Sunset

  “Everyone but Dad and Elaine. They’ll get back later today.” She heard music from inside. “We better go! Cole and Maddie are singing with the kids’ choir.”

  With that they headed into church, the girls giddy, whispering about this being their new home, and the adults excited about sharing a Sunday service. Because this was the way all of them had always wanted life to be. The Baxter family and their spouses and kids going through life together, worshiping God together.

  Not just for now but for a lifetime of Sundays.

  The worship band started off with a Jeremy Camp song about walking by faith even when sight wasn’t possible. Ashley sat with Landon in the back of three full rows filled with her family. The music grew and filled the church, and the words touched Ashley’s heart with their relevance. “I will walk by faith even when I cannot see because this broken road prepares Your will for me. . . .”

  Ashley felt Landon take hold of her hand, felt his fingers ease between her own. She closed her eyes and let the words wash over her. The message was so completely true. When she was alone in Paris or when her life was on the line because of her health . . . even last year when they lost Sarah, with Landon by her side she had learned to walk the journey of life with faith in God alone.

  But that wasn’t all. Because the truth was, the broken road she’d walked over the last ten years had indeed prepared her. She opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of Kari whispering to Erin two rows up. For a second, Kari’s profile looked almost the same as their mother’s.

  Ashley lifted her gaze to the plain wooden cross at the front of the church. One of the letters her mother had written to them, a letter Ashley hadn’t read until her father gave them their scrapbooks, said basically the same thing as the song. “So often,” her mother had written, “only in weakness do we reach out to God, and only as we reach out to God do we find the strength He always intended for us, the strength for whatever comes next.”

  The song ended, and another one began. Ashley surveyed her extended family filling the pews in front of her. After the kids’ choir, the children would leave for Sunday school, but for now everyone was together. Ashley looked past Landon to Cole and Devin.

  Cole turned and whispered to Landon, “I think it’s time.”

  “It is.” Landon slid his legs to one side. “Go ahead. You’ll do great.”

  Ashley leaned closer and put her hand against Cole’s cheek. “You can do it. Don’t be nervous.”

  Cole held her gaze for a moment, then gave a firm nod to both of them. With that, he hurried out the right side of the pew, waited for Maddie to slip out of her row, and the two of them hustled down the aisle at the same time as other children left their seats. All of them met up front near the sweet, gray-haired choir director. She organized them into a line, and when the second song ended, the band waited while the kids walked onto the stage in single file.

  The kids’ choir was something new at Clear Creek, and Cole and Maddie had tried to talk their other cousins into joining them. The way Erin’s and Kari’s kids were straining in their seats, looking excitedly at Cole and Maddie, Ashley had a feeling the others would get involved soon enough.

  The choir director sat down in the front pew and held out her hands. As she did, the children quieted down, their attention completely on her. With that, the band began to play “This Little Light of Mine.” Ashley felt her heart swell with pride as the children’s voices rang out across the church. How different Cole’s life would be if it weren’t for her parents and Landon, if it weren’t for God’s mercy and love. Would he even have a light to shine for all the world to see?

  The song was well under way when Maddie took a step forward and raised her voice louder than the others around her. Ashley watched, confused. Before she could wonder if her strong-willed niece was about to sing a solo, Cole took hold of her arm and pulled her back into line. For a moment it looked like a fight might break out right between the verses. But then Maddie grinned at Cole and linked arms with him.

  Midway through the second verse, Ashley felt the baby inside her kick hard against her ribs. She smiled and put her hand on her stomach. Ashley and Landon had finally settled on a name for their newborn son: Isaac James. Isaac because this child felt like a gift from God, the way Isaac was for Abraham in the Bible. And James because Ashley and Landon both loved the message of James in Scripture—that the testing of one’s faith developed perseverance. Through the past year, the truth that perseverance developed hope had become even clearer to them. This new little boy was definitely a ray of hope for their family.

  By the time the kids’ song ended, Cole and Maddie ran back down the aisle to their seats looking like the best friends everyone knew they would someday be. Cole took his spot beside Devin, breathless from the performance. “How was that?”

  “Great!” Landon rubbed his head, his voice a soft whisper. He winked at their son. “I like how you kept Maddie in line.”

  Cole rolled his eyes. “Someone has to.” He seemed to be bursting with some sort of information. “Mom, guess what?”

  “What?” The band was launching into another song, but Ashley wanted to hear what was on his mind.

  “When I was singing, I could picture Grandma and baby Sarah watching.” His smile became tender and heartfelt. “From their window in heaven.”

  Ashley smiled. “I can picture that too. We’ll talk more later.”

  He nodded, and all of them turned their attention back to the front of the church. Ashley picked up the church bulletin from the spot on the floor where she’d set it. As she did, she scanned the top of the front cover for the title of the message. A chill ran down her spine as she found what she was looking for. She leaned into Landon’s shoulder and motioned for him to read it too. He did, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. He put his arm around her and leaned his head against hers.

  The sermon today was on the very Scripture she’d been so taken with lately, Psalm 130. And the title was as simple as the truth they’d all found along the journey of life, along the walk of faith. It was just one word, but it spoke volumes.

  Redemption.

  The Flanigans were spread throughout the house and yard, getting ready for their big Fourth of July party, and Bailey was dusting the woodwork in the family room when she heard a knock at the door. She dropped her dust rag on the coffee table and brushed her hands on her jeans.

  “I’ll get it!” she yelled. It wasn’t quite noon, far too early for any of their friends to be here yet. The party didn’t start until five, when their dad would set up at his built-in barbecue out back and start grilling six dozen burgers. Bailey hurried down the hall to the entryway. It couldn’t be Tim. He and his family were in Colorado on vacation. Cody had been delayed, and his mother had told them it could be another week before he’d be home.

  She tucked a wisp of her long hair behind her ears and hurried to the front door. Probably just the mail lady making the trip up the drive because once again the Flanigans had too much mail for the mailbox. She opened the door, and almost in slow motion, her heart skittered into a strange rhythm and her head began to spin. It took a few seconds for her to grasp what she was seeing, and by then the guy standing with crutches on her front porch was already shifting, clearly nervous from the awkwardness of the moment.

  “Cody . . . I can’t believe it’s you.” Bailey found her voice, but at the same time she realized something was terribly wrong. The look in Cody’s eyes was not the same easygoing kindness that had been there before. Instead there was an intense sadness, a shame almost.

  “I just got into town.” He came closer. “I guess you can see now . . . why I haven’t written all that much.”

  His words confused her, and she was about to ask him to explain himself when something strange and out of place caught her attention. She looked down, and she suddenly understood. She kept herself from gasping or letting her hand fly to her mouth, but that didn’t lessen the shock tearing through her insides.

  H
e hadn’t lost his whole leg, the way another injured Bloomington soldier had. But from the left knee down, Cody had a prosthetic lower leg.

  “It’s okay.” Cody shifted his weight to the other side. “You don’t have to say anything. You weren’t expecting this.” He looked at the ground, then back at her. “I asked my mom not to tell you.”

  Bailey felt sick to her stomach. She grabbed on to an image of Cody lying on the ground in a busy street in Iraq, his leg torn to shreds. “Can you come in?”

  “For a minute. My mom’s expecting me.” He entered the house, and after the door was shut, he leaned against the wall.

  Bailey noticed he was putting weight on the prosthesis, and he barely walked with a limp. The crutches must’ve been because he was still healing. She swallowed hard, not sure what to say. “Does it hurt?”

  “Sometimes.” Cody flexed the muscles in his jaw, his expression stoic. “I’m okay. I can walk and drive, and pretty soon I’ll be running again. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

  “Okay.” Her answer was quick because she didn’t like the tone between them. Her pity and his lack of emotion. She kept herself from looking down. “You came home early.”

  “I worked it out so I can finish my rehab in town. I didn’t really want to go to the West Coast anyway.” For the first time since the door had opened, his eyes grew the tiniest bit softer. “I came here first because I have to tell you something.”

  Bailey hated the way things felt so distant and awkward between them. Her palms were damp, and she rubbed them against each other. This was Cody . . . the same Cody who had been their neighbor and slept on their sofa and lived with them. The Cody who had raced her down the footpath at the lake and walked with her in the woods behind her house the day he left for the army. The Cody she still thought about every day. So why did things feel so weird?

  He set his crutches a few feet away in the corner near the front door and took a deep breath. “Every day in Iraq, every day I was at war, only one—”

  “Wait . . .” She blinked, and before he could say anything else, she held out her arms. “I haven’t seen you in a year. Don’t I get a hug?”

  Cody opened his mouth like he might ask her to wait, but then his shoulders sank and after a few seconds he took a half step forward. Without any words and with the most gentle touch, he slowly pulled her into his arms. The hug lasted longer than Bailey expected, but she couldn’t let go, didn’t want the moment to end. Never mind his leg, Cody was here and he was going to be okay. That was all that mattered.

  Bailey pressed her hands against the muscles in his back and kept her head against his shoulder. He still smelled the same, the faint mix of cologne and fresh shampoo and laundry soap. She breathed it in. “I missed you.” Her words were so soft, she wasn’t sure he could hear them. But that didn’t matter. “I was so worried. I wasn’t sure . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. It felt so good being in his arms, having him back in Bloomington. All of it was a start, the beginning of a bridge that would span the gap left by time and war and whatever nightmare Cody had been through in the last year.

  “I missed you too.” His whispered reply spoke straight to her heart. When he stepped back, he looked a little more like the football hero who had walked out of their house last summer. But the change in his eyes remained.

  Bailey studied him and tried to understand what the difference was, a determination maybe or a hardness. She didn’t dwell on the fact. At least now they’d erased some of the distance between them.

  Cody ran his tongue over his lower lip and seemed to gather his thoughts. “I came here first because I had to. Out there only one thing kept me going.” He hesitated, but his eyes stayed fixed on hers. “The idea that if God allowed it, I might see you again.”

  Bailey was suddenly light-headed. What had he just told her? That seeing her again was all that kept him going? Was he serious? Did he have feelings for her after all? She reached out and took hold of his hand. “I . . . didn’t know.”

  “That’s my fault.” He hung his head for a moment and seemed to study the place where their hands were joined. When he looked up, his eyes were bright with the emotions that seemed to be trying to break through. He gave her hand a tender squeeze. “Don’t get me wrong. I meant what I said in my letters. You and I will only be friends.” A slight smile tugged at his lips. “God has someone better for you. I know that.”

  “How?” Her heart thudded against her ribs, and she shook her head. “How do you know?”

  His fingers were still in hers, but he leaned back against the wall again, almost as if he was trying to put distance between them. “I’m okay with you and Tim. I always knew you’d find a guy like him . . . a guy like you.”

  A sense of betrayal wrapped itself around the moment, and Bailey released the hold she had on his hand. She crossed her arms. “Tim and I . . . we’re not serious.”

  He held up his hand. “Bailey, don’t . . .” He forced a slight smile. “It’s okay. I didn’t come here to make you feel guilty. I just wanted to thank you for giving me a reason to stay alive.”

  She hated this, the way his homecoming felt more like a terrible good-bye. “I thought . . . from your letters . . .” She searched for the right words, but her head was spinning. “You talked about moving to the West Coast, and I thought . . . you didn’t really care about me anymore.”

  “That was never the reason.” Cody looked at his crutches and then down at his leg. “About my time in Iraq . . .” His voice grew with an intensity he’d never shown her before. “I will never, ever regret going. Even if I wouldn’t have made it back, I believe in this. What we’re doing over there is good. It is.”

  Bailey could hear a defensiveness in his tone, and she understood. The media had been down on the war for some time now. Even so, opinions from soldiers—as far as she’d heard from her dad and from friends—all sounded very much like Cody’s. She relaxed her arms to her sides. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  “Freedom is worth defending. Here or there. I’d be there still if this . . . if I hadn’t gotten hurt.” He shrugged, and some of his intensity faded. “But about us . . . let’s be real. I couldn’t expect you to . . .”

  She waited for him to finish his thought, but he never did, and suddenly she thought she understood what he wasn’t saying. Though neither of them had talked about his injury, now there was no way around the topic. “Are you talking about your leg?” She glanced at his crutches, and as she did, a sense of anger gathered around her confused heart. She stood a little taller. “Because maybe you’re not giving me enough credit.”

  “Don’t get mad.” He sighed and cocked his head, looking more like the Cody she remembered. “I didn’t come here to make you angry.”

  “Listen.” The uneasiness she’d felt earlier faded. Since he brought it up, maybe it was time to say everything she’d felt since he walked through the door, since she noticed his crutches. “You could’ve lost your leg in an accident, and that wouldn’t have changed who you are. But your injury came because you’re a hero.” Her voice rose, and she forced herself to bring it back down. “Lots of people talk about freedom, but you did something about it. Please don’t think I see you differently now. That isn’t fair.” Her tone grew softer, and she stepped closer to him. “I missed you every single minute you were gone.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue with her, explain again how he had to pull away from her life because of Tim or because of his injury. But the air around them changed, and the attraction between them was undeniable. For a few seconds, Bailey thought he might kiss her, or if he didn’t, that she might kiss him. But instead he drew her into another hug, this one washed in a sense of desperation.

  “I don’t know,” Cody whispered against her hair. “Everything’s so different.”

  “Nothing’s different.” Bailey’s heart pounded so hard that she was sure he could feel it. She moved back just enough to look into his eyes, and the connection she felt left her breathless. “
Can’t we at least have what we had before?” She leaned against his chest. “You were my best friend when you left here.”

  “Bailey—” his breath warmed the top of her head—“I want you to have the best.”

  “I do.” She held him a little tighter. “I have my arms around him right now.”

  They stayed that way for a few more heartbeats before Cody released her. “I need to go see my mom.”

  “Come back for our party.” She hated the thought of him leaving so soon. “My family can’t wait to see you.”

  He hesitated, this strange new battle clearly taking place in his head and heart. But in the end he sighed and nodded. “Okay.” He kissed her forehead, same as he’d done a year ago when he left. “I’ll be your friend. We can at least have that.”

  It was a victory, one that Bailey could settle for. Especially in light of the fact that he’d come ready to cut things off with her—all so she could have a better life without him. She shivered at the thought and walked him to the door. She didn’t want to think about Tim or the future or the all-consuming attraction she felt for Cody. He was her friend, and for now that would have to be enough.

  As he left, as he climbed into his car and drove off, Bailey was struck by a very certain fact. Cody might’ve lost his leg, but he hadn’t come home any less of a man.

  He’d come home more of one.

  Jenny was walking along the upstairs hallway when she glanced down over the staircase railing and saw Bailey hugging a young man. It took her a moment to realize that the guy was Cody, and at the same time she saw the crutches and the prosthetic leg.

  Cody’s leg . . . I had no idea, no way to prepare Bailey. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, her eyes glued on the couple in the entryway below.

  Even as she stood there, an answer both certain and subtle breezed across the landscape of her soul. Bailey is Mine. I have prepared her. I know the plans I have for her.