To the Moon and Back

  “She’s not married anymore? You’re sure?” Landon looked concerned. Understandably. He and Ashley had agreed this wasn’t something to do if Jenna were still married.

  “Her husband left her.” Ashley let that sad detail sit for a moment. “We prayed before I left. And by the time I got home she’d texted me. Brady’s out of ICU.”

  For a long time Landon only looked at her in the moonlight. He slid a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. “You realize we’re having a conversation about perfect strangers.” He smiled at her. “As if we know them.”

  “Yes.” Ashley made a nervous face. “It’s true. This sort of thing could only happen to me.”

  “Absolutely. But I’m glad I stepped out of the way. Because you were right, Ash. God wanted to use you. I believe that.” Landon’s smile dropped off. “Sounds like the accident was serious. Keep me posted on how things turn out.”

  “I promised her we’d pray. You and me.”

  “Okay, then . . . let’s do it.” Landon pulled her into his arms and prayed out loud. For a couple of people they didn’t know named Jenna and Brady, and that Ashley would always be drawn to help people.

  Even total strangers.

  15

  B rady wasn’t sure if he was in hell or not. His head throbbed and he couldn’t speak. Whatever had happened to him, he couldn’t move his arms or legs. Couldn’t turn his head from side to side.

  Still somewhere deep in his subconscious he had the slightest sense that maybe he wasn’t in hell. Heaven, either. Just possibly, he might actually be alive. Not because he felt himself getting better.

  But because he kept seeing Jenna in his dreams.

  Like a favorite movie on replay, the memory would start at the beginning. The day he and Jenna spent together. Brady couldn’t take a deep breath. Everything was numb, and the pain throughout his body consumed him. Even so, images from years ago were taking shape in his heart once more.

  Brady felt his head sink deep into the pillow. Then he did what he’d done every time Jenna filled his mind and heart.

  He let the memory come.

  • • •

  HE’D ALWAYS THOUGHT of them as part of a club. The wanderers who made it to the memorial every April 19. The ones who walked along the chain-link fence alone and without words of any kind. All of them had lost someone.

  Brady never asked who, never talked to anyone at the memorial. Even when he saw the same people year after year. He never spoke to a single person until 2007.

  The year he met Jenna.

  He was reading the offerings left on the fence when he spotted her. Golden dark red hair, beautiful green eyes. A face that took his breath even with the sorrow written into her expression. He was about to walk by, wouldn’t have interrupted her moment.

  But just as he was about to miss her, their eyes met.

  They exchanged names, and he showed her his arms. Proof he’d been in the building that terrible day. At one point he asked her to feel his scars. She did, and her touch was the softest thing he’d ever felt.

  He could still feel her fingers against his skin.

  She had no reason to trust him, but a connection happened between them. They spent an hour at the Survivor Tree, and all the while he could feel himself drawn to her. And his attraction gradually turned into something deeper.

  She told her story and when she finished, when they realized they had been only a couple of five-year-olds when the bomb went off, Brady had reached for her hand. And for the first time in all his life he felt something he’d never felt before.

  He felt complete.

  Her hand was made for his, and gently he ran his thumb along her fingers. For a minute or so he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to ruin the quiet understanding between them. Like they were both still just two kids missing their parents.

  Jenna’s expression was different than any Brady had ever seen. And somewhere along the course of the day, Brady knew what it was. Empathy. The empathy he had missed every day since. Jenna’s eyes held a kindness and understanding, the sort that could only come from someone who had been through it. She was another grown-up five-year-old who had lost everything that April morning.

  As the day played out, the weather changed. It grew colder and they took a walk. All the while Brady wanted just one thing: for the day to never end. One of the best parts of their time together was the conversation they had before they walked to the coffee shop across the street from the memorial. They agreed that people talked about the bombing like it happened to the city.

  When really it happened to the two of them.

  Personally.

  Then they got deeper still. Jenna admitted how she used to imagine that her parents were traveling somewhere far, far away and one day they would walk through the door and they could all be together again. Brady admitted that he had thought something similar. They talked about how they used to pray that God would return their parents, that life might miraculously find its way back to what it once had been.

  Before the bombing.

  That’s when they discovered something else they had in common. One more connection. Both their mothers had come to their rooms every night and said the words “Love you to the moon and back.”

  After that he was hooked. He might only have been seventeen, but he knew he wanted Jenna in his life as long as he lived.

  Then Brady shared something else he hadn’t shared with anyone before. He told her about his disconnect with God. Jenna felt the same. She said she was frustrated with God. Why would He take her parents?

  Brady would never forget the walk back to the memorial. The wind was in full force and he took her hand again. When he eased his fingers between hers, the feeling sent chills down his arms and legs. She looked just like Emma Stone, only prettier. Jenna was definitely prettier.

  Brady couldn’t remember everything else they talked about. But he would remember the feel of her hand in his as long as he lived. Finally the clouds had broken open and it started pouring. They ran into the museum to get out of the rain and there they found their way to the picture.

  The one before the bomb went off.

  They talked about how Brady and his mom could’ve run errands another day, and maybe her parents might’ve stayed home from work that April 19.

  And then it was time for Jenna to go.

  Brady still held her hand, still had his fingers between hers. They swapped numbers and he promised he would call. He had to call. He was sure he would.

  No one had ever connected with his soul the way Jenna had.

  They promised at least to talk when the next anniversary came around. But then Jenna smiled at him. “A year is a long time.”

  “A week’s a long time.” They were standing so close. He wanted to kiss her, but it wasn’t the time. He stared at her number. “I’ll call you soon. It’d be nice to get to know you.” He felt his smile drop off. “Outside the club, I mean.”

  “I’ll never forget today.” Jenna took a step closer to him. “You’re the only one who knows just how I feel.”

  “You, too.” He couldn’t keep from telling her how he felt. He practically whispered the next words. “I want to kiss you, Jenna.”

  She looked like she wanted that, too. But she only smiled. “I think we should wait.”

  “Yeah.” He could feel himself flirting with her. “Come here.”

  They were only inches apart. Jenna did as he asked and it took all of his willpower not to kiss her. Instead, he took her in his arms and held her. The hug wasn’t something passionate.

  It was deeper than that.

  Like two people who’d been lost and now were found.

  • • •

  THE DREAM WAS fading, at least it felt that way. Brady could see light through his closed eyelids. He could hear sounds. He still couldn’t lift his head or turn it, couldn’t move his hands or feet or shift his position. And he certainly couldn’t talk.

  Someone was saying something about levels or
numbers, vital signs. Something Brady couldn’t make out. It was a guy and he was still talking. “Brady? Brady, can you hear me?”

  He tried to close his eyes more fully. He didn’t recognize the voice of the man. Why would he be talking about numbers? Where was he, anyway?

  Then another voice spoke closer to him. A woman’s.

  “Brady . . . can you hear me?”

  The sound worked its way through his consciousness and straight to his heart. Jenna? Jenna, is that you? Only his words didn’t come out very loud. They didn’t come out at all.

  The voice came again. “Anyway, it’s me. Jenna. I’ve been living in Columbus, Ohio. Teaching.”

  Brady tried with everything in him to sit up straight and open his eyes. Tried to shout that yes, he could hear her and yes, he knew who she was. He was dreaming still, of course. He had to be. Jenna wasn’t in his life except when he dreamed.

  But for some reason in his dream he couldn’t move.

  “You’re probably wondering how I found you.” It sounded like she was crying. She sniffed. “You know that woman? Ashley Blake. She found me, Brady. She drove all the way to Columbus and found me at my school.” Another pause. “I came here as soon as I could.”

  Jenna was still talking, but Brady couldn’t make out the words. Ashley Blake? Ashley had found Jenna? That could only mean one thing.

  Maybe he wasn’t dreaming after all.

  16

  J enna hadn’t been to the Oklahoma City memorial in eleven years. Today was as good a time to go back as any. She’d been in town three days, and this morning her mother’s friend, Allison Wessel, made her breakfast. They chatted for an hour before Allison headed to the inner city medical clinic where she worked.

  Talking to Allison was like getting a glimpse of what it might’ve been like if Jenna’s mother had lived. Allison had worked with Jenna’s mother. Same floor. But on April 19 she had taken the day off.

  A random doctor’s appointment saved her life.

  Before she left for college, Jenna used to stop by Allison’s house once every few weeks. Jenna always had the feeling she was visiting with her mother. Never mind Allison’s brown skin and deep brown eyes. In the woman’s presence, Jenna was home.

  Back then they would share coffee and catch up on Jenna’s schoolwork and friendships and dreams. Usually they’d end up laughing about something, and then before Jenna would leave, the conversation would turn to Jenna’s mother.

  “It should’ve been me,” Allison would sometimes say as they hugged goodbye. “I wasn’t married. I didn’t have a little girl waiting at home.”

  “No.” Jenna would shake her head. “You can’t say that. No one should’ve died that day.”

  Now, Jenna had a clearer understanding. It was her parents’ time. They loved God. They believed in Jesus. They had gone home to heaven together. Period. Whenever she was tempted to doubt God or spiral into a whirlpool of whys, Jenna would remember Romans 8:28. The meaning stayed with her every day. In all things God works for the good of those who love Him. No matter what dark alley her thoughts sometimes took, that truth remained.

  God was working good out of what had happened.

  Even if sometimes Jenna didn’t see it.

  She kept the radio off as she drove. Her friendship with Allison Wessel was one good thing that had come from her parents’ death. The woman hadn’t believed in God before the bombing.

  Now she talked about Jesus like He was her personal friend.

  The connection between Jenna and Allison had returned the moment Jenna walked through the woman’s door. Allison had hugged her and looked long at her face. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too.” Jenna embraced her again.

  Allison’s kindness had made it possible for Jenna to come to Oklahoma at all. She wouldn’t have had enough money to stay in a hotel for more than a few days. But now she had all the time in the world.

  The whole summer.

  Which gave Jenna this day to see the memorial and then return to the hospital. She’d been there every day since getting into town. Brady was still in a coma. Because he had no next of kin, the doctor deemed it necessary to share Brady’s progress with her.

  His doctor had said Jenna was the only person other than his fellow firefighters and a sweet older couple who had been by. The only ones who had seemed to care.

  Brady had two broken legs and a fractured spine. His right calf and thigh were seriously burned and he’d been fighting pneumonia since he was admitted. His lungs seemed to be healing, so that was good. Apparently, his helmet had protected his face, but not necessarily his head.

  “Brain damage is possible,” the doctor had told her yesterday. “He may never wake up. These things are hard to diagnose until he’s conscious.”

  Jenna had decided to stop asking questions. Instead she spent most of her time at the hospital praying. Because only God knew what the future held for Brady Bradshaw.

  She reached the memorial and parked several rows from the front. The anniversary had happened nearly a month ago, but still the place was busy. Jenna had read about the fascination. Oklahomans came because they wanted to pay their respects. Make a statement that something like the bombing would never be ignored.

  The victims would never be forgotten.

  But it wasn’t just Oklahomans who made their way to the memorial. Some were like the woman Jenna had met at school, Ashley Blake. A visit here was part of a road trip or a spring break. Jenna sat in her car and stared at the gates. The towering walls that stood adjacent to each other at one end of the memorial.

  She wore her key today. The one with 9:03 engraved in it. Yes, healing had begun then. But healing could take a while, that was the thing.

  The past pressed in around her, pulling her from the car. She took a bag from her backseat, the one with her parents’ pictures and personal items. These were the reason she’d planned the trip, after all. She stepped out of the car.

  A cool breeze drifted over the parking lot. Jenna wore a long-sleeve lightweight sweater and dark jeans. A wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses would keep the moment private.

  Which was how she wanted it.

  Her first stop was her parents’ chairs and then she walked over to the Survivor Tree. Every step of the way she caught herself thinking not so much about her parents, but about the boy who had made her part of the club. At the bench next to the tree, Jenna sat and closed her eyes.

  Without her faith, she wouldn’t be here. It had been the biggest part of her healing.

  Run to Jesus, she had told herself over the years. Stop trying to live life without Him. And along the way, she had become a new person.

  Free. Whole. Ready to live again.

  Yes, she would always miss her parents. She would wonder why they had been called to heaven so soon. But she wasn’t angry with God. She loved Him.

  He was with her, every day of her life—even when she was mad at Him. And one day she would see her parents again.

  Jenna drew a quick breath. Had Brady ever returned to God? Was he still determined to keep his distance?

  She held a map of the memorial grounds, and she stared at it. There she saw something she’d missed the day she’d met Brady. On the east end of the memorial were several slabs of concrete from the original structure. Etched into them were the names of more than six hundred people who had been in the building and survived.

  Brady’s name. She had to find it. She walked closer, right near the gate that read 9:01. And there, in alphabetical order, were the names of those who—like the slabs of concrete—had withstood the blast.

  It took seconds to find his name.

  Lord, would you heal Brady, please? Breathe Your strength through him by the power of Your Holy Spirit. I can’t believe this is it for him. He needs You, Lord.

  He had lived through the most terrible thing once.

  He would live through it again. She had to believe it.

  On her way into the building, Jenna stopped
in the victims’ room. There she met up with a volunteer who took the items from her bag. Along with photos she gave the woman an engraved key chain from her parents’ fifth anniversary and the bookmark her mom had treasured, the one with the quote from Little Women. Her dad’s Bible and some dried flowers. An old penny dated the year her parents married.

  Small things, but still important.

  The lady assured Jenna that her parents’ memorabilia would be placed in two separate side-by-side glass boxes for visitors to see.

  “We’ll have it put together by the end of the week,” she said.

  Jenna looked again at their pictures and she could feel the memories come to life.

  She might’ve only been five years old, but she remembered them both. She could still hear her mother’s voice, feel her arms around her daddy’s neck. She could see their eyes, the way they looked into hers. Yes, she was glad she’d come today. Glad she’d brought the items for her parents’ part of the memorial. However sad, it was important that people know who Bill and Betsy Phillips were. Proof that her parents had lived and mattered. A way for everyone who passed by to see something of who they had been.

  Before she left, Jenna found the glass box for Sandra Bradshaw—Brady’s mother. Inside was a photo of a woman and a little boy—clearly the two of them. Next to it was what looked like a copy of a child’s drawing of the moon and stars. Beneath the image, in childish writing, the words To the Moon and Back—Brady Bradshaw—Age 5. Jenna felt her heart breaking.

  A final look at the other glass boxes and photos that lined the walls of the room and Jenna took a step back. God, remove me from this place. I’ve had all I can take. I want to be with Brady. She turned and walked back to her car. Something told her she needed to hurry, that her voice was important to him. Not just that, but her faith, too.

  Because if Brady ever needed God it was now.