Page 21 of To the Moon and Back
There was a sound at the door. A key sliding through the lock. Kari jumped up. “They’re back!”
Ashley stood, too. The timing was perfect. She could hardly wait to tell Landon about their day. About the Survivor Tree and the memorial and the chalk patio. And the heartbroken firefighter she’d met at the fence. And her idea.
That somehow the two of them could help him.
7
T he heartache that lived in the deepest places of Jenna Davis was a private one.
She didn’t tell many people about her past. Her co-workers knew her story, but only the basic details. Her loss that dark April day wasn’t something she talked about, the feelings hers alone. And without a close friend in her life, Jenna had no one to share her pain with. No one who remembered what happened to her twenty-three years ago at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building.
If she were still in Oklahoma, maybe.
But Jenna lived in Columbus, Ohio, and the tragedy of that far-off April 19 was the last thing on anyone’s mind. Even today. Sure the late night news might make mention of the bombing. If more pressing stories didn’t fill up the hour. But it wasn’t likely.
Jenna smoothed the wrinkles from her black wool pencil skirt and checked her look in the mirror of the staff restroom. Martin Luther King Junior Elementary School had one of the nicest newly renovated facilities in the city. Jenna was blessed to work here. She had the best second-grade class in all of Ohio and her colleagues were some of the finest teachers in the state.
She added another layer of lipstick and fixed her hair. Her eyes looked greener in this light. Same eyes as her mother. That’s what her grandma used to tell her. Jenna studied herself. Last night at the science fair one of the parents had told her the same thing Jenna had heard a hundred times.
“You look like Emma Stone.” The woman had smiled at her. “Anyone ever told you that?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jenna had thanked the woman and moved on.
She loved the compliment, but not for the obvious reasons. She loved it because that’s what Brady had told her. Back then Emma Stone had done her debut film—some teenage comedy. At that point no one really knew the actress.
They had both seen the commercial for the movie, and neither of them liked it.
Something else they had in common.
Jenna took a deep breath. Where are you today, Brady? Whatever happened to you? She hesitated, waiting. But there would be no answer. Not from the bathroom mirror and not from God. She had asked enough times to know that. She slipped her lipstick back into her purse, walked to her second-grade classroom, and shut the door behind her. The kids were still at lunch, still running around the playground, laughing and carefree.
Unaware of the anniversary, or the sadness in their teacher’s heart.
Music. That’s what she needed. She used her phone to start her favorite playlist, something she liked to do before the kids returned to their desks. There were speakers on either side of the room. The set started with Kyle Kupecky’s song “Come Home.”
As the music played, Jenna couldn’t help but sing along.
My life’s a different story, than I thought it would be . . . I’ve collected a few memories, never thought I would see. I’ve traveled far . . . far away from home .
Jenna leaned against her chair and closed her eyes. She could’ve written the song herself. She drew a breath and blinked. Ten minutes and the students would be back in their seats. A pile of papers with the afternoon’s reading assignment sat on her desk. One for each of the boys and girls.
She took the stack and distributed it while the music played on.
But You tell me You love me . . . and You say to me it’s never too late. Wherever you are, no matter how far . . . you can still come home.
They were God’s words to her. Jenna knew that. She had lived them, after all. Somewhere along the journey of years since her last visit to the Oklahoma City memorial she had indeed found her way home.
Back to God.
The classroom door opened and a stream of twenty- three children ran inside and took their seats. Other teachers had a rule against running. Not Jenna. Life was too short. Olivia, the smallest child in the class, rushed up to her. “Miss Jenna, Edward hit me with the ball at recess!”
The girl had a red welt on her cheek. Jenna shifted her gaze to Edward. The child’s head was practically bald—the result of an outbreak of lice last week. Before that Edward’s hair had gone down to his shoulders. Didn’t seem to matter, long or short. Edward’s eyes sparkled with the possibility of mischief, though he gave her his best impression of an angel.
Something else the boy was good at.
“Edward.” Jenna raised her brow. “Come here, please.”
The other students were still getting situated, looking at the papers on their desks. Edward did as he was asked. When he reached Jenna, his eyes grew large. Innocence personified. “Yes, Miss Jenna?”
