“Okay.” Despite her flagging reserves and screaming need to fix something and make it right because she felt all she’d accomplished during this day was a long string of mistakes, Megan calmed herself and turned her attention to the soup and sandwich. She doesn’t need a counselor now. She just needs a friend. And so do you.
They ate in companionable silence, interrupted only by Jenny’s brief departure to the vending machine to buy fruit juices. With the odd combination of soup, sandwich, and juice, Megan felt like she was having a meal with Joey and Chris. All that was missing were the cartoons on TV.
And home, she reminded herself.
She finished the soup and had a second helping, not just to make Jenny feel good, but because the company and the warm broth made her hungry and felt healing. After they’d completed the meal, Megan and Jenny threw the trash away. Even during the short walk across the room to the trash cans, one of the MPs went with them.
Jenny sent the MP a scathing look, then said to Megan, “These guys really take their job seriously. You’d think you were on the Top Ten Most Wanted list or something.”
“It’s a serious situation,” Megan replied as they resumed their seats.
“Look,” Jenny said with an edge to her words, “don’t buy into the whole guilt trip they’re handing out here. What happened to Leslie, it’s bad. I’ll agree with that. But she’s the one who lost it. Not you. You walked into that house unarmed when a small army of MPs was ready to go in with guns blazing. You did what you could, and you’re going to feel a little guilty that you didn’t make it all better, but you tried.”
The young woman’s insight surprised Megan. You taught yourself the recipe for chicken noodle soup from a book in the library, but where did you learn such wisdom?
Megan remembered the talk Jenny had given her the morning after Chris had disappeared, how she had brought up the book she’d read about the Rapture and the Tribulation. Jenny had pointed out that God had allowed Megan to save Gerry Fletcher just long enough that he didn’t reach the other end of the four-story plummet he’d started.
“Thank you,” Megan said.
Jenny crossed her arms and looked a little embarrassed. “No big deal. I just don’t want to see you tearing yourself up over this. The kids need you.”
“I know.”
“But they need something more, too, Megan.” Jenny’s tone got a little harder. “Television and playing all-night Monopoly is only going to take them so far. At some point, if they don’t have more going on soon, they’re going to freak out.”
“I’m listening.” Megan was surprised to see the strong side of Jenny McGrath come out when she was obviously in some kind of personal turmoil herself.
“They need to know what’s happening,” Jenny said, looking straight at Megan. “They need to know what they’re supposed to do. A plan. That’s what they need most of all.”
“We’re working on surviving,” Megan said. “That’s a plan.”
“No.” Jenny’s voice shook with emotion. A tear slid down her cheek. She started to wipe it away, then stopped herself. She took a short, quick breath, and her face relaxed. Not another tear fell, and the first one spread so thin it couldn’t be seen anymore.
Megan knew the young woman’s control was incredible, but she had no idea how Jenny had learned to exercise it.
“Survival,” Jenny said in a calm and forceful voice, “isn’t good enough. Thinking about surviving something—that gets you through days. Maybe years if you really work at it and lie to yourself and tell yourself that’s all there is every day. But just thinking about surviving doesn’t get you through life.”
Where did you learn that?
“If you’re going to save the kids here at this base,” Jenny said, “you’re going to have to help them understand the truth of what really happened three days ago. And you’re going to have to let them know what they’re supposed to do about it.”
Megan couldn’t speak. The last time she and Jenny had had a conversation like this, they’d been in the privacy of her home and talking over a breakfast of bagels. It was one thing to discuss religion and belief in the sanctity of her home, but to do so while being guarded by the two MPs was disconcerting. She wasn’t strong enough for that. Even Bill Townsend had sensed that and never made her feel uncomfortable.
“I’m talking about the Rapture.” Jenny definitely wasn’t going to back off. “I tried talking to some of those kids today, to let them know what was going on. I even tried to get them to read the book I read. But maybe I didn’t explain it right.”
“Maybe they’re not ready,” Megan suggested.
“Megan, they … have … no … choice.” Jenny punctuated her words with her hand, like she was pushing each word into place between them. “The Tribulation lasts seven years. And if something happens to those kids before they learn what they’re supposed to do—” She let the rest of it hang.
Then they go to hell? Is that what happens, God? Would You really let that happen to them? The fear burned bright and hard inside Megan because she knew Jenny was right. But she didn’t know what she was going to do about it. She bowed her head, breaking eye contact with Jenny. God, I know we’re not supposed to ask for signs, but if You could see Your way clear—
“Mrs. Gander.”
Hearing her name startled Megan. She glanced up and saw Dr. Lyons, the surgeon who had taken Leslie Hollister when she’d arrived in the emergency room. Lyons was a career military doctor, ramrod straight, and in his early fifties. During her time at the post, Megan had gotten to know him and
