Page 25 of Truly, Madly, Deeply
“Well…” Ashley glanced toward her husband, a few yards away. “We were going to tell you all later. Landonsaw a specialist yesterday morning. When we first got to the city.” She grinned at Reagan. “He has allergies. Nothing more.”
“Really?” Reagan felt a wave of relief. “Thank God. That’s incredible.”
“Yes.” Ashley looked at Landon again. “His health doesn’t make sense. God alone.”
Again silence fell over them. Most people walking or sitting in the memorial garden complex didn’t speak. Each caught up in a story known only to them. The strange thing was, everyone here was connected in some way. Because on a page nineteen years ago, their stories had all intersected.
They had that in common.
Reagan breathed deep and gratitude filled her heart. Yes, she had lost her father on 9/11, but look at how far God had brought them since then. Nineteen years ago, Reagan never could have pictured a day like this. Sitting here on a beautiful September morning, walking and remembering in the exact place where the towers had once stood. Here with Luke, the love of her life. And with their son.
God’s mercies really were new every morning like the Bible said. And God had a way of taking the very worst situation and bringing good out of it. Hope from horror. Mercy from madness. And something God proved when He gave her Tommy.
Beauty from brokenness.
And now Reagan had something else, a treasure shewould keep forever. The story her mother had told her earlier that morning. In a few days, when they were back home and the time was right, Reagan would share the story with her family. It was too sacred to share here with strangers milling about. For now, holding the truth deep in her heart was enough for Reagan. The fact was this: Her father hadn’t only been a businessman on the eighty-ninth floor of the North Tower that Tuesday morning.
He had been a hero.
9
The experience at Ground Zero was changing Tommy. He could feel it.
From the moment he stepped out of the Uber and set foot on the sacred sidewalks surrounding the new One World Trade Center, Tommy had been struck by one thing: 9/11 had really happened.
This tragedy was part of the past for him, of course. Same with his friends at school and his cousins. At school, some teachers glossed over 9/11 as part of a sociology lesson. But it was history. As much as Bunker Hill or Pearl Harbor.
Every year on this date Tommy’s family hung an American flag, and most of their neighbors did the same. But in the back of Tommy’s mind the idea that terrorists had actually flown commercial airliners into the Twin Towers seemed inconceivable.
It had happened, of course. Occasionally he and his family would watch an old movie set in Manhattan and a panoramic shot would include the Twin Towers. They were real. They had stood on this very spot and they had housed thousands of workers.
Tommy had also known that his parents’ story was intrinsically connected to what happened on 9/11. But until today he hadn’t understood the very grave scope of the matter. How his mother had missed the chance to have a final conversation with her father and how what had happened that Monday night had resulted in his own birth. And at the same time, had nearly separated his parents forever.
But the part that hit him hardest today, the aspect of this real-life 9/11 that was still sending shock waves through Tommy, was the heroic actions of the first responders. The numbers lost that day were mind-blowing.
Tommy wandered back to the display detailing how many firefighters and police officers had died on 9/11 or because of it. Not only the 343 firemen and 71 police officers when the towers collapsed, but since then another 204 firefighters and an additional 241 NYPD men and women.
He was still trying to grasp the loss when a man walked up to him. A quick glance and Tommy spotted the FDNY patch on the shoulder of his uniform. He was Hispanic, maybe in his late forties, and he looked a million miles away.
If the guy wanted privacy, Tommy wasn’t going to interrupt him.
After a minute or so the man breathed deep. “Seems like yesterday.”
There was no one else around. Tommy shifted so he could see the man better. “My grandfather worked on theeighty-ninth floor of the North Tower.” He squinted. “This is my first time here.”
The man nodded. “Only three of us from my station made it out alive that day.” He gazed toward the place where the North Tower once stood. Then he turned to Tommy. “Javier Sanchez.”
“Tommy Baxter.” He could hardly believe it. Javier had actually been here that long-ago September 11. “They… don’t teach us much about the attacks in school.” Tommy didn’t want to push. But if the man was willing to talk he would listen.
“My son’s in high school. Tenth grade.” Javier looked at him. “He says the same thing. No one talks about it. Even here in New York.”
A hundred questions filled Tommy’s mind, but he didn’t dare ask them. Instead he stared at the memorial plaque again. “The numbers are… more than I can get my mind around. Hundreds and hundreds of first responders. All killed.” He looked at Javier. “It’s hard to believe.”
The man folded his arms. “It was hard to believe back then.” He looked across the grounds, like he was seeing it all again. “The call came in. Fire at the top of the North Tower. Plane crash.” He blinked a few times. “We thought it was a small plane. Some sort of crazy accident.” His eyes met Tommy’s. “Because who would’ve thought hijackers would crash a plane on purpose?”
Tommy hadn’t thought of that. How back then no one would’ve expected such a thing.
“Bad guys used to ask for money. They cared about living.” Javier had a heavy New York accent. Probably born and raised here. He narrowed his eyes. “Well, Tommy Baxter. Since they don’t tell you what happened, I’ll tell you.” His eyes welled up. “It happened. I was here.”
