Chapter 1
“Don’t fight it. Just relax.”
“No. No, something’s not right.”
“Trust me,” he insists. “It’s fine.”
“Trust you? You mean like I did last time?” I bite my lip, trying to focus, to concentrate. I know there’s a problem. “He’s going to run!” I shriek.
“Jerk it. Jerk it,” he yells.
I give a hard upward thrust and am rewarded with my line going completely slack. I watch as the filament glistens in the sun’s final rays, fluttering softly to the water.
“He snapped the line,” Aaron says.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I murmur.
“Are you having fun yet, Laurie?” He laughs.
I shake my head. “Oh boy! Seriously, I am having fun, even though I can’t seem to land anything. Will you set up my tackle, or whatever it’s called? I want to try again.” I take a deep breath, then remember Aaron’s day started earlier than mine. “You’re not too tired?”
“Nope. I’m good. I promised you an exciting night of fishing, and that’s what you’re going to get.”
“Will it improve after the sun fully sets?” It’s dipped behind the mountain, but there’s still a glow on the lake.
“Maybe. The theory is the big catfish, and maybe even larger trout, head to the shallows after it cools. But I haven’t noticed a huge difference between day and night fishing in this lake.”
He spends several minutes digging in the tackle box, getting what he calls “a new outfit” put together.
“Did you just want a reason to play with those slimy chicken livers in the dark?” I ask, watching him fumble with the disgusting bait in one hand, a hook in the other, and holding a pen light in his mouth. It occurs to me I could at least offer to hold the light for him. Yeah, holding the light would be much better than stringing the liver on the hook.
Funny how I don’t mind sticking my fingers in a person’s mouth, but I’m not at all interested in stringing a chicken liver on a hook. I’m not interested in taking the fish off the hook either, provided I ever manage to catch one.
Aaron’s good to me. We’ve been fishing together many times, and he knows I’m happy just to sit and hold the pole, reading a book or visiting until a fish bites. The casting and reeling in are fun, but everything else is on him.
This night fishing, though . . . this is new. So far, we have nothing to show for it, other than my warm and fuzzy feelings from being out here with him.
Alone.
I steal a quick glance at him. He’s cute. Not like a ruggedly handsome guy, but absolutely adorable. His glasses have slipped down his nose slightly, and I watch as he wrinkles his nose to try and move them back up. His lovely, full lips join in on the action, making almost a full-face movement.
“Aaron Ogden, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.” I laugh.
“Why thank you, Miss Esplin,” he says with a chuckle. He gives me an amazing smile, causing my belly to do a flip-flop. “You want me to cast out for you?”
“No, I can do it. Just, you know, watch out. I’m dangerous with this hook.”
“Oh, believe me, I remember.” He rubs his left ear where I managed to scratch a hook across his lobe on another trip. Thankfully, it was just a graze and not a piercing.
We fish and visit until the lake is fully dark. I manage to land a nice trout. He puts up quite the fight as I bring him in, but we get him.
Eventually, Aaron says, “Whatcha think, Laurie? We’ve caught two cats and two trout. We’ll stash them in the freezer and have a fish fry after my parents get home. My mom makes the best fried fish.”
“I’m still not sure about eating catfish.” I shudder. “The one time I tried it, the fish tasted like mud.”
“These will be better. I think you’ll like them.”
“Okay, Aaron. I’ll try it. You must be exhausted. What time is it?”
He flicks his wrist. “It’s almost midnight.” Unlike most people, who rely on their phone as a timepiece, Aaron wears a wristwatch. He’s an anomaly and doesn’t carry a phone, doesn’t even own a cell phone. He has a landline at home and says that’s all he needs. Unlike Aaron, I don’t own a watch but do carry a phone, which is in his pickup truck on the charger.
“So late already? You’ve been up since, what, six?”
“Started work at six, up at five o’clock on the dot,” he says with a wink. I can’t help but laugh. What a goofball. Aaron usually works four ten-hour shifts each week, Monday through Thursday, then teaches at the martial arts studio Monday through Wednesday and every other Thursday. It’s a full schedule, but he handles it well. My summer job is with the same dental office that I used to work full time for before I left for school. They’re very good to me, offering me summer work when they don’t really need the extra staff. Like Aaron, I work Monday through Thursday, but only six hours a day.
“I guess we should go.” I try to stifle a sigh. I hate when our time together ends. Someday . . .
“All right, let’s reel in and take off. We’ve got a fun weekend planned, and we’ll have plenty of time together.”
I stare straight ahead across the lake at a light glittering in the distance, a porch or outbuilding light on a farm bordering this large lake. I take a breath, continuing my forward stare, not daring to make eye contact. “Aaron, have you thought any more about, you know, what we discussed?”
He keeps reeling in his line, also not looking in my direction. Is he staring at the same porch light?
“Aaron?”
“Nothing’s changed, Laurie,” he says quietly, continuing to bring in the line. “Your folks won’t be home until next summer. I think you’d regret them not being there, and we both know they’d regret it. They were very clear before they left. We all agreed we’d wait until you finish school and they get back.” He grabs the hook and attaches it to an eye.
“Finish my bachelor’s degree,” I clarify. “You’ll go with me to dental school. Then, once I finish, we move back here and I go into practice with Dr. Anderson.”
I can feel him turn his whole body in my direction. I turn my head to meet his eyes.
“We will be husband and wife.” He grabs for my left hand where my promise ring rests. I glance at his ring finger, his coordinating band missing from its spot. It’s probably on his dresser at home; he rarely wears it. “We’ll be married, Laurie. I’ll be by your side for life. I wish we would’ve married last summer before your mom and dad left for India, but we didn’t. Now we wait—wait for your parents to return. I gave them my word. You know that’s important to me, important I stick by my word.”
“I know, whoever keeps His word, in him truly the love of God is perfected. By this we may know that we are in Him.” Scripture, one among many that Aaron focuses on and truly tries to live by.
“That’s right, He who says he abides in Him ought himself also to walk just as He walked,” Aaron replies—another verse he’s adopted as his own.
I close my eyes and give a slight shake of my head. Yes, I know he’s right. But sometimes . . . sometimes I don’t like it much.
“So, tomorrow, do you want to go out for breakfast before our hike?” he asks, deftly changing the subject.
I play along. “You’ve really planned some adventures for our three-day weekend, haven’t you?”
“Yep. Every weekend while you’re home will be memorable. We’re going to have lots of memories to carry us through when you go back to school. And then, Laurie, your parents will return home. And we will be married.”
This time, my sigh is one of contentment. “I love you, Aaron.”
Chapter 2
As we get close to the truck, we hear my phone ringing.
“Who’d be calling this late?” Aaron asks, worry in his voice.
“It’s my mom. It’s her ringtone.”
By the time I get the door open, the phone is silent. It’s unusual for them to call this late but not unheard of. The time difference is twelve and a half hours, so sometimes we talk at odd hours. I’m debating whether I should call them back when the phone starts playing again. They’re being insistent; I hope it’s not something serious.
I suck in a breath. “Mom?”
“Hey, honey. We’ve just heard. It’s so terrible. All of us here, we’re mourning with you.”
“What? I don’t—I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you sleeping? You don’t know?”
“Aaron and I were fishing. Mom, what happened? Wait, should I put you on speaker so Aaron can hear too?”
“There’s been a terrorist attack,” she blurts out.
“A terrorist attack? Where? In the US?” I ask, switching the phone to speaker. Aaron wraps his arm around me, pulling me close.
“They crashed airplanes, then detonated bombs at the airports—New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Miami— ”
“Don’t forget Dallas-Fort Worth,” I hear Dad say in the background.
“Right, and Dallas,” Mom says. “It’s so terrible, Laurie.”
My mind is racing. A terrorist attack, and not just one, on US soil.
I try to focus as my mom continues, “They took down the planes when they were landing. And then, after the firefighters and ambulances arrived, they started blowing up the airports. The loss of life . . . we’re just praying for everyone. We’re getting ready to have a special church service.”
I shake my head and wipe my eyes, as Aaron says, “Thank you for calling, Mrs. Esplin, Mr. Esplin. We’re . . . we’re shocked. I don’t know what to say.”
“I understand, Aaron. It’s so terrible. We’re shocked also. The whole world is likely in shock. We have to go. We’ll call you later. I’m so thankful you both are in Wesley where it’s safe. All planes are grounded for now, just like after 9/11. A few days and I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of these attacks and things will get back to normal.”
“I’m sure you’re right, ma’am,” Aaron says.
“Sure, Mom,” I add with a sniffle.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry to have upset you,” Mom softly says. “I wish I could stay on the line and talk with you more, but . . . ”
“Go ahead, Mom. It’s fine. Maybe call me in the morning?”
“I will. I’ll call you tonight, uh, tomorrow morning for you. I love you. You too, Aaron.”
“Love you too, Mom.” I say, as I swipe to disconnect.
“I’ll turn on the radio, see what else we can find out,” Aaron says, putting the fishing gear in the truck bed.
When the radio comes on, the president is speaking, “ . . . from Atlanta to Los Angeles International Airport crashed while attempting to land at 10:42 eastern. Frontier flight 234 from Denver to Dallas/Fort Worth crashed at 10:48. At 10:52, all flights were grounded or diverted to the nearest airport. American Airlines flight 1213 from Boston was already on final approach for its scheduled 10:58 landing in Miami. It crashed before landing.
At 11:04 eastern, multiple bombs were detonated in or very near John F. Kennedy Airport. We expect the loss of life to be considerable. Our thoughts and prayers are with everyone directly, and indirectly, affected by this unspeakable event.
As of this moment, we do not yet know who is responsible for these cowardly acts. But I will make it my personal mission to enlist all suitable personnel in finding those responsible. God bless each of you. God bless America.”
The local announcer comes on and gives a few additional details to the president’s address, including highlights of responses from both sides of the political aisle. I’m disgusted that politics are even a factor during a tragedy like this.
We listen for a few more minutes before Aaron says, “I should take you home. I suspect there’s a message from my folks waiting for me.”
“There’s a message on my phone. I thought it was probably my mom and dad, but it might be from your parents. Let me check.”
I look at the missed calls, and sure enough, his mom’s number is in the call log. They left two days ago for a family vacation in Wisconsin. Aaron’s oldest sister moved there last year, so the entire family, except Aaron, is doing a big get together.
I don’t think the family was very happy about Aaron not joining them, but the timing was bad for his work. He’s the assistant manager at an auto shop, and his boss already planned to be off for this entire month. His wife has been very sick with cancer. She’s finally in recovery, and they wanted to travel. So they’ve taken the time to go places they’ve always wanted to go. Right now, they’re in Hawaii. I think they go to New Zealand or Australia next.
I turn the voicemail on speaker so Aaron can hear. The message from his mom is long and rambling, interspersed with sighs and sniffles. They flew to Wisconsin and wonder if their return plans will be delayed. She ends with, “We’ll make the best of it and trust in God’s plan.”
Aaron and his family moved to Wesley a decade ago. We met the week afterward in Taekwondo class. He was eleven, very thin and bony, and short for his age with super thick glasses. And to top it off, he was very obviously uncoordinated. Walking a straight line seemed to be a challenge.
To my fifteen-year-old self, Aaron was a nerd. A super nerd, even. I’d been in Taekwondo for about a year and a half and was wearing a green belt. We had a buddy system where upper belts worked with lower belts to show them the ropes. I was his mentor. I wasn’t at all happy Grandmaster Shane paired me with scrawny, geeky Aaron. I would’ve much rather been paired with his older brother, Andrew—my age, handsome, with amazing hair and a winning smile. I’ll admit, I had an instant crush on him.
After a month, Andrew dropped out, but Aaron stuck with it. His lack of coordination, so apparent in those early classes, seemed to lessen. His recall was amazing, and he learned poomsae easier than anyone else—faster than I would’ve thought possible.
I was no longer his mentor. He advanced so quickly, one of the black belts took him under his wing. Even so, Aaron and I remained good friends. My senior year in high school, he was a homeschooled freshman. The summer after my graduation, we both tested for our black belts.
Aaron had changed so much since those first days. He was still a bit of a nerd, but not as thin and bony; he now looked athletic. Sinewy, even. That year, we were the same height, five foot five.
While he was still a bit of a klutz in his everyday life, once he stepped on the mat, he was amazing—crisp, yet flexible. From watching him at our practice sessions, I knew he was good, but watching him at the promotion test, I was in awe. As soon as he finished, there was zero doubt he’d earned his black belt. I passed also, but not in the majestic way Aaron did.
I sneak a glance at him; his jaw is clenched, his lips are pursed, and he keeps shaking his head. He has a death-grip on the steering wheel.
“Are you worried about your family getting home?”
He hesitates before saying, “No, they’ll be fine. They can rent a car if the flights are grounded for too long. Micah will be happier if they drive anyway.” Aaron gives a small laugh. Nine-year-old Micah was convinced flying was a bad idea and they’d crash. It was funny at the time, but now, after five planes have crashed in a matter of minutes . . . I suck in a breath to keep from crying.
Aaron comes from a large family. He’s the middle child of nine. All four of the younger children still live at home in Wesley. I’m staying with them this summer while I’m home from school. Aaron has his own apartment on the other side of Wesley, near our dojang—our martial arts studio.
My parents rented out our house before they left for India. Unlike Aaron and his large family, I’m an only child. Mom and Dad would’ve loved to have more children, but there were complications from my birth that prevented it. I’m okay with being an only child.
Living at the Ogden home hasn’t been easy. It’s crazy loud all the time, and I rarely have a moment’s peace. I’m sharing a bedroom with twelve-year-old Rebecca. Oh, the angst of a preteen girl! I wonder if I was ever like that. I hope not.
We turn down the driveway of my temporary home. It’s a beautiful, large house with an attached double-car garage, a second story, a full basement, and a front porch large enough for two chairs and a small table. The lots in this older neighborhood are good-sized, giving them about a half an acre. In the back yard is an enormous deck, a freestanding single-car garage they use as a shed, and a well-kept lawn—Aaron’s dad’s pride and joy.
Always the gentleman, Aaron walks me to the front door.
“Can you . . . can you come in?”
He smiles. “You know I won’t.” I nod as he asks, “You’re still up for tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at . . . ” He flicks his wrist to check the time, then winces. “How about I pick you up at nine? We’ll still have time for breakfast first. I’ll bring a lunch, and we’ll be home in time for supper. Sound good?”
“Sounds good.”
We’re no longer the same height. I’m still five foot five, but Aaron’s five eleven. He leans down, while I pop up slightly on my toes so I can receive his usual austere peck on the lips before he turns back to the car. He doesn’t turn around as he says, “Go in the house, Laurie. You know I won’t drive away until you’re inside and have the door locked.”
“Yes, boss,” I respond, stepping into the house.
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