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It was true, wasn’t it? Didn’t Lamentations make the promise right from Scripture? That though the night might be long and dark, morning would always come because God was nothing if not faithful. Indeed, his faithfulness was one of the greatest things about him.

Still…

No more children? Not ever? It was too great a blow to absorb all at once. When she opened her eyes, Reagan squeezed Landon’s hand. The news had shot a gaping hole through her heart, leaving wounds she would have to deal with the rest of her life. But at least her son had survived. God, in all his mercy, had given her that, and for now the baby’s place in her life would have to be enough.

Her eyes found Landon’s and she patted his fingers. Though she could barely see him through her fresh tears, she managed a smile. “Thanks for telling me.”

He brought his other hand up and set it on hers, so that her fingers were sheltered on both sides by his. “Your mom didn’t want you hearing it from a stranger.”

“Be my friend, Landon. I could use one.”

“Okay.” Landon cocked his head. “You got it.”

One more question stood at the doorway of Reagan’s mind, and she couldn’t keep it out another minute. “Have…have you seen Ashley?”

“Not for a few months.” Landon’s eyes grew softer. “But soon, I hope.”

“You won’t tell her?”

For a moment Landon pursed his lips and worked the muscles in his jaw. Then his expression softened. “No, Reagan. I promise. That’s gotta be your call.”

A shuffling sound near the door made them both turn and look. One of the nurses poked her head in and grinned. “Are you ready for your baby?”

Some of the sadness from their earlier conversation lifted, and Reagan couldn’t contain her smile. “Yes…please.”

She looked at Landon and squeezed his hand once more. “Stay, so you can see him?”

Landon cleared his throat and settled back into his chair. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Before the nurse returned, Reagan’s mother stirred and brought herself to a sitting position. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.” Reagan let a sad smile cross her features. “You’re just in time.”

“For what?” Her mother blinked twice, folded back the blankets, stood and stared, her eyes wide. “Reagan, is everything okay? The baby?”

“Everything’s fine, Mom.” Reagan shot Landon a sad look. “Landon told me about…about the surgery.”

“Oh, honey.” Her mother crossed the room and came alongside Landon. Then she bent over the hospital bed and hugged Reagan. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. So sorry.”

“I’ll be all right.” Reagan’s words were muffled in her mother’s shoulder. She pulled back then and sniffed so she wouldn’t give way to the sobs welling in her heart. “I have my son.”

At that moment the nurse walked in pushing a bassinet. Bundled inside was a baby whose face Reagan couldn’t quite make out. Landon slid his chair back so the bassinet would fit up against Reagan’s bed. She peered inside and could neither speak nor breathe.

Her son was beautiful and tiny and perfectly formed. And the most amazing miracle was this: She could feel him in her soul, feel him growing and putting down roots with a fierce type of love she had never known until this day. The nurse stood by while Reagan’s mother lifted Thomas Luke into Reagan’s arms, and she cradled him close to her heart.

“Hi, Tommy. I’m your Mama.” Reagan nuzzled her nose against his.

“He’s so small.” Landon peered over Mrs. Decker’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Reagan.”

“Thank you.” She kept her eyes on her newborn son, and somehow she knew this little boy would fill her life with breathtaking moments. His first smile, first steps, first day of school. All of it—every moment—would be an adventure too amazing to miss.

And she knew something else, too. He would be beautiful, like his father. Blond hair…blue eyes…dimpled chin, and a personality that could hold a roomful of people captive. She knew it as clearly as she could see him now, for the first time in his young life.

The same way her mother and Landon must have known it. Because even as a wrinkled newborn, Thomas Luke looked exactly like his father. And though this moment was the greatest in all her life, though it was being indelibly written second by second across the tablet of her heart, Reagan couldn’t help but feel another pang of sadness.

Luke had made his choice, and it didn’t include her. Now he would never know this feeling, never hold this precious wonder child in his arms and understand intrinsically a new never-before kind of love. Luke would never know the bond between father and child. And though that truth was heartbreaking, the saddest part of all was this:

Neither would his son.

L
UKE ALMOST KNOCKED
her to the ground.

He’d finished his media law class and was barreling out of the building’s south entrance when a woman cut in front of him. She was looking down at her cell phone; by the time she glanced up it was too late, and they collided smack into each other. The jolt sent her cell phone skittering across the floor—the phone in one direction, battery in the other.

He held up his hand and touched the woman’s arm, making sure she had her balance. “Hey, sorry about th—”

Only then did he realize that the woman was his sister.

Brooke stared at him almost as if she were seeing a ghost. “That’s okay.” Her eyes narrowed, and she studied him over her shoulder as she picked up the pieces of her phone and slipped the battery back in place. “Luke?”

“Didn’t recognize me, huh?” He forced a laugh, but even he could hear how tight and uncomfortable it was.

“Your hair…it’s so long.” She slipped the cell phone into her purse and smoothed a stray piece of hair into the loose bun at the back of her neck. Her voice was nervous and a little too friendly. “And the mustache…the goatee. No, I didn’t recognize you at all. How are you?”

“Good…real good.” He took a step backward and stuck his hands into his jeans pockets. What was Brooke doing on campus? And why, out of all the people at school that day, did he have to run into her? Five months had gone by since he’d seen her or any of his sisters except Ashley. And he hadn’t seen her since April.

An awkward silence stood like a wall between them.

Brooke cleared her throat and swung her purse back onto her shoulder. “I’m meeting a friend for lunch. She’s a sociology professor.”

Luke bit his lip and tried to remember. What was it Ashley had said? After not believing through most of their adult years, had Brooke and Peter bought into the whole God thing, too? Or were they still skeptical? Maybe he was the family’s lone doubter these days. He couldn’t remember, so he lifted his shoulders. “Sociology professors have it together pretty well.”

“Sami Baker’s a Christian. Maddie and her little girl are in the same Sunday school class at church.”

Luke gritted his teeth and stared at the ground. Okay, so Brooke was a Christian now, too. Fine. He had a class to get to. He was about to wish Brooke well and be on his way, when she interrupted his thoughts.

“Can I make an observation?” Her tone was just short of condescending, the same way she’d talked to him back when they were little kids. Brooke was the oldest, and sometimes their mom had to talk to her about letting up on Luke. About not being his second mother.

He looked up and met his sister’s eyes. “What?”

“You say you’re doing well, but your eyes tell another story.” She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “You walked out on us, Luke, all of us. And you think that’s enlightenment? You think that’s freethinking?” Anger flashed across her features. “I’ll tell you what it is, Luke; it’s a bunch of baloney.”

The hair stood up on the back of his neck. “Wait a minute. I didn’t ask for a lecture. I get enough of that from Dad.”

“Come here.” Brooke took hold of his arm and led him to a bench a few feet away from the stream of students heading for class. She gave him a light shake. “What has gotten into you, Luke Baxter?”

He jerked out of her grasp. “I could say the same thing to you. Last I knew, you didn’t believe in God, and now you go to church? What sort of joke is that, Brooke? Terrorists crash a couple planes into a few buildings, some people die, and all of a sudden God makes sense?” He huffed and crossed his arms. “That’s the bunch of baloney right there.”

Brooke released a long breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Yeah.”

“But look what you’re doing, Luke. Don’t you see? God’s the only thing that
does
make sense now.”

Luke held a single finger up. “That’s where you’re wrong, big sister.” He gave a few chuckles. “I used to buy all that narrow-minded junk, but then I found a whole new world. A world where freethinking is a good thing and love can’t be defined by rigid rules or an ambivalent God. Relationships are open, minds are open, and life is free to be lived whatever way seems best to you. Now
that—”
he shook his finger—“that makes sense.”

“Bad things happen every day, Luke.” Brooke’s voice was much gentler now, and she reached out and tried to take his hand. When he jerked it away, she didn’t give up. “Someone gets cancer, someone gets hit by a car, someone dies in a terrorist attack. Bad things happen, so what sense is there in freethinking? That doesn’t bring order to life.”

“And God does?”

“Yes.” Brooke tossed her hands in the air. “Yes, a hundred times over. If this is all there is, then what’s the point? If God doesn’t exist, then neither do absolutes. No right or wrong, no moral compass. So why live, Luke? For the experience of it? Surely that sounds shallow, even to a freethinker like you.”

“The thing about you God people is you’re willing to build your entire life on a belief that can’t possibly be proven. You should know that, Brooke. Those were your words, remember? Back before the world turned upside down?”

Brooke flinched at the reminder. “I’m sorry I ever said that.” She lost some of her fight, and her gaze held a deeper look than he’d ever seen before. An undeniable something that hadn’t been there before September 11. “I was wrong.”

“How do you know?” He gritted his teeth. Why was he having this conversation? He was late for economics, and the professor was bound to make a note of the fact. “What makes you so sure, Brooke? When for so many years you didn’t believe?”

She gazed up at the trees that marked the quad a few feet away. “The way an elm moves in time with the wind.” She turned her head and stared at the sky. “The endless blue of the heavens.” She looked straight at him. “The fact that you and I are here today. Out of all the people I might have run into.”

He was silent a moment too long.

“You can keep up your New Age act, Luke, keep telling yourself that none of us matters and that living with that…that girl you met is the secret to happiness. But one day it’ll be too late. People die, life changes, and sometimes regrets are all we have.” She stood and straightened her jacket, her eyes never leaving his. “One day you’ll have a family, Luke. When you do, when you hold your child for the first time, you’ll believe again. And you’ll know just how much your distance is killing Mom and Dad.”

Luke’s questions were gone, and in their place anger jabbed at him. He stood and gave his sister’s arm a quick pat. “Thanks for the lecture, Sis. See ya around.”

Without looking back, without apologizing for his behavior or giving her statement a minute’s consideration, he spun and jogged to class. It wasn’t until he was seated in his chair that he realized there was something he’d forgotten to ask Brooke. He wasn’t sure why it mattered. After all,
family
was a loose term, and sharing a bloodline didn’t necessarily give people a lifelong bond. At least that’s what the guys at the Freethinkers Alliance had told him.

Still, he was suddenly desperate to know—desperate enough that if he could be sure he’d catch her, he would run back across campus to find Brooke and ask her if they ever figured out what was wrong with Maddie.

Ashley boarded the American Airlines jet just before seven on June 10.

In the past few days Landon had left her two messages, but his answering machine picked up each time she tried to call him back. Then Travelocity E-mailed her with a last-minute discount round-trip to La Guardia. That’s when the idea hit her.

She’d go to Manhattan, take her paintings, and surprise Landon all at the same time. She hadn’t told him yet about the call from the gallery, or that they actually wanted to sell three of her paintings. But this way she could get to the city, check in at her hotel, and drop by his station. If he wasn’t working, she’d go to his apartment. She’d never been there, but she had the address, and any cabdriver would know how to find it.

Her parents had offered to take Cole, and now, forty-eight hours later, she was boarding an airplane.

Ashley made her way down the aisle and found her spot. A window seat. Good. A window would give her time to think, time to gaze at the heavens and feel a little closer to God. Time to wonder what he was doing by allowing her this opportunity in New York. And time to think about Landon and how good it would feel to see him again.

Ashley had E-mailed photos of her paintings to Ms. Wellington at the gallery. She’d chosen Ashley’s favorite three paintings—favorites, that is, among those she was willing to part with.

“They’re perfect,” the woman told her. “I can’t wait to see them in person.”

The first was of her parents’ house—not the one she’d painted that freezing winter day when Landon showed up and surprised her. But another one bathed in cool autumn light and anchored by an American flag billowing in the breeze.

The second was one of several she’d painted of Irvel, this one with Irvel gazing out the patio window of the Sunset Hills Adult Care Home. In her hand was a china cup of peppermint tea, and in her eyes, a longing for a man who would never again return to her. Something about the lines on Irvel’s face, the pinched eyes gazing beyond the Sunset Hills yard, made her look almost lucid. As though she actually knew the truth about Hank just for a moment, and knew, too, that one day they’d be together again.

The third painting was of Landon, one of a few she’d painted after his time at Ground Zero. She’d seen pictures, watched the news, studied the photographs in magazines during that time. Several of her recent pieces depicted intimate looks at the people who had helped remove the piles of debris. A few times she’d given a firefighter Landon’s face, his lanky frame, and sharp blue eyes. This painting was one of those, with Landon sitting on a park bench, head down, while workers carried on at a distant Ground Zero scene.

“Americana,” the woman from the art gallery had called them. And they were—though years earlier Ashley never would have figured herself to paint anything but impressions. The funny thing was, in the months after taking the job at Sunset Hills, after living through the events of September 11, after finding her heart and faith in God again, all she wanted to paint were portraits of America.

Ashley settled back and gazed out the window. She was less worried about Landon now that he’d called twice in the past few days. He was obviously busy, and maybe he still saw their situation the way he’d seen it back when he was working Ground Zero. What was it he had said when they finally saw each other after that awful time? That he couldn’t call her; wasn’t that it? Otherwise he would’ve been on the next plane home to Bloomington.

She had no reason to think he felt any different. Yes, he was free to find other friends and even date or fall in love. But Ashley remembered the way he’d looked at her that night last summer when she’d told him the truth about what happened in Paris. She’d remember the look in his eyes as long as she lived.

No, Landon wasn’t busy with another woman. He was just busy. Twelve-hour shifts, department softball games, and volunteer work at the hospital. An hour each day for jogging and weight lifting. He probably had time for little else but sleep and cleanup. And if she knew Landon, he was probably thinking about her at least as often as she thought of him.

The truly crazy thing was that she hadn’t seen it sooner—how much she cared about him. She’d always thought he was too safe and structured, that he wouldn’t be happy unless he had a nice little church wife, someone who volunteered for the women’s bazaar and baked casseroles for the monthly potluck.

Yes, Ashley loved God now. In fact, he’d been her mainstay for nearly a year. But she’d never be a conservative little church wife. Not when she’d rather sit on a hillside and create magic on canvas.

“Something to drink?”

The flight attendant’s voice caught Ashley’s attention, and she turned from the window. “Water, please.” She looked at her watch. She would arrive in La Guardia and go find Landon at the station. That would surprise him, and then she could take him to dinner and celebrate the fact that her paintings were going to be shown to the public.

Ashley took a small cup of water from the flight attendant and drank it in four long sips. The flight wasn’t half full, and she had no seatmates, which was a good thing. She didn’t want to share this moment with a stranger—or anyone else, for that matter. No one but Landon Blake. He’d believed in her art as far back as she could remember. Even before Paris, when they were juniors in high school.

“Your paintings are so good, Ash,” he’d told her back then. He’d been admiring a work she’d done for an art class. “You’ll be famous one day for sure.”

Funny how she had blocked out much of her childhood, how she’d been a black sheep among the Baxter faithful. Even images of Paris were dim at best, relegated to the basement of her memory. But the image of Landon studying her class assignment and assuring her she’d be famous one day…that was as real and vivid as it was the day it happened.