Remember (21 page)

Nine months later he was dead.

Ashley didn’t need relatives or a file to understand what motivated Irvel. Hank was everything to her, just as he always had been. No matter that time had marched on. Irvel was stuck somewhere back in the days when her beloved husband was young and vibrant, back when he fished with the boys and spent evenings telling her about his adventures. With Alzheimer’s, every hour found Irvel lost in the past, reliving the happy times.

And why not? Was it really better, healthier, for Irvel to be constantly mindful of her true place and position? Would waking each day to the reality of Hank’s absence make her happier in these, her last days? Ashley was certain it would not. In this, at least, she had to agree with the pastor quoted in the Internet article. Distant memories were God’s way of being merciful to those afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease.

Yet Belinda was still determined to follow protocol, still bent on staring Irvel down and pounding the truth into her head.
“Hank’s dead, Irvel—fifteen years now. Get over it.”
Ashley cringed at the memory. Each time Belinda reminded her, Irvel reacted as though she were hearing the news for the first time.

The poor dear.

Ashley’s favorite part of Irvel’s file was the comment section in the back, the place where she wrote observations rather than facts—special things visitors had noted. Ashley read over Irvel’s list slowly:

• Irvel and Hank were like two hands on the same person. The bond between them was such that you simply knew they were connected.

• Hank and Irvel’s love was rare even in their day. They were a walking definition of how marriage is supposed to be.

• Everyone envied that special something Irvel and Hank shared. When one breathed in, the other drew life.

• Most everyone I know grieved for Irvel the day Hank died. When his heart quit, most of us were surprised hers kept beating. They were that close.

Ashley sighed.

What would it be like to know that kind of love—to live it every day the rest of her life? She stood and returned the files to their place in the hall closet. It was hard to believe that one day she’d be old like Irvel and her friends, maybe unable to remember whole decades of her past. Would she scream like Edith or pound her fist like Helen? Would she waste away in an adult care facility, waiting to die, or take up some strange habit like Bert?

Ashley hoped she’d be like Irvel—easing through her final years on the fuel of a love whose power knew no limits. Pleasant and social and happy with life—at least, the parts she could remember.

Was it possible that somewhere down the river of time, someone would put together a file on Ashley’s life? If so, it would include Cole and her parents and her paintings. And maybe, just maybe, the name of a firefighter whose depth of love she was only beginning to understand. A man who honored her in a way that made Paris seem like a million years ago.

A man named Landon Blake.

Chapter Nineteen

On the morning of September 11, Kari woke to her usual routine. She fed Jessie, laid her out on a blanket, and did her Bible study. The Scripture passage that morning was a familiar one from 1 John: “The Spirit who lives in you is greater than the spirit who lives in the world.”

Kari thought of all the times when that verse had applied to her—whenever she struggled with choosing God’s ways over her own, and certainly when she felt discouraged. But this verse had become particularly precious over the past year, when evil seemed to surround her—first Tim’s affair, then his murder, and even the temptation of being with Ryan back then.

There was no question that at times evil appeared to be winning the battle in Kari’s life. How good it was, then, to fall back on God’s promise that he was greater than the greatest evil. To realize, as Pastor Mark often said, that God wins. Period.

At times when Kari’s grief felt overwhelming, the message of the verse from 1 John was an anchor that wouldn’t budge. God was greater, no matter how bad things got, no matter how awful or evil or frightening.

God wins. It was that simple.

Kari worked through the questions in the study. Finally, at 8:50 she closed her Bible and stared down at Jessie, who had fallen asleep on the floor. Kari wasn’t surprised; her morning naps usually began about this time.

“Okay, little one.” Kari set her Bible down and stretched. “Let’s get you to bed.” She cradled Jessie to her chest, quietly carried her down the hall, and laid her in her crib. “Jesus loves you, Jessie,” she whispered over her sleeping daughter. “Don’t ever forget.”

Normally, Kari would have set about doing laundry and tidying the house. But CNN’s sports was about to come on, and she was dying to see reports on last night’s Giants game. She’d watched it at her parents’ house and several times caught glimpses of Ryan on the sidelines. It was the first time she’d seen him since Jessie was born, and now, despite her chores, she couldn’t stop thinking of him.

Will there ever be a time when we’re together again?

Kari pondered the thought as she returned to the living room and flipped on the television. It was a few minutes before nine, and a talk show was wrapping up. A quick look at current news would come next, and then the sports. Once in a while reporters interviewed the assistant coaches, so chances were good that Ryan might be on this morning. Either way, Kari wanted to hear their assessment of the Giants’ loss.

Kari grabbed a glass of water and nestled into the overstuffed leather sofa she and Tim had purchased three years ago. It felt good to relax. She leveled her gaze at the TV.

Suddenly the screen went blank and a banner appeared across the picture with the words
Special Report.

What was this? Kari sat a bit straighter, waiting. Instantly the image switched to a frazzled reporter standing on a rooftop in New York City. Kari’s breath caught in her throat, and she gasped. Behind the reporter in the distance stood the famous twin towers of the World Trade Center—and one of them was on fire.

She turned up the volume. “We have unconfirmed reports that approximately ten minutes ago an American Airlines jet crashed into the World Trade Center north tower.” The reporter’s eyes were wide, his voice strained with fear. “This is a building where thousands of people work and visit every day. We have no reports yet as to how many floors are involved or what the possible number of casualties might be.”

Kari stared at the screen, her mouth open. Reagan’s father worked in one of those towers. Somewhere near the top, from what Luke had said. “Dear God,” Kari whispered, “help them. Please.”

The reporter was still spouting details, revealing them as quickly as they came through his earphone. The jet had taken off from Boston’s Logan International Airport with more than a hundred people aboard. There had been no reports of engine trouble by the pilot. Dozens of fire units were responding to the scene.

Kari could barely breathe. Flames engulfed several floors near the upper part of the building.

What could have caused a plane to swoop down from the sky and fly into a building? It was the most horrific accident Kari had ever seen. And she could do nothing but watch.

No, God. It’s too awful.

Thick billows of black smoke curled up along the side of the tower, contrasting sharply with the city’s brilliant blue sky. The blaze wasn’t merely tongues of flames, but a glowing red furnace that grew larger by the second.

Kari was about to call her parents’ house and see if they were watching when from the right side of the screen another jet entered the picture and flew straight into the second tower. A tremendous explosion shook the building as a fireball erupted into the sky.

“A second plane!” the reporter shouted, his voice frantic. “A second plane has hit the World Trade Center, this time the south tower.” He paused and pressed on his left ear. “Reports now say it might not be an accident but an attack of some kind.”

The entire scene was surreal, like something from a movie riddled with high-energy special effects. It wasn’t possible. Two jets loaded with people couldn’t have accidentally crashed into the twin towers minutes apart. And if this was an attack, who was behind it and what might happen next? Kari continued to stare at the screen, her mouth still open.

Lord, please . . . don’t let this be happening.

The camera panned in closer, capturing the sight of debris and windowpanes and pieces of the building raining down on the streets of New York.

“Oh no!” The reporter shouted in alarm. Kari watched as several people fell or jumped from the burning floors and plummeted to the ground.

The reporter was as shocked as everyone else watching. His words were choppy and panic-stricken. “This is . . . this has to be the worst disaster New York City has ever seen. Hundreds of firefighters are flooding the scene, but the flames are eighty, ninety floors up. People are obviously desperate. It’s difficult . . . difficult to believe that anyone in either of those jets could have survived.”

Either of the jets?
Kari’s heartbeat hesitated.

Ryan would have been flying this morning from Denver to New York. What if he’d been on the second plane? Her heart began beating again with a double thud and then raced along at twice its normal rate. She ran to the kitchen for the phone.

Her mother answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“It’s Kari. Are you watching TV? Can you believe this is happening?”

“I turned it on a few minutes ago. Your father called from the hospital. Everyone’s saying it’s terrorists.” Her mother’s voice was shrill, desperate. “Reagan’s father must be right in the middle of this.”

“I’m . . . I’m . . .” Kari was so frightened she could barely find the words. Her hands and arms shook. She moved back near the television, too terrified to sit down. “Ryan was flying home this morning.”

“Oh, Kari . . . no. There are hundreds of planes in the sky.” Her mother tried to sound reassuring, but Kari could hear the tremble in her voice. The reporter had said nearly three hundred people were believed to be on those planes. What if one of them was Ryan?

“I’ve gotta go, Mom. I have to find him.”

“What can I do?”

Kari closed her eyes and forced herself to think. “Pray.” Her voice broke and she blinked, fixing her gaze on the terrible images playing out across the screen. “Pray, and don’t stop.”

The moment Kari hung up, she dialed Ryan’s number. Maybe they’d arrived home earlier that morning, caught a red-eye to beat the rush hour. If so, he might already be back at his apartment. With each ring, Kari’s fear doubled. Where was he?

Come on, Ryan . . . answer!

On the fourth ring, someone picked up. “Hello?”

It was Ryan’s voice, and the flood of relief was strong enough to send Kari to her knees.

“You’re there!” He was alive. Of the countless people who would be grieving a personal loss today, she would not be among them. Tears stung at her eyes.
Thank you, Lord . . . thank you . . . thank you.
“Ryan, thank God you’re okay.”

“Kari, what? You sound awful.”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what? I just got out of the shower.”

“The World Trade Center’s been hit. Both buildings.” Then she remembered. Ryan had told her he could see the towers from his apartment window. “Look outside. I’m serious.”

She heard the sound of his pulling up his blinds. And then his soft gasp. “What . . . what happened?”

“Turn on the news. Two jets crashed into the towers a few minutes apart.” She was grateful he was alive, but the horror of the moment was still more than she could believe. Her television now showed streams of fire trucks rushing to the base of the buildings. “I thought . . . I was afraid you were on one of the planes.”

“No . . . oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” He groaned as though he finally understood her concern. “We chartered an earlier plane. I got in half an hour ago and went straight to the shower.”

Kari drew a deep breath. “I was so afraid, Ryan.”

“Wait a minute. I’m turning on my TV.” He was quiet. “I can see the whole thing out my window, Kari. It’s worse than the pictures. It takes up the whole sky.”

“Remember Reagan—Luke’s girlfriend?” Kari stared at the screen. Ryan was right; the fire was tearing through the towers. She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were shaking again.

“Yeah, I think so. You’ve talked about her.”

“Her . . . her father works on one of the top floors.”

Ryan moaned. “Is anyone getting out? Have they said anything about the rescue?”

“It’s a madhouse. People are using the stairs, but they’re saying thousands are still inside.” Kari gripped the phone more tightly. “Pray for Reagan, will you? For her father?”

“What about Landon Blake? Didn’t he take a job with the New York City Fire Department?”

“His start date isn’t until November first. But his best friend’s there—probably at the scene by now.”

She needed to call her family and see if anyone knew anything about Reagan’s father. “Listen, I’ve gotta go, Ryan. Call me later.”

“Okay. I’ll be praying.”

Kari hung up the phone.
Dear God, help us . . . help us. So many people are in the middle of that fire, Lord. Please . . .

Almost in response, her Scripture verse from that morning came to mind:
The Spirit who lives in you is greater than the spirit who lives in the world.

Kari clenched her teeth.
Let it be true, God. Even on a day like this . . . please.

Her next call was to Ashley.

* * *

They had just finished baths at Sunset Hills when the phone rang.

“Sunset Hills Adult Care Home.” Ashley cradled the phone against her shoulder.

“Are you watching the news?” It was Kari. Her tone was strained.

“No. Why—what’s up?” Ashley enjoyed the sound of her own voice these days—light and upbeat, the way Kari’s used to sound.

“Turn it on, Ashley. We’re being attacked by terrorists. Two planes have crashed into the World Trade Center.”