“I know.” He kissed her, moved his lips over hers in a way she would remember long after he left in the morning. When he drew back, there was no denying the passion in his eyes. “Someday.”
They felt a gentle thud as the ship reached the dock, and again the captain came on, thanking the passengers for joining them on the cruise and asking everyone to drive safely as they left. Justin laughed and took a step back. “I think that’s our cue.”
Her body ached to be near him, to stay near him. But God had provided a way to protect them from making bad choices before, and today was no different. They joined hands and left the ship. It was still only four o’clock, and for the next two hours they walked through Pike Place Market, checking out the shops and smiling at the strange people they saw along the way, the man juggling raw fish, and the girl in flowing gauze playing her harp blindfolded.
“You wouldn’t see that in Wheaton!” She laughed and linked her arm through his. The hours flew, and before they left, he took her to the same restaurant where they ate on their first night out together. He even requested the same window table.
After dinner, he took her back to PLU and parked. Both of them knew the hour that lay ahead would be neither quick nor easy. They walked to their favorite spot, the bench just down the path from her residence hall. It was sheltered by a hedge of bushes on one side and a grassy field and evergreens on the other. Every time they sat there, they felt completely alone.
They looked at his scrapbook again, and she admired once more the travel mug he’d given her. The sun set before nine o’clock, and for the next half hour they sat there sharing kisses and sweet memories of every happy time they’d spent together that summer.
Finally, it was time for him to go. His flight was set for six in the morning, which meant he needed to leave the barracks by four. His commanding officers wanted the group that was deploying in bed by ten-thirty. His family would pick him up and take him to the airport, saving their good-byes for his final hours in Tacoma. But tonight belonged to her.
He walked her to the steps, and then — in a spot where no one in the building could see them — he eased her into his arms. “What a summer, huh?”
Her heart raced. She felt like they were on the Titanic, sliding off the deck with no way to stop, no way to keep from falling into the icy waters below. “Justin.” She held onto him, needing the feel of his arms around her. And suddenly she could see him, crouched down behind a broken wall, gunfire zipping through the air overhead. “Please!” Her voice was a desperate cry. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
“Baby …” He ran his hands down her back, along her arms, then he eased back and searched her face. “I’ll come back. I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Don’t.” She shook her head, terrified of the feelings that stood like crumbling mountains all around her.“You can’t promise that.”
“But I believe it.” He touched her face, and the feel of his hands was like velvet. “I’ve done this before, remember?”
She clung to him, and every heartbeat felt like the clock ticking, counting down the time they had left together. Tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “Take … take me with you. Wherever you go … I wanna be there too.”
“I wish I could.” He kissed her tears, kissed them as they fell from her eyes.“You have my heart.” He held her necklace, the tiny heart that hung there. “Don’t forget that.”
Sobs came over her then. She hadn’t wanted to do this, hadn’t wanted to break down until she was safe in her room. But if she never let go, if she held him this way and never said good-bye, then he would miss his plane and maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe Iraq didn’t need him, after all. Not when the Veterans and the schoolkids and the teens at the center all needed him. Not when Buster needed him.
Not when she needed him.
“Hey.” He kissed another tear. “Every now and then, when you have a day off, maybe you could drive down to Kelso and take old Buster for a walk. Tell him I’m thinking of him.”
She hung her head against his chest and grabbed three quick breaths. “O-o-okay.”
“And stop by the teen center. Give ’em updates for me, alright?”
She couldn’t bring herself to respond. She held onto him; he felt so whole and good and right. Justin Baker, the greatest guy she’d ever known. Bring him home, God … please. Don’t let anything happen to him.
“Emily?” He eased back a bit and lifted her chin.“Will you do that, will you go there for me?”
She nodded. There was a question she wanted to ask, and now seemed like the time. “Are you afraid?”
He waited, searching her eyes. “Yes.”
She sniffed. “You hide it well.”
“Thanks.” He breathed in slowly. “Soldiers aren’t supposed to be afraid.”
“Justin …” Never mind that she looked like a mess, that her tears were coming in buckets. She wanted to stand in the middle of Fort Lewis and make an announcement. You can have any soldier you want, but not this one. Because this is the one I love! He’s too good to work the front lines, too good to lose. But the time for announcements, for changing his mind, had passed.
He was going, and she was only making it harder by losing control.
She steeled herself against the pain and stood straighter than before. “Have you figured it out yet?”
“What?” He had tears in his eyes too, but he was keeping his composure.
“How we’re supposed to say good-bye?” She allowed a handful of quick sobs, and then she held her breath. Enough. Get a grip, Emily. Come on. She pursed her lips and blew out. “Okay, wow.” She tried to smile, because otherwise she would fall to the ground and weep for a month. “Sorry.”
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 s
ix 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.
TWELVE
The 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.