Just like Lauren.
No matter what he wanted for the two of them, she was determined to go her own way, do her own thing. She continued to write for Time, surrounding herself with a way of thinking that left her suspicious of the U.S. military, and often downright antagonistic. He sighed and looked at the nearby mountains. God … only You can help us now. With You, something could soften her views, help her become less suspicious. Or maybe soften mine. Whatever it takes to help us find our way together. Make it a miraculous change. Help us both see the truth.
His prayer ended, and he felt a blanket of peace settle around his shoulders. He wasn’t going to give up yet, not when he’d asked God for a miraculous change. Because with the Lord working in their lives, anything could happen. She could finally understand why he believed so strongly in peace through strength, and he could find compassion toward the articles she wrote.
Yes, with God, all things were possible. Wasn’t that what the Bible said in the book of Matthew? And if all things were possible with God, then a relationship with Lauren could still be real and right and good. The changes could happen a little more every day. Or all at once, if God willed it. Then they might discover the happiness and love they both wanted. A life together was possible, it had to be. God wouldn’t have brought them back together only to have everything end in misery and frustration. Shane smiled to himself and began walking once more toward his office. He would keep praying, and one day they would find common ground.
Why, with God they might even find happily ever after.
THREE
Emily couldn’t believe so much could happen in a single week. She finished classes and finals at Wheaton College, confirmed her scholarship and housing at Pacific Lutheran University, packed her things into two suitcases and four boxes, and finally set off for the Northwest. Now she was at her new university in Tacoma, about thirty miles south of Seattle, unpacking her box of photos in a new residence hall on a new campus, and wondering if she was crazy for agreeing to the change.
The photograph at the top of the box was surrounded by two layers of bubble wrap, and Emily eased it open. She looked down at the image of her grandparents, the two people who had raised her and loved her and encouraged every dream she ever had — whether it was excelling on the soccer field or finding her parents. Because of her grandparents’ support, she’d seen all her dreams become realities — even this one. The goal of spreading her wings and trying life on her own.
She studied the picture for a moment. No surprise that so much had taken place in a week, not when she remembered all that had gone on in the past six months. Her papa was diagnosed with cancer, and at almost the same time, she’d done the impossible: found her parents. Her dad had been working as an instructor at the Top Gun facility in Fallon, and her mother was a writer for Time magazine. Their reunion had taken place in December, the same week Papa lost his battle to cancer.
Emily sat the photograph on the small nightstand near her narrow bed. The residence halls at PLU were not much bigger than her walk-in closet back at her grandparents’ home. She removed the next picture from the box — a more recent shot of her parents taken at the airport after her grandfather’s funeral.
“I still can’t believe it, God.” She dusted the frame and set it on the nightstand next to the other. “You amaze me.”
Her roommate already had her things set up. Pam King was one of the best goalies in collegiate soccer, a transfer student, same as Emily. The two had been assigned the same residence hall, but they hadn’t met until yesterday at the soccer orientation meeting. They sat next to each other and snickered at the same bits of sarcasm from the coach. By the time they realized they were in the same “res,” as the others called the residence halls, they were on their way to becoming fast friends.
Emily finished unpacking and sat back on her bed. The summer would be a full one. She had chosen PLU for two reasons. First, the scholarship included tuition, room, and board — entirely based on her soccer ability. Second, it put her on the West Coast, closer to her parents and her grandmother — who was selling the house she’d grown up in and moving to Southern California to be near Emily’s dad’s parents — people who had been best friends with her grandparents until twenty years earlier.
A cool breeze drifted through a small window screen, bent and dirty from age. Between the gentle wind and the photographs she was unpacking, Emily’s thoughts drifted back in time. Twenty years earlier, her parents were teenagers, juniors in high school in Illinois. When they came to their parents and told them they were expecting a baby, life as they’d known it completely fell apart. The adults — Emily’s two sets of grandparents — grew angry and distrustful, pointing fingers of blame for the scandal. Her dad’s parents thought they solved the problem by moving to Southern California.
Of course, the move solved nothing. Emily’s mother tried every day to locate her boyfriend, and days after Emily was born, her mother set off for California. Only after Emily came down with a dangerous case of pneumonia did her mother turn around and head back to Illinois. The next day, after holding vigil at her bedside all night and finally going home for a few hours of sleep, her mother called the hospital to check on her. But something went terribly wrong. Emily’s mother was connected to another patient’s nurse, who informed her that her infant daughter was already gone. Her mother figured that meant Emily was dead.
Overtired, riddled with guilt, her mother determined never to forgive either set of parents for separating her from the boy she loved. So once again — this time alone — she set out for California and never looked back. Not until Emily finally tracked Lauren down and contacted her in Afghanistan last winter, did she know her baby girl hadn’t died from pneumonia that day, but rather had lived.
The reunion took place last December in the days before Emily’s papa’s death. The Galanters came to Illinois, and they and Emily’s other grandparents finally made peace with each other.
The scent of lavender mixed with the breeze and filled the room. Emily smiled. The fact that her grandparents’ friendships had been restored was one more part of the miracle. And now, in what could’ve been her grandmother’s most lonely days, she was living just down the street from the friends she’d spent two decades missing.
Everyone was back together, and in just a few short months, Emily would stand up at her parents’ wedding. The event would be the culmination of a lifelong dream, something Emily had prayed and wished for all her life. Ever since the wedding plans were in order, her schoolwork had come easier and her soccer playing was better than it had ever been.
She took hold of her foot and stretched the muscles along the front of her leg. It was as if now that her life was whole, now that her parents and grandparents were at peace, she could finally focus all her energy on her own life, on the gifts God gave her.
Emily checked the clock on her dresser. Nine-thirty already. Practice was in half an hour. Though the season wouldn’t officially start until fall, they had six weekend tournaments scheduled between now and then. Practices were from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. every day. Then, when she’d cleaned up, this afternoon was her first shift as an assistant public information officer at nearby Fort Lewis.
She’d seen the army base a few times from the freeway, but today would be her first time through the gates. She hadn’t gotten the job the usual way — by walking in and applying. Instead, she mentioned to her father that she’d like to work there. The base was only a short drive from PLU, and working there would give her a better understanding of the military and whether she’d like that sort of career one day.
Her dad wasted no time making calls on her behalf to one of his friends — a high-up official at the base. As it turned out, the public affairs office needed an assistant, and the details were worked out in a single day. Emily was a journalism major, about to start her sophomore year. Working as a public information officer so early in her college career would look fantastic on her résumé.
She could
hardly wait to start.
With a final glance at the photos of her parents and grandparents, she dressed in her practice clothes, clipped her iPod to her shorts, and stuck in her earbuds. The soccer field wasn’t far from the residence hall, so it made for a good jog. By the time practice started, Emily was already warmed up.
Pam had gone to breakfast with another teammate, and she was already at the field when Emily arrived. The two waved to each other, but over the next three hours, Emily didn’t think about anything but what was being asked of her by the coach. He was a demanding man, a person whose sarcasm was his only comic relief. Otherwise, he ran practice like a drill sergeant.
Emily didn’t mind. She needed someone to push her, to help her find the limits of her abilities.
When practice was over, she jogged back to the room, showered, ate a grilled chicken salad at the cafeteria, then set out for the school parking lot. She arrived at Fort Lewis twenty minutes before her scheduled shift.
The base was bigger than it looked from the road, taking up acres of land on both sides of the I-5 freeway. Emily liked the feel of it, the American flags that flew proudly from a number of the buildings, and the armored tank on display near the main entrance. Never mind that the area was known for its rainy gray skies; in the few days she’d been there, the weather had been nothing but sunshine. Now as she studied the complex and the blue sky that framed it, the picture was almost surreal.
She’d lived most of her life not knowing that her father was involved in the military, and still she’d always felt a sense of pride when she’d seen an officer or a convoy of army vehicles. After September 11, though she’d only been fourteen, she made a beaded flag pin and wore it every day for a year. When the announcements came in that the U.S. had launched a retaliatory attack on Afghanistan, and then on Iraq, she was one of the few kids she knew who rushed home from school to watch the footage.
Papa used to tease her that her blood wasn’t red. It was red, white, and blue. Patriotic Polly, he’d called her. “That’s my girl, giving us old folks hope for the next generation.”
Her pride in America, in its military strength, was almost instinctive. War was a tough subject, and she had as many friends in support of it as against it. Emily didn’t like war, but on her own she could see some benefits. For instance, the way the country seemed so much safer since the military took action against countries harboring terrorists.
But the war aside, there was something admirable about people who devoted their lives to serving their country. Emily might not work for the military after she earned her degree, but then again, she might make it a career — the way her dad had done. She would never know unless she tried.
She straightened her shoulders and headed toward the front doors of the main building on the base.
She’d had a conversation with a nice woman the day before, and now she knew that her first stop was the personnel office. She found it, no trouble, and smiled at the older man working behind the counter.
“I’m Emily Anderson. I start work here today.”
“Ah, yes. Emily.” The man looked beneath the counter for a moment and brought up a packet with her name on it. “Your father is Shane Galanter, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir.” Pride warmed her chest. “He arranged the job for me.”
“Well — ” he tapped the packet — “you let him know we’re all happy to have his daughter here. Shane Galanter is a fine instructor, one of this country’s best.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll tell him.”
She was going to like this job, she could already tell. If only her mom hadn’t taken the news so hard.
“The military, Emily?” She hadn’t exactly sighed, but her tone hinted at her frustration. “Isn’t it enough that your father works for the navy without you bringing another branch into the picture?”
“Mom …” Emily tried to conceal her surprise. “I thought you and Dad were more on the same page about all that now.”
Her mom’s hesitation had been enough to stir a flicker of concern in Emily, but then her mother’s voice relaxed. “We are, it’s just … I pictured you working for a newspaper, not the military.”
Those words were the only grains of sand in an otherwise smooth transition to Tacoma and PLU — and now here, to the job at Fort Lewis. Emily dismissed the memory. Her mother’s questions and concerns about the military would only lead her to a deeper understanding of the man she loved: Emily’s father.
Emily took the packet of paperwork and moved to a nearby table. Ten minutes later she had filled out the necessary forms and signed all the documents. When she returned it to the man, he directed her to a place against a partition. He took her picture and after a few minutes, gave her an ID badge.
She was on her way down the hall to the public affairs office when two young uniformed soldiers turned into the same hallway and headed toward her. A smile played on her lips and she nodded at them in passing. Both were nice looking, but the tall one closest to her held her gaze longer than necessary.
A rush of warmth moved across her cheeks. Get a grip, Emily. She kept walking, but a sudden realization hit her. Until now, she hadn’t considered that the base would be swarming with guys her age. Though she’d dated back at Wheaton, she’d always been too busy with school and soccer and the search for her parents for any kind of serious relationship. Besides, she’d learned something from her parents. Relationships were better when they happened later in life — certainly not a few months shy of her twentieth birthday.
No, she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. Not when she owed it to the soccer team and to her boss at Fort Lewis to give them everything she had.
Boys could come later. It was that simple.
Still … there was something about a guy in a uniform.
The public information office was just ahead on her right, and as she opened the door and went inside, she had the instant feeling she was home. A staff of people in cubicle spaces tapped away at keyboards. Two of them were sharing an easy conversation as they worked.
“Here’s one the papers haven’t pounced on.” The comment came from a woman in her mid-thirties or so. “The number of guys enlisting is up — not just here, but across the country.”
“Of course they haven’t run that story.” The man sitting across from her leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Doesn’t support their notion of disillusionment.”
“I guess.”
Emily chuckled under her breath and made her way to the counter. A pretty, slender black woman was typing and staring at her computer screen. “Be with you in a minute.” Her voice was pleasant. She finished whatever she was working on, then stood and held out her hand. “You must be Emily Anderson.”
“Yes, ma’am. Reporting for duty.”
“Good.” The woman smiled. “I’m Vonda. I’ve got about three dozen press releases that need copyediting. Ten need to be twice as long, and twenty need to be cut in half. I think I’ll start you on that.”
She was upbeat and energetic, and between her and the few other people, the office had a wonderful feel to it. The woman showed her to a seat in front of another computer. “This will be your station for now. Let’s go over a few things.”
Emily tucked her purse beneath the desk and listened while the woman went over the operating system and how to access the press release files. She was fifteen minutes into the training when the door to the office opened and a soldier walked in.
Emily’s eyes widened as heat tickled her cheeks again. It was the tall soldier from the hallway.
“Justin, thank goodness.” The black woman threw her hands in the air. “This is our new girl, Emily Anderson.” She put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “I need you to get her up to speed on the process of editing releases.” She looked down at Emily. “And this is Justin Baker. He puts in three shifts a week here because he’s got big dreams.” She raised her eyebrows at Emily. “Hotshot officer. Wants to run the place one day.”
“Not
for a few years, Vonda.” Justin grinned and looked at Emily. His eyes were a shade of green that almost looked airbrushed in. “And sure, I’d be happy to help.”
“Thanks.” Emily forced the word and tried to exhale.
Justin had short light-brown hair. He was so handsome that her heart stumbled into double time. Even so, this wasn’t the time to act weak at the knees. This was a job, her role here a professional one. She needed to act accordingly.
She gave him the same smile she’d given Vonda a few minutes earlier. “It shouldn’t take much.” She looked at the computer screen. “I think I’ve just about got it.”
A phone rang on Vonda’s desk, and she made an exaggerated wipe across her forehead, as if Justin had rescued her in the nick of time. As Vonda went to answer her phone, Justin pulled a chair next to Emily’s. “Okay, the press releases are always in that file,” he pointed to a folder on the computer desktop. “That way they’re easy to access.”
He walked her through the steps and even switched chairs with her so he could show her how to cut a release from the bottom while still keeping transitions and important details, and then how to lengthen a release. “You need to call up the interview file. Usually you can find enough quotes and details in the reporter’s notes to double the size of any release. The reporter has to okay it afterwards.”
She was listening, she really was. But her mind just couldn’t seem to stay on task when everything about the guy next to her filled her senses. His cologne … the subtle scent of soap and laundry detergent on his freshly starched uniform. And that wasn’t all. His voice was kind and soothing, and she found herself wondering what it would be like to sit next to him at the movies or at a concert.
“Emily?”
She jumped and turned. He was looking at her, his expression blank.
“Did you hear me?”
Again her heart pounded. What was wrong with her? She almost never had this reaction around a guy. She straightened herself. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”