She crossed the room and lifted the receiver. “Hello?” Her eyes were on Scanlon. She didn’t want to offend him or scare him off, but what was she supposed to do with her feelings?
“Lauren … it’s Bob.”
“Hey, let me guess. It’s okay to step outdoors again.”
“No.” He was a serious man, but his tone was heavier than usual, sad almost. “That’s not why I’m calling.”
She dropped to the edge of the bed. “Talk to me, Bob. What’s going on?” Had something big happened in the U.S., some event she’d missed by being there in Iraq?
“I’m calling with a special request from Shane Galanter.”
Shane … ? Her heart skipped a beat and slammed into double time. “What … what request?” Scanlon was still watching her, but now she looked away, found a spot on the floor so she could concentrate.
“Lauren, the three soldiers who were killed?”
“Yes.” Her mind raced. How did the violence in the streets of Baghdad affect Shane? Was he that worried about her, that he’d called her editor? “I’m aware of that.”
Bob sighed, and the sound rattled over the phone lines.“One of the soldiers was Justin Baker.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”
The news hit her like a physical blow. She closed her eyes and turned her head from the receiver. No, not Justin. No, God …
“Lauren … are you there?” Gruff old Bob sounded worried about her, brokenhearted for her.
She gripped the phone and forced herself to speak. “Yes.” She looked up and motioned for Scanlon to leave. Her eyes begged him to understand that she needed to be alone. Needed to process whether the conversation with Bob was even taking place.
Scanlon mouthed the words, “Everything okay?”
She shook her head and closed her eyes again. She waited until she heard him leave, heard the door close behind him. Then she found her voice once more. “Are you sure, Bob? Justin Baker?”
“Yes.” Her editor hesitated. “Officer Galanter would like you to contact the army headquarters there and accompany the soldier’s body back to the United States.” He exhaled hard.“Oh, man … I hate this, Lauren. I really hate this.” He sounded like he was fighting tears. “Shane and your daughter will be waiting for you.”
Lauren felt a flood of tears gathering in her heart. She was a reporter, a veteran of war correspondence. Tears didn’t come often or easily. But all she could picture were those Iraqi kids, grinning and laughing and playing catch with a soldier who would lay down his life for them. No, God … not Justin.
“Lauren, what should I tell Officer Galanter?”
She steeled herself. This was part of her job, wasn’t it? Reporting the casualties, surrounding herself with the reality of war? She would get through this, and she would do it for Emily and Shane, for the Bakers. She would fly home with their son’s body, and she wouldn’t leave his side for a moment. “Yes. Tell Shane yes. I’ll contact headquarters as soon as I get off the phone.”
“Okay.” Bob’s tone was quieter, defeated. “I’m sorry, Lauren.”
“Me too.” She thanked him for calling and then, before her emotions overtook her, she made the next call. For the purpose of her stories, she was often in touch with officials at the army headquarters. She had the number written on a card beside her phone.
In a matter of minutes the plans came together. They’d be shipping Justin’s body stateside in the morning. By special request, they’d agreed to allow her to accompany the body home. Justin’s friend, a soldier named Joe Greenwald, who was injured by the same bomb, would make the trip with her.
Blindly, like a person in a trance, she hung up the phone and walked down the hall to tell Scanlon. He listened, then came to hug her. “I’m sorry.”
As she stepped back, she knew what he was thinking. She gritted her teeth, anger rising within her, taking place of the shock. “Everything I said a minute ago?” She searched his eyes. “I was wrong.” Justin’s face came into view again, and she shook her head.“There can never, ever be a reason for losing a kid like Justin Baker. Not ever.”
The tears didn’t come until she was back in her room.
How in the world was Emily taking the news? The guy had been everything to her, her first taste of real love — the way Shane had been Lauren’s first taste. Lauren had watched them together and known as Shane had known. What Emily and Justin shared was strong and real. Neither Lauren nor Shane had any doubts that one day, when Justin returned from Iraq, he would pledge his life to their daughter.
Emily had already started talking about the wedding.
Lauren put her head in her hands. Her mind was racing. What about what she’d just told Scanlon? Was that really how she felt? Now that one of the victims was someone she knew, she couldn’t possibly find it in herself to support the war effort? Was that right?
She curled up on her bed, closed her eyes, and buried her face in her pillow. She had come here asking God for wisdom, that she might see things the way He saw them, think about them the way He thought about them. So what was she supposed to make of this? That there were no easy answers, no right sides and wrong sides, was that it?
She didn’t know, and her heart hurt too badly to try to figure it out. God … Lord … if there’s wisdom to be gained in the next week, let me find it. Because I don’t understand. It’s my job to have educated opinions, to know the facts. But I don’t understand this.
The prayer swirled in her head over and over as she laid there. She wept for the family whose son was gone forever, and for the Iraqi children who looked up to him, and for her precious daughter who would never again kiss him or hold him. Never marry him.
No, she didn’t understand any of it.
And the most terrifying thought was the one she fell asleep with.
Maybe she never would.
TWENTY-TWO
As it turned out, Justin’s parents didn’t know even half of what he was involved in. Emily traveled back to Kelso with them that night, the night she learned of his death, and when his sister Jill came home, Emily sat in the other room so her parents could break the news to her in private.
Later, when the wailing had died down, they all sat in the living room, and Emily told them she would take care of letting everyone know, all the groups he was involved with.
“Groups?” His mother’s cheeks had been wet all evening. She clung to her husband’s arm, barely strong enough to be curious.
“Yes.” She looked at Justin’s father and then at Jill. Their faces were blank also. “He volunteers a lot of his time.” She realized she was still using present tense, but that was okay. It was too soon to talk about Justin in anything but present tense.
His mother raised her chin and sniffed. “He … he used to do volunteer work here. When he was in high school. But I didn’t know …”
“He didn’t like talking about the things he did for other people.” Justin’s dad sat up a little straighter. “What all did he do?”
That was one of the few highlights of the day. When Emily had the chance to tell them about Justin’s work. She told them about the Veterans, and how Justin believed it was no big deal. “He used to tell me someone needs to hear their stories, to keep their legacy alive.” She held a damp tissue in her hand and caught her tears as they fell. But her voice remained clear as she continued. She told them how he visited local classrooms, telling school children about the good the U.S. soldiers were doing over in Iraq.
And she told them about the teen center.
“My goodness …” His mother looked at her husband and then back at Emily. There was a catch in her voice. “Someone has to tell those boys.”
Emily nodded. “I will. Justin would’ve wanted me to do it.”
She stayed at the Bakers’ house that night, and she heard from her dad. Her mom was going to fly home with Justin’s body. And after the connecting flight through the air base in Germany, they were scheduled to arrive in two days. Plans for Justin’s memorial service
came together sometime around midnight, and by one in the morning they were all drained. Sleep was restless that night, and several times she woke up, sobbing, her pillow soaked. But as morning dawned — as she gradually faced the day, and as the reality of Justin’s death hit her again — Emily knew it was time. She would drive back to Tacoma and break the news to the teens and the Veterans. Everyone he spent time with.
When she reached her residence hall again, when she was controlled enough to speak, she sat at a table and picked up the phone. The person at the school district would be the easiest of all. She took a deep breath, begged God for strength, and dialed the number. When she was connected to the right person, she explained she was a friend of Lieutenant Justin Baker.
“Yes, we know Justin.” The woman sounded all sunshine and smiles. “Several of our classes are writing cards and letters for him. They’ve taken up a collection of Jelly Bellies.” She laughed. “Every time Justin ever came to talk to a class, he brought Jelly Bellies.”
Emily exhaled. God … what am I supposed to say? She pinched the bridge of her nose and searched for the words. “Yes, well, I’m afraid I don’t have good news, ma’am.”
“No?” Gradual alarm filled the woman’s tone. “Did something … is he okay?”
“No … he isn’t. He was killed this week in Iraq.”
The woman on the other end gasped. It was a long time before she said anything. “I’m so sorry.”
“We all are.” She had promised herself, promised God, that she wouldn’t break down today. The people who knew Justin needed her to be strong. But there was no getting around the sorrow. It seeped from every pore, grew with every breath.
“When … when is the service?”
Emily gave her the details and asked her to pass on the news to the teachers and kids who knew him. She hung up the phone, then hesitated.
Her next task wouldn’t be as easy.
The rain hadn’t let up since the day before, so she wore her jacket. The one Justin liked best because it made her blue eyes stand out.
The Veterans met every day after lunch at the American Legion hall. They played bingo and poker or just sat around the table telling stories of the old days. War stories, mostly. Emily had only been with Justin once when he visited them. She thought it would be good for her writing someday to watch Justin interact with the old guys.
But their time that day had given her an even greater appreciation of the man she loved. He sat there in their midst, every bit a part of the group, and there was no getting around the pride that filled the room.
Justin wasn’t like other kids his age. He was a throwback. Hope existed for the entire generation if there could be one young soldier like Justin Baker, that’s what the Veterans thought of him. And they loved him for taking the time to remember them.
When Emily and Justin left that day, one of the men, an old guy in a baseball cap covered with military patches and hunched over in a wheelchair, his jacket not quite straight on his shoulders, pointed a finger in Justin’s direction. “I know you’re shipping out, but you be careful now, young man.” He patted the place on the table beside him. “We’ll keep your spot open.”
Emily tried not to think about the image as she drove to the hall that day. The old guy couldn’t have been serious about saving Justin a spot. Not with all the Veterans looking to get in on a conversation or a game of cards. Table space seemed to be at a premium. She drove without ever really seeing the roads or the stoplights, her body moving in a sort of automatic motion so that her heart and mind were free to think about Justin.
She pulled into the parking lot, walked up the flower-lined sidewalk, and peered into the window. The place was packed, but there at the table …
The old guy with the jacket was there, and beside him was an empty space. The place set aside for the young soldier, the one who had brought them hours of joy. Okay, God … hold me up.
When the lump in her throat subsided, she pushed her way to the door and went inside. The action around the table and in chairs and sofas along the walls all stopped.
“Hey!” A big jovial guy waved at her, beckoning her to come closer. “You’re Justin Baker’s girl!”
What was she supposed to do? How could she say it, when every time … every time she heard the words cross her lips, they felt more shocking than the last? Justin Baker … dead? Even now she had his email in her pocket.
The men were smiling at her, waiting for her to join them. The guy in the jacket patted the empty spot beside him. “I’m Vern. You tell that young soldier of yours we’re keeping his spot open. Just like we said we would.”
“I’m …” Her tears cut her off midsentence. She hung her head for a moment, willing herself to find even a sliver of control. When she looked up, the expressions on all their faces had changed.
The jovial guy stood and came to her. He put his hand on her shoulder. “What is it, darling? Tell us.”
She dabbed at her tears and looked at him. Maybe if she said the words in a hurry, all at once … She took a breath. “Justin was killed in Iraq this week. A … a roadside bomb.”
The reaction hit them in slow motion. Beside her, the old guy took his hand from her shoulder — then removed his hat and held it over his heart. Around the room, the others did the same thing, taking off embroidered military baseball caps and holding them over their chests.
One of the men asked about the service, and Emily pulled out a few cards with the information. A muffled round of condolences came from the group, and she realized that their reaction was different than most. They’d been there, witnessed the destruction of war firsthand.
For the most part, the men’s eyes were dry. But before she left, Vern straightened his jacket and looked at her. His eyes brimmed with tears. “As long as I’m here, I’ll save him a spot. Just so you know.”
Emily nodded. She looked around the room, hoping they could see that she couldn’t speak or she’d break down, collapse right there on the floor. She left, and for a long time she sat in her car, her head on her steering wheel. Why, God … why? She’d asked the question over and over, but she never sensed an answer. She didn’t need one. It was enough to know that God held the number of their days, and that if He’d taken Justin, then it was Justin’s time.
But still she asked.
And she tried to convince herself that it was really true, that when he came home in the morning it wouldn’t be with a running embrace and whispers of love. It would be in a pine box, with an American flag draped across the top.
Now she had one more stop. The hardest of all.
The teen center wasn’t far from Puget Sound, located in the tougher part of downtown Tacoma. This was their afternoon, the one day a week when she showed up and mixed with Bo and Dexter and the guys, playing ping-pong and telling them the latest news from Justin.
They’d be expecting her.
As she made her way there, her eyes grew dry. Fear masked the sorrow, because how in the world was she going to walk into that teen center and tell them Justin was gone? And how would they react once she told them? What was she supposed to do with eight teenage boys being dealt one more blow, one more harsh bit of reality?
When she found a parking spot, she pursed her lips and forced the air from her lungs. Justin had been reading Philippians, chapter four. That’s what he told her. That meant he’d been focusing on the very thing she desperately needed if she was going to have the strength to leave her car, the strength to walk through the doors of the center.
Peace.
Please, God … breathe Your peace into me now. I can’t do this otherwise …
With her very next heartbeat, she felt God’s presence surround her. She could almost hear Him saying, My daughter, ask and you shall receive. His peace permeated her fear and sorrow, filling her with the promise of new life. One day the dark clouds of this time would lift, because morning always came. No matter how long and dark the night.
That was God’s promise.
> She braced herself and forced her feet from the car and on in through the front doors. Bo and Dexter were playing a hot game of ping-pong when she walked in. They must’ve sensed something different about her, something in her eyes or on her face, because the smile that flashed on Bo’s face faded almost as soon as she took a step forward. He caught the little white ball in his hand and leaned his fists on the table. “Why you looking like that, pretty mama?”
Fear rang through every word, undermining the machismo he tried to put off. The others picked up on it, because they stepped away from the foosball table and the pop machine in the corner and drew close. Slowly, they gathered around Bo, their eyes on her.
She could feel God moving her forward, taking her closer to them. But all she could see was Bo taking his sweaty T-shirt off, wadding it up and throwing it on the ground that far-off summer day when Justin told them he was leaving. That, and the tears in the boy’s eyes when he looked at Justin’s picture in Time magazine. Tell him we need him more … tell him we need him more.
Bo tucked the ball in his pocket and took quick steps around the table, his eyes never leaving hers. “Emily …”
Her name sounded strange on his lips. He’d never called her that. Justin’s girl, pretty girl, hot mama, yes. But not Emily. He came to her and put his hands on her shoulders. He searched her eyes, his lips slightly open. “Talk to me … why you lookin’ like that?”
Dexter came up, and then the guys who were planning to enlist, followed by the others. She covered Bo’s hand with her own and shook her head. “He’s dead, Bo. He’s dead.”
“What?” Bo swore under his breath and jerked away from her. “Don’t say that stuff, girl. Don’t say that about my homeboy.”
This was what she was afraid of. That the emotions these kids had bottled up would explode in a burst of anger once they knew about Justin’s death. She needed to be strong for them, but now — from nowhere — a wave of sorrow knocked her to her knees. She covered her face with her hands and began to weep.
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