Remember (32 page)

Across the table, Erin finished her dinner and crossed her arms. “That was your best turkey yet, Mom.” She smiled at Elizabeth.

“Thanks. I used a baking bag this time. I think it’s more tender than usual.”

This was the part of Thanksgiving John liked most—the easy banter and conversation among those he loved. And Erin was right. Elizabeth had outdone herself this year—maybe because she, too, sensed things were changing. There was no telling how many holidays like this they had left, with everyone together at the table.

“Mom says you still talk to Ryan.” Erin looked at Kari. “How’s he doing?”

Kari’s cheeks reddened at Erin’s question. “We talk.” She took a sip of water from one of the crystal goblets Elizabeth used for special occasions. “He’s good. The team’s been up and down this year. It’s emotional for all of them—right there in the middle of New York.”

“I bet. Tell him we’re praying for him.”

“I will.”

John watched his second and fourth daughters. It was unusual that Erin hadn’t talked about this with Kari before, but then they’d both been busy—Erin teaching a new classroom of children, and Kari spending her days with Jessie and driving to Indianapolis for modeling jobs once or twice a week. John wasn’t sure Erin knew, but Kari was also doing extra reading and Bible study these days, getting ready for a ministry she hoped to start within the year. Pastor Mark had been meeting with her regularly about the idea.

Nearly everyone was finished eating. John wiped his mouth and folded his napkin on his plate. “It’s time for the report.”

It was a tradition they were all familiar with. Elizabeth called the older children in from the family room. “Okay . . .” She grinned at the children. “Everybody shares what they’re thankful for.”

“Can I go first?” Cole practically danced with delight. When John nodded, Cole announced that he was thankful for Legos and turkey. Then Cole named everyone present—“and Landon, because he’s brave and he’s my friend!”

“Very good, Cole,” said Elizabeth. “And Maddie?”

Maddie was not nearly as outgoing as Cole. She thought about her list but finally mentioned her mother and her father and her kitty. Hayley, unsure what was going on, simply followed her sister’s lead: “Kitty.”

“All right, that’s a good start.” John looked around the circle. “Who’s next?”

Ashley raised her hand. She sat up straighter in her chair. “I’m thankful for the people at Sunset Hills. They’re . . .” She searched for the right words. “. . . they’re teaching me about life.” She glanced down at Cole and kissed the tip of his nose. “And of course for my precious Cole.” She looked around the table, her voice soft, tender, her attitude completely different from a year ago. “And for each of you.” She hesitated. “I’m thankful because I feel like painting again and because I’m learning not to be afraid to love.”

John was glad it wasn’t his turn. He wouldn’t have been able to speak if it were. He winked at Ashley and nodded, telling her the only way he could that he was proud of her.

Erin was next. “I’m thankful for my faith and my family, for the children I teach, and for the future God has for me.” She didn’t look at Sam, and John wondered why. Had she omitted him intentionally? He hoped not.

Sam and Peter were thankful for their families. When they were finished, the group turned their eyes on Brooke and waited. Her eyes glistened with tears. “I’m sorry it had to take a tragedy—” Her voice broke, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, searching for the strength to finish. Peter slipped his arm around her.

She sniffed and shook her head. “This is harder than I thought.” She sighed and looked at the others once more. “Ever since September eleventh, life has been different for me. More real, I guess. I’m thankful for the wonder I see in my husband’s eyes . . . for the flags flying across America . . . and for the way all of you have welcomed Peter and me at church. Even though we haven’t been very supportive in the past.” The tears pooled and spilled onto her cheeks. She smiled, though her lower lip and chin quivered. “And I’m thankful for my sweet angel girls. For their health . . .”

Maddie was still standing beside her mother. She lifted a tiny gentle finger and wiped a tear from her mother’s face. “Don’t cry, Mommy.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Brooke framed Maddie’s face with her fingertips. “This is the good kind of crying.”

John brought his forearms up on the table and gazed at his oldest child and her daughter. Maddie’s unexplained fevers bothered John.
Keep her healthy, please, God.

Kari’s eyes were damp too. She hesitated, waiting while Brooke used her napkin to dab beneath her eyes. Then she listed the things that mattered, the reasons she was thankful—Jessie and her family and faith. “But I’m especially grateful for life, that God has allowed me to find hope and a reason to go on. Even after all that’s happened.” She bit her lip, and John’s heart went out to her.

Only a year ago, Tim had celebrated Thanksgiving with them. How completely life could change in the course of just twelve months. John sighed. No, it could change faster than that. Twenty-four hours were enough to change the course of history. If Americans had learned anything recently, they’d learned that. “Who’s next?” he asked.

“Me!” Cole popped up from his chair, and everyone laughed.

“You already went.” Elizabeth folded her arms, smiling at him. “Now it’s Grandma’s turn.” She rattled off a list of names—everyone at the table and then some. Pastor Mark and Marilyn did more or less the same. Finally it was John’s turn.

“Well, first I’m thankful for God’s presence among us and for each of you.” He felt his expression grow serious as he surveyed the people around him. “The changes this year have been remarkable. Some deeply painful . . .” He narrowed his eyes in Kari’s direction, praying she could feel his love and concern. Then he looked at baby Jessie still asleep in the family room. “Some deeply joyful. We’ve seen relationships restored and the fires of faith fanned into being. But not without cost.” He tightened the hold he had on Elizabeth’s hand. Luke’s face came to mind.

Then John bowed his head, and around him the others did the same. “God, I pray that you might be merciful to us in the coming year, that you continue to be the heartbeat of our home, the foundation of our family. That the scars from our recent tragedies won’t remain forever. But that one day, however far from now, we might look back and be thankful for how you’ve brought us through.”

* * *

Ashley crept upstairs after dessert. How strange the role reversal that had taken place between her and Luke since last year. Just twelve months ago Luke was cocky and judgmental, firing derogatory barbs at Ashley whenever he had the chance. He was the family’s golden boy, full of laughter and zest for life. But he was also bent on seeing justice served at every turn, determined to do right no matter what errors his sisters might make.

Now, though, Luke had become angry and reclusive. Ever since Reagan left, he seemed to have a vendetta against God and nearly everyone else he cared about. In fact, he didn’t seem able to relate to any of the family—except perhaps Ashley.

And as for the changes in her own heart, she knew they were partially due to Landon Blake. By letting her talk about Paris, he’d removed a splinter from her soul. In its absence, the place that had festered and bled and pained her was actually beginning to heal. Now some nights she and Cole would read together before bedtime, and Ashley would feel like shouting out loud over the obstacles she’d overcome this past year. She was learning to live again, learning to love. And every day she felt less afraid of her past, more confident that God did care about her after all.

Now maybe she could help Luke remember some of the same truths.

She knocked on his door and cautiously let herself in. “Hey, can I talk to you?”

He was sitting at his desk, his pen moving steadily across a pad of paper, his backpack slumped on the floor nearby. At the sound of her voice he set his pen down and looked over his shoulder. “Sure. Come on in.”

Ashley took a spot at the end of his bed and waited while he swiveled his computer chair around to face her. “Homework?”

Luke glanced at his open notebook. “Yeah. Communications. I’ve got a project due.”

She wrinkled her nose. Hadn’t he said something about this assignment before? She and Luke had talked more often in the past two months than they had in years. “The one you’re doing with that girl?”

“Lori Callahan. She sits beside me in class.”

“I thought you finished that.”

“Nope. Professor Hicks made it part of the final.”

Ashley was quiet for a moment. She swung her foot and leaned back some. The last thing she wanted was to lecture him—especially after all he’d been through. Besides, she’d had plenty of years of feeling like an outsider, years when a lecture was the last thing
she
would have wanted. Whatever Luke’s reasons, Ashley understood some of what he was going through. “You missed dessert.”

Luke nodded. “I’ll get some later.”

“Okay.” Ashley cocked her head. “So what’s bugging you?”

He clenched his teeth, and Ashley was struck by how handsome her little brother was. Over the last few years, she’d done her best to avoid him. But now that their friendship was restored, it was as if she were seeing him for the first time.

The muscles in his jaw twitched. “All anyone ever wants to talk about is September eleventh.” He leaned over and dug his elbows into his thighs. “I’m sick of it, I guess.”

She studied him, not wanting to probe too deeply. Her tone was gentle. “Have you heard from Reagan?”

“I stopped calling last week.” He linked his fingers together. “It took me that long to realize she wasn’t busy or away from the phone or gone somewhere. We’re finished.” He dropped his gaze. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Ashley shifted position. Reagan’s pain and sorrow were understandable. Her silence was not. Whatever her reason for refusing Luke’s calls, there had to be more to it than her father’s death. “Maybe something else is wrong.”

For a split second Ashley thought she saw a flash of guilt in Luke’s eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. Luke inhaled sharply and lifted his chin. “It’s over, Ashley. Everything the two of us shared died right along with her father when that building collapsed.” He exhaled through tight lips. “I can’t do anything about it.”

“Okay.” She slid back some and grabbed his pillow, lodging it beneath her elbow as she stretched across his bed. “What else?”

“What else?” He twisted his brow. “Isn’t that enough?”

“You know what I mean, Luke.” She was careful to keep her tone kind. “You’re avoiding practically everyone in the family, like you’re mad at them.”

Luke stood up and paced to the door and back. “Maybe the whole America thing is getting to me.” He stared at her. “I mean, isn’t it weird? Everyone’s suddenly waving flags and going to church. Because of what? Because terrorists found our weak spot?”

Confusion clouded his features. “If it weren’t for the Clinton administration, we could have avoided the whole disaster. They let Osama bin Laden attack us three times and never did anything to stop him. Now we’re reaping the results. That’s supposed to make me want to wave a flag?”

“I know what you mean.” Ashley waited. “At first, I didn’t really get the flag thing either.” She rolled onto her back and doubled the pillow behind her head. “But now I do. People aren’t feeling proud about America’s mistakes. It’s more like a unity thing. We’ve been knocked down, but we’re Americans. We’ll get back up.” She paused, her voice still soft. “You know?”

He huffed and dropped back into his chair. “I guess.” His eyes grew hard. “Then there’s the whole God thing. You know me, Ashley. My faith used to be stronger than . . . than cement. But not anymore.” He gazed out his window at the setting sun. “I keep thinking, what’s the point?”

Ashley was quiet, giving him the chance to continue.

A single laugh came from his lips. “Since September eleventh, people have been flooding the churches. That’s what all the newspapers say, and it’s true. Look at you and Brooke and Peter.” He motioned in her direction. “Why, Ashley? Why do you go?”

“I don’t know, really.” She sat up and hugged the pillow to her stomach. “September eleventh made me remember what’s important in life. Thousands of people go to work one day, and then, in the space of an hour, they’re all snuffed out.” She paused. “I guess the people I work with at Sunset Hills have something to do with it too. Every day, sitting there watching television, waiting to die.” She shrugged. “Church is the only place I find hope and meaning lately. Where all the senselessness makes a little sense.”

He squinted at her. “You mean you buy into the whole God thing now? You believe he’s there, watching over us—all that stuff?”

“I don’t know what I believe.” She reached out and squeezed his sock-covered foot. “I just know that lately I feel better believing that God has a plan, even when things are crazy and out of control.”

“So what plan could he have? And what’s the point of praying when God—if there is a God—is going to do whatever he wants, anyway?” Luke’s voice fell, and he leaned forward, his eyes glistening. “I begged him to let Reagan’s father live. But that didn’t happen.”

Ashley wanted to stop the conversation and hug him, tell him it was okay, that they didn’t have to talk about this. But she knew it wasn’t okay. And he seemed determined to continue.

“Then I got this communications assignment.” He waved at the notebook behind him. “Prove God or disprove him. Back your decision with evidence. I said, ‘Okay, fine, God. Now’s your chance. You can prove you’re real by letting things work out between me and Reagan.’ ” He tossed his hands in the air. “And what’s happened? She won’t even take my calls.”

Ashley was still thinking about the assignment. “Your communications prof asked you to prove or disprove God?”

“Yeah.” Luke crossed his arms, the fight suddenly gone. “He won’t actually say it, but he believes the only valid worldview is humanism. You know, belief in reason and the human spirit—people choosing whether to pursue goodness or evil. It makes sense. I mean, people help each other, and the results are obvious—like what’s happened since September eleventh. God doesn’t help us. We help ourselves!”