The night had been amazing. All five of them had talked and cried and told funny stories about the years they’d missed until finally her dad was too tired to last another minute. Her mother walked him to their room, and Emily stayed up talking with Lauren and Shane until just a few minutes ago. After so many years, none of them could get enough of each other.
Now it was after midnight, and she and Shane and Emily were heading upstairs to tell Emily good night.
“Can I ask you something?” A smile played on Emily’s lips, as they reached the top of the stairs and she looked at the two of them standing together. “I always used to wonder what it would be like to have my parents tuck me in. You know, like other kids.” Her eyes were dry, but her tone rang with sincerity. “Would you do that? Please?”
Lauren’s heart sang. She felt honored her daughter would even ask. Emily was no longer a child, after all. How wonderful that she didn’t feel too old to still be a kid around them. She tugged on Emily’s sweater sleeve. “You lead the way.”
And so the three of them trucked down the hall to Emily’s room, Lauren and Shane a few steps behind. Shane held her hand, and the sensation stirred countless emotions in her. How often had she dreamed of this, the normalcy of such a moment? That she and Shane might be heading upstairs to bid their daughter good night, the way real families did.
Emily slipped into her bathroom to put on her pajamas, leaving Lauren and Shane standing near the doorway. He slid his arms around her waist, and she let him draw her close. No matter how long she looked at him, she couldn’t get enough. It was as though they’d never been apart. All evening they’d sat close together, and she could hardly think for the way Shane’s fingers felt linked with hers.
It was the same way now, in his arms. She came to him willingly. Time had done nothing to dim the desire between them, that much was certain. “Can you believe we’re here?” His voice was low, his breath soft against her cheek. He nuzzled his face against hers. “You feel so good, Lauren.”
“I used to fall asleep each night wishing . . . ” She traced her finger along his collarbone. “Wishing I’d wake up in the morning and you’d be there beside me. That we were married and together.” She dragged her hand through the air beside them. “Like all this would just be a terrible nightmare.”
“Mmm.” He breathed in near the nape of her neck and then drew back enough to meet her eyes again. “We should’ve had a lifetime of that by now.” He lifted his hands to her face and worked his fingers into her hairline. A low groan came from him. “It kills me to think of all we missed.”
The bathroom door opened, and Shane pulled back. He took hold of Lauren’s hand, but he hit the light switch and Lauren could see him grinning at both of them in the dark. “Okay, young lady, time for bed.”
Emily giggled and padded past them in her socks. Then she climbed in between the covers and pulled them up near her chin. “Can you pray with me? That’s part of tucking in.”
Lauren shifted, but tried not to show her discomfort. She’d considered God an enemy since she got the news that Emily was dead, since she’d driven away from Chicago that terrible day. Faith belonged to the rest of them, not her. It wasn’t something she wanted, either. If there was a God, He had let them lose a lifetime together. Why Emily and Shane cared for such a God, she didn’t understand.
Still she wasn’t about to resist. This wasn’t a debate on theology. She let Shane lead her to the side of Emily’s bed. Suddenly the full extent of what was happening hit her square in the heart. She was saying good night to her daughter — the baby girl she’d thought was dead! She was sitting next to her in a dark room, getting one of her first chances to be Emily’s mom. She sat on the edge of the mattress and ran her fingers through Emily’s bangs. Next to her Shane’s quiet voice rang out clear and confident, full of a faith Lauren had stopped believing in years ago.
“Dear God, we’re here tonight because You allow edit.” He drew a deep breath. “I thought I’d live my life never finding either of these two, but You — You brought us together. We pray Emily will sleep well, and that tomorrow we’ll all wake up and find that it’s really happening, that it’s not just a wonderful dream.” He hesitated, and his tone grew heavier. “Help us not to be angry or sad over all we’ve lost. But help us celebrate what You’ve given us today. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Shane leaned down and kissed Emily on the cheek. “Good night, Emily.” He tapped the tip of her nose. “Thank you.”
She smiled, and the little girl she must’ve been shone in her eyes. “For what?”
“For letting God use you.” He stood and headed for the doorway.
It was Lauren’s turn. She looked down at Emily and once more brushed her thumb across her daughter’s forehead. “I remember the last time I did this.”
“At the hospital?” Emily rolled onto her side so they could see each other better.
“Mmm-hmm. You were so sick, so hot. I sat there next to your bed and I did this. I touched your forehead, begging God to let you live, to bring you back to me.”
Emily searched her eyes. “Don’t you see, Mom?”
“See what?”
“He answered your prayers.” She gave a little shrug. “Here we are, just like you asked.”
A lump lodged in her throat, but her words found their way around it. “I like your attitude, Miss Emily. I’m proud to be your mother.” She leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. Then she whispered, “Good night, sweet daughter. I love you.” The words felt wonderful on her lips. “I can’t say it enough.”
“Love you too.”
Shane was waiting for her out in the hallway. Without saying a word he eased his fingers between hers again and led her back down the stairs to the living room. Gentle flames danced in the fireplace, and through the oversized picture window it was snowing.
He turned out the lights, and when they reached a spot near the fireplace, he stopped and tugged her into his arms again. “Hi.” He brushed his cheek against hers, holding her with a gentle firmness.
“Hi.” Panic tried to interrupt the moment. Were they going to talk or was it just assumed that they would start up again where they’d left off?
“Here we are.” He searched her eyes . . . Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to? She swallowed. Her knees were weak and her heart was racing hard. Of course she wanted him to kiss her. But was it right, when they hadn’t talked yet?
Before she could answer her own questions, he began humming a James Taylor song, one that had been their favorite the year she got pregnant. Slowly, and with his eyes still locked on hers, he swayed her in a dance that made her head spin. She felt herself being sucked in, pulled to a place where she wouldn’t ever want anything but the feeling of his arms around her.
What little resistance she’d brought with her to Chicago melted like the snowflakes hitting the window outside. Maybe they didn’t have to talk, not yet. This was what she’d wanted all those years, wasn’t it? A chance to be in Shane Galanter’s arms again, alone in a dark room with just the sound of a fire crackling in the background.
Their swaying slowed and he brought his hands to her face. In an unhurried, barely controlled way, he worked his fingers into her hair again and brushed his lips against her cheek. “I never stopped loving you.”
“Me neither.” She breathed in the scent of him — his warm breath, his fresh shampoo and cologne. He smelled wonderful. The day had already been so emotional, and now this. Their eyes held, and she knew. It was going to happen.
His lips found hers first, and he left the lightest kiss there. “Lauren . . . don’t ever let go.”
“I won’t.” Her heart was talking now. This time she found his lips and kissed him the way she was dying to. Full and slow and with a lifetime of bottled-up passion. His arms tightened around her, and they swayed every now and then, and after a few minutes they made their way up against the wall closest to the window.
The air between them changed, and she fe
lt the same trembling in his body that was moving over her. Shane pulled back first, pursing his lips and exhaling hard. His eyes blazed with desire, mirroring the feelings that had to show in her face as well.
“Okay.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. He let her go and crossed the living room where he sat at one end of the sofa. “Looks like some things haven’t changed.”
She let her arms hang at her sides and she shook them. No one made her feel the way Shane did. She grinned at him through the dim light of the fire. “No, some things definitely haven’t changed.” He was waiting for her, so she crossed the room and sat afoot away from him. A little space would be good right now.
Something he’d said made her wonder. Maybe she wasn’t the only one afraid of sorting through the years and taking a harder look at who they’d become. She ran her finger down his forearm. “Did you mean — ” her voice was kind — “that some things have changed?”
His expression gave him away. He looked down but only for an instant. When his eyes found hers again, he gave her a sad smile. “I know who you are, Lauren Gibbs.”
“Lauren Gibbs?” She lowered her chin. How much did he know? She kept her tone light, not wanting to lose what they’d found in the past hour. “Does my fighter pilot read Time magazine?”
The sorrow in his face deepened. “He does.”
An awful feeling crept into the moment. A year ago she’d written an article stating that Iraqi residents had no respect for American fighter pilots. She’d quoted one man saying, “They are the epitome of the ugly American. Cowards afraid to face their enemies. Flying overhead and destroying our towns and villages, our homes and neighborhoods with the push of a button.”
The article included a brief paragraph detailing a response from the air force and another from the navy, rhetoric about how air strikes were actually more humane because the targets could be pinpointed within a few feet. Had he seen that story? She had the awful feeling that he had. She sighed. “You saw my piece on fighter pilots?”
He brushed his knuckles against her cheek, the love in his eyes still strong. “It was posted at the base for six months.” He chuckled. “Just about every fighter pilot wrote a rebuttal. Last time I checked, your story was pretty well surrounded.”
She groaned and let her head fall back against the sofa. “Shane . . . ” She sat straight again searching his eyes. “How did you wind up on the wrong side of this war?”
He took her hand and in the smoothest sensation he brought it to his lips and kissed it. “The question is — ” his voice held no accusation; only the same love from earlier that night — “how did you?”
His words placed a thin line between them. “Shane, just for a minute forget all your naval air training.” She was careful not to sound hard or sarcastic. “You’re a Christian.”
“I am.” His kindness didn’t waver.
“So Jesus taught about peace, right? He came to bring us peace.”
“Actually, He came to bring us life.” Shane’s words were slow, easy. His eyes still held hers and his tone was relaxed. “Life to the fullest measure.”
“Okay, good.” She bit her lip. “If He came to bring us life, then how can you be part of a war that kills people?”
“Lauren.” He ran his fingers along her forearm. “Conflict has been around since Cain and Abel. For most of time people have fought wars, lots of them with God’s approval.”
She could feel her blood pressure rising. “Okay.” She breathed out, “How can you support a God who would want war? Innocent people killed?” She sat straighter, putting another few inches between her and Shane. “Isn’t the goal supposed to be peace?”
“Yes.” His voice was a little more intense. “Do you think I don’t want peace in Iraq? Peace in Afghanistan?” He pulled one knee up on the sofa and turned to face her. “Because I fly fighter jets?”
The question threw her. She’d had these talks with conservatives before. Even military conservatives. They always trotted out the causes for war: weapons of mass destruction, vicious dictators, torture among civilians. But no matter how long and fast they talked, she felt the same. How did two wrongs make a right? How could the U.S. take a stand against dangerous weapons in Iraq, and then drop dangerous weapons to make its point?
But never, in all her days of reporting in the Middle East, had she heard a military captain say that he wanted peace. She searched his eyes. “Peace, Shane?” Her voice held question marks, nothing more. “You spend your days training fighter pilots how to find and destroy enemy targets, and you want peace?”
He was quiet for a minute. The slight rise in his intensity faded. “Where were you on September 11, 2001?”
She didn’t want to talk about the terrorist attacks. It was the same story with half the war supporters she’d interviewed. It made the U.S. military sound like a bunch of whiny kids. They hit us first . . . Still, this was Shane. Regardless of their differences this side of yesterday, she owed him a thoughtful answer. She crossed her arms and pressed her good shoulder into the back of the sofa. “I was in Los Angeles at the office.” The memory came sidling up like a smelly drunk at a bar. “I watched it, horrified like everyone else.”
“Did you know anyone in those buildings?”
“I didn’t.” She drew her feet up in front of her and hugged her knees. “But I was one of the reporters on it. I interviewed people in Los Angeles who’d lost friends or family.” The sick feeling she’d known all that week came back. “It was awful.” She studied his face. Maybe he had other reasons for asking about it. She reached out and touched his hand. “What about you?”
He stared at the fire, his eyes full of something she couldn’t make out. “I was in Reno, at the Top Gun facility. Got a call the night before from a buddy of mine, went through navy fighter pilot training with him. Only Benny didn’t want to be a career fighter pilot. He wanted to be a firefighter. FDNY.” Shane squinted at what must’ve been the garish glare of the past. “We talked about his wife and kids, the great weather they were having.” Shane smiled at Lauren. “I told him he should come out to Top Gun and take a ride in an F – 16 with me.”
Lauren knew what was coming. She looped her fingers around his. “He was on duty the next morning?”
“He was.” Shane looked at the fire again. “His wife told me he made it to the sixty-first floor before the South Tower fell.” He met her eyes again. “They never found his body.”
She waited a minute, giving the story time to fill her heart. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He gave her fingers alight squeeze. “I’ve thought a lot about peace. I studied it in school, believe it or not.”
“Really?” Her tone told him she was teasing in a gentle sort of way. She tried to picture him hanging out with the people she knew in college, the journalism students. “You wore tie-dye and sandals in college, did you?”
“Close.” He chuckled. “The sandals, anyway.” He rested his arm along the sofa back and ran his fingers over her shoulder. “I didn’t want what my parents had. Materialism and business investments and a life of plastic facades. I knew that much.” He gave her a serious frown. “College was interesting for me. I asked a lot of questions, studied the history of civilizations and what exactly constituted peace.”
She was impressed. A large number of her liberal friends hadn’t done that. Yes, she agreed with them, but that didn’t mean their opinions were based on fact. Hers were. She interviewed people all day long. If anyone should have the facts on why war wasn’t worth fighting, she should.
He must have seen she was interested, because he continued. “Time and again I saw the same thing, Lauren.” His eyes implored her to hear him. Really hear him. “I saw that we could have peace only through strength.”
Another military motto, one she’d heard bantered about far too often. Still, she stopped herself from reacting. “What does that mean, Shane? Peace through strength?”
He gave her question some thought. “I guess it
’s like this. We’ve lost an awful lot of men in this war, and that’s a tragedy. One life lost is a tragedy. But when we look at the plans the terrorists had for this country, I see the benefit of strength. The peaceful benefit.” He ran his thumb over the top of her hand. “They had very detailed plans, Lauren. I saw them. They thought they’d make September 11 look like a minor incident.”
Even after a lifetime of standing on the other side of this fence, she wanted to understand him. If things had been different, they wouldn’t be having this talk. No doubt she would’ve been on his side, searching for a way to justify the things she inherently believed. “So . . . ”
He held his hands out to the sides, face up. “They haven’t struck again, Lauren. Their plans fell to rubble. Their rubble.”
“They messed with the wrong people, right?” Again she was careful to sound open, interested. Not condemning. “That’s what you’re saying?”
“Sort of. I mean you’re over there, Lauren. You walk down the streets and shop in the villages and see the people.” He paused. “When’s the last time you saw an air raid, an air attack by a U.S. fighter pilot?” A partial smile played on his lips. “The only reason we’re still there is to help the new government get set up. And that’s peaceful, right? We pull out and, well, you know what’ll break loose over there.”
She thought about the attack on the orphanage. “It’s already loose. I didn’t make the article up, Shane.” She sighed. “The people I talk to live in fear and stay indoors most of the time.”
“Yes.” A hint of frustration crept into his tone. “Because those are the people your magazine wants you to talk to.”
“Okay.” She eased her feet back to the floor, her eyes never leaving his. “You think we have peace through strength because we flexed our muscle, right? We showed them. If they thought they could mess with us, they had another thing coming. Something like that?” Her opinions were coming through a little too loudly. She drew a slow breath to bring down her tone. “But maybe that only makes us bullies.”