Ever After (15 page)

His expression sobered. “No.” He kissed her, the sort of kiss like he’d given her before, the kind that left them both dizzy. When it ended, he moved his thumb tenderly over her lips, his voice a whisper. “No, I haven’t figured it out.”

“Me either.” She looked at him as long as she could, and then she flung her arms around his neck. “Be careful, Justin. Please. And when it’s all over, come back to me.”

He kissed her once more, and this time he held onto her the way she’d held onto him a moment earlier. Like he was terrified to walk away. But finally, he did. He took her hand and held it until his feet moved him far enough away that they had no choice but to let go. “I’ll write.”

She nodded, angry with herself for her tears. Not because they gave away how she was feeling, but because they blurred her eyes. And she wanted to remember every second of this goodbye, every detail of his face and his eyes, his strong shoulders and the crispness of his dress uniform.

“Good-bye, Emily.” He was ten feet from her. He blew her a kiss, his eyes never leaving hers. “I love you.”

“I love you.” She mouthed the words, and it took every ounce of her resolve not to run after him, not to insist that he find a way to take her with him. So she could be sure he wouldn’t place himself in danger, because she would never let him. Not for a minute. She held onto the stairway railing to keep herself in place. “Write.”

“I will.” With one long, last look, he turned away and jogged to his Jeep. He slid into the driver’s seat and drove away. She watched him go, and already she could feel the distance between them.
Hold me up, God … don’t let me fall apart.
When his taillights disappeared, she clutched the stairway railing and bent over it.
God … no. How can he be leaving?

Daughter, I am with you. Even now, I am with you.

The words spoke peace to her soul, life-giving, life-saving peace. And they reminded her that with Christ, she wouldn’t fall, because He would give her the strength to stand. She would stand as the days passed, stand every time she heard news of an American casualty, and she would stand even as her heart broke for missing him.

She would visit his parents and Buster and the teens at the center, because that’s what Justin wanted her to do. Besides, for the next six months she didn’t dare fall. Not when Justin Baker would be too far away to catch her. She would stand, and she would do it all in God’s strength.

All for the love of a boy who had stolen her heart in one unbelievable summer. A guy whose heart she would wear on a chain close to her own. A soldier who was everything good and pure and strong and right about the U.S. military, and who had already given her a summer of happily.

Now all she had to do was wait six months for him to come home, so that one day that spring he could promise her the rest. A lifetime of ever after.

T
WELVE

T
he compound in Iraq was more primitive than the one in Afghanistan, but it suited Lauren’s mood. She and Scanlon had connected again; they’d gone out and shared dinner and talked about everything that had gone on since their last time together.

“So — ” Scanlon looked at her over the rim of his glass of red wine — “did you come to any conclusions?”

“About Shane?” This was the discussion they’d had before she left for the States, before she made her decision to move to Fallon. Scanlon understood the situation, and he’d let her go easily, the way a friend would let another friend move on to a better place. But still he was curious, and she didn’t blame him. She was drinking green tea. She picked up her small cup and took a sip. “Yes.”

“And?”

“I love him.” This was the tough thing about Scanlon. They’d kissed once, a lifetime ago, and she knew his feelings for her. If he had things his way, they’d fall in love and get married, a sensible relationship built on all the things they shared in common — their work, their views, their passion for seeing the war come to an end. But her heart could never quite agree. She shrugged one shoulder. “I love him more than ever.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I love him …” She looked down at what was left of her tea. “But I’m not sure I can live with him.” She shook her head and found Scanlon’s eyes again. “We’re so different.”

He didn’t look glad, and his tone held nothing in the way of celebration. He only reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Lauren.”

“Me too.” She pictured Shane, the way he’d looked the last time she saw him.“So sorry, sometimes I think I might get on the next plane and toss every view I’ve ever held.”

“Only you can’t do that.” Scanlon’s voice was simply matter-of-fact. “Because the views you hold run to the very core of your being, Lauren. You know that.”

Yes, she did. She considered Scanlon’s words throughout those first weeks while she grew reacquainted with the people of Afghanistan. But then word came from the main office in New York City. Bob Maine wanted them in Iraq. The action was there now, and no story about war in the Middle East would ring completely true unless it was being written there, from the middle of the battle.

She and Scanlon celebrated the decision. The closer the better, that’s the way Lauren saw it. She’d given up Shane for this, after all. And she’d prayed for wisdom. There could be no place like Iraq for God to show her the answers she was looking for.

The move took place at the end of September, just after Justin Baker and his division arrived in one of the war’s hot spots outside Baghdad. Lauren had spoken with Emily about their goodbye, but her daughter had been brief, almost short. “I keep trying to find something in my life that’s going right.”

“Emily!” The comment stung Lauren and gave her a chance to see just how hurt her daughter was by her return to the Middle East. “Your whole life is right. You’re intelligent and beautiful. You have your whole future ahead of you.”

“I know.” She sighed. “It’s just … a few months ago the whole world seemed perfect, and now …”

Again Emily’s words hurt. She remembered herself kneeling on the ground, too heartbroken to stand. “Leaving your father was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” Her words were clear, certain. “It’s complicated, but I had to come back here, Emily. So that I’d know if there’s any way your dad and I can ever have a future together.”

Emily’s tone eased some. “I’m sorry. It’s just … sometimes I feel like the timing is pretty lousy. First you leave. Then I barely have time to breathe and Justin’s gone. I keep thinking you could’ve worked it out if you wanted to.”

Of everything Emily had said in that conversation, that last part was the most painful. She’d wondered if sometimes her viewpoints gave those she loved the impression that she was the enemy. They hadn’t talked again since then, though they’d exchanged a few emails. Phone service was spotty in the new compound, and once they got situated, two weeks ago, the story assignments came at them in bunches. Everything from the coverage of roadside bombings, to the progress of rebuilding the infrastructure in Baghdad.

In Iraq, she was visible enough that she no longer wore the khaki shorts and tops she could get away with in the journalists’ compound in Afghanistan. Now she wore long skirts and blouses over her protective gear, and a handkerchief around her blonde hair — her way of showing respect for the cultural mandates that still existed in Iraq. So far her stories all had the feel of those she’d done from Afghanistan. Futile fighting, frequent failures, and the stories of fallen men who died for reasons that seemed as dusty as the desert.

Still, she would drop into her bed each night with the same prayer:
Show me, Lord. If there’s something I’m missing, show me. Give me Your wisdom.

Now it was mid-October, early Wednesday morning, and she and Scanlon were heading out to the heart of the city, to the place where protests were taking place over the upcoming election. Lauren was tempted to have her story all but written. The protestors were obviously citizens who didn’t want a puppet government, the leaders assigned by U.S. influence. They wanted their own people.

She could already imagine the quotes she’d get.

“Could be dangerous today.” Scanlon was working with one of his cameras. They’d been given an SUV to use while in Iraq, and this time she was driving.

“Definitely.” The people loved reporters, at least that was her experience. Other than the time at the Afghanistan orphanage when she and Scanlon became targets, for the most part locals relished the chance to have their voices heard. Still, Scanlon was right. Anytime there were protests, there were bound to be crazy people, insurgents or radicals intent on making a statement, suicide bombers who would proudly drive into a crowd of protestors.

She steered the SUV around a pothole and wondered if Justin was working nearby. Were he and his company stationed in the area? If so, he might be working the same protest. According to the military party line, soldiers made their presence felt whenever an agitated crowd gathered, especially when the protest centered around an election.

The reporters she associated with felt differently. With the U.S. military flexing its muscle around Iraq’s election time, the only voice that would be heard was one the United States approved of. Lauren made a right turn onto the main highway through Baghdad. The U.S. involvement, that’s probably what the protest was dealing with. Either way, she was about to find out.

A few miles down the road, she spotted a crowd.
Stay away from crowds
, Bob Maine told them.
Park at a distance and walk in. You’ll have a better sense of danger that way.

Good counsel. She pulled the SUV over and parked it along the roadway. Then she turned to Scanlon. “Ready?”

He stuck his camera into his bag, latched it, and took a deep breath. “Ready.”

The temperatures had started to drop around Iraq, and that day was cooler than any that week. Even still, the surroundings never changed. Everything — sky, ground, buildings — all the color of desert dirt. She swished her skirt out from the car door and swung her bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

As they came closer to the crowd, Lauren stopped. She’d been a journalist long enough to know better than to rush into a situation, even when she was stateside. Sometimes more could be learned by observing than by any interview she might get.

Scanlon took his camera from his bag and began shooting. The scene was one of chaos — vendors selling wares from dilapidated card tables, protestors waving signs and shouting, and U.S. soldiers dotting both sides of the road, armed and ready. Like their leaders said, in case violence broke out.

She took a notepad from her bag and grabbed two pencils. She slid one beneath the scarf that hid her hair, and with the other she wrote down her observations.
Protestors angry … soldiers stiff, stonelike.

“Let’s get closer.” Scanlon led the way, and they moved to within thirty yards of the action.

That’s when she spotted something.

In a vacant lot, amidst the rubble of what must at one time have been a building, a group of U.S. soldiers was holding what looked like a picnic. Children played all around them, and two of the uniformed Americans stood near the back of a U.S. Army vehicle, handing out bags. A strange feeling stirred in Lauren’s heart.

All during her time in Afghanistan, she’d heard about the good U.S. soldiers were doing in the Middle East, but she’d never seen proof. Until now.

Scanlon lowered his camera. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” He took slow steps into the street and looked both ways. “Come on.”

She followed him, and that’s when she saw something else. One of the young soldiers — one of those playing with the Iraqi children — had a familiar build, a familiar way about him. Could it be Justin Baker? She and Scanlon found a spot on the sidewalk, right on the edge of the action taking place in the vacant lot.

“Okay, catch!” The soldier and three others were tossing a football with fifteen or twenty street kids. The children were laughing and jumping and waving their hands, each of them wanting the ball. When one of the kids snagged it from the air, the soldier grinned. “Good job!” And then he said something else, something that sounded similar, only it was in Arabic.

Lauren could hardly believe her eyes. The lot was filled with at least thirty soldiers, and all of them were helping the kids in one way or another. The bags being handed to the children contained a sandwich, a water bottle, and some sort of toy. Lauren could see that now, because as the kids walked away, they tore into their bags, chattering in happy exclamations about what was inside.

Scanlon held up his camera and then lowered it again. He looked the other direction, toward the angry mob of protestors. “Looks like we have a choice.”

“Looks like two stories.” As soon as she heard herself say the words, she was struck by the notion. Two stories. Two sides of the same assignment. There were the gruff soldiers, the ones making their presence known to the protestors. But there were these men too. Americans, giving to the Iraqi children out of their own time and resources. No, not out of their own resources. Out of the resources of the U.S. military.

She shaded her eyes and squinted. Maybe it was Justin. Could she possibly have run into him this quickly, this easily? She could’ve gone an entire year and not seen him. The soldier took out a camera and snapped a picture of three little boys, each of them holding onto a part of the same football. That’s when he turned and spotted her, and she knew.

It was Justin, Emily’s guy. Hadn’t he told them over pizza that day that the U.S. was doing good in Iraq? Hadn’t he said that no one stateside would believe the changes taking place or the goodwill being spread to the people?

Of course, she hadn’t believed him. Not a word of it. Because she’d based all her information on what she’d seen herself, on what she read in her own magazine, and on what she heard from the other news sources. CNN and the
New York Times
and
News-week
. They all said the same thing: no one wanted the war, people were tired of the losses, nothing good was coming of it.

So where were the stories on this sort of event, this chance for the soldiers to interact with the Iraqi kids? She caught Justin’s attention and nodded her hello. He looked surprised, but then he smiled and waved. Lauren nudged Scanlon. “Start shooting. I want this feature in the next issue.”

“But …” He looked at the protestors. “That’s not what we came for.”

She studied him. Of course he was hesitant. They’d been told what to cover, and this certainly wasn’t it. But this was part of the story. She was starting to understand that. “Scanlon.” She kept her tone level. “We were sent here to cover the war.” She looked at Justin once more. He was catching the ball and flinging it back to the group of young boys. “This piece hasn’t gotten a whole lot of coverage.”

They spent an hour, Scanlon taking pictures and Lauren talking to the kids and taking notes. The soldiers she spoke to seemed wary, and small wonder. What had she told herself on the way here? That the story was really already written, right? A chill passed down her arms and legs. What if she hadn’t been sent to get the news, but only to verify it? The story had been chosen long before she and Scanlon arrived on the scene.
Cover the protest
, Bob told them.
Find out why they’re angry at the U.S.
She was still in the middle of the soldiers and kids, but she peered down the street to the protestors. She would find out. She turned her attention back to her notepad. But first she would get this story.

Finally she worked her way to Justin. She wasn’t sure what to make of the feelings inside her … betrayal and anger and remorse and uncertainty. This was just one story. No matter how unexpected, it wasn’t enough to change her views. But it certainly had her attention. For the first time, she even felt a little awkward, uncertain about her role as a reporter. She lifted her eyes to those of the young soldier’s.

“Ma’am.” He nodded at her. “I wondered if I’d see you out here.”

“Me too.” It was easy to see why Emily was so crazy about this boy. “I’ve never …” She glanced around at the merriment taking place. “I haven’t been to Iraq. I … I didn’t think things like this really happened.”

He grinned. “I tried to tell you.”

“I know.” She held his gaze. “I’m sorry, Justin. I’ve asked God to show me where I’m wrong, to help me find balance.” She looked at the dusty ground, and then back at him. “I guess this is one of those times.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winged the ball back to the kids. “You talk to Emily much?”

“No. We’re writing.”

“Us too.” He wiped the grime from his forehead. “I miss her like crazy.”

“She feels the same way.”

He nodded and grabbed the ball from the air again. Once more he grinned and shouted words of praise at the children in their language.

“How did you learn that?”