Oceans Apart (43 page)

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– Karen Kingsbury –

On a personal note, my family is doing very well. Donald is coaching our own boys these days, and loving every minute. He is considering starting a private team, anchored in Bible study and prayer, a team that would involve the families of players and help shape young men not only as basketball players but also as godly, contributing members of society. I remain in awe of his gifts.

Our children are growing like weeds, and this year they seem to have slipped into a warp speed of growth, a kind Don and I have never seen before. Kelsey is beautiful, with long hair and longer legs and a smile and determination that proves she is a one-in-a-million girl. Tyler is still singing and acting, and thrilled that this year Kelsey has joined him on the stage in our local Christian Youth Theater.

As for the four youngest boys, sports remain their top priority.

We manage to slip a bit of reading and arithmetic in as well, but they’re happiest when they’re playing basketball or soccer, swing-ing a bat, or rollerblading in our driveway. They have each become professional frog catchers, and I delight to see them run through the back door with a special catch in their hands. I try to take pictures of the best frogs, and if they sometimes hop onto the kitchen floor, well then, that’s okay. They’ll forget about the frogs soon enough.

This year we also had another addition to our house, two boys—

nineteen and twenty-one, respectively. These young men both played sports for Don in years past, but didn’t know each other before coming to our house last spring. Each was desperate for structure and Christian guidance. My heart is full beyond belief today as I see the changes they’ve made, and the godly men they are becoming. And what a blessing to know that God has trusted us—

even for a short time—with two more of His own.

As always, I covet your prayers for my writing ministry and especially for my family. You are the other half of this writing life I lead, 335

you who read the books and tell others about them, you who pray for me that I will hear God before each and every book I write.

Thousands of you have written to me in the past year, and I’ve read every letter. Sometimes with tears, sometimes with a smile, always with a grateful heart that Christ would give me a story that might touch your life. Amazing. Please contact me and let me know how you’re doing. I love hearing from you.

In Christ’s amazing grace,

Karen Kingsbury

Email address:
[email protected]

Website:
www.KarenKingsbury.com

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STUDY GUIDE

1. Think of the beach scene where Michele first learns that her husband has been unfaithful to her. Describe a time when you discovered someone had hurt you. How did you react to the news initially?

2. What role did God play in how you handled that news?

3. Read Romans 8:28. God tells us that all things work to the good of those who love Him. Did hurtful events in your life end up bringing about good in your life? Explain.

4. Kiahna loved to talk to Max about second chances. Describe the time in your life when you first understood God’s gift of grace and salvation. Share your personal story with someone, or write it in a journal.

5. Kiahna felt that she needed a second chance with God because of what major event in her life? Did she fall easily? What led to her sin?

6. Think back and remember a time when you fell short of God’s best for your life. Describe that time. How did you feel immediately after falling?

7. What did God bring about to help you realize you could be forgiven?

8. Describe your second chance after that difficult time.

9. Read Colossians 3 and 4, and list seven rules for holy living that will help you avoid the type of situation Kiahna and Conor fell into.

10. Do a search on forgiveness in Scripture. List four verses that act as guidelines on how to handle broken relationships, whenever possible.

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Excerpt from the bestselling novel

ONE TUESDAY MORNING

by Karen Kingsbury

ONE

September 2, 2001

There were too many funerals.

Jamie Bryan locked eyes on the casket anchored atop a specially fitted slow-moving New York City fire truck, and that was her only thought. Too many funerals. So many that this one—like those before it—was steeped in tradition: the haunting refrains from fifty bagpipes, the white-gloved salute, the lone bugler sounding taps, the helicopter passing overhead. Jamie knew the routine well. Hundreds of dignitaries and several thousand uniformed firefighters lined Fifth Avenue outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the same way they’d done five times already that year.

A sad melody lifted from the bagpipes and mingled with the early September wind.

“I hate this,” she whispered without moving.

Her husband stood a few inches away, tall and proud, his blue uniform pressed crisp, right hand sharply at attention near his 339

– One Tuesday Morning –

brow. He squeezed her hand. No words came, no response to her statement. What could he say? Funerals were part of the job.

Sometimes ten a year, sometimes twenty. This year was the lightest yet. Only six so far—six men like Jake who went to work for the FDNY one morning and never came home.

The funeral music swelled, and Jamie Bryan could feel the walls, feel them growing and building within her. The first bricks had been with her since the beginning, back when she first considered marrying a New York City firefighter.

Back when she and Jake Bryan were just twelve years old.

“I’m never leaving New York City.” They’d been playing tag with neighbor kids outside his house one day that summer. Everyone else had gone in for dinner. “I’ll be FDNY like my daddy.” Certainty shone from his eyes as they made their way onto his front lawn. “Puttin’ out fires and savin’ people.”

“That’s fine for you.” She’d dropped to the ground and leaned back on her elbows. “When I grow up I’m gonna live in France.” She stared at the hazy humid New York sky. “Artists live there.”

“Oh yeah?” Jake flopped down beside her. “Before or after you marry me?”

She lowered her chin to her chest and raised her eyebrows at him. “What makes you think I’d marry you, Jake Bryan?”

“Because . . .” He twisted his baseball cap and shot her a grin.

“You love me. And you always will.”

That had been it, really. They didn’t date until high school, but after that summer Jake Bryan had been the only boy for her.

“What do you see in him?” Her father peered at her over the top of his newspaper the day after her eighteenth birthday. “He’ll never be rich.”

Jamie had rolled her eyes. “Money isn’t everything, Daddy.”

“But security is.” Her father let the newspaper fall to the table.

“You’ll get neither from Jake.”

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– Karen Kingsbury –

Anger had flashed like lightning across Jamie’s heart. “How can you say that?”

“Because.” Her father had rested his forearms on the table, his expression softer. “It’s a tough job, fighting fires in New York City.

The danger’s always there, Jamie, as close as the next call.” He gestured in the direction of Jake’s house. “Look at his mother. She lives with the danger every day. It’s in her eyes, part of who she is. That’ll be you one day if you marry Jake Bryan.” Her father and Jake’s were both Staten Island men, hardworking New Yorkers who made the commute to Manhattan every day. But the similarities stopped there. Jake’s father, Jim, was a fireman, a chaplain who always had something to say about God or the importance of faith.

“What good thing has the Lord done for you today, Jamie?” he’d ask, grinning at her with piercing blue eyes that would light up the room.

Jamie was never sure how to answer the man. She had no prac-tice at giving God credit for the good things in life. Small wonder, really. Her father, Henry Steele, was an investment banker who had built a small financial empire with nothing more than brains, determination, and self-reliance. At least that was his explanation.

Their family had lived in the same house where Jake and Jamie and their daughter, Sierra, lived today. In an elite section of Westerleigh, not far from the Staten Island Expressway and the ferry ramps. The sprawling two-story colonial had a finished basement and a built-in pool in the backyard. Back then Jamie and her sister had been friends, just two years apart and living the charmed life of summer beach parties and winter vacations in the Florida Keys.

All of it compliments of Henry Steele’s hard work and ingenuity.

God got no credit at all.

“A man doesn’t need anyone but himself,” he would tell Jamie and her sister. “Religion is a sign of weakness.” Then he’d shoot a 341

– One Tuesday Morning –

pointed look at Jamie. “Of course, when a person fights fires in New York City, faith might be a necessity.” And so Jamie waited month after month for something terrible to happen to Jake’s father. But in the end it had been Jamie’s father, not Jake’s, who died the tragic death. One evening when her parents were driving home from the ferry, her father lost control at the wheel, careened off the road, and wrapped their car around a telephone pole. By the time paramedics arrived at the scene, both her parents were dead. Jamie was twenty that year, her sister, eighteen.

Their parents carried a million dollars’ life insurance each, and a lawyer helped the girls work out an agreement. Jamie got the family house; Kara got a full ride to Florida State University and stocks. They were both given enough savings to last a lifetime, but no amount of money could stop the arguments that developed over the next few years. An ocean of differences lay between them now.

It had been five years since they’d spoken to each other.

Three years after the death of her parents, Jamie remembered her father’s warning about Jake’s job as she stood by and watched him graduate with his fire science degree. Weeks later he was hired by the New York Fire Department. The next summer Jake and Jamie married and honeymooned on a Caribbean cruise, and since then Jamie hadn’t been more than a hundred miles from the East Coast.

But she no longer wanted to travel the world. Sights from a dozen exotic countries could never rival the pleasure she felt simply loving Jake Bryan.

“You don’t have to work, you know . . .” Jamie had mentioned the fact to Jake just once—a month before his first shift with FDNY. “We have enough money.” Jake had bristled in a way she hadn’t seen him do before or since.

“Listen. Fighting fires in New York City is part of who I am, Jamie. Deep inside me.” His eyes held a hard glint. “It’s not about the money.”

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– Karen Kingsbury –

The bagpipes stopped, and a sad silence hung in the air.

A bugle cry pierced the quiet morning, and the lonely sound of taps filled the street. Jamie stared at the coffin again. The dead man had been a proby, a probational firefighter still serving his first year with the department. This time deadly smoke, fiery flames, and falling ceiling beams weren’t responsible.

The man’s engine company had simply responded to an auto shop on fire. For several minutes the proby worked a massive hose reel at the side of the engine, then he climbed back into the cab.

His buddies found him not long afterwards, slumped forward, dead of a heart attack at twenty-seven years old. Just five months after graduating top of his class.

He was the fourth fireman to suffer a fatal heart attack in ten months.

The bugle rang out its last note, and in very little time, the sea of blue began to break up. Jamie and Jake held hands as they made their way back to his pickup truck and headed home to Sierra.

Sierra . . .

The image of their four-year-old daughter filled Jamie’s heart and for a moment dimmed the deep ache there. Sierra had Jake’s blue eyes and Jamie’s trademark dimples. No one knew where Sierra had gotten her blonde silky hair, but she was a beauty, inside and out. Days like this, Jamie could hardly wait to hold her, to soak in the warmth and hope of her precious laugh. The girl had held both their hearts captive since the day she was born.

Jamie stared out the truck window.

Manhattan smelled of warm bistros and cabbie exhaust fumes.

It didn’t have a downtime. The sidewalks teamed with people as much now as they would on a weekday. She keyed on a couple about the same age as she and Jake, dressed for business, walking briskly toward some lower Manhattan destination. The two exchanged a smile, and for a fraction of a second, Jamie wondered, 343

– One Tuesday Morning –

Do they know about the dead fireman? Do they spend time pondering the
fact that men like Jake are willing to die for their safety?

Jamie shifted and slipped her hand into Jake’s.
Of course they
don’t. Unless they know a firefighter or police officer, unless they regularly attend the funerals, why would they?
She leaned back in her seat and looked at Jake. The silence between them was heavy, and words didn’t come until they hit the ferry docks.