To the Moon and Back

Andy pressed the heel of his shoe against a crack in the sidewalk. He looked at her, hope in his eyes for the first time that afternoon. “Really?”

  A quiet sigh drifted up from her aching heart. “You know why they pick on you, right?” Jenna took both his hands in hers, still at eye level with him.

  “Because they’re mean.” Andy looked so little. He was still so young, like all her students. They needed much love and care.

  “Yes.” Jenna waited for Andy to find her eyes again. “But the reason is because they’re unhappy. Very unhappy.”

  Andy tilted his head, like he hadn’t actually considered that. He managed the slightest smile. “It’s okay, Miss Jenna.” Andy let go of her hands and stood a little taller. “I have you. That’s all I need.”

  “Okay, then.” She smiled. God, don’t let him see my broken heart. Andy didn’t need sympathy. He needed people to believe in him. She kept her tone upbeat. “Tomorrow we’ll read my favorite book.”

  Andy’s eyes lit up just a bit. “To the Moon and Back?”

  “Yes!” She straightened and pushed his bangs out of his eyes. “Because that’s how much I love you.”

  “And that’s how much I love you, too.” He found his laugh again just as his grandpa pulled up.

  Jenna stood and watched him go. A deep satisfaction came over her. This was why she was a teacher. The kids who otherwise might fall through the cracks were the exact boys and girls God put in her path. And one day, if He was willing, she would have her own children. Until then, Jenna had Andy and another twenty-two kids to call her own.

  At least until summer.

  Andy’s words stayed with her as she reported the incident to her principal and later as she drove home to her town house and ate dinner from her Crock-Pot. The principal had promised to deal with the students responsible. Even so, Jenna would do a better job looking out for Andy. His words played in her heart again. And that’s how much I love you, too.

  Sweet boy.

  Music made Jenna’s beef stew and butternut squash dinner less lonely. Tonight it was Colton Dixon’s latest album. She could’ve eaten with someone else. A group of her teacher friends, maybe. Three of them were single like she was. Sometimes they shared meals together, planning for the school week and swapping stories about their students. But tonight Jenna wanted to be alone. Finally, after dinner, it was time to do what she’d wanted to do all day. What she’d planned to do.

  Find a quiet place and remember.

  • • •

  THE SECOND FLOOR of her home had a back deck. Not very big. Just a couple chairs and a small table. But from there Jenna had a view better than any place in Columbus.

  Trees grew behind her condo. Over them, the sky stretched on to eternity, and tonight the stars were brighter than usual. “That’s so like You, God,” she whispered. “Giving me a sky like this. Just when I need it.”

  She sat in one of the chairs and looked at the moon. It was only a sliver, the reason the stars were so clear. She stayed still for a moment, taking in the view. Her mother had loved the stars, so the backdrop was perfect for remembering. Which was something she did often. But it was different on the anniversary.

  More intentional.

  Jenna wasn’t in the Alfred P. Murrah Building when the bomb went off. She was at her grandmother’s house. The way she always was on Wednesday mornings.

  Both her parents worked in the building, on separate floors. Jenna wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or an actual memory, but she could picture her mom talking to her grandma about watching Jenna before and after school.

  “If she can be with you, that’ll always be better.” Her mom had stood beside Jenna just inside the front door of her grandmother’s house. “She loves you so much, Mama.”

  In the memory, Jenna was five. Not in kindergarten yet. So little. The images took shape. Her mom was dropping her off before heading to work, and Jenna could see herself, reddish-blond pigtails, pink bows at the end of each, grinning at her grandmother. “I love Grammy’s house.”

  So the decision had always been an easy one, apparently. Jenna would stay with her grandmother while her parents were at work. At the end of the day, her mom would pick her up and the two of them would run errands or stop by the library. They’d go home and read or finger-paint or color. And then Jenna would help her mother make dinner.

  The whole time—through every wonderful activity—her mom would talk to her about Jesus. “The reason we’re here, Jenna, is because God loves us so much.”

  “That’s why He sent Jesus, right, Mommy?”

  “Right, baby girl.”

  Jenna had another favorite memory. It wasn’t clear like it used to be, but the important details were there, safe in the most sacred room of her soul. It was almost bedtime and her mom was reading to her. And she could see her mommy’s green eyes, see the smile on her face and hear her voice. “I love you to the moon and back, precious daughter.” Her mother’s face was forever etched in Jenna’s mind. Then and now, Jenna thought the same thing: Her mom was the prettiest woman in the world.

  Later, Jenna’s grandma would tell her that she looked like her mama. Jenna believed it. The picture in her heart was a lot like the one she saw in the mirror each morning.

  Another memory came into view. They were making meatloaf, and Jenna was using her clean hands to work in the bread crumbs. Her mom said something about having meat fingers and suddenly both of them were laughing. Just Jenna and her mom, working in the kitchen side by side, laughing about their meat fingers.

  Jenna had a new nightgown that night. A gift from her grandmother. And Jenna’s mom was helping take off the tags and slipping it over Jenna’s head, kissing her forehead. “Sweetheart, look at you! You’re more beautiful than any princess who ever lived!”

  And in that moment, Jenna could do nothing but believe her. “Princess Jenna, Mommy.” She twirled around in the kitchen. “That’s me.”

  Just then, her daddy came into the room. He was tall and blond and handsome. Her mom used to say he looked like Captain America. Sometimes Jenna liked to pretend that was her daddy’s real job. Captain America. But by day he worked as a supervisor in the social services department of the government. There were times the accounting kept him late at work. Nights like this one, preserved forever in Jenna’s heart.

  Her dad dropped his briefcase and his mouth fell open. “Princess Jenna!” He bowed. “I had no idea I was stepping into the presence of royalty!” Her dad had an imagination bigger than the state of Oklahoma. “Your Highness, I request the honor of giving you a piggyback ride!”

  Giggles overcame Jenna and she twirled over to her daddy’s arms. He swept her up and onto his shoulders. Then he galloped her around the living room and kitchen until she was laughing too hard to breathe. He was her royal stallion, and she was princess of all the land.

  She could never know if that was the night before the bombing or not. But it was close. Sometime during their last week. Jenna knew because they had gone to the zoo that weekend. Her grandma always told her the story. How her dad had Saturday work to do, but he said it could wait. The weather was nice and he wanted to take Jenna to the zoo.

  Jenna’s grandma had gone, too. She took pictures. The ones Jenna kept in a book by her bed. Proof that she’d had the most wonderful parents and that they had spent their last weekend on earth with her. Watching lions and tigers and laughing at the long-necked giraffes.

  Like always, at 8:30 the morning of April 19, Jenna’s mom dropped her off at her grandmother’s house, just a few blocks away. And like every morning, Jenna’s mom got down on her level and kissed her cheek. Then she put her hands on both sides of Jenna’s face and they rubbed noses.

  “How much do I love you?” Her mom’s eyes had sparkled that day. At least that’s the way Jenna recalled them.

  “To the moon and back.” Jenna remembered smiling. Remembered thinking that her mommy must be queen of the whole building where she worked.

  Half an hour
later Jenna was still at her grandma’s when something happened. A call came in and when her grandma answered it, she suddenly let out the loudest cry. Like someone had kicked her leg. That’s what Jenna thought at the time. She could still see her grandma’s face, the look of raw terror.

  Jenna got up from the couch and backed as far away as she could, until her feet bumped into the wall. Her grandmother rushed to the TV and turned it on. And the news filled the screen, fire and smoke and people crying out.

  Then in an instant, her grandma seemed to remember Jenna. She gasped and turned off the television. “Jenna!” And suddenly Jenna was in her grandma’s arms. “I’m sorry, Jenna . . . I’m sorry. We need to pray, baby.”

  We need to pray.

  They were the words Jenna remembered most from that morning. Her next memories were a blur. All except the funeral. Two caskets. And more tears than any princess should ever have to cry.

  That day Princess Jenna died.

  In her place was a little girl whose mommy would never hold her again, whose daddy would never give her a piggyback ride. She was just Jenna after that.

  The memories faded. A cool breeze seemed to heighten the bright stars, making the night feel special. Which it was. The anniversary always felt different. Like God was meeting her in this place. The memories weren’t too sad or painful. They were beautiful. All she had of the parents she loved so much.

  Jenna narrowed her eyes and tried again to see back to that time. Her parents had been on different floors, but they had gone home to heaven together that morning. And Jenna had moved in with her grandmother, where she stayed until she left for college. Jenna’s grandpa had been dead for a decade by then. And in Jenna’s sophomore year, her grandma passed, too.

  No matter how distant Jenna grew from God after her parents died, she never told her grandmother. Through middle school and high school Jenna went with her grandma to church and together they read the Bible every Sunday afternoon.

  Jenna knew the answer to every Christian question. But the whole time she didn’t want anything to do with God. He could’ve spared her parents, but He didn’t. Didn’t He know? Jenna needed her parents far more than He did. Her parents were praying people, people who believed in Him. So why hadn’t He answered them?

  For Jenna, the answer was obvious: God didn’t love her.

  That’s what she told herself, anyway. It wasn’t until college that Jenna attended church with a friend. The message that day was about why bad things happen to good people. Jenna would always remember the pastor’s words. “God isn’t the reason bad things happen. He’s the rescue.”

  God was the rescue.

  It was something Jenna hadn’t considered. After that, something changed in her heart. She began to see things differently. Her heart softened and she realized the pastor was right. God wasn’t the cause of her loss. He was the solution. Because of Him, Jenna would see her parents again one day.

  She moved to Columbus after graduation, where the teaching job at Martin Luther King Junior Elementary was her first. By then she was even closer to God, so when her church hosted a financial planning meeting, Jenna attended. That’s when she met Dan Davis. International businessman. Financial entrepreneur. They had their first date that Friday. Six months later they were married.

  In the beginning they attended church together, and Dan seemed to believe in God the way she did. She made an assumption that would haunt her later. She figured since she’d met Dan at church, he must be a Christian. He must want to live his life according to the Bible. Looking back, she could see that every conversation they ever had about faith was started by her.

  They celebrated their first anniversary with news that she was pregnant. She was ten weeks along when she miscarried. In the months after that loss, Jenna would spend hours reading her Bible, memorizing Scripture. She would cry out to God and He would remind her of His promises.

  Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. . . . Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

  And so many others.

  Dan said something to her during that time that should’ve alerted her to what was coming. He walked into their bedroom and found her in the rocking chair reading the Bible. He stopped and lowered his brow. “Really, Jenna? The Bible? Again?” He laughed, but the sound was mean. “You need more books.”

  She looked at him, trying to figure out if he was kidding. “Dan . . . I couldn’t get through this if I didn’t read the Bible.”

  “Sure, but you’ve read it.” He laughed again. “Three times, right?”

  Concern came over her even before she knew what was coming. “It’s not like that . . . With the Bible, it’s different. It’s like God’s talking to me.” She paused. Dan should’ve understood that. “It’s alive and real.”

  He looked at her for a long few seconds, and then he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  That was it . Suit yourself. He didn’t ask what she was struggling with. He didn’t tell her he was sorry about the miscarriage, and he didn’t ask why the Bible spoke to her so deeply. Just Suit yourself.

  Sometimes she would try to talk to Dan about her miscarriage and even about losing her parents. Especially when the losses built and grew in her heart until she could barely breathe. Dan would usually change the subject. Death and loss made him uncomfortable. When Jenna felt like crying, Dan always found other places to be.

  Eventually those places involved other women.

  A week before their second anniversary, Dan announced that he was moving to London. A better job, he told her. But the next week he expanded on that. He didn’t want to be married anymore. Didn’t want the possibility of more babies. Didn’t want to be a father. Jenna nearly suffocated from the shock, but she couldn’t fall apart completely.

  She had her job and her students. She had the strength of God.

  Dan left three days later and Jenna never heard from him again. Once he was gone, she drove to Lake Michigan for a weekend. To clear her head and her heart. And there, on a beach chair overlooking the water, Jenna made a promise to God. Never again would she marry a man who didn’t share her faith.

  The promise was as much for her as it was for God. She would rather be single than raise a family with a man who couldn’t understand why she read her Bible. She wanted a man who would read the Bible with her.

  Period.

  But a year passed and then two more, and she remained single. Guys would cross her path, but none of them shared her faith. When she’d find out that they had no interest in going to church, she would move on.

  Because she absolutely would not consider breaking her promise to God.

  And so she had figured a way to make a life for herself alone. With a small inheritance from her grandmother and her teaching salary she got along just fine. She was even ready to visit the memorial again—something she hadn’t done since the year she met Brady.

  This summer she would make the drive to Oklahoma City. That was the plan.

  She had a reason. Each victim of the bombing had a glass box for mementos in a designated room at the memorial museum. A worker at the memorial had told Jenna that her parents’ boxes currently had only their black-and-white photos from the news accounts that day. Nothing more. Jenna wanted to do something about that. So she had gathered copies of several of her parents’ photos and letters. Items she could laminate and take to the memorial.

  Besides, Jenna had avoided the memorial long enough. This coming summer it would be time. Proof that Jenna was moving forward. Getting on with her life. Ready to distance herself from all things Oklahoma City Bombing. That’s how she felt. Or at least it was how she usually felt. Every day except today, when all she wanted to do was find the one person on earth who truly understood her.

  Brady.

  Only then
could she see if he had made peace with God, the way she had. A month ago when she finalized her plans to drive to Oklahoma City, she began to pray for Brady, asking God to let their paths cross. Even for one more day. So she could see if he was okay. If he believed again.

  It was the reason she had bought the Giving Key. The reason she had it engraved with the numbers that represented her life. Her journey of faith. She wasn’t stuck at the moment of the bombing. She had moved on. Tragedy and loss didn’t define her. Her personalized key was a constant reminder of her healing.

  Her life after the tragedy.

  It was a key she would give Brady, if she ever saw him again. Whether he was still running away from God or not. The key could at least remind Brady that God wanted his return. Because Brady was the only other person in her world who would understand the numbers on the key, and the healing they represented. Jenna ran her thumb over the etching. It was the only thing she could’ve engraved on the key.

  9:03.

  8

  A shley mustn’t have explained the situation right, because Landon wanted nothing to do with contacting Brady Bradshaw. Even if the stranger was a firefighter.

  When Landon and Ryan had come back to the hotel, they’d dropped the younger kids off with the older cousins. Then both men had listened to Ashley talk about what had happened. How the stranger at the fence had seemed so upset.

  Like he could barely breathe for the weight of his losses. Whatever they were.

  “I thought you might want to reach out to him.” Ashley had finished the story and taken Landon’s hand. “Maybe we could help him find the girl. Jenna.”

  Landon had stared at her for a long moment, like he was waiting for the punch line in a not-very-funny joke. “You’re not serious, Ash.”

  Across the room, Kari had shrugged in Ashley’s direction. “I tried to tell you.”

  Ryan had seemed completely confused. “You want Landon to reach out to some guy he doesn’t know and offer to help him find a girl none of us has ever met?”

  When he put it that way, Ashley felt ridiculous. “Never mind.” She’d let the idea go for then. “You’re right.”