Ashley was grateful for the things Luke and Reagan had figured out. Luke had let his dedication to law get the best of him last year. Too much time at work. Ashley could tell from her younger brother’s eyes that he was doing much better.
The one thing Luke and Reagan didn’t talk about was the fact that they’d run into Andi at the performance. Some time ago, during one of Andi’s rough seasons, she had given birth to little Johnny. The father wasn’t in the picture at all, and Andi knew she couldn’t raise her son alone. Through a series of miracles, Luke and Reagan had adopted him.
Little Johnny knew he was adopted, but not necessarily that Andi was his birth mother. Apparently, all of them had agreed that Andi would only be a close friend whenever they all met up. Andi wanted it that way.
Less confusing for Johnny.
Before the show, Ashley had watched Andi drop down to Johnny’s level to talk to him. After that, Andi and Reagan had spoken. Ashley could see they were smiling, but the moment didn’t last long. Ashley would have to ask Reagan about it later.
During dessert Kari and Ryan updated everyone on Jessie’s search for the right university. She and Cole were both looking at Liberty in Virginia. Ashley thought about how soon those changes were coming.
For now, though, there was just tonight and their time together.
When everyone was gone, Landon and the boys moved to the garage to clean the canoe and the fishing gear. Janessa and Amy were already asleep and Ashley was dying to talk to Landon. But in the meantime, she wanted to work on her sketch. She found her book and sat down at the kitchen table.
Ashley was lost in the drawing when Amy tiptoed downstairs in her nightgown. Her niece held a hand-painted picture. “I couldn’t sleep.” She set the picture down in front of Ashley. “I drew this. I thought you’d like it.” She looped her arm around Ashley’s neck and stared at her own artwork. “I think maybe I draw like you.”
“Wow. That’s beautiful, Amy.” Ashley stared at the girl’s drawing. She could hardly believe it. “Look what I was working on.” She slid her sketchbook over so it was side by side with Amy’s artwork. “When were you working on this?”
“The last few days.” She looked at Ashley’s illustration and then her own. “After we came back from spring break.”
They’d been working on the exact same thing: the Survivor Tree.
Amy looked at her. “Are you going to paint yours?”
“I think so. People here don’t really know about the tree. I think God let it live to symbolize what’s possible. With Him.”
“That’s what I think, too.” Amy gazed at her picture. “I’m glad you like it.”
Amy was talented, for sure. What a privilege to help her niece discover gifts like this one. Ashley could only hope that somewhere in heaven, Erin and Sam were watching. “We’ll have to frame it. Then you can hang it on the wall in your room.”
“Near the bookcase.”
“Yes, sweetheart. That would be perfect.” She put her hands on Amy’s shoulders. “You were very good today as Wendy.”
“Thanks.” Amy’s face filled with tenderness. She kept her eyes on Ashley’s. “I understand Wendy. All she wants is to go home to her mom and dad.”
“Even though she’s happy with Peter in Neverland.”
Amy hesitated. “Yes.” The hint of a smile lifted her lips. “Exactly.”
Ashley hugged her close for a long while. “When you get to heaven one day, they’ll be there.”
“I know.” Amy leaned back and looked at Ashley, her expression both innocent and sincere. “Until then, I do like it here. In Neverland.”
Tears filled Ashley’s eyes. She hugged Amy close again. “Sweet girl. I’ll never be your mom. I’ll never be good enough.” She ran her hand along Amy’s long blond hair. “But thanks for letting me try.”
“Actually”—Amy shifted back and grinned at her—“you’re very good at it.”
Ashley put her hand alongside Amy’s cheek. “Thanks, honey. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” Amy yawned. “I’m glad you like my painting.”
“It’s perfect.” Ashley kissed the girl’s forehead. “Just like you.”
Amy left for bed, and Ashley stared at her computer a few feet away on the kitchen table. She closed her sketchbook. Brady Bradshaw was the only person she knew who could get a Survivor Tree sapling for Amy. Ashley hesitated, but just for a few seconds.
She could at least reach out to him one more time. For Amy. The sound of the boys’ voices outside caught her attention. Maybe she should ask Landon first. Just get his opinion on the matter. But she couldn’t do that. Things were already terrible between them. She needed to prove to Landon that she was only trying to help. She couldn’t do that if she didn’t do some good first.
Then Landon would understand.
The sapling gave Ashley the perfect reason to contact Brady. Once they talked about that, she could ask Brady about Jenna. She turned to her laptop and brought up his Facebook page again. A private message couldn’t hurt anything.
Dear Brady, thank you for responding to me earlier. I can see why you’ve struggled to find Jenna if you don’t know her last name. I haven’t found her yet. Is there anything else you could tell me? What high school she went to, or what university? What year did you meet her? Anyway, I know the chances are slim. But I’m praying that I find her. I still think there was a reason I saw you that day at the memorial.
Ashley read over what she’d written. Then she typed a few more lines.
Also, on a personal note, how would I go about getting a Survivor Tree sapling for my 12-year-old niece? It’s a long story, but the sapling is something she wants very much. They were gone by the time we got there that day. I’ll wait to hear from you. Blessings, Ashley Baxter Blake.
A quick glance over what she’d written and she hit send.
She would tell Landon about it later.
12
T he firehouse was active that day. An electrical fire in an old home on the edge of the city. A sweet widow whose cat was stuck in a tree. And a teenager with a shoe caught in a moving escalator.
All three calls had happy endings.
Brady sank into the sofa in the station’s living room. He grabbed his laptop from his backpack and opened it. Now that things were slow, maybe he could catch up on Facebook. Like on most weekends, he needed to do another search for Jenna. In case she finally showed up on social media.
Where she hadn’t been since he first started looking.
A sigh slipped from his lungs. The anniversary had been more than a week ago, but this year it had stayed with him. Like a bad cold he couldn’t quite shake. He opened Facebook and immediately spotted the notification.
Someone had written to him.
Not too strange. People would find him from his time on Survivor or because of the calendar. There were the occasional offers on his page. Modeling agencies. Casting directors. Girls. Most of them weren’t legit. Especially not the women. Did they really think he’d strike up a relationship with them? Because of a private Facebook message?
Since meeting Jenna, Brady had dated a dozen girls. At least that many. He only remembered the names of a few of them. They were pretty or funny or interesting. But as soon as they learned about his mom, as soon as they discovered he’d been raised in foster care, something changed.
It wasn’t their fault.
The blame was Brady’s. He had an aversion to pity. When girls realized the details of his childhood, they looked at him differently. Like he was a project or a charity case. Whatever it was, Brady hated it. He didn’t want sympathy.
He wanted empathy.
Sympathy felt sorry from the outside looking in. It knew nothing of a person’s pain or experience.
Empathy lived it. The sorry feeling came from the inside looking out.
Which was why things never worked with the women he dated. Sure they were sad about his past. But they didn’t understand it. And in the end it le
ft a chasm too great to cross. A divide no bridge could span.
It was fine. Brady didn’t need love. If he couldn’t find Jenna, he would go on the way he had every year for more than a decade. Fighting fires. Serving the people of Oklahoma City. Working out at the local CrossFit gym. Maybe it wasn’t the life he had hoped for. Not the life his mom would’ve wanted for him. But it was enough.
Brady opened the message and scanned to the bottom.
Ashley Baxter Blake.
Brady sat up straighter and stared at the screen. Ashley? She was the brunette from the memorial. The one who had randomly texted him a few days ago. She said she’d read the letter he’d written for Jenna. How she wanted to help. It had seemed harmless at the time, so he had texted back. He didn’t know Jenna’s last name, so what could the lady do to help? He had figured that would be the end of it.
So what was her deal? Why was she writing to him again? So bizarre. The woman was a complete stranger. So what was her interest?
He started at the top of the note.
Dear Brady, thank you for responding to me earlier. I can see why you’ve struggled to find Jenna if you don’t know her last name. I haven’t found her yet.
He hesitated. Did she really think she could find Jenna? When he had been looking all these years? He kept reading. The woman wanted to know Jenna’s high school or college and when Brady had met her. As if that would help.
Brady read the last few lines.
He felt his heart soften. Ashley wanted a sapling for her niece. Maybe that was what this was really about. He stared at the message. What had happened to the young girl that she wanted a piece of the Survivor Tree? Writing back made no real sense. But the part about the niece caught him by surprise. If he could help the child, he would.
“Okay, Ashley.” He uttered the words under his breath as he hit the reply button. He kept his response brief.
I don’t have the information you asked for. We met in 2007, that’s about it.
He hesitated, picturing Jenna the way she had looked back then. He could tell Ashley about that. The information couldn’t hurt. He positioned his fingers on the keyboard again.
Here’s something. Eleven years ago Jenna looked like Emma Stone. Not sure if that helps. Also, I would like to help you find a Survivor Tree sapling for your niece. Are you coming back to the memorial next April? That’s usually the only time they’re given out. Was your niece related to someone who died in the bombing?
He looked at what he’d written and gradually felt his heart engage. Ashley didn’t have to reach out. She didn’t seem to have an ulterior motive. Just some sense about the situation. How had she said it? There was a reason. That was it. A reason she had seen him at the fence. Brady finished his note.
Anyway, thanks for taking time to write. I don’t think you’ll find Jenna. But you mean well, and I appreciate that. Take care. Brady.
There. He hit the send button. It was still odd, a complete stranger trying to help him find Jenna. But he was touched by her kindness.
He searched through a few local websites. The downtown mission was hosting a fund-raiser next month. He sent a quick email to the organizer. Like last year he wanted to attend. Brady would act as a table host and get the word out about ticket sales.
Next he checked his email. A thank-you letter from the children’s hospital, where he was also a regular volunteer. Brady didn’t have his own family. So helping people gave him purpose. A way to do for children what no one had been able to do for him at that age.
Give them a reason to smile.
He read to the bottom of the letter. Would he be interested in coming in every week instead of every month? Brady felt the ache deep in his heart. Yes, he would be interested. Sick kids needed as much love as they could get.
Brady wasn’t finished writing his response when the sirens went off. It took only seconds to know that the call was a big one.
“The structure is fully involved,” the voice crackled over the radio. Then came other details.
The address was a warehouse on the east side of the city. The building sat adjacent to a retirement home, which according to the call was also ablaze. Trucks were being sent from every station in the area.
Brady was immediately on high alert. Fully involved was never good.
He’d been trained for moments like this. Trained to go from zero to a hundred in a few heartbeats. All around him firefighters were slipping into their gear, racing to get to the truck as fast as they could. Eric Munez, thirty-year-old father of three, jumped into the cab beside him. “Biggest fire of the month.” Eric raised his brow. He and Brady had been working together for a long time.
“Biggest of the year.” Brady was behind the wheel. He slammed the truck door shut. “Let’s roll. We got this.”
Wind whipped through the city. Brady felt it gust against the side of the rig. No wonder the fire was spreading. If they didn’t get it out quickly, other buildings would ignite. The fire was in an area where structures sat almost on top of each other.
They reached the scene at the same time as four other trucks, from the lower east and central stations. All of them first responders. Even before they parked, Captain Jerry Cranston took charge over the radio.
“Checking the retirement home.” Cranston ran up to a man who looked like the manager of the place. A dozen elderly residents milled about. Some leaning on nurses. Several in wheelchairs.
Cranston barked out orders for two trucks to get water on the residential building. The other three were to start on the warehouse. Brady and Eric’s team was part of the latter group. The wind was fierce now, and already several other buildings were in imminent danger.
Even as Cranston shouted the instructions, Brady could see the threat. The warehouse was the tallest in the district. Four stories, easily. They could spray water from the ground, but they wouldn’t gain control over the blaze unless they got on the roof.
The sound and heat from the fire were like something from hell. Brady squinted at Eric through the smoke, but before he could speak, Cranston gave the order.
“Munez, Bradshaw, get on the roof.” He rattled off another four names. “All of you. Hurry. We need to take the life out of this thing.”
Brady grabbed a hose from the truck and led the way as the six men scrambled up the ladder to the flaming roof. The most dangerous spot was the middle. Warehouse roofs were generally weaker and less supported than roofs on other buildings. Collapsed warehouse roofs killed more firefighters than almost anything.
The headsets inside their masks were all connected. Brady shouted over the line. “I’ve got middle.” No way was he going to let Eric join him out there. He had a wife and kids at home.
Brady had no one.
Cranston must’ve agreed with the decision. “Munez, the rest of you, take the perimeter. Bradshaw, be careful. Don’t go too far.”
“Yes, sir.” Brady trudged across the surface with the hose. Flames were whipping up and over the edges, lapping at the structures on the north side of the warehouse.
“Unit Three, hurry up. Those people don’t have time!” Cranston sounded frantic.
Brady kept his eyes straight ahead. There was no time to look down at the ground, no time to see if the other team—Unit Three—had rescued the residents or not. Brady focused. Get the hose to the middle of the roof and he’d take out the heart of the blaze. He dragged the line further, toward the center.
“Bradshaw, that’s far enough.” Munez hung back near the roof’s edge.
“A little more,” Brady shouted over the roar of the fire. He could feel the spray from two additional hoses behind him. Munez had his back for sure. His friend wouldn’t let him get caught too far out. He’d be okay.
His hose shook in his hands, the force of the water at its maximum level. Brady doused the flames but as he did he took another few steps toward the core of the fire.
The cracking sound was exactly what he didn’t want to hear. It pierced the roaring blaze and
wind and shook the building. Brady lost his footing and fell to his knees. The roof was collapsing! “No!” he shouted, desperately trying to reverse, to find his way to a safer spot.
Someone was pulling on his fire hose, dragging him back. Eric Munez. His friend had him. Everything was going to be okay. The last thing he heard was Eric’s voice, telling him he was almost safe. Just a few more steps and then—
The roof gave way and Brady was tumbling down, forever down. Steel beams and sheet metal and flames engulfed him even before he hit the ground. This was it. Firefighters didn’t survive these situations.
Something shot at his gut and a metal rod smacked against his head. Brady fought for oxygen, for a way to keep his face above the blazing debris. Smoke and searing air. That’s what killed firemen who fell through burning warehouse roofs.
Stay awake, Brady. They’ll come for you . He ordered himself to survive, to fight. Keep his head up. But as his body landed he was buried alive. The heat from earlier wasn’t hell.
This was.
He clawed at the rubble, at the wreckage pushing him down. “Get me out! I can’t breathe!” Panic pressed in on him, the weight of the roof more than he could bear. Why couldn’t he draw a breath? Brady pushed hard at whatever was crushing him. There was no room for air. Just heat and flames and smoke.
Several thoughts hit him at once. First, he flashed back to the bombing. This is what it was like for my mother. Her final moments. She had gone from these terrifying seconds into paradise.
That wasn’t all. He would never see Cheryl and Rodney Fisher again. Why hadn’t he gone by their house more often? Taken them up on the offer of an occasional dinner.
I’m sorry. I should’ve cared more for them. How could I miss that ? Regret burned hotter than the flames. Give me another chance. Please . . . He didn’t know who he was talking to, who could possibly help him now. He tried to inhale, but nothing came. He was dying. This was it. Please, get me out!
His final thought was her.
Jenna.
Was it possible Ashley Baxter Blake had been at the memorial for a reason? Maybe Ashley really would find Jenna. As his heart felt ready to burst inside him, as the weight of the burning roof settled in around him and Brady lost consciousness, he realized the worst part of all. He had lost his only chance, even if Ashley found Jenna.