Under a Summer Sky, page 23
Forty minutes later, Laney turned onto I-95 just north of Savannah and reached for her travel cup. Maren had made a fresh pot just before they’d left, and it was still hot. Early in their visit, Laney had commented on the unique flavor of Maren’s coffee, and she’d told her it was a special blend from New Orleans—her hometown; it had chicory in it. She’d called it her southern comfort in the morning, and Laney had agreed—it was almost as good as Fog Buster.
Traffic was light that Sunday morning, and as Laney took her first sip, her thoughts drifted to the conversation she’d had with Noah the night before. He’d confirmed that Jared’s service was Tuesday at ten o’clock and he’d also said they were expecting a large turnout of kids and he wondered if Asher would want to go. Laney had hesitantly revealed that she hadn’t told him yet, and Noah hadn’t been happy. She’d promised she’d tell him that night, but she was dreading it.
Their hotel reservations were for a Comfort Inn just south of Trenton, but their true destination was Pat’s King of Steaks in Philly. They’d stopped at Pat’s on the way down, and Asher had loved the famous Philly cheesesteaks so much, he’d begged her to stop on the way home, and Laney had said they’d try. They’d had lunch at a McDonald’s in Richmond and then continued north, listening to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Laney loved audio books because they made the miles fly by, and she never tired of listening to Harry Potter because the narrator had a wonderful British accent.
Traffic around DC had been stop and go—mostly stop—so it was almost nine o’clock at night when they finally got to Pat’s, and they were both starving. They stood at the first window and they ordered “two steaks wit onions and provolone” and then stepped to the second window and ordered two root beers and a large fry. When their order came up, they sat at a quiet table on the end with Halle at their feet. As hungry as she was, Laney felt her stomach twisting into knots at the thought of the news she still had to share. She smiled sadly, watching her young son. He was so happy, sitting there, innocently swinging his legs, enjoying his newly discovered favorite sandwich, and sneaking french fries to his best pal under the table . . . and there she was, about to crush his happiness . . . and his innocence.
“I have some sad news,” she said quietly when he’d finished eating.
He looked up in surprise, his brow furrowing into a frown under his new hat.
Laney swallowed. “Dad called,” she said, biting her lip, “and he said that Jared Laughlin died earlier this week.”
Asher’s eyes filled with tears. “He did? How?”
“He fell and hit his head.”
“Was he riding his bike without a helmet?”
Laney shook her head, picturing Jared on his bike, which, she realized now, he had ridden without a helmet. “No, Ash. Somehow his brother was involved. Jeff said they were fooling around, and Jared fell.”
Tears spilled down Asher’s smooth cheeks. “That can’t be,” he said, shaking his head. “Dad’s wrong. Jared can’t be dead.”
“He’s not wrong,” she said gently, reaching for his hand. “That’s why we’re heading home early. Jared’s service is Tuesday, and Dad thought you might want to go.”
Asher shook his head. “I don’t want to go,” he said angrily, his tears falling like rain. “I don’t even want to go home anymore.”
Laney pulled him into her arms, and he fell apart, sobbing and shaking.
“Oh, hon, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s all my fault,” he choked.
Laney pulled him back and searched his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Ash. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because it is,” he sobbed.
Laney shook her head. How could her sweet, seven-year-old boy think that he had played any role in this tragedy? “Why do you think that?” she asked, but Asher just buried his head in her chest, and when Halle tried to lick his hand, he pushed her away. “Asher,” Laney said sternly, “this is crazy. Jared’s death is not your fault. I can understand if you’re sad, but you can’t blame yourself.”
“Yes, I can,” he said defiantly, clenching his fists. “On the bus, I heard Jeff tell him he was going to kill him. And I—I—” he stammered, struggling with the horrific truth. “I didn’t say anything.”
Laney raised her eyebrows in surprise, her young son’s innocent perception of the tragic events suddenly becoming crystal clear. “Oh, Ash,” she said, shaking her head. “That does not make it your fault. People say stuff like that all the time . . . and they don’t really mean it.”
“Jeff meant it. You didn’t see his face.”
Laney took a deep breath, trying to wrap her mind around this revelation. Suddenly all the training seminars on bullying she’d sat through as a teacher came rushing back to her. “So many red flags go unnoticed or unreported. Teach your students to report incidents—even if they seem like nothing. We don’t want them to become tattletales . . . but then again, we do.” Asher was only seven. Was he supposed to know this already? He obviously did know—he’d heard Jeff threaten his brother, and now he blamed himself for not saying anything. Then again, if she had heard the same threat, would she have taken it seriously? The unfortunate answer was: probably not.
She wrapped her arms around her young son, her heart breaking. “Ash,” she said finally, gently brushing away his tears. “I understand, now, why you think you’re responsible, but Jared’s death is not your fault. We don’t even know for sure if Jeff purposely hurt him . . . and, sadly, I don’t think you saying something would have changed anything. No one would have ever taken Jeff’s threat seriously. He would have been scolded . . . or maybe even punished, but in the end, it would not have changed the way he treated Jared. He would have still been mean to him.” She held his head in her hands and searched his teary eyes. “So you can’t blame yourself, okay?”
Asher nodded slowly, and as Laney held him close, he reached down to pet Halle’s soft ears, and she thumped her tail and nosed the edge of the table to see if there were any more french fries.
54
“Mom’s home!” Ben and Seth shouted, shoving each other as they tried to be the first one outside. In the commotion, Lucky scooted past them and out the door. “Look what you did,” Ben accused, pointing as the fluffy orange feline scampered across the yard.
“I didn’t do it. You did!” Seth countered.
“Did what?” Noah asked, coming out after them with Mennie at his heels.
“Seth let Lucky out,” Ben reported.
“You let Lucky out,” Seth countered angrily.
Noah groaned, knowing he’d be the one in trouble. “Thanks a lot, guys. Go see if you can find him.”
“After I say hi to Mom,” Ben said.
“Me too.”
Noah frowned, but when he saw Laney climbing out of the car, he couldn’t help but smile.
“The house looks great!” she said happily, admiring the fresh paint.
“Thanks!” Ben and Seth said in unison.
“You guys did it?” she asked in surprise.
They nodded.
“And Gabe,” Noah added.
“Well, it looks super.”
They both smiled, and hugging her, asked, “How was your trip?” But then spying Asher with a new hat on, added, “Hey, did we get hats?”
“No,” Asher answered matter-of-factly. “Just me.”
“That’s not fair,” Seth complained.
“Lord help me, will you two grow up?” Noah asked in an exasperated voice.
Laney smiled, giving her husband a long hug. “They are growing up—too fast!” she reminded.
“Well,” he said, shaking his head, “you haven’t been putting up with them all week.”
“I still know how it is,” she replied sympathetically.
Noah turned to the boys. “Okay, you said hello. Now, go find the cat.”
“Lucky’s lost?” Asher asked worriedly.
“No,” Seth said. “He’s just outside.”
“Outside?” Laney asked, eyeing her husband.
“It just happened,” Noah explained defensively. “That cat has been plotting his escape all week . . . and he finally pulled it off. Don’t worry—he’ll be fine. He’s not as vulnerable as you think, and I think it’s unfair to keep him inside. All he does is sit by the door and cry like he’s lost his best friend.
“Speaking of friends . . .” he added, nodding to Mennie who was gazing at his beloved with star-struck eyes, wagging his tail expectantly, and waiting to be noticed.
“Oh!” Laney said, kneeling down to wrap her arms around him. “Hi, there, old pie,” she whispered. “Did you miss me?”
“Miss you?” Noah exclaimed. “I have never seen such a sad dog! He moped around all week. What a sad sack!”
“You mean gloomy gills,” Asher corrected as both dogs wiggled around them.
“Hi, Mom,” Gabe said, coming up behind them as E scooped Asher up and threw him over his shoulder, making his hat fall off.
“My hat!” Asher cried, squirming and stretching out his arms, even though there was no chance of reaching it.
“My hat now,” E teased, picking it up and putting it on his head.
“It’s too small for you,” Asher protested, still trying to reach it.
“Hi!” Laney said in surprise. “What are you two doing home?”
“The beach is closed,” Gabe explained, making the sound from Jaws for extra effect.
“Yeah,” E added, setting Asher down. “We saw one having breakfast this morning, and the water was all red.”
“No!” Laney said, raising her eyebrows and mouthing the word seal over Asher’s head.
E nodded. “Yup . . . and not just one.”
“There’re sharks at the beach?” Asher asked with wide eyes.
“How about we go inside?” Noah said, eyeing his older sons and changing the subject.
“Okay,” Laney agreed. “Do you guys want to help unload?” she asked, opening the hatch.
“Wow—look at those peaches!” Seth said. “Can I have one?”
“They’re not ripe yet,” Asher explained matter-of-factly.
“Are you the new authority on peaches?” Noah asked, scooping him into a hug.
Asher nodded solemnly, wrapping his arms around Noah’s neck.
“Missed you, buddy,” he whispered.
“Missed you too, Dad.”
Then Noah whispered something in his ear and a smile immediately spread across his face.
Laney eyed them. “What are you two whispering about?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Noah answered nonchalantly.
“Yeah, nothing,” Asher assured her, using the same carefree tone, but barely able to contain himself.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, eyeing them suspiciously.
Carrying duffel bags, suitcases, crates of peaches, cases of jam, and holding their collective breaths, they followed Laney up the walkway, and when she reached the screen door, Noah held it open for her. Giving him a funny look, she stepped from the porch to the kitchen, but then, she stopped in her tracks. “Oh, my,” she murmured, looking around at the handsome cherry cabinets and dark granite countertops. “Oh, my goodness! How in the world?” With tears in her eyes, she turned to look at her six men and realized they all looked like cats that had eaten canaries. “You guys,” she said, shaking her head. “And you especially,” she said, eyeing Noah. “How are we going to pay for this?”
Laughing, Noah looked at his older two boys. “I told you . . .” he said. Then he put his arm around Laney. “It’s all paid for.”
“Look, Mom,” Ben said, flipping a switch, “we even have under cabinet lighting . . . and a new light over the island.”
Laney nodded, looking around. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you did this all in a week.”
“Hey,” Noah said, folding his arms across his chest. “We don’t fool around.”
“Well, I’m going to have to go away more often.”
“They even got you a new sign,” Asher said, pointing to a burgundy sign with white lettering, hanging on the freshly painted wall. It read: “NOW FAITH IS THE ASSURANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR, THE CONVICTION OF THINGS NOT SEEN.”
Laney turned to her husband and shook her head. “Thank you,” she said softly. Then she looked at each of them. “Thank all of you.”
“You’re welcome,” they said, giving her hugs.
“You know what the first thing you have to bake in your new oven is?” Asher asked.
“What?” she asked, hugging him last.
“My birthday cake!”
55
By ten o’clock Tuesday morning, the heavy mist had turned into steady rain. It was fitting, Noah thought, as he watched the parade of dark umbrellas making their way through the church parking lot and up the wet slate walk. The sun shouldn’t show its face on such a somber day.
The night before, after Laney and Asher’s homecoming, Noah had retreated to his study to gather his thoughts, but it had been futile—even though he’d officiated at the funerals of children before, this one felt different. Finally, after staring at a blank Word document for twenty minutes, he remembered a thin volume he’d read in college about writing sermons. It was titled: Keep It Short, Student, or as they’d affectionately called it in seminary, KISS. He was certain there was a chapter in it focusing on ministering to a congregation after the loss of a child, and he scanned his bookshelves until he found it. When he opened it, he was surprised to also find, tucked between its pages, a faded newspaper clipping and a paper he’d written when he was at Andover Newton. He unfolded the clipping, dated October 14, 1977, and looked at the picture of a boy in a football uniform. The boy’s name was John Winslow. Noah distinctly remembered John—even though they’d been on different teams in high school and hadn’t been close friends, they’d had several classes together and they’d always said hello. And then, on a crisp Friday night in the fall of their sophomore year, John was injured in a game. Both teams had knelt as John’s motionless body was carried off the field on a stretcher to a waiting ambulance, but as the eerie emergency lights lit up the autumn sky and the wailing siren faded in the distance, John fell into a coma. He died three days later. The whole school had been devastated. The school board even brought grief counselors in for anyone who needed to talk. And although Noah hadn’t sought counseling, for the rest of that year, he’d looked at John’s empty seat and wondered how they’d explained such a senseless loss.
Years later, when he was studying to be a minister, he was given the assignment to write about the loss of a child, and since the only experience he had on the subject was the inexplicable death of his high school classmate, he wrote about John. Noah slowly unfolded the paper, and as he reread the words—now decades old—the grief and sense of loss he’d felt then came rushing back.
When Noah entered the sanctuary, he realized it wasn’t as full as he’d expected. Laney and the boys—including Asher—were among the last to file in, and Jillian, who looked much older than her years, was seated in the front row with her sister; but Jeff—who was still being held in juvenile detention—had declined the opportunity to attend his brother’s funeral.
“My friends,” Noah began solemnly, “we are gathered here this morning to remember the life of Jared Joseph Laughlin—a life that ended much too soon.” As he said this, he lit a single white candle and invited them to pray; and then, after singing the hymns and reading the verses that he’d helped Jillian select, he asked if there was anyone who wished to share a memory about Jared. The congregation sat silently, looking around, waiting respectfully, and Noah could feel his own heart beating. There had to be someone who was willing to share a funny anecdote or a fond memory of this young, lost soul . . . but no one raised their hand . . . and no one moved to stand.
Noah nodded solemnly, looking out at the sea of young faces, and silently prayed that the words he’d prepared would somehow touch their hearts. He cleared his throat. “Sometimes, it’s not easy to step out of our comfort zones onto a treacherous limb and express how we’re feeling. Kids especially, have a hard time talking about how they feel. The world today is incredibly fast-paced and full of distractions—video games, instant messaging, texting. It can leave your head spinning, and that’s precisely why I’m glad to see so many of you here today. Because in our crazy world . . . when things aren’t making sense . . . it’s always good to take a step back . . . center ourselves in silence . . . and try to understand the things that don’t make sense—like how a child . . . a child who is barely ten years old . . . can be called to heaven.
“Many of you are probably wondering how God can let something like this happen. How can He let a child—a child who has hardly had a chance to begin living—die? Where is He in such a tragedy? It certainly seems like He’s absent or, at the very least, not paying attention. But that is not the case; in fact, it is as far from the truth as can be. God doesn’t let bad things happen, but he does promise to be with us and give us the strength we need to get through them. He is never absent; He is with us right now as we remember Jared; He is with Jared’s mom in her sorrow ; and He is with all of us as we try to understand.”
Noah smiled sadly. “This world of ours has been groaning and changing and struggling for longer than any of us can even begin to fathom . . . and in all that infinite time, God has watched over us. He has never slept or been distracted, and although the Bible says we are created in His image, that is where the similarities end . . . because when it comes to comprehending how the fragile threads of our lives are intricately woven together into one luminous and glorious tapestry, we humans fall painfully short. The unfolding story of the world is much greater than our comprehension, but God—from His vantage point—can see how our lives are intertwined and how the decisions we make unwittingly affect other lives—even the lives of people we don’t know. In fact, we often never know how . . . or where . . . or when . . . we’ve touched another’s life . . . but God does.
