Remember (37 page)

Another bucket went by. And another.

Then from the front of the line, the lead workers waved their hands, and one of them called out, “I’ve got a fireman.”

Landon’s insides reacted the same way they always did when he heard those words. His stomach fell to his knees, and images of Jalen flashed in his mind—times when the two of them had run together on those early Texas mornings or shared volunteer time at the station. He could almost see Jalen—smiling, waving to him, telling him to hurry up and get to the East Coast.

Landon swallowed as something he’d told Ashley echoed in his mind once more: “
Fighting fires in Bloomington is a pastime. In New York it’s a passion.”

The captain at the front of the line knew about Landon’s friendship with Jalen. If they found his body, the man had promised to let Landon know immediately. The endless parade of buckets had stopped, and several rescue workers were trying to remove the latest body from the rubble. Landon could see a firefighter’s boots and jacket.

Landon held his breath while the captain tramped down the pile of debris and headed in his direction. A slow breath escaped through Landon’s teeth. It couldn’t be, could it? After all this time? And with so many firefighters still missing? Had they actually found Jalen?

The captain slowed as he approached, and his eyes met Landon’s. “Blake?”

Landon struggled to find his voice. “Yes, sir?”

The man’s eyes fell for a moment and then lifted to Landon’s. “We’ve found your friend. I thought you’d like to help us up front.”

Landon’s head began to spin. His mouth was suddenly dry, his movements slow and deliberate as he passed his bucket to the man next to him and stepped out of line. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

The others tried not to stare as Landon fell in behind the captain and headed up the hill toward the front of the line. Halfway there, Landon caught a look from the old retired fire captain, the one still looking for both of his sons. Their eyes held for a moment; then the older man looked away.

Landon kept walking, staring at the circle of firemen ahead of him and the outline of a body in their midst. He had dreaded this moment since he arrived in New York, dreaded it and longed for it. It wasn’t right that Jalen’s remains stay buried beneath cement and twisted steel. But at the same time Landon feared what they might find. A partial body? A skeleton? It was bad enough to see mutilated strangers removed from the rubble.

But Jalen?

A knot of sorrow lodged in his throat, and Landon gulped it back. He moved into the circle surrounding Jalen’s body. The sight of his friend—lifeless, mangled, forever still—knocked the wind from Landon. His knees buckled. “Dear God, no . . .”

A fireman nearby put his hand on Landon’s shoulder, steadying him. Landon leaned into it, drawing the strength to stand. A surge of nausea rose within him, and he put the back of his hand to his mouth, determined to handle the moment in a way that would’ve made Jalen proud.

His friend had been one of the lucky ones. His body was intact, protected like several of the others because of his fire gear. Jalen’s face was partially decomposed and marked by the tons of debris that had covered it. But he was recognizable, if only by the gold name tag still pinned to his jacket. It was scratched but legible.
Lieutenant Jalen Hale.

Landon reached down and touched the toe of Jalen’s boot as a mountain of anger rose within him. How dare those terrorists do this to his friend? How dare they cost the world someone as good as Jalen?

He drew a tired breath and let the anger fade. In its place an overwhelming sadness began to build.

It’s okay, buddy. We got you out. You can rest now.

Landon let go of Jalen’s boot and moved closer, adjusting his friend’s helmet so it fit firmly on his head.
I should’ve been with you, buddy. Maybe then we would’ve survived this thing together.
Landon hung his head and struggled to breathe.
Why didn’t you get out of there before it fell, Jalen? Why?

There was a stir of motion behind him, and Landon turned around. The morgue workers had arrived. He sucked in a quick breath and straightened himself. He hadn’t been there on September 11 to help Jalen out of the building before it collapsed, but he could help now. He joined the others and maneuvered Jalen’s body onto a bag laid out across a stretcher. Gently Landon took Jalen’s lifeless hands and, one at a time, crossed them respectfully over his still chest.

One of the workers zipped the bag as the captain handed Landon an American flag. “You do the honors, Blake.”

“Yes, sir.” Landon took the flag and stared at the red, white, and blue. His entire body shook.
You did us all proud, Jalen. This country will never forget you.
I’ll never forget you.

A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he shook it off. How was it possible that the bag before him held the friend he’d laughed with so often, planned with and schemed with? That face of his, so full of life, would never smile again. Landon wanted to drop to the ground and weep, but he couldn’t. A hundred pairs of eyes were on him, and there was still one thing left to do.

The chaplain wasn’t around, but that didn’t matter. Landon took his helmet off, clutched the flag to his chest, and bowed his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the others down the line do the same.

“God, we give you our brother Jalen. He’s . . .” Landon’s voice cracked, but he refused to give in to the riptide of emotion tearing at him. “He’s your man now, God. Make him a captain, and give him one of your best stations up there, okay?” He sniffed hard, forcing himself to be strong. “And let him know we love him.”

Landon lifted his head and stared at the dark, zippered bag on the stretcher. Moving with great care and respect, he draped the flag over his friend’s covered body.

It was time to carry Jalen out.

“You okay, Blake?” The captain laid a hand on his shoulder.

Landon cleared his throat. “Fine, sir.” He anchored one side of the stretcher. “Let’s go.”

Several firefighters joined him, and together they carried Jalen’s body down the pile of debris, a hundred yards away to the refrigerated truck.

A county official led them inside and to the left. “Thank you.” He nodded at Landon and the others. “We’ll take it from here.”

They passed the stretcher to four morgue workers, who disappeared with it around a makeshift partition. The other firefighters turned to leave, but Landon stayed. The county official was waiting, but for a moment Landon couldn’t find the words. He swallowed hard and shook his head, pointing in the direction they’d taken Jalen.

“He . . . he was my friend.” Landon pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling. “Take care of him for me, okay?”

Protocol would require the county official to agree and nothing more. But this was Ground Zero. There, in the refrigerated makeshift morgue, the graying man crooked an arm around Landon’s neck, pulling him close. “I’m sorry, son.” His voice was thick. “I’m so sorry.”

The tears came then, and Landon could do nothing to stop them. “Jalen . . .” He bent his knees and squatted down, unable to see. “Jalen loved fighting fires here.”

Although he’d worked at Ground Zero for over two months and had seen the county official nearly every day, Landon didn’t know the man’s name. But the official gripped Landon’s shoulder and allowed him to cry, allowed him to weep and groan and grieve Jalen’s loss the way he hadn’t been able to do since first seeing the attacks on television.

Because Jalen’s death had never been real until now.

Two minutes passed, and Landon couldn’t get a grip. He felt buried beneath the death and destruction and loss the same way Jalen had been buried beneath the twin towers. It wasn’t right! So many firefighters, all driven to save lives, all rushing up the stairs into a death trap. Why hadn’t someone stopped them?

How would he tell Jalen’s mother? What details would she want to know? And what about all the others still waiting to find a friend or family member? What about the retired fire captain still working the line, still waiting for his reckoning moment?

Landon wanted to struggle to his feet, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to return to the pile again; he wanted to walk to the back of the truck, find Jalen’s body, and sit by him for a while. They needed more time together, time to talk. Time for Landon to apologize for taking so long to get him out. Time to tell him about what had happened and how the country was responding.

The sobs shook his body until he felt another hand on his shoulder. “Blake . . .”

He turned and saw the captain, the same one who had led him to the front of the line when they first realized the body was Jalen’s. “Y-y-yes, sir.”

“When’s the last time you had a day off?” The man’s tone was gentle, almost fatherly. Landon guessed this wasn’t the first time he’d seen one of his own break down since September 11.

“Well, sir . . .” Landon’s knees shook as he stood up. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear the tears enough to see. “I haven’t had a day, sir.”

The captain’s eyebrows lifted. “Not a single day? Not since you got here?”

Two quick, silent sobs racked Landon’s shoulders. “No, sir. I . . . I wanted to find Jalen, sir.”

“Look, Blake”—the captain took hold of Landon’s upper arm—“you need to go home.”

“Home, sir?” Landon blinked. His head was spinning . . . any minute he was going to pass out. “I work
here
now, sir.”

“I realize that. But you won’t be of any use to us if you don’t take care of yourself.”

Landon waited, still longing to be with his friend one last time.

“We have a lot of shortages in the department, as you know.” The captain’s voice was firm but compassionate. “I need men like you manning a station, not sifting through rubble.”

He paused, his gaze direct. “Go home, Blake. Take a few days. Then come back and report for duty at headquarters. Your one-year contract will begin December tenth, and it will begin in the firehouse. You’ve done more than your share here at Ground Zero.”

Landon had no idea how he made it back to the apartment that afternoon. But somehow he found a way to contact Jalen’s parents and his own, and book a flight back to Indiana. He’d done what he set out to do. He’d found Jalen and helped remove him from the rubble.

In the process he’d said good-bye to one of his closest friends.

Now it was time to spend a few days with the other.

Chapter Thirty

Ashley was in no hurry to get another job until after Christmas.

She still had a little of the accident settlement money left, and besides, she and Cole were having a wonderful time together. They took trips to the library and read a dozen Dr. Seuss books—Cole’s favorite. Evenings were spent watching
Dumbo
or
The Lion King
and eating Ashley’s homemade oatmeal cookies.

“You’re my best friend, Mommy. You know that?” Cole wrapped his grubby arms around her one morning after breakfast. “Plus you’re the bestest reader in the whole world.”

Ashley wished there was a way to thank Irvel and Helen and Edith. In a few short months they’d taught her more about love and life and making memories than she’d learned in all her years.

She had lived in fear and shame far too long—but no more. Her past mistakes were not Cole’s fault, and she could do nothing about them now. Cole would be young only once, after all. And these times with Cole were what she wanted to remember when she was old.

When guilt about her days in Paris or her missed opportunities with her son tried to sink its claws into her, she would shake it off even before a few minutes went by. Then she’d call for her son. “Come here, buddy. Mommy needs you.”

She’d hug him or kiss him or read to him.

A week after Ashley lost her job, her mother gave her a teasing complaint. “What happened to my boy? He hasn’t spent the night here in forever.”

“I’m making up for lost time, Mom.” Ashley stooped down, kissed Cole on the nose, and laughed as he playfully wiped it away. “As much as possible, I want him with me.”

Now it was nearly two weeks since she’d been fired, and that afternoon, Ashley had given in and let her mother take Cole for a few hours. She wasn’t far away. In fact, she was just out front, fifty yards from her parents’ front door. She had decided to create a painting of the Baxter house, the way it looked in early winter, bathed in the waning afternoon sunlight.

Bundled in an oversized parka, she sat in front of her easel and studied the sun rays as they hit the north side of the house where the dormers stood out. The image captured her so completely, she barely heard a car pull into the driveway behind her.

Must be Dad.

But the car didn’t continue down the drive, and the fact that it was even there quickly slipped Ashley’s mind. The temperature was dropping, and her fingers were stiff. She pressed the bristles into the pale gold color she had mixed and gently splayed them against the side of the palette, separating the fine hairs. She was running out of daylight, but she wanted to finish blocking in the sky before the sun set.

Once more she stared at the house. In this light it looked almost as though God himself were shining a lantern on the Baxter home. It was that effect she wanted to capture in her painting.

With featherlight strokes she added a shimmer of light to the left side of her canvas. She was about to dip her brush again when she felt someone come up behind her and take hold of her shoulders.

Before she could turn around, she knew it was Landon. His touch sent chills down her spine despite her heavy parka, chills that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature. But how could it be? She hadn’t heard from him since he left for New York.

She spun around, and there he was. “Landon.” She wanted to ask him a hundred questions, but only one mattered. Had he found Jalen? She couldn’t voice the question. Instead she soaked in the sight of him and saw a canyon of pain in his eyes.