“Landon!” She was in his arms like that, pulling him to his feet and holding on to him as if they’d been apart for a month. “Are you serious?” Her tears were happy for the first time in what felt like forever.
“I am.” His tone softened, and there wasn’t a hint of anything but sincerity. “I’m ready to raise her as my own daughter.” He kissed Ashley once more, and she felt herself getting lost in his arms, the closeness of him. “You were wrong what you said earlier. About it never being easy to love you.” He brushed his face against hers and kissed her ear, her cheek, her lips. “It’s been an adventure, Ash. It always will be.” He leaned back and took hold of her shoulders. “If God takes Erin home, if He leaves Amy alone, then you and I will raise her and love her and be here for her — same as if she were our own little girl.”
Ashley studied him, tears streaming down her face. “I … don’t know what to say.”
“Say you love me.” Landon looked lost in her eyes, the same way she felt about his. Again he brushed his cheek against hers and kissed her.
When they came up for air, Ashley put her hands on either side of his face. “I love you, Landon Blake. Even before I was willing to admit it to myself, I loved you.” She kissed him again. “I’ve always loved you. All my life.”
It was true. But here she was pretty sure she’d never loved him more. She thought about the times when the hospital waiting room vigils were for him, and all she could think, all she could manage to utter in the recesses of her soul was a cry of gratitude to God. And at the same time a plea. Because in His very great mercy —though life was His to give and take — the Lord had given Landon his health back, and helped him find a way to fight his lung disease.
He had given her Landon.
Standing there in his arms, she felt convinced that God would grant them long life together — something she prayed for every night. For now and for the years ahead. She clung to him, her body needing his. Let us live, Lord … please. Protect us and bless us with long life, that we might grow old together. So that we can impact Cole and Devin and Janessa.
And maybe even Amy Elizabeth.
Let heaven wait awhile longer, Father, so that we can be a light for the Baxter family, a light for our nieces and nephews and one day for our own grandkids.
Landon nuzzled his face against hers. “What are you thinking?” He tightened the hold he had on her, swaying with her, needing the life here in this moment as badly as she did.
“You. Me.” She smiled at him, even while new tears blurred her eyes. “That God would let us live a long, long time. And even then,” her lips touched his, “it wouldn’t be long enough.”
“No. It would never be enough.” He crossed the room, flipped off the light switch and returned to her. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her gently to their bed. And for the next hour — despite their exhaustion — with everything in them they remembered what it was to truly love, even in a week seeped in death. Through passion and tears and the need they had for each other, they did the one thing they could do in light of the loss they’d suffered that week.
They celebrated life.
Twenty
JOHN HATED THE SAMENESS OF THEIR ROUTINE, THE WAY THEY woke up each morning and spent precious little time with the living, only to head off to the hospital and wait for death. That’s what it felt like by the time Wednesday rolled around. A waiting game for death.
That morning was a little different. After having Cheerios with Devin and Tommy and Malin, John shared a cup of coffee on the front porch with Elaine, and he prepared to do something else he’d been dreading.
Make the call to Clear Creek Church and schedule the funeral.
The morgue had been holding the bodies of Sam, Clarissa, Chloe, and Heidi Jo, pending notification about arrangements for a memorial. But there was so much more to arrange than that. Kari and Reagan had promised to pull together a memorial, but they all wanted to wait and see what happened with Erin today.
If … if she didn’t make it, then everyone agreed they’d rather bury them together. The whole family except Amy Elizabeth. If Kari and Reagan planned the service, then John could take care of today’s business. Before he called the church, he called the caretaker at the local cemetery, the place where Elizabeth and Ashley’s little Sarah were buried. John had bought several plots when he purchased Elizabeth’s.
At the time the guy had promised not to sell the plots adjacent to theirs, in case the day came when he needed more in the years to come. This was that day.
Elaine finished her coffee and gave him a half smile. “I think I’ll go in with the kids.”
He understood. Clearly John might want to be alone in a moment like this, when he would have to talk about his first wife and her cemetery plot and the reality of the funerals yet ahead. He squeezed her hand as she left and then turned his attention to the job ahead.
In the end, the task was simpler than he had thought. People who worked at cemeteries and churches and funeral homes knew how to handle the process of death. John was grateful. The caretaker at the cemetery sold John an additional ten plots — bringing the total to fifteen.
“Again, I’ve got another dozen plots you could pick up if you need to.”
The man didn’t mean to sound crass, but John closed his eyes at the thought. “I hope … it’s a long time before you hear from me.”
“Yes. That’s what I mean … just want you to know you’ve got room.”
“Thank you.” John brushed off the sick feeling as he ended the call. So that was that. They could all be buried near Elizabeth. Far too many of his family members, memorialized in the same small section of grass just outside Bloomington. He breathed in deep, filled his lungs with the fresh summer air and faint smell of Elizabeth’s roses.
He wondered about the reunion she must be having even at this moment. She loved her kids and grandkids so much. When little Sarah died of anencephaly the whole family found comfort in the fact that the baby would have her loving grandmother to hold her in heaven. He smiled despite his teary eyes. Now it would be a party up there.
His energy waned as he placed the call to the church and Mark Atteberry took his call. “We’re praying, John. Around the clock. Literally.”
“We can feel it.” John narrowed his eyes, staring past the back porch to the rose garden. Elizabeth had loved those flowers. I hope she has a rose garden up there, Lord. Please … let her have a rose garden. He blinked and tried to focus on what Mark was saying. “The prayer chain. Yes, thank you for that.” He explained that they needed a service. Maybe as early as Saturday — especially since Dayne and Katy might need to leave on Sunday. Dayne had a movie he was involved in that started principle photography in Santa Monica that Monday.
“The thing is, I’m not sure about Erin.” John hated saying it. He felt like he was betraying her somehow, the way he’d felt when he gave up believing in a miracle for Brooke’s daughter, Hayley. But the reality remained. “They tell us she doesn’t have long.”
“Let’s do this. We’ll get things going. Let’s assume it’s Saturday. You keep in touch and let us know if things change.”
John thanked him and with that he headed back into the house.
It was time to go to the hospital.
JOHN ARRIVED BEFORE THE OTHERS, AND he sat alone in the waiting room except for a woman sitting by herself a few seats down. She was reading a Bible. When John walked in she looked up and smiled and nodded, and he did the same.
Something about her looked familiar, but John couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen her before. The woman was tall and slender, blue eyes and blonde hair and probably about his age. After a few minutes she closed her Bible. “Are you John Baxter?”
“I am.” He narrowed his eyes. “I feel like I should know you.”
“I’m Elizabeth Larsen. My daughter went to school with your son Luke.”
Now he remembered her. They’d served on a few parent committees together. The woman was kin
d and helpful, a great asset to any project from what he recalled.
A shadow fell over her eyes. “I heard about your accident. My daughter works here as a nurse, so I thought … I figured I’d come sit in the waiting room and pray.” She looked at her watch. “I’m leaving in a few minutes. I’ve been here since seven this morning. Praying for your family.”
Again John felt the tears in his eyes. How amazing that a woman who hadn’t spoken with them in years would feel compelled to come here and pray. He waited until he could find his voice. “Thank you, Elizabeth. We certainly feel your prayers. They mean more than you know.”
They talked for a few minutes about the condition of Erin and her family, and then, as she said, her daughter got off work and the two of them left. But even after they were gone, the sweet presence of the woman and her very deep faith remained. Proof that even in the darkest times, God cared about them.
And in this moment He must’ve wanted John to know.
The others arrived, and they met at the same two tables, and again John was grateful for the privacy of this waiting room. There were others associated with the ICU — all of them small and intended to give families moments like this. But still, there were times when other people had been in there with them. People like Elizabeth Larsen. As touching as John’s moment with her had been, he was glad they were alone now.
Yesterday Luke had done his job, explaining the legal mess they might face if they lost Erin. Today, in light of the assignment Luke had given them, they needed to talk about who would take Amy. John had already told Luke that this meeting was one he would lead.
“I want to tell you all how much I love you.” John folded his hands and looked at his kids, oldest to youngest, at the love and depth in their eyes, at the way they cared so deeply. “You’ve always been there for me and, before she died, for your mother. You’ve always been there for each other.”
Around the table he saw movement, and when he realized what was happening he felt the first catch in his voice. First Ashley and Kari and then gradually each of them joined hands, creating an undivided circle as they came together for what would inevitably be one of their most serious family moments ever.
“I’m proud of you.” John tried to stay strong, but when tears filled his voice he didn’t fight them. “We raised you to remember that you are Baxters, and that in this community that means something. But you … each of you … far exceeded that meaning. I want you to know that. I couldn’t be more proud.”
Several of them were crying softly now, the reality of what had happened over the last few days finally hitting some of them, the ones who didn’t cry as easily like Landon and Ryan and Brooke and Peter. John ignored his tears, and he felt a new sort of strength fill his being. God was carrying him. The truth was freeing. He felt the weight of his next words before he even spoke them. “I’m assuming you’ve prayed about little Amy, about which of you might be able to take her.”
He pulled his Bible from his bag and set it on the table. With ease and familiarity he opened it to Lamentations. “Before any of you respond, I want to read this. You all know it, but I read it again this morning and it reminded me that death will never win. Not in the end.” He flipped to Lamentations 3:22 – 23. “Because of the LORD’S great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
The Scripture settled in around the hearts and hands gathered at the table. He felt the words hit their mark for each of them, reminding them of the truth. Death would never have the last word.
“Listen.” His tone was intense and kind, and he could feel that his eyes were, too. “There isn’t one of you here who wouldn’t do this. Each of you, all of you would say yes. But there’s a right answer here at this table. If you’ve prayed about it, let’s get that answer out so we can move forward.”
Landon drew a sharp breath. “Ashley and I are ready to take her. We feel we could adopt her and raise her as our own.”
Kari covered her face with her hands, her tears instant. At first John wondered if maybe his second oldest daughter might have come to the same conclusion. But Ryan cleared up the situation. “We didn’t feel we could do it. But we were willing. We prayed someone would respond quickly when we got together this morning. That would be our answer.”
Luke and Reagan nodded, their relief evident. “Same here.”
Around the table the response was the same, and not until they’d all added their comments did John realize something. His tears had stopped. Their family had come together at yet another tremendously difficult moment, and John had proof once more that everything was going to be okay. They would hold each other up and help each other out and when one of them was without a home, someone would offer theirs. The way Ashley and Landon had stepped up this morning. They would live again and they would love again and they would keep their faith.
Because they were the Baxter family.
And because God’s mercies really were new every morning.
ERIN WAS WORSE, AND THE MOMENT the meeting was finished John returned to Erin’s bedside. The others were there, too. They’d been told that Amy wouldn’t come out of her coma until the next day, so for now all their attention was on Erin. Their precious Erin.
John took the spot at the top of her bed, his hand on her pillow, stroking her hair the way he had done when she was a baby. Erin was their last little girl, and she’d always been young. Young in actions and young at heart, and young in her willingness to spend time with her parents. When she was five or six, she would come sit on the floor in front of wherever John was sitting.
“French braid my hair, Daddy. Please?” She’d hand him a hair tie and turn so her long blonde hair hung straight down her back.
It started off as something silly, but John became good at it. He mastered the ability to take three sections of Erin’s hair from the top of her head and add to each section while braiding the pieces together. He remembered the last time she had him braid her hair.
She was twelve years old and she skipped in and sat on the floor in front of him. “I’m playing a prairie girl in a skit tomorrow, Daddy.” She grinned over her shoulder at him. “Could you French braid my hair today? One last time?”
By then it had been a couple years since he’d done that, so he knew she was right. This would be the last time, and it was. John wondered what he would give now to have the chance for one more day back then, back when she was whole and alive and could run into the house with childlike abandon wanting nothing more than for her father to braid her hair.
Her blood pressure was lower now, her brain activity almost nonexistent. Dr. Hazel was right. She should have left them yesterday. Somehow he believed she was holding on for some specific reason. He figured it had something to do with Amy Elizabeth.
Another conversation came to mind, one he had with Erin just a week ago over Skype. They were talking and Amy Elizabeth had run up and climbed into her mother’s lap. “Braid my hair, please, Mommy.”
Erin had simply looked into the screen and laughed. “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”
John had laughed, too, because at the time there was no reason to be sad. They all felt like they had forever ahead of them. Erin began braiding Amy’s hair and even told her daughter that her papa was a better braider than her. “He used to braid my hair when I was your age.”
“Really?” Amy was squirmy. She giggled at the thought of her papa braiding her hair, and the moment Erin finished the girl was off and running.
John ran his hand over Erin’s still head again. How could she be leaving him? His baby girl … none of it was supposed to end this way. He pictured her with her girls at their last Fourth of July picnic, the happy way she looked and the friendship she had found with her sisters and brothers. For so many years Erin hadn’t felt like she fit in. But she did now.
She did.
One at a time the others came in. They told Erin they loved her and that they’d see her when
it was their turn to come home. It wasn’t that it was too late to pray for a miracle, but they wanted their last words to be meaningful. Not ignorant of God’s plan at work before them. If He was taking their sister home, they wanted to say good-bye.
Ashley was the last in the room. By then, Erin’s breathing was raspier, more shallow. A transplant team had already been called in to harvest Erin’s organs. A woman with two young children an hour away was slated to get her heart. It was the sort of detail John only knew because he had worked at the hospital for so many years.
“Hi.” Ashley came up alongside her dad. “How is she?”
“She’s leaving us.” John leaned in and kissed Erin’s cheek. “It’s okay, baby. I know you need to leave. It’s okay.”
“I’m glad she’s still here.” Ashley was crying, but her voice was strong. “I have … some things I need to tell her.”
John nodded and took a half step back. “Is it okay if I stay?”
Ashley smiled through her tears. “Definitely.” She moved in close and took hold of her sister’s hand. “Erin … I have some things I should’ve told you last time I was in here. But … I couldn’t find the words.”
John watched, waiting. He hadn’t known this was coming.
Ashley sniffed and used her shoulder to wipe her tears. “The thing is, Erin, I wasn’t always the best sister. And I’ve thought about that a lot lately.”
This wasn’t what John was expecting at all. He crossed the room, found a tissue, and slipped it into Ashley’s free hand. She thanked him with her eyes and dried her cheeks and nose. “I know we’re good now, me and you. Our last talk was … it was beautiful. I couldn’t wait to see you. Really.” She waited, searching her sister’s face as if maybe somehow she would open her eyes and respond. One more time.
Ashley leaned a little closer. “The problem is … I never said sorry. The way I acted back when … when I came home from Paris? That was my fault. I was jealous, Erin. I wanted what you and Mom shared, and I was so far from it.” She dabbed her tears again. “I didn’t know what to do, so I was mean. Very mean.” She scrunched her face, and fought a series of sobs. “I wish … I wish we could go back. You and me. Just have one more time together when we were that young. So I could tell you how much I love you.” She held the tissue to her eyes for a few seconds.