Even Now (29 page)

“Good, Papa.” She managed a teary smile.

Angela moved closer to him. “Sweet heart, I have something to show you.” Her voice was shaky. She wouldn’t last long before breaking. She held out the piece of paper. “Emily found Lauren.”

Bill sat up straighter in his chair, but his smile faded. He took the paper and looked at it, his expression frozen. “What . . . how did you . . . ?” He sat there, still, searching the information on the page, and then his chin began to tremble.

From the corner of her eye, Angela saw Emily move into the room and sit on the edge of the sofa. It was hard to remember to breathe. She wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck. “God answered our prayers, Bill. He did.”

Her eyes stung again as she watched him close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, as if to say he couldn’t accept the idea that they’d actually found her. Angela straightened and let him have this moment. It was impossible for any of them to really believe she’d been found. All the searching had culminated in this amazing moment.

And God had allowed it when Bill had only weeks to live. Angela’s heart felt lighter than it had since Lauren left.

Finally Bill lowered his hand and looked at her. “Why didn’t we try that sooner?”

She pressed her finger to his lips and gave a soft shake of her head. “That isn’t important. She’s found, Bill. We can only move forward.”

“But all the lost days and years.” His voice was gravelly, the tears still stuck in his throat. He turned his eyes back to her picture. “Look at her, Angie. She looks so much like you.”

Angela touched the image, willing away the days until they might see her in person, hold her . . . “She’s all grown up.”

“A reporter for
Time
magazine.” His voice held a new level of concern. “Not married, no children.”

“No children?” Angela’s heart missed a beat. She hadn’t read every word of the profile yet. Now her conscience felt like it was being ripped apart. “It says that?”

“Here.” He pointed to that part of the write-up.

She read it, and the suspicions she’d had since the day Lauren left became realities in as much time as it took her to draw breath. If Lauren wasn’t married, then she hadn’t found Shane. And if she was telling people she had no children, then she had believed that Emily was dead. Wherever she was, she must still believe it.

Angela looked at Emily and her voice seized up again. “Your mother really does think you’re dead, honey.”

A lifetime of sorrow flooded Emily’s eyes. And in that instant, Angela’s grief was so great it nearly knocked her to the floor.

Emily listened to her grandmother. The anger was gone. Her mother wouldn’t mention a dead daughter in a professional bio. Of course not. Now the freedom in her heart was more than she could take in. Freedom and a deep sadness for her mother, who had gone her entire adult life not knowing that she had a daughter growing up in the suburbs of Chicago. No wonder she’d wound up alone and working in Afghanistan and Iraq. Her mother’s passion for writing had taken her to magazine work, but Lauren couldn’t help but feel that her loneliness made her look the way she did. Empty, haunted, so very sad . . .

“Grandma . . . ” She stood and went to her. They fell together in an embrace that needed no words, and Emily leaned back, searching her grandmother’s eyes. “I hurt for her. She’s been so lonely all these years.”

Lonely the same way
she
was, but Emily didn’t say that. She’d always kept her emptiness to herself, and now her tears told the story, that she’d missed her mother every day since she was old enough to understand that she was missing.

“I’m sorry, Emily.” Her grandma brushed her hair off her forehead. “The two of you never should’ve been apart.”

From a few feet away, Papa held out his hand. “Come here, Em.”

Emily released her grandma and went to him. “Papa . . . ”

“If we would’ve loved our girl better, if we would’ve handled her situation differently, then maybe — ”

“No, Papa.” Emily bent down and kissed his cheek. The loss of so many years together was enormous for all of them. “We can’t go back.” She sucked in a few fast breaths. “Just pray that she’ll write back.”

The evening was slow and deep, filled with stories from the past and shared memories of Emily’s life, moments her mother had missed along the way. Despite her sorrow and loss, by the time they turned in that night, Emily had never felt happier in all her life. Maybe it was because the photo of her mother did something even her faith hadn’t done before. It took away the emptiness inside her. The only thing that marred the moment was watching her papa take slow steps to his bedroom. He was getting sicker; the plans would have to come together soon.

When Emily woke the next morning, she was intent on checking her e-mail and then leaving a message for Shane Galanter at the Top Gun naval air training facility. She was about to run to the office when she heard her grandma finishing a phone call.

“Yes, Doctor. Yes, I understand.” Silence. “I’ll tell him. Yes, we know. Thank you.” The phone call must’ve ended, because Grandma directed her next words to her husband. “They got your latest tests results.” She had fear in her voice. “It’s worse than they thought.”

Emily sat up in bed and blinked the sleep from her eyes. Worse than they thought? She felt a burst of sheer terror, and she headed straight for the office. Her mother’s e-mail couldn’t come soon enough. Never mind whatever hurt feelings might’ve stood between her mother and her grandparents before. If her mother was going to have peace, she needed to know the entire story. That her daughter was alive and her parents were sorry — and that her father was dying. Yes, Lauren needed to connect with her mother.

Before they all ran out of time.

H
er recovery was happening faster than the doctor expected. The gritty wind that blew across the Afghanistan desert rattled the windows of Lauren’s apartment, and made it impossible to sleep. She sat up in bed and surveyed the bandages on her arm. At least she was out of the hospital. That place was terrible, filled with victims of war and people desperate for healing and hope. She could still hear their wailings, mothers called in to identify young sons, soldiers who might’ve been on the right or the wrong side. Lauren winced as she felt near her wound. Sides didn’t matter to a mother.

Lauren closed her eyes, recalling one grief-stricken woman. Her son had been in the next room, but he hadn’t survived the night. The next morning the mother stood at his bedside, screaming his name, shouting at the heavens that she wanted him back,
had
to have him back.

All Lauren could think about was her own family. The way she’d felt when Emily died; the way her parents must feel now. If they were still alive, it would’ve been nearly twenty years since they’d had any idea even where to find her. How had they handled all that time alone together? Had they, too, shared moments of wailing and ranting at the heavens?

She sighed and opened her eyes. It was the first cloudy day in a month, and it fit her mood. Her mind drifted back to the day at the orphanage. Feni had gotten wind that an ambush might take place against visiting Westerners. That’s why he was in the office that morning, armed and ready in case she and Scanlon were the intended targets.

An American army captain filled her in on the other details at the hospital.

The woman wasn’t an orphanage worker at all. She’d blended in with the others, pretending to be a volunteer. Orphanages were always shorthanded, so no one would’ve questioned her motives. The only uncertain thing was how she’d known Lauren and Scanlon were coming in that first day, but the army had its theory on that too.

The driver of the car on that first visit must’ve been connected with the group. He could easily have called and tipped them off. Lauren and Scanlon talked openly about their plans for a story and their concerns about the orphanage.

“This is a bad group, Miss Gibbs,” the captain told her. “They run a terrorist training camp, an operation we’re trying to shut down. We’ve had some success, but they’re spread out. We haven’t found them all.”

“Why’d they want me?” She was numb to the pain by then, six hours on a medication that barely allowed her to stay awake. A surgeon removed two bullets from beneath her shoulder. The wounds were deep and dangerous, but her joint hadn’t been affected. They expected her to heal completely.

The captain thought about her question. “You represent America.” He raised an eyebrow, as if he didn’t agree with that assessment. “At least, that’s the way
they
see it. They probably wanted to wound you. Take you captive. Most journalists and photographers aren’t armed, and Feni rarely works out of the orphanage.” He shrugged. “They weren’t expecting retaliation.”

She looked away. “They weren’t expecting to kill children, either.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He was a big man, his hair cropped short against his square face. “When kids die, Americans always get the blame. They might’ve shot at the children on purpose.”

Lauren blinked away the memory of the conversation and winced as she tried to move her arm. All this time she had sympathized with the insurgents. Yes, they were violent and sometimes behaved in a crazed manner. But this was their homeland. Didn’t they have a right to want Americans to stay out? Even if they desired a type of government Americans didn’t agree with, should it concern the U.S. ? Was democracy the only valid form of leadership?

But now . . .

Now she didn’t know what to think. People had a right to form their own government, but if that government was ruthless and brutal, then what? If she had to do it over again, she would’ve thrown herself in front of the children to keep them from being hit. She would’ve gladly taken the bullets intended for them if it meant saving their lives. And wasn’t that all the U.S. troops were doing, really? Bad people had taken over the Middle East, and innocent people were living in fear, oppressed, and sometimes killed. If Lauren wouldn’t stand by and watch that sort of behavior take place, then how could she expect the U.S. to do so?

She shuddered and gave a quick shake of her head. The medicine was making her loopy. There had to be another answer, something better than fighting and bombings and war. Solutions could be worked out at bargaining tables or in courtrooms, couldn’t they? The entire mess gave her a headache. The political picture was more complicated than she first thought, that much was certain. But what mattered was this: Because she and Scanlon had gone back to the orphanage, little Senia was dead. A girl whose eyes were bright enough to light up the room. Now she was gone.

Lauren hated crying. She feared that sort of emotion almost as much as she feared elevators. Giving in to sorrow would belike driving a freightliner through the dam in her heart. The emotion of nearly twenty years would become a flood that would drown her. But in the days since she’d been released from the hospital, she could barely last an hour without feeling tears on her cheeks.

She would’ve adopted little Senia if she’d had the chance.

How could she know that the woman was working for the insurgents, or that the whole story had been concocted? The army captain told her that a thorough check had been done. “We have birth records for every child in that orphanage.” His eyes blazed. “Not a child there has a single drop of American blood.”

Lauren had hung her head then, not sure what to say.

The captain wasn’t finished. “I’m surprised you didn’t go with the story before the second meeting.” The sarcasm in his laugh cut at her. “Can you imagine the headlines? Orphanages overflowing with the children of American soldiers?”

Her eyes met his. “I didn’t have enough information. Of course I wouldn’t have written the story before I had the facts.”

The captain only raised his eyebrow at her again. “Okay. Whatever.” His look was utter disgust. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

“We don’t have to talk at all.” She’d hated the way he treated her. As though she were the enemy.

“Look, Ma’am, I’ve been assigned to guard you as long as you’re in this hospital.” He shifted to the front of his chair. “Fine with me if you don’t wanna talk.”

By the time Scanlon came to take her home, Lauren had no doubt about the army’s viewpoint of her reporting. The captain picked apart ten of her top stories from the last two years. She had untrustworthy sources and a strong bias, he told her. She wasn’t there to find the truth, but to make the U.S. armed forces the enemy.

The last thing he said before he left would stay with Lauren for the rest of her days: “You think the military’s all gung ho for war, that we’re a bunch of bullies coming over here and flexing our muscles.” He pointed at her, and his voice grew low and intense. “Let me tell you something, lady. We want peace as much as you do. Maybe more.” He thumbed himself in the chest. “Because
we’re
layin’ our lives down for it.” He took a few steps back. “Don’t forget that.”

She turned away, not willing to respond or bid him good-bye. But his speech affected her more than she’d been willing to admit. Now it was Wednesday, and she’d been home for two days. Scanlon was in often, making sure she had water and meals and whatever else she needed.