Even Now (25 page)

Was her dad an instructor for fighter pilots? Her grandma had said he came from a wealthy family, a family involved in banking and investments. Papa said Shane’s parents had plans for him to be a businessman. Most likely that’s what he had become. She grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled down the information.

She went back to the list of search results again and found a few more possibilities. One Shane Galanter managed a grocery store in Utah, and another served as president of the Boys and Girls Club in Portland, Oregon. She wrote down the details for both, and for one more: a Shane Galanter selling insurance in Riverside, California.

“Perfect!” She stared at her list of details. “One in California!”

The hope inside her doubled. It was Sunday, and with so few Shane Galanters, she could start making phone calls in the morning. Her dad was thirty-six, just like her mom. And she could describe him over the phone or fax a photo if she had to. She looked out the window at the setting sun. Morning couldn’t come fast enough.

From downstairs, she heard her grandparents up and moving around. She was on her feet instantly, racing out the room and headed for them. “Grandma! Papa!” Her stocking feet slipped and she nearly lost her balance as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. Adrenaline poured through her body, leaving her out of breath by the time she anchored herself at the kitchen counter and looked from one of them to the other. “I found something.”

“You did?” Her grandma was putting a tray of leftover turkey into the oven. Even cold, the smell filled the kitchen. “What’d you find?”

Emily ran her tongue over her lips. Her throat was dry. She looked at her grandpa and then shifted her eyes to her grandma again. “What do you know about the name Lauren Gibbs?”

Her grandma frowned, and her grandpa’s expression went slack. He spoke first. “Never heard of her.”

Emily’s hope leaked from her soul like air from a punctured tire. “Never?”

“Me neither.” Her grandma pulled a serving fork from the drawer in the island and set it on the counter. “Where’d you see that, sweetheart? Was it something your mother wrote about?”

She pulled out one of the bar stools and sat down. “It was the name she wrote all her short stories under.” Emily used her hands to show the size of the stack of notebooks she’d looked through. “Mom had tons of short stories, Grandma.” She looked at her grandpa. “Every one of them has a title and under that it says, ‘By Lauren Gibbs.’ ”

“Lauren Gibbs?” Her grandma stopped moving and wrinkled her nose. “Why in the world would she do that?”

“Wait a minute.” At the other side of the kitchen, her grandpa leaned against the refrigerator and waved a finger in the air. He looked at the two of them, one at a time. “Angie, you remember that book Lauren read when she was, I don’t know, maybe twelve or thirteen?”

Her grandma released a single baffled laugh. “Honey, I didn’t keep track of the books Lauren read. Besides — ” she took as tack of plates from the cupboard — “that was twenty-three years ago.”

“I know, but I remember her telling me about it. At least . . . I think I do.” He squeezed his eyes shut, as if he was trying to take himself back to that time, to remember every detail. When he blinked open, his eyes were brighter. “Yes, I remember exactly. It was one of her favorites. Every few nights she’d come find me and read a chapter out loud.” He looked at his wife. “Remember?One of the characters in that book was Lauren Gibbs.”

“Really?” Emily felt the thrill of discovery course through her again. She crossed the kitchen and pulled a series of salads and side dishes out of the fridge. There were six in all, and she set them on the counter opposite the oven.

“It doesn’t sound even a little familiar.” Her grandma slid the green bean casserole into the microwave. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to her husband. “Did Lauren say something about it?”

“Yes.” He punctuated the air in front of him. “I remember now. She told me she loved the name Lauren Gibbs. She liked something about the character, I guess. I remember her saying something about being that way when she grew up.”

“So what was the book, Papa?” Emily went to him, her eyes wide as she searched his. “Maybe that’d give us another clue.”

He squinted at nothing in particular and waited for several seconds. Then he shook his head and looked at her. “I can’t remember.”

Emily didn’t care. At least it was something to go on. Then there was her father’s name, the way it was supposed to be spelled. Over dinner she told them about the Shane Galanters detailed on the website.

“A flight instructor?” Her grandma set her fork down. “What was the other one?”

“An insurance guy from California.”

“I’d put money on the insurance guy, if it’s either of them.” Papa looked tired. His words lacked the energy they’d held even half an hour earlier. “Samuel Galanter’s son wouldn’t have joined the navy. Not with the business plans that man had for his son.”

“I’d have to agree.” Her grandmother gave Emily a guarded smile. “But sweetheart, you need to be realistic. There’s no reason Shane’s name has to be on the Internet. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” Emily looked at her nearly full plate. She was far too excited to think about eating. Her eyes found her grandma’s again. “It’s a long shot.” She smiled. “But that’s what a miracle is, right?”

“Right.” Her grandma’s expression softened. “I guess maybe it’s time I believed in long shots too.”

That night, after they’d watched a movie and talked a little bit more about her papa’s cancer, Emily turned in early. She lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, willing the clock to speed past the hours so she could start checking out the Shane Galanters on her list. But that wasn’t what filled her mind. She couldn’t stop thinking about her mother and the book she’d told Papa about, and how she’d been crazy about the name Lauren Gibbs. Crazy enough to use it as her pen name for every one of her short stories.

“God — ” she turned onto her side so she could see out the window — “there has to be something in that box besides a bunch of short stories, doesn’t there? Can you help me find what I need?Please?” She thought about her grandpa and the battle that had just begun. “I don’t have much time, Lord.”

Usually when she talked to God, a peace filled her from the inside out. That was true this time, also, but there was something else. An urging grew within her . . . as if she’d stumbled onto something important.

Now all she had to figure out was what, exactly, it was.

T
he orphanage story turned out to be more than a sentimental feature.

On Lauren’s first visit to the badly damaged building, where a hundred children were housed, she assumed the story was obvious. Capture a detailed look at the children orphaned by war, make it heartfelt, and get it in before her Friday deadline. The feature part of the story had gone as anticipated, and the staff at the New York office was thrilled with the piece.

“This story would make a right-winger do an about-face,” her editor told her. “It’s a five-hanky read for sure.”

That would’ve been enough, especially combined with the amazing photo-essay Scanlon pulled together during their day with the children. But during lunch, one of the workers carrying a water pitcher came up and whispered something in her ear.

“Some of the babies are American.”

Then the worker looked around, her eyes darting about as if she could be in danger for what she’d just said. “They were fathered by American soldiers.”

Lauren wanted to react, but she kept cool. She smiled and pointed to her sandwich and nodded, as if the woman’s comment had something to do with the food on her plate. Then she whispered, “I’ll meet you outside in five minutes.”

The woman refilled Lauren’s water, nodded, then moved on down the line. At the right time, Lauren excused herself from the table and found Scanlon. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where’re you going?” He looked nervous. For the past eighteen months he’d taken on the unspoken role of bodyguard for her. She was an easy American target because of her pale blonde hair and her involvement in every facet of life in Afghanistan. Her editors had warned her about being alone, since Westerners were still often the focus of kidnappings for ransom or political favors.

“I’ll be fine.” She nodded to the courtyard outside the orphanage. “One of the workers needs to talk to me.”

Scanlon arched a brow, then shifted from one foot to the other and adjusted his camera. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Okay.” She squeezed his shoulder and gave him a quick grin. Then she worked her way through the main room, stopping to chat with three children. When she reached the door, she stretched and drew a deep breath. She looked around — no one seemed to be watching her. Once outside, she spotted the worker near a broken brick wall. The wind was howling, and the woman had a veil over her nose and mouth. She still had the water pitcher in her hand, and Lauren realized she was standing near a leaky tap. Lauren went to her, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were alone.

“This big,” the woman said in broken English. “Your people say Americans here help us.” She nodded. “Some yes. Some no. Some sleep with our women and make babies.” She pointed back to the orphanage. “American babies have no place here. No one wants them.”

Lauren was horrified. Why hadn’t the idea occurred to her before? There were thousands of U.S. soldiers in Afghanistan, most of them men. Of course some of them must be having their way with the local women. They probably figured it was one way to spend a weekend. No doubt some of the women were willing parties to that sort of carousing. But until now it hadn’t occurred to her that those women might’ve gotten pregnant.

“Why not keep the babies?” She looked again at the doorway. No one was watching them.

The woman’s eyes grew horrified and she shook her head. “No babies when no husband. Not okay.”

Right. Women in Afghanistan might be out from beneath the veil, but there were still social codes they had to live by. Being single and pregnant was probably akin to leprosy in biblical times. Another gust of silty air blew across the courtyard, and Lauren shielded her face. When it passed she squinted at the woman. “How do they get their babies here? And what happens to the babies next?”

“There is more.” The woman looked around and took a step closer. “I meet you here two weeks. Two weeks. Then I tell rest of story.”

The two weeks had passed quickly. A flare-up violence near the hill country took her and Scanlon away from the apartment for three days after Christmas. Twice they were close enough to the action that she wondered about her sanity. Journalists liked to think of themselves as invincible, mere spectators to the sport of war. But that wasn’t true. Lauren was well aware that a number of reporters had lost their lives since the war began more than two years ago.

Now it was January 5, and she and Scanlon caught a ride back to the orphanage. So far she hadn’t reported on the situation. She wanted all the details before she wrote it for the magazine. I fit played out the way she thought it might, the story could wind up on the cover. American soldiers leaving a generation of orphans behind? It’d be the top story for a month.

The road to the orphanage was dotted with potholes, and she and Scanlon bounced along in the backseat. It was another sunny day, dry and windy the way it had been for the past month. The air was cooler than last time she and Scanlon made the trip out, but not by much. The two of them still wore shorts and tank tops. Next to her, Scanlon looked out the window and exhaled hard. “I have a funny feeling about this story.”

“Me too.” She picked up her worn shoulder bag and sifted through it. For stories like this she needed more than paper. She had a tape recorder and a supply of fresh tapes and batteries. She looked at Scanlon. “I have the feeling it’ll be the biggest story to come out of Afghanistan in a year.”

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes, seeing past her into the barren hillsides beyond the narrow roadway. “Not that sort of feeling.” His eyes found hers. “Why couldn’t she give you the story when you were there the first time?” He nodded toward the road ahead. “We have to get another driver, make the hour-long trip a second time.” He paused and looked at the road ahead of them. “Seems weird to me.”

“Scanlon, you worry too much.” Lauren scrounged in her bag again and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen. A pair of flies was buzzing around the back window and she waved them off. “The woman was scared to death. Another five minutes with me and she would’ve fainted from fear.”

“Okay.” He put his arm up along the back of the seat and leaned against the door. “I still feel funny.”

“Well you can feel funny all day long.” She patted his knee. “Just get pictures of those air-skinned babies in the back room.”

“Did you see them? I mean, do you know where they are?”

“Of course not.” She rubbed lotion onto her right leg and worked it down to her ankle. “That’s part of why we’re going back. The woman has more information, and then I’m going to convince her to let me have a look.”

“Good luck.” His eyes danced and he shook his head. “The woman’s scared to talk to you and you think she’ll give you a tour of the back room?” He nodded. “If we get that far, don’t worry. I’ll get a hundred pictures.” His smile faded. “Just be careful, Lauren.”

“Always.” They didn’t talk for the rest of the ride. Lauren could hardly wait to get inside, not just to talk with the worker, but because she wanted to see the children. She had several favorites already, kids who had bonded with her the last time she was there. Her bag held another supply of lollipops. If Scanlon didn’t mind, she’d stay into the afternoon visiting with them.

When they pulled into the long driveway that led to the isolated building, they paid their driver and climbed out. He had nowhere to go, he told them. No other jobs. He pulled his car next to a scraggly tree and rolled down the windows. “I ready when you are.”

“Thank you.” Lauren smiled at him and tapped her watch. “Could be many hours.”

“Okay.” He put his hands together and held them along the side of his face. “I sleep here.”