Under a Summer Sky (12 page)

“I
think I might go for a run,” Asa mused, lying in bed.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Maddie asked in surprise. “You were just saying how good your knee’s been feeling.”

“That’s why I’m going.”

“Hmm,” she said skeptically. “Don’t hurt yourself or I won’t have anyone to dance with at the wedding.”

“You have two sons and five grandsons, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of dance partners. In fact, I’ll probably end up being a wallflower—there won’t be any room for me on your dance card.”

“There’s always room for you,” she said, kissing him.

Hearing their pillow talk, Harper got up, rested her chin on the bed, and gazed at them lovingly, her whole hind end wiggling.

“Are you taking your pal with you?” Maddie asked, reaching out to rub her ears.

“That depends. Are her pads better?”

“I think so.”

Asa looked over at the happy-go-lucky Lab. “Do you want to go too?” he asked, and she immediately wiggled over to his side of the bed, thumping her tail. “Okay,” he said, getting up. “You and me. Just a short one though—a couple of miles to see how it feels.”

He turned to Maddie. “Are you checking on your new charges?”

“I am,” Maddie said, getting up and pulling her robe around her. “Right after I start the coffee.”

Ten minutes later, Asa clicked Harper’s leash to her collar and walked to the end of the driveway. “Which way should we go, ole girl?” he asked.

Harper wagged her tail, and Asa nodded. “I agree, let’s go this way. There’re less hills.” And Harper just continued to wag her tail. She looked like she was smiling as she trotted along beside him.

As Maddie measured coffee, she couldn’t help but recall the loud crash, followed by the image of Asa’s naked, trembling body against the bathroom door. She wondered if the simple act of making coffee would always trigger that memory or if, now that he was better, the image would fade. Without realizing it, she sighed—it was definitely one she wanted to block out.

She turned on the news and heard the tail end of a story that was unfolding in Massachusetts. “We’ll come back as soon as we have more information. This is Mike Johnson, reporting to you from Cape Cod.” Maddie frowned, changed the channel to see if another station was covering it, and then she turned on her laptop.

She lingered, waiting for it to warm up, but even online, the only news from the Cape was a recent shark sighting off the Coast Guard Beach, and she wondered if E and Gabe had seen it. After a few more searches, she gave up and went out to the garage to check on the goslings. The last two eggs had hatched the day before, and now all four babies were nestled together in one big, downy ball. She gently stroked the back of one of them and smiled. She went back inside and poured a cup of coffee, and by the time Asa came in, she’d forgotten all about the news. “How was your run?”

“Good,” he said, dripping with sweat. He released Harper’s leash, and she splayed out on the floor with her water bowl between her paws, panting and drinking sloppily, splashing water everywhere.

“And your knee?”

“Pretty good,” he said, filling a glass with water.

“Is pretty good less good than plain good?” she asked.

“A little less,” he said with a smile. “I had a pain in my other leg, which took my mind off my knee. Not sure what that’s all about—probably a tendon.”

“Well, you need to take it easy. You did just go through six weeks of radiation.”

“Don’t worry. I am,” he said, taking a long drink.

“M
om’s home!” Ben and Seth shouted, shoving each other as they tried to be the first one outside. In the commotion, Lucky scooted past them and out the door. “Look what you did,” Ben accused, pointing as the fluffy orange feline scampered across the yard.

“I didn’t do it. You did!” Seth countered.

“Did what?” Noah asked, coming out after them with Mennie at his heels.

“Seth let Lucky out,” Ben reported.

“
You
let Lucky out,” Seth countered angrily.

Noah groaned, knowing he’d be the one in trouble. “Thanks a lot, guys. Go see if you can find him.”

“After I say hi to Mom,” Ben said.

“Me too.”

Noah frowned, but when he saw Laney climbing out of the car, he couldn’t help but smile.

“The house looks great!” she said happily, admiring the fresh paint.

“Thanks!” Ben and Seth said in unison.

“You guys did it?” she asked in surprise.

They nodded.

“And Gabe,” Noah added.

“Well, it looks super.”

They both smiled, and hugging her, asked, “How was your trip?” But then spying Asher with a new hat on, added, “Hey, did we get hats?”

“No,” Asher answered matter-of-factly. “Just me.”

“That’s not fair,” Seth complained.

“Lord help me, will you two grow up?” Noah asked in an exasperated voice.

Laney smiled, giving her husband a long hug. “They are growing up—too fast!” she reminded.

“Well,” he said, shaking his head, “you haven’t been putting up with them all week.”

“I still know how it is,” she replied sympathetically.

Noah turned to the boys. “Okay, you said hello. Now, go find the cat.”

“Lucky’s lost?” Asher asked worriedly.

“No,” Seth said. “He’s just outside.”

“Outside?” Laney asked, eyeing her husband.

“It
just
happened,” Noah explained defensively. “That cat has been plotting his escape all week . . . and he finally pulled it off. Don’t worry—he’ll be fine. He’s not as vulnerable as you think, and I think it’s unfair to keep him inside. All he does is sit by the door and cry like he’s lost his best friend.

“Speaking of friends . . .” he added, nodding to Mennie who was gazing at his beloved with star-struck eyes, wagging his tail expectantly, and waiting to be noticed.

“Oh!” Laney said, kneeling down to wrap her arms around him. “Hi, there, old pie,” she whispered. “Did you miss me?”

“Miss you?” Noah exclaimed. “I have never seen such a sad dog! He moped around all week. What a sad sack!”

“You mean gloomy gills,” Asher corrected as both dogs wiggled around them.

“Hi, Mom,” Gabe said, coming up behind them as E scooped Asher up and threw him over his shoulder, making his hat fall off.

“My hat!” Asher cried, squirming and stretching out his arms, even though there was no chance of reaching it.

“My hat now,” E teased, picking it up and putting it on his head.

“It’s too small for you,” Asher protested, still trying to reach it.

“Hi!” Laney said in surprise. “What are you two doing home?”

“The beach is closed,” Gabe explained, making the sound from
Jaws
for extra effect.

“Yeah,” E added, setting Asher down. “We saw one having breakfast this morning, and the water was all red.”

“No!” Laney said, raising her eyebrows and mouthing the word
seal
over Asher’s head.

E nodded. “Yup . . . and not just one.”

“There’re sharks at the beach?” Asher asked with wide eyes.

“How about we go inside?” Noah said, eyeing his older sons and changing the subject.

“Okay,” Laney agreed. “Do you guys want to help unload?” she asked, opening the hatch.

“Wow—look at those peaches!” Seth said. “Can I have one?”

“They’re not ripe yet,” Asher explained matter-of-factly.

“Are you the new authority on peaches?” Noah asked, scooping him into a hug.

Asher nodded solemnly, wrapping his arms around Noah’s neck.

“Missed you, buddy,” he whispered.

“Missed you too, Dad.”

Then Noah whispered something in his ear and a smile immediately spread across his face.

Laney eyed them. “What are you two whispering about?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Noah answered nonchalantly.

“Yeah, nothing,” Asher assured her, using the same carefree tone, but barely able to contain himself.

“Hmmm,” she murmured, eyeing them suspiciously.

Carrying duffel bags, suitcases, crates of peaches, cases of jam, and holding their collective breaths, they followed Laney up the walkway, and when she reached the screen door, Noah held it open for her. Giving him a funny look, she stepped from the porch to the kitchen, but then, she stopped in her tracks. “Oh, my,” she murmured, looking around at the handsome cherry cabinets and dark granite countertops. “Oh, my goodness! How in the world?” With tears in her eyes, she turned to look at her six men and realized they all looked like cats that had eaten canaries. “You guys,” she said, shaking her head. “And you especially,” she said, eyeing Noah. “How are we going to pay for this?”

Laughing, Noah looked at his older two boys. “I told you . . .” he said. Then he put his arm around Laney. “It’s all paid for.”

“Look, Mom,” Ben said, flipping a switch, “we even have under cabinet lighting . . . and a new light over the island.”

Laney nodded, looking around. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you did this all in a week.”

“Hey,” Noah said, folding his arms across his chest. “We don’t fool around.”

“Well, I’m going to have to go away more often.”

“They even got you a new sign,” Asher said, pointing to a burgundy sign with white lettering, hanging on the freshly painted wall. It read: “N
OW FAITH IS THE ASSURANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR, THE CONVICTION OF THINGS NOT SEEN
.”

Laney turned to her husband and shook her head. “Thank you,” she said softly. Then she looked at each of them. “Thank
all
of you.”

“You’re welcome,” they said, giving her hugs.

“You know what the first thing you have to bake in your new oven is?” Asher asked.

“What?” she asked, hugging him last.

“My birthday cake!”

B
y ten o’clock Tuesday morning, the heavy mist had turned into steady rain. It was fitting, Noah thought, as he watched the parade of dark umbrellas making their way through the church parking lot and up the wet slate walk. The sun shouldn’t show its face on such a somber day.

The night before, after Laney and Asher’s homecoming, Noah had retreated to his study to gather his thoughts, but it had been futile—even though he’d officiated at the funerals of children before, this one felt different. Finally, after staring at a blank Word document for twenty minutes, he remembered a thin volume he’d read in college about writing sermons. It was titled:
Keep It Short, Student,
or as they’d affectionately called it in seminary,
KISS
. He was certain there was a chapter in it focusing on ministering to a congregation after the loss of a child, and he scanned his bookshelves until he found it. When he opened it, he was surprised to also find, tucked between its pages, a faded newspaper clipping and a paper he’d written when he was at Andover Newton. He unfolded the clipping, dated October 14, 1977, and looked at the picture of a boy in a football uniform. The boy’s name was John Winslow. Noah distinctly remembered John—even though they’d been on different teams in high school and hadn’t been close friends, they’d had several classes together and they’d always said hello. And then, on a crisp Friday night in the fall of their sophomore year, John was injured in a game. Both teams had knelt as John’s motionless body was carried off the field on a stretcher to a waiting ambulance, but as the eerie emergency lights lit up the autumn sky and the wailing siren faded in the distance, John fell into a coma. He died three days later. The whole school had been devastated. The school board even brought grief counselors in for anyone who needed to talk. And although Noah hadn’t sought counseling, for the rest of that year, he’d looked at John’s empty seat and wondered how they’d explained such a senseless loss.

Years later, when he was studying to be a minister, he was given the assignment to write about the loss of a child, and since the only experience he had on the subject was the inexplicable death of his high school classmate, he wrote about John. Noah slowly unfolded the paper, and as he reread the words—now decades old—the grief and sense of loss he’d felt then came rushing back.

When Noah entered the sanctuary, he realized it wasn’t as full as he’d expected. Laney and the boys—including Asher—were among the last to file in, and Jillian, who looked much older than her years, was seated in the front row with her sister; but Jeff—who was still being held in juvenile detention—had declined the opportunity to attend his brother’s funeral.

“My friends,” Noah began solemnly, “we are gathered here this morning to remember the life of Jared Joseph Laughlin—a life that ended much too soon.” As he said this, he lit a single white candle and invited them to pray; and then, after singing the hymns and reading the verses that he’d helped Jillian select, he asked if there was anyone who wished to share a memory about Jared. The congregation sat silently, looking around, waiting respectfully, and Noah could feel his own heart beating. There had to be someone who was willing to share a funny anecdote or a fond memory of this young, lost soul . . . but no one raised their hand . . . and no one moved to stand.

Noah nodded solemnly, looking out at the sea of young faces, and silently prayed that the words he’d prepared would somehow touch their hearts. He cleared his throat. “Sometimes, it’s not easy to step out of our comfort zones onto a treacherous limb and express how we’re feeling. Kids especially, have a hard time talking about how they feel. The world today is incredibly fast-paced and full of distractions—video games, instant messaging, texting. It can leave your head spinning, and that’s precisely why I’m glad to see so many of you here today. Because in our crazy world . . . when things aren’t making sense . . . it’s always good to take a step back . . . center ourselves in silence . . . and try to understand the things that don’t make sense—like how a child . . . a child who is barely ten years old . . . can be called to heaven.

“Many of you are probably wondering how God can
let
something like this happen. How can He let a child—a child who has hardly had a chance to begin living—die? Where is He in such a tragedy? It certainly seems like He’s absent or, at the very least, not paying attention. But that is not the case; in fact, it is as far from the truth as can be. God doesn’t let bad things happen, but he does promise to be with us and give us the strength we need to get through them. He is never absent; He is with us right now as we remember Jared; He is with Jared’s mom in her sorrow ; and He is with all of us as we try to understand.”

Noah smiled sadly. “This world of ours has been groaning and changing and struggling for longer than any of us can even begin to fathom . . . and in all that infinite time, God has watched over us. He has never slept or been distracted, and although the Bible says we are created in His image, that is where the similarities end . . . because when it comes to comprehending how the fragile threads of our lives are intricately woven together into one luminous and glorious tapestry, we humans fall painfully short. The unfolding story of the world is much greater than our comprehension, but God—from His vantage point—can see how our lives are intertwined and how the decisions we make unwittingly affect other lives—even the lives of people we don’t know. In fact, we often never know how . . . or where . . . or when . . . we’ve touched another’s life . . . but God does.

“Jared’s life touched many other lives—and although our hearts are filled with sorrow today, we can find solace in knowing and trusting that God has a greater plan . . . and that Jared’s life . . .
and
his untimely death . . . will continue to touch us in some way for the rest of our lives.

“Let us pray.”

Noah bowed his head, and although, outwardly, he voiced a prayer for Jared and his family, inwardly, he felt his words had fallen short and he thanked God that it was over. He looked up, reached for his hymnal, and said, “Please join in singing our closing hymn, ‘Blessed Assurance
.
’ ”

“What you said made a lot of sense, pastor,” several people said afterward.

“It was a very nice service—touching,” others remarked.

“I never thought about God that way,” one boy said.

And when Jillian was finished greeting everyone else, she tearfully hugged and thanked him.

“I feel like we’re on a roller coaster,” Noah mused that evening as he helped Laney wrap Asher’s presents. “In the morning, we’re attending a funeral, and in the evening, we’re getting ready for a birthday.”

“That’s how life is sometimes,” Laney said, tightening a bow.

“None of what I said today came out the way I hoped.”

Laney looked up. “It was fine. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. They were a tough crowd, and I can’t help wondering how many of those kids were dragged there by parents who didn’t realize what Jared was really like.”

“And what was Jared really like?” he asked, looking up.

“He was a bully.”

Noah frowned. “He was also a child—a child who was crying out for love, but I couldn’t say that in front of his mother. I couldn’t say what was really in my heart because it would have broken her heart even more.” He shook his head. “God wants us to love those who are the hardest to love, and we failed him.”

Laney sat down across from him. “I hate to say this, but the world is a safer place without Jared. Now we have one less angry kid who could potentially show up at school with a shotgun someday.”

“That’s harsh.”

“It’s true. How do you rehabilitate a boy like that? In our society, rehabilitation of a child that is innately mean rarely happens. Jared was heartless and cruel and he had no regard for others’ feelings or lives. Look what he did to Asher . . . and to Lucky.”

“You don’t know for certain that he had anything to do with Lucky,” Noah refuted.

“I do know it . . . because I’ve seen the look in his eyes.”

“It’s wrong to give up on a child. He could’ve been moved to a loving home and taught responsibility and respect. He might’ve changed.”

Laney looked skeptical. “No court would have taken him from his mother. She wasn’t the one abusing him. It was an impossible situation.”

“When did you get to be such a pessimist?”

“I’m not a pessimist,” she said. “I’m a realist.”

She stood up to finish wrapping. “When you asked if anyone wanted to say something, I think Asher wanted to. He sat up and looked around, waiting for someone to get up, and when no one did, he started to stand, but then you started talking again, he sat down.”

“He did? I wonder what he would’ve said.”

“I don’t know,” Laney said with a smile. “He’s full of surprises.”

“Has he said any more about it being his fault?”

“No, thank goodness. I think it helped to get home to everyone who loves him.”

Just then, Mennie moseyed over to the table to remind them that it was past his bedtime. Noah cupped the old Lab’s head in his hands and looked into his eyes. “Do you need to go out one more time?” Mennie wagged his tail, and as Noah stood up, he surveyed the pile of gifts on the table as if he was seeing it for the first time. With raised eyebrows, he said, “I don’t think you have enough stuff.”

Laney looked up at the clock. “Well, it’s not too late,” she teased. “I can go get more.”

Noah shook his head, and when he opened the door to let Mennie out, Lucky scooted in, bolted to his empty food dish, and started meowing. “Well, well, well . . . look who finally decided to come home.”