To the Moon and Back

  Jenna leaned forward. This time she took his hand in hers. “Even now?”

  “Yeah.” He looked at where their fingers touched. “It’s fine. I’m gonna be a firefighter. I’ll be on my own soon.”

  Her heart broke for him. She figured she knew the answer, but she had to ask anyway. “A firefighter? Because . . .”

  “Yeah.” He managed a quick smile. “Definitely.” He saw all the way to her soul. “So some other little kid doesn’t have to go through what I went through.”

  They talked about growing up in Oklahoma City and how every April 19 they felt alone. Like no one could understand what they were facing. “The bombing didn’t just happen to the city.” Brady removed his hand from hers and laced his fingers behind his head. He stared across the grounds of the memorial. “It was our tragedy.” He glanced at her. “It’s personal for you and me. It happened to us.”

  Us. Jenna loved how he said that. She took a quick breath. He might as well know the rest of her story. “I grew up with my grandma.” She told him about the time her teacher had showed images from the bombing and how upset she’d gotten. “My grandma never made me go to school on April nineteenth again.”

  “But you never came here.” Brady shifted so he could see her better.

  “I think . . . somewhere in my childhood I allowed myself to believe a fantasy. That my parents were still alive. Living overseas somewhere like London or Rome. And one day they’d come back and we’d all be together again.”

  “So being here—”

  “Yes.” She had the feeling he knew exactly what she meant. What she was feeling. “Being here makes it real.”

  The breeze gusted now. Brady looked at the sky and back at her. “Storm’s coming.”

  “Fitting.” She tightened her jacket around her. “I used to fall asleep asking God just one thing. That in the morning I’d wake up and come downstairs and my parents would be there. Sitting at the kitchen table, sharing coffee.”

  Tears filled her eyes again. “They’d see me and we’d run to each other and I’d be in their arms. They’d kiss my head and tell me how much they missed me and everything . . . everything would be okay.” She hesitated. “I prayed that till I was in middle school.”

  Brady let her story hang there for a minute. Blowing in the wind between them. Then he sat a little straighter. “We prayed the same thing, Jenna. I remember . . . I was six or seven . . . eight. Nine. Lying in bed, begging God that before I fell asleep my mom would walk into the room and sit on the edge of my bed. And just one more time she’d say, ‘Love you to the moon and back, Brady. Love you to the moon and back.’ ”

  A chill ran down Jenna’s arms and legs. “Your mother used to say that?”

  “Every night.”

  It was one more connection. “Mine, too.” She paused, her tears spilling onto her cheeks. “After bedtime prayers. It was our special thing.”

  “They probably would’ve been friends, our moms.” Brady seemed to think for a long moment, and gradually the hurt returned to his eyes. And something else. Anger or bitterness, maybe. “I remember the night I stopped praying. I told God if He didn’t bring my mom back, then I was done talking to Him.” He paused and for a moment his eyes grew harder. “I kept my promise.”

  “Me, too.” The sad picture of the little boy he must’ve been was suddenly etched in Jenna’s heart. “I don’t pray anymore.” The sameness of their stories was more than Jenna could take in. “I mean, I still go to church with my grandma. It would hurt her if I stayed home. But I guess I’m just . . . I don’t know, frustrated with God.” She looked straight at Brady. “Like why did He have to take my mom and dad?”

  “And my mom.” Brady took a deep breath and stood. The pain eased from his expression again. “Let’s get coffee.”

  At that point, Jenna would’ve gone anywhere with him. No one had ever understood her feelings the way Brady did. They started walking. “So you don’t go to church?”

  “No.” He made a sound more laugh than cry. “Hardly. The state says foster parents can’t force us to do anything. Especially where religion is concerned.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Again Brady took her hand. This time he worked his fingers gently between hers. “Have you seen the commercials for that movie Superbad?”

  “I think so . . . It looks, I don’t know, not that great.” She laughed, and he did, too.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  They left the memorial grounds and made their way down the street. The wind played with her hair. “Why did you ask? About that movie?”

  “Because.” He slowed his pace and stopped, facing her. With his thumb, he brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “You look like the actress in it.”

  She angled her head. “Thanks.” Her smile came easily now. “I think. Right?”

  “Definitely.” He looked down, and then back at her. His cheeks grew slightly red. “You’re very pretty, Jenna.”

  His words sent a rush through her. It wasn’t the sort of thing she heard often. Not from guys who looked like Brady, anyway. Jenna tried to focus. “My grandma tells me I look just like my mom.” She smiled again. More shy this time. “Dark red hair and green eyes like her. So I guess that’s a good thing.”

  “Very good.” Brady studied her for a few seconds before they started walking again. They got coffee from a small café and took the trip back to the memorial more slowly. Brady talked about the first year he came here. He was ten and one of his foster parents brought him. “That day I could really feel my mom with me again. Right beside me.” Brady cast her a quick look. “After that I always asked someone to bring me here. My foster parents or my Little League coach. Whoever.”

  “Which is why you started recognizing people at the fence.”

  “Exactly.” They stopped at a bench and sat down. For several minutes, neither of them said anything. They just sipped their coffee and listened to the wind from the coming storm. Jenna felt like she’d slipped into some other world. For the first time someone knew exactly what the hurt felt like.

  Then the rain hit. Not the slow sort of rain that starts with a few drops and builds to a downpour. This one came over them all at once. Brady grabbed her hand and they ran with their coffees down the street and into the museum. By then they were drenched, and there—inside the building—they had nowhere to go, no way to avoid the photos mounted on the wall.

  Brady let go of her hand and walked slowly to the first picture. A shot of the Alfred P. Murrah Building a few days before the bombing. Brady stood as close as he could, his eyes locked on the image. Jenna came up beside him. She blinked the rain from her lashes. At the same time they both seemed to notice something about the building.

  The windows were lit.

  Which meant her parents were somewhere in there. Walking around. Working. Putting in their time until they could come home and be with her. Princess Jenna. She narrowed her eyes and found the third and fifth floors. The places where their offices used to be.

  “My parents . . . they would’ve been there that day.” A chill came over her. Jenna wasn’t sure whether it was from the rain or the reality of what she was taking in. “I can almost see them. Through the windows.”

  “Think about that, Jenna.” He moved closer to her, the heat of his arm warm against hers. “How beautiful. It’s like . . . they’re still alive. At least in that picture.”

  She hadn’t thought of it that way. More just the reality that if they could’ve gone back, if they would’ve known how little time they had . . . then maybe they wouldn’t have gone to work that day . . . and maybe things would’ve turned out differently.

  “What about you?” She leaned into his arm a little, her eyes still on the photo. “What do you see?”

  “I guess I see what might’ve been.” He examined the image. “That could’ve been us. Inside the building that day. Running errands on the sixteenth or seventeenth. But never on April nineteenth.”

  The possibility s
ank deep inside Jenna’s heart. Her parents hadn’t known they had so little time. Nothing had warned them that if only they had taken that Wednesday off everything would still be okay. Their family would still be together. Same for Brady. There was no way for his mother and him to go back and do their errand another day.

  So they’d be anywhere but the federal building that fateful morning.

  Jenna drew a deep breath. “I have to go.” Her grandmother would worry about her if she was gone longer than this. Rain still poured outside, so they were stuck in the museum. And Jenna couldn’t bear the thought of studying the rest of the photos.

  The destruction.

  Brady nodded. He finished his coffee, tossed his empty cup and hers in a nearby trash can and shoved his hands in his pockets. The intimacy that had been between them earlier seemed to fade. They were strangers, after all. Two kids who had grown up with the same heartache, the same sad story.

  But that was it.

  He hesitated for a minute. “Hold on.” A quick jog to the information desk a few yards away and he returned with paper and a pen. “Here.” He wrote something on the sheet and handed it to her.

  Brady. And beneath that, his number.

  “You’re in the club.” He smiled, but his eyes were deep with sadness. “Call me. We’ll come here together next year.”

  She nodded. The idea sounded good. Brady and her, the two of them here. Their heartache against the world. A smile tugged at her lips. “Okay.”

  Brady hesitated. “This is where you give me your number.” He chuckled lightly. “So I don’t have to wait a year to see you.”

  Her own laugh caught her off guard. “A year is a long time.”

  “A week’s a long time.” His eyes landed on hers and held.

  She felt like she’d known him all her life. “Here.” She ripped off a part of the paper and followed suit: Jenna. And beneath that, her number.

  “Thanks.” He looked at it and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll call you soon.” His expression faded. “I will.”

  “Okay.” She liked him. Everything about him. “Call me.”

  The museum was crowded, people trying to get out of the rain. Even so, Jenna felt like they were the only two people in the building. They were still facing each other. Jenna had a feeling their hearts would be connected, long after they said goodbye.

  He took a step closer, his voice quieter than before. “I want to kiss you, Jenna.”

  She wanted that, too. But she couldn’t say so. Instead she felt her grin warm her face. “I think we should wait.”

  “Yeah.” He was teasing her now. Flirting with her. “Come here.”

  They were only inches apart. Jenna did as he asked and for a second she thought he might kiss her anyway. Instead he pulled her into his arms. Not a lovers’ embrace. But something more tender, deeper. Protective. Without any words, being held by him told her that after today she would never be alone in her missing, never be by herself in her sadness. She had Brady now.

  She was part of the club.

  • • •

  RAIN FINALLY BROKE through the clouds and began falling over Schiller Park. As if God Himself were crying because of the memory she had just relived.

  Brady hadn’t written his last name on the slip of paper and Jenna hadn’t noticed until she got home. She’d expected him to call her that day or sometime in the next week.

  But he never did.

  A week later she took his paper from the top drawer in the nightstand next to her bed and realized the rain had blurred the numbers. She could only make out a few of them. She threw the paper away and tried not to feel hurt. Their day together almost didn’t seem real, anyway. He probably has a girlfriend, she told herself. Or he’d gotten away from the memorial and wondered why he’d given his number to a complete stranger.

  Months passed and Jenna eventually put him out of her mind. Until the following April, anyway, when the anniversary came back around. But that year Jenna was sick on April 19. Too sick to get out of bed. She figured he had her number, and that maybe because of the anniversary he’d finally call.

  But he never made contact.

  Whatever the reason, Jenna clearly wasn’t going to hear from Brady. And as time passed she told herself she was crazy to still think about him. She didn’t even know his last name. The detail hadn’t seemed important back then. He was going to call her that week. They had forever to figure out last names and logistics.

  Instead, they missed whatever might have been. Though Jenna would always remember the magic of that single day.

  The next four April 19 anniversaries, Jenna was in college at a small private university in Texas, so she never made it back to the memorial. She did, though, make her way back to Jesus.

  Yes, God had a plan for her. She still believed that. A plan that included her teaching job in Columbus. But clearly it did not involve a dark-haired stranger from a lifetime ago. A guy she only knew by his smile and handsome face, his deep eyes and a name she would never forget as long as she lived.

  Brady.

  11

  T hey’d been back from spring break for a week and this Saturday was one Ashley and the entire Baxter family had been looking forward to for a month. In a few hours, all of them were meeting at the Christian Kids Theater for a matinee performance of Peter Pan. Annie and Janessa and Amy were in the show. Amy was playing Wendy—her biggest role yet.

  After the show, everyone was coming back to Landon and Ashley’s house for dinner. Ashley checked the time on the microwave. Just after noon. She’d already dropped the girls off at the theater and three pot roasts with vegetables were cooking in her Crock-Pots—all lined up on the counter.

  The show didn’t start for another two hours.

  Landon and the boys were fishing at Lake Monroe, so Ashley had something she didn’t often have: time.

  She still hadn’t found Jenna, though she’d searched every way she knew how. No bombing survivors or grieving children by that name. Nothing in the Internet archives.

  None of the survivor registries listed her name. Which meant she must not have been in the building when the bomb went off.

  Bottom line, Ashley needed more information. Sure she had Brady’s cell number. But maybe if she revisited his Facebook page. Or found something on social media. Maybe then she’d know more about him and his story. Like why he’d been so short with her in his response last week.

  Ashley grabbed her laptop and sat out on the back porch. The day was mild and breezy, the blue sky dotted with white puffy clouds. Spring had filled in green where bare branches were just a few weeks ago.

  She turned on her computer and brought up Facebook. She’d seen his page before, that day on the boat, but only briefly. She still hadn’t found the right time to tell Landon about her text to Brady. But it didn’t matter. She hadn’t texted Brady again.

  Maybe Brady’s social media would tell Ashley something new. Something about Jenna or the reason Brady felt so alone. He didn’t have many posts on his page from what she remembered. But maybe she’d missed something. Ashley typed his name in the Facebook search bar: “Brady Bradshaw.”

  She closed her eyes. Lord, why is this guy on my heart? If You want me to drop the whole thing, I will . She took a slow breath and opened her eyes. She clicked enter and . . . there he was. Same as before. Brady Bradshaw. Firefighter. Oklahoma City. Dark hair and chiseled face. He didn’t have sunglasses the way he had at the memorial. But it was him. No question. She scanned the page. Still not much here.

  Okay, Ashley. Go slow. Look for clues.

  She read the most recent post. It was from the anniversary. The picture was the fence, and there at the center of the image was his letter tucked into the chain link. For Jenna . Ashley could only read the girl’s name because she knew what it said. Otherwise it would’ve been easy to miss. Just an artsy photo from the memorial.

  But Ashley knew better.

  It was a sign, of course. If Jenna were to look for Bra
dy, and if somehow she were to find his Facebook page, then just maybe she would know. That every year since they met, Brady had come back to the site for her.

  All for her.

  The status wasn’t long. Ashley read it. Some years I wait a little longer at the fence. Just in case this is the year you join me.

  Chills ran down Ashley’s arms. The guy was obsessed. Whatever had happened between him and Jenna, he wanted to find her more than he wanted his next breath. Or at least it seemed that way.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “So who are you, Brady?” She scrolled down the page. The older posts were about a fund-raiser the fire department was hosting. A little more reading and she figured it out. A firefighter had died working a fire a year earlier. The benefit was to raise money for his family.

  She checked his photos. In case there might be something else, something from the memorial. Maybe a snapshot of the two of them eleven years ago. He didn’t have many pictures. A few of the firehouse, and his rig. One of him with a couple fellow firefighters.

  Another scroll down and there was the calendar image of him. He was August in the Oklahoma City Firefighters Calendar. This time Ashley studied the look on his face. He was smiling, but his eyes looked dead. Closed off. Whatever his story, it colored everything about his life. Even when he was supposed to be having fun.

  Another page of pictures and there were a few of him much thinner, wearing only a scrappy pair of shorts. Super tan. From when he’d been a contestant on the TV show Survivor. Didn’t make it more than a few weeks, by the look of it.

  Ashley read every caption and post. There was no mention of faith or gratitude or the blessings of life. No signs of a deep friendship or close family members or a girlfriend. “He meant what he said in the letter,” Ashley muttered. “He really is alone.”

  After half an hour on his page, Ashley understood him a bit better. Brady seemed dedicated to his job but otherwise without anyone important in his life. Not even God. She sighed, closed out of Facebook and took her laptop into the house. She set it on the kitchen table and looked at the pantry. Time to get the sweet potatoes in the oven. She was doing that when the boys got home.