full day, he was grateful for his family’s presence. Too many people that night would be missing someone, waiting for a phone call, desperate for word from rescue workers that their son or daughter or parent or spouse had been found.

The heartache across the nation that night was too huge to comprehend.

It was after nine o’clock, and still they remained gathered around the television set, talking in muted tones about the latest reports and what President Bush was going to do. Already the president had declared the terrorist attacks an act of war. The death toll was thought to be in the thousands, with hundreds of firefighters and police officers buried beneath the rubble. New York City’s Mayor Rudy Giuliani had already coined a term for the desolate spot where the World Trade Center had once stood: Ground Zero.

Rescue efforts were in full swing, but so far no one had been pulled out alive.

“I don’t see how we can move to Texas at a time like this.” Erin crossed her legs and leaned hard against the arm of the family’s old sofa.

Kari and Brooke and Peter sat on the floor, their backs against the same sofa. The grandchildren were upstairs sleeping, and Brooke was still talking about the blood drive at St. Anne’s that day.

Across from them on the other sofa sat Luke and Ashley. John glanced at them, amazed. It was the first time in years they had sat on the same side of the room together, let alone next to each other.

Ashley had mentioned that they’d accidentally met up at the bus station. But it was obvious she and Luke had experienced more than a chance encounter. They’d had a meeting of the heart—the meeting John and Elizabeth had spent many hours praying for.

“Anything new?” Elizabeth sounded tired like the rest of them as she entered the room and sat down next to John. She slipped her hand in his, shot a look toward Ashley and Luke, and squeezed his fingers.

“Still no survivors.” John returned her squeeze. “They said people are making cell calls from somewhere in the debris.”

“That’s awful.” Kari pulled her knees to her chest, her eyes wide as the screen showed hundreds of workers atop a mountain of rubble.

“I can’t believe they’ll find anyone alive in that.” Brooke shook her head. “The jet fuel’s still burning down there. If the temperatures don’t kill them, the fumes will.”

“You’re right,” Peter sighed. “But they’ve got to try.”

Elizabeth looked at Luke, and John followed her gaze. How was he handling this conversation? Reagan’s father was one of those buried in the massive twist of cement and steel. Certainly Luke didn’t want to hear his family dashing all hope that the man would be found alive.

“Luke, are you okay?” Elizabeth’s voice was calm, gentle. It was one of the things John loved about her. Whenever life was in turmoil, her words and tone seemed to minister healing to their hearts, even if she was dying inside. She would show her own pain later, when the two of them were alone. But here, in front of their children, she was the picture of calm, the personification of God’s truth that somehow everything would work out. That he was still in control.

“I’m fine.” Luke’s answer was curt, his eyes still fixed on the TV.

“Have you heard more from Reagan’s mother?”

Luke shook his head. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Brooke. “They’ll find survivors.” He looked back at the screen. “Reagan’s dad won’t go down without a fight.”

Brooke raised her eyebrows in Peter’s direction and gave him a look that acknowledged she’d forgotten how personal the rescue was to Luke. She cleared her throat. “You’re right, Luke. I wasn’t trying to say there
won’t
be survivors. Just that—”

“Never mind.” Luke stood up and headed toward the stairs. “I’m going to bed.” He avoided their eyes as he left the room.

Brooke cast her parents a helpless frown and mouthed the word
Sorry.

“It’s okay.” John kept his voice a whisper. “You weren’t thinking about Reagan’s father. Neither was I. And I’m the one who brought it up.”

“I hope he can sleep.” Elizabeth met Brooke’s eyes and held them. “It’s going to be a tough week.” She turned to Kari. “Have you heard more from Ryan?”

“He and a bunch of the guys from the team are going down tomorrow to serve food and hand out water—whatever they can do for the rescue workers.” Kari looked at Ashley. “When did Landon think he’d get there?”

“He talked to someone at FDNY headquarters.” Fear covered Ashley’s face like a veil. John understood. Working atop a hundred stories of collapsed building was bound to be dangerous, perhaps even deadly. Ashley bit the corner of her lip. “They’re expecting him by noon tomorrow.”

“I wonder if he’ll run into Ryan.” Kari turned back to the television.

The conversation stalled, replaced with a stream of reports and updates. By eleven o’clock, everyone had gathered their children and gone home for the night. Everyone but Luke, of course.

Throughout the evening, uneasiness about his son had nibbled at the foundations of John’s confidence. Luke was rarely moody, rarely noncommunicative. Most family gatherings were marked by his silly antics or relentless teasing. Only around Ashley was he usually anything less than joyful. But today it wasn’t about Ashley. And John had that father’s sense that it wasn’t about Reagan, either.

Something was wrong with his only son, something that went beyond grief and fear and uncertainty. Whatever it was, John intended to find out.

He quietly climbed the stairs to Luke’s room. From out in the hallway, he could hear the news playing on Luke’s small television. John knocked softly before opening the door. “Can we talk?”

Luke was stretched out on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankles. He glanced up for a brief moment and slid over. “Sure.”

There it was again—that strange coldness in Luke’s tone. John entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

Luke leaned up on his elbows and shifted his gaze so their eyes met. “Not really.”

“That’s what I thought.” John was struck by the ice in Luke’s expression. “You seem mad.”

“Well.” A huff of air pushed its way past Luke’s lips. “I
am
kinda mad.”

“We all are.” John gripped the top of Luke’s foot. “Nothing’s the same tonight as it was this morning.”

“It’s not just that.” Luke shrugged and gave a hard laugh.

“Okay.” John took a breath. Luke wasn’t making this easy. “So why are you angry?”

“I was with Reagan . . . Monday night.” Luke’s eyes fell, and he studied the pattern of his bedspread. When he looked up, guilt was obviously among the emotions playing on his face. His next words came quickly. “We were watching the Giants, you know, caught up in the game.” He crossed his arms. “Her father called, and Reagan ignored it. He left a message, but Reagan . . . she told me she’d call him the next night.”

John closed his eyes and groaned. No wonder Luke felt guilty. He and Reagan had been having too much fun watching football for her to break away and take her father’s call. And now it was too late. He blinked his eyes open. “I’m sorry, son.”

“As soon as I saw the news at school this morning, I started praying, begging God to save her dad.” Luke cocked his head. “And you know what? Until I talked to Reagan’s mother, I actually thought God would answer my prayer.”

God always answers our prayers.
The words were almost out of John’s mouth when he stopped them. Luke didn’t need a theology lesson. He needed to be heard.

Luke sat straighter, pushing himself up against his headboard so that their eyes were level. “All my life, God’s answered my prayers, Dad. If I prayed it, I believed it, and sooner or later it happened. God and me were like this.” He crossed his fingers and held them up. “But when I found out Mr. Decker didn’t make it out of the building . . .”

Luke’s voice broke, and his head hung for a moment. John slid closer and placed his hand on Luke’s shoulder. It was time for the theology lesson. “Son, God hears your prayers. Every one of them. If Reagan’s father didn’t make it out, then today was his time. That’s the way life is. We never know when it might be our last day.”

After a while Luke sniffed and looked up. Angry tears still welled in his eyes. “Fine. But here’s what I want to know . . .”

John waited. The rage simmering in Luke’s expression was frightening.

“What’s the point in praying? If God’s got it all figured out, then why bother talking to him? What difference does it make?”

John swallowed his surprise. “It makes all the difference. God isn’t a genie, Luke. You know that. He doesn’t do tricks at our command. But he does answer our prayers, one way or another. He healed your mother, didn’t he?”

“I used to think so.” Luke’s eyes narrowed. “I prayed for her cancer to go away, and it did. But maybe it would have gone away by itself. Or maybe it
hasn’t
really gone away. Maybe prayer had nothing to do with it.”

“Prayer had everything to do with it.” John kept his voice even.

“Okay, then, what about America? Land of the free, home of the brave. God’s supposed to be our great protector, right? In God we trust.” He pointed to the television. “Not true today. So maybe God got fed up with the United States. Maybe he washed his hands of us.” Luke narrowed his eyes. “But don’t tell me prayer made a difference today. Not for those people in the World Trade Center.”

“Bad things happen, Luke. That’s been true since the beginning of time.” He squeezed Luke’s shoulder. “The United States is no exception.”

“But why wasn’t God there for those people, Dad?” Luke’s tone was loud, his anger filling the room.

John took his time formulating an answer. He waited until Luke seemed to have control again. “Son, God was there for every one of those people.” John let his hand fall from Luke’s shoulder. “When life doesn’t go the way we want, he’s still there for us, even on a day like this. Comforting us, giving us the peace we need—peace that the world knows nothing about.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Luke looked back at the images on the television. “Today I needed Reagan’s father to be alive, not buried beneath a hundred-story building.”

There was a tension between them, something John had never felt before. Not with Luke, anyway. Should he bid his son good night, let him sleep off his doubts? Or should he keep talking, try to adjust Luke’s faith to what it had been just twenty-four hours ago?