Ever After

  When they finished looking at the book, they moved to the kitchen table and Carol showed them that day’s newspaper, the one with a front-page tribute to Justin. The headline read, “Kelso to Honor Local Fallen Hero.” The article started on the front and moved inside with an entire page dedicated to the story and photos of Justin and his days growing up in Kelso.

  One photo showed him at school — second grade, maybe third — dressed in a child’s mock army uniform, saluting a teacher. Another was a close-up of him and his sister Jill a few years later, freckle-faced and suntanned, each of them holding a string of fish. There were photos of Justin in his Kelso High basketball uniform, and a photo of him the day he graduated from college, proud and tall in his cap and gown.

  The pictures told the story. The sweet, sometimes mischievous, little guy he’d been, and the genuine young man he’d become. Lauren put her arm around Emily’s waist as they stood side by side and looked at the photos Carol had chosen for the article. They studied the newspaper tribute quietly, each lost in their own memories of the young man. Carol finally ran her fingers over the photo of him in uniform. The rest of the night Lauren caught Carol looking at the picture a number of times.

  There was a knock at Shane’s window, and the memories lifted. Lauren turned to find a soldier — one of those who had stood near the front of the church.

  “Sir, we’re asking everyone in the procession to keep their headlights on. We’ll have a police escort, so we should be able to stay together.”

  Again the thought had hit her. Was it unpatriotic to disagree with a war that had taken a kid like Justin? Could a person support the troops without supporting the government’s decision to stay in a war? Or had Shane been right when he’d said that while no one wanted war, sometimes it was unavoidable — for the defense of the nation or the support of a people struggling for freedom? In that case, it was a matter of fighting for what was right and making a commitment to sacrifice, whatever the cost, for the sake of victory.

  But could the people truly continue to support a war that had gone on so long? Even one that was netting positive results for the

  U.S. and Iraq? Lauren looked at Shane, at his strong jaw and the way he kept his eyes straight ahead, not on the Bakers’ car, but on the hearse in front of it. He had been shaken by Justin’s death. They’d talked about his battle with futility, and his realization that as long as the United States was free, there would always be a purpose in defending her.

  Shane was as good and golden as Justin. And she’d been willing to walk away from him. Suddenly, as she looked at him, her heart filled with love, and a dawning happened in her. When the sadness of this day had dimmed, before they made a decision about what came next, she would talk to Shane. She would tell him that life was too short to live without the sort of love they felt for each other. The love they’d always felt toward each other.

  The cars in front of them began to move, and Shane set their vehicle into motion. A wave of cold fear and sorrow hit Lauren, dissolving her thoughts. How could they be here, part of a procession to lay Justin Baker to rest? He was just standing there, a few feet in front of her, tossing a football with those kids, right? Just the other day. A part of her still refused to believe that he was in the flag-covered box in the hearse ahead of them.

  Eight miles of two-lane roadway separated Kelso Community Church from the cemetery on the far end of town. They headed out of the church parking lot and turned right. The sight of the hearse put a lump in her throat, and she looked down. How would the Bakers possibly get through this day? She leaned on Shane’s shoulder, drawing strength from him, relying on him.

  He kissed her forehead. “I’m praying for Gary and Carol.” His voice was soft, a caress against her battered conscience.

  “Yes.” She could do that too. Talk to God about the Bakers.

  She was just getting started when Emily let out a soft gasp from the backseat. “Look!”

  Lauren sat up. “What?” She turned her attention to the roadway and then saw for herself.

  As the procession slowly moved forward, they saw people lined along the sidewalks on either side of the road — all of them holding American flags. These were not mourners, but Kelso citizens who had turned out to pay final respects to one of their own. Lauren watched, mesmerized as they passed a gray-haired couple. The frail, bent-over woman held a small flag, and the man, his hat over his heart, saluted. Next they came upon a pickup truck with ten teenage guys standing in the bed, hands on their hearts. A full-size flag flew from a pole planted in the ground beside them.

  Shane said nothing, but his eyes looked wetter than before and the muscles in his jaw flexed as he drove. Lauren and Emily were silent, stunned. Lauren studied the people, saw the pride in their eyes. The line of them didn’t seem to have an end.

  They passed a group of handicapped adults, flags flying from their wheelchairs and walkers. Auto mechanics still in their uniforms, office workers in ties and suits. An entire Girl Scout troop came next, and even from the car, Lauren could see that several had tears on their cheeks.

  Next was a group of medical workers in scrubs, together holding a single flag; and then what looked like most of the Kelso football team, all in uniform, their helmets tucked beneath their arms. There were entire families, some with babies in strollers, some with kids on bikes. And a Little League team standing wide-eyed along the curb.

  Lauren looked back as block after block, mile after mile, the show of support continued, unlike anything she’d ever seen. She’d witnessed her share of parade routes and people gathered three deep along a stretch of road. But this was different. A parade route had people laughing and moving about.

  These people stood motionless. Even the children had their attention entirely turned to the procession. Lauren wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t seen it, this deep respect for Justin — for all soldiers.

  Suddenly she realized she was crying, and it occurred to her what was happening.

  God was giving her one final bit of wisdom on the topic she’d wrestled with for nearly a year.

  He’d taught her to temper her views, shown her another side to the war — just as she’d asked. And now He was dealing with her final question. Could Americans still support a war effort that had gone on so long? That had cost so dearly?

  The answer lined the streets all the way from the church to the cemetery. It was hard to imagine Kelso even had so many citizens, and yet they’d found a way to come, to support Justin and his family and his country for eight solid miles. Lauren took a tissue from her purse and pressed it to her cheeks. They pulled into the cemetery, and she felt overwhelmed with the desire to let Shane and Emily know how she was feeling.

  She sniffed and turned so she could see them both at the same time. “Before we get out, I want to … to tell you something.”

  Shane had her hand. His eyes met hers, and she felt his compassion all the way to the center of her soul. She made her living as a writer, but now she had to search for the words. “When I left Fallon, I prayed for understanding, for wisdom. But … I didn’t really expect to learn anything, because, well, I knew I was right.” She sniffed. Her confession released a landslide of emotion she hadn’t known was there. Because this was the first time she’d shared any of her new feelings with the two people she loved most.

  “It’s okay.” Shane’s tone was kind beyond understanding. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”

  “I want to.” Lauren searched his eyes. “Please.”

  Shane looked hesitant. Clearly he had no idea where she was going with this.

  “Today … now … I can’t go another minute without telling you that God has changed me.” Her eyes blurred, but she stayed strong, as if by telling them, she could lend some sort of purpose to the sadness. “He’s shown me time and again that my one-sided views were wrong. Shane — ” she looked at him — “you were right. War is complicated and no one wants it. No one wants a young man like Justin to die.” She presse
d her fingers to her upper lip, fighting for control. “Yes, it’s okay to question, and all of us wish there was a better way. But in the end — ” she looked out the windshield at the hearse — “it comes down to supporting the troops. Even if you don’t agree with everything about the war.”

  Emily looked down.

  “So I want to apologize.” She waited until she had Emily’s attention again. “I’m sorry, Emily. And I’m sorry, Shane.” The grief and regret caught up to her. It blanketed her and made it hard to breathe. She covered her eyes with one hand and fought her emotions.

  “Mom …”

  Lauren looked up.

  Emily touched her shoulder, rested her hand there. “I wrestle with all this too.” Her eyes were dry. “I think of what the world just lost.” Her voice grew tight. “What I lost.” She looked at the soldiers filing along either side of the line of cars, ready to take the casket to its final resting place.

  Emily shook her head. “I can’t think of a single cause that would’ve been worth losing Justin. But here’s the thing.” The look in her eyes grew intense and she searched Lauren’s face, then Shane’s. “Justin believed in it. He was over there, he understood what this war’s about more than any of us.” She looked at Lauren. “Even you, Mom.” Peace filled her features again. “He believed in it. That’s enough.”

  “I know.” Lauren held her daughter’s eyes for a long moment. They filed out of the car then, and Lauren was last out.

  She looked ahead to the white tent, the burial site where the procession would wind up. As they started walking, Shane took her hand. Nothing had ever felt so right in all her life. She watched Emily fall in among the teens Justin had visited with every week. Without talking, Joe walked along one side of Emily, and the boy who had declared himself family, on the other.

  As they moved toward the tent, Lauren studied her daughter. Controlled and composed, Emily was the picture of strength. It was amazing, really, the maturity she was showing. Where did she get her wisdom? First in finding her parents and playing the diplomat time and time again. And now this. The answer came as soon as she breathed the silent question. Emily’s wisdom came from God. Same as the wisdom she, herself, had prayed for.

  Lauren replayed her daughter’s explanation. Justin was the soldier, the one risking his life in Iraq every day, the one briefed on the missions and the purpose of the battle. He had believed in the war enough to sacrifice his life for it. In that assessment — more than any Lauren had ever done — there was wisdom.

  And that was enough.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Carol Baker couldn’t take her eyes off the casket.

  These were her final minutes, the last moments she’d ever have with her son. She clutched something in her right hand, something she’d saved for this time. No telling how many people filed in around the small white tent, the place where the coffin would be lowered to the ground. Carol appreciated every one of them, but she didn’t look. Couldn’t look.

  There was only her and Gary and Jill and Justin. The way they’d always been for as long as she could remember. Only now, Justin would never smile at them or joke about Carol’s cooking or ask about Buster or offer to run Jill to Starbucks. Now all they had was this, their final moments together.

  And even then, Carol knew she was wrong. Justin wasn’t in the box. He was free, whole and well, enjoying life the way it was meant to be enjoyed. Without war or conflict or anything but constant love. Pure love. Carol liked to think that heaven had a window, a way for people to look in on the ones they loved still on earth. But now … now that seemed impossible.

  Because heaven had no tears. And there could be no way for Justin to look down at his family in this moment without crying.

  The graveside service was more formal, shorter than the memorial at the church. When it ended, seven soldiers from Fort Lewis lined up a short distance away and performed a twenty-one-gun salute. Emily and her family and the teens sat in the row behind them. In the front row, Gary sat between her and Jill. When the first shot rang through the sky, Carol clutched her husband’s arm and buried her face in his shoulder.

  No, they couldn’t be here. The salute couldn’t be for Justin.

  As the second shot echoed across the cemetery, suddenly she wasn’t sitting next to Justin’s casket. She was drinking iced tea on the back deck of their house on one of Kelso’s endless summer days, and Justin was a nine-year-old towhead running around the corner into the yard, waving a cap-style rifle in the air.

  “Take cover, Mom, the bad guys are right behind me.”

  And she was ducking behind the picnic table until Justin popped out from the bushes. “We won!” And he was coming to her, tossing his gun on the table and throwing his arms around her neck. “I’ll always protect you. Okay? Cause I’m gonna be the best soldier in the whole world.”

  The third shot split the air.

  Carol held tighter to the object in her hand. God, I’ll never survive it without You. Never.

  Gary was whispering in her ear, “It’s okay … we’ll get through this.”

  But there was more sadness still ahead. The haunting refrains of taps filled the air, and when the song finished, the American flag was removed from the top of the casket. Two soldiers folded it and handed it to Joe Greenwald. Joe looked at Justin’s parents, and never breaking eye contact, he carried the flag over and laid it in Carol Baker’s arms.

  She looked at it tenderly, longingly — remembering the long ago infant son she’d held in her arms. Then she cradled the flag against her chest, stood, and hugged Joe. Held him for a long time. When she finally let him go, Joe nodded to Justin’s sister, exchanged another salute with his friend’s father, and then moved a few feet away toward Emily. He stopped at her father, nodded, and then the two of them exchanged a salute. Next he shook hands with Emily’s mother, and finally he looked at her.

  He took both her hands in his, and she stood and hugged him. As she did, he spoke the words that broke Carol’s heart. “He loved you very much, Emily. He … he told me to tell you.” Emily couldn’t say anything. None of them could.

  Joe drew back, took her hands again, holding them so tight his knuckles turned white. He locked eyes with her. “I’m sorry.” Joe returned to his place in line with the other soldiers.

  After a few minutes, the ceremony was over. Soldiers and commanders came by to pay their respects, and Carol gave the appropriate handshakes and hugs. But all the while, she never strayed more than a few feet from the box, from his body.

  Finally, all that remained were a handful of people. Emily and her parents, the teens, and a few old Veterans — the ones Justin would talk to on Tacoma’s rainy afternoons. Emily broke away from the group and approached the casket, opposite where Carol and Gary and Jill now stood.

  She was a beautiful girl, Emily. Justin wanted to marry her, and he would have. He’d told her so in one of his letters home from Iraq. I’ve made my decision, he’d told them. She’s the one. Now if I can only survive between now and the day I can finally see her again …

  Emily would’ve made a wonderful wife for Justin. They would’ve had children and raised them to care about people, to do the right thing. Carol felt another wave of sorrow wash over her. Poor Emily. She loved her son as much as anyone. She had been his first love, and from the beginning, Carol and Gary and Jill had embraced her.

  Carol realized the precious girl standing across from her was young. Surely Emily would find love again one day and raise the babies she might’ve had with Justin. Which meant that the relationship she and Gary had built with her was — for the most part — over.

  Emily came another step closer to the grave. Throughout the service, Carol had watched her show deep concern for everyone else. The teens, the Vets, even Justin’s friend Joe. Every time Carol looked at Emily during the service, her eyes were on the speaker or the soldiers or the baskets of gifts that stood around the front of the church.

  Never on the casket that held the boy she l
oved.

  But now … the cemetery service was over, and she found her way to the edge of the grave. Finally, without interruption, she stared at the casket. Her hands and knees shook, and after a minute she leaned close and placed her hand on the cool top. Her tears came then, streams of them. She closed her eyes and ran her thumb along the smooth wood.

  After a while, she straightened. She kissed her pinky finger and pressed it to the box for a long moment. Then she turned and went to her parents, moving into an embrace from both of them. Off to the side, the rough-looking group of teens stood in a cluster, hands in their pockets, looking unsure about what to do next. The outspoken one came closer. Bo, Carol had heard Emily call him, the one who considered himself family.

  He clutched the tent pole as if it might kill him if he took a step closer. But somehow he found the strength, and as he reached the box, he leaned on it with both fists. A single sob ripped at him, grabbed him. “Justin, man … why?” The words were a whispered cry, desperate and haunting.

  Emily pulled herself from her parents’ arms when she saw him, this teenage man-child, crying his heart out for the loss of his friend. She went to him and waited three feet away. After a few seconds, the teen pressed his forearm to the casket twice, and then held it out in the air and did a one-sided handshake, maybe the one he and Justin used to do. Finally he pressed his fist to his heart and then pointed heavenward.

  Only then did he turn around, notice Emily, and fall into her arms, a big kid looking for someone to love away all the hurt and pain. Carol watched the two of them move toward the others, giving the Bakers their space. Jill and Gary walked the few steps together, and Jill laid a flower on the casket.

  Gary hesitated, even after Jill returned to their places near the first row of chairs. He was a strong man, a man much like Justin would’ve been if he’d had the chance to grow up. But this was a good-bye he’d never intended to make. He laid his hand on the casket, fingers slightly spread. The picture of it reminded Carol of the way her husband’s hand had looked a thousand times on their son’s shoulder, when the two of them would stand side by side at the end of a church service, or fishing on the edge of a lake.