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  ZONDERVAN

  One Tuesday Morning/Beyond Tuesday Morning

  Copyright © 2006 by Karen Kingsbury

  One Tuesday Morning

  Copyright © 2003 by Karen Kingsbury

  Beyond Tuesday Morning

  Copyright © 2004 by Karen Kingsbury

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  ePub Edition August 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-86661-9

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

  ISBN-10: 0-310-60651-9

  ISBN-13: 978-0-310-60651-2

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible: New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

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  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Colorado Springs, Colorado 80920

  Interior design by Michelle Espinoza

  DEDICATION

  To Donald, my prince charming. When I wrote about Jake Bryan, I was writing about you—a man whose love for God is the heartbeat of all he does, all he says. All he is. I thank God that you are that kind of man, and that I am blessed to call you mine. I pray that our days together will always be the light they are today, and that I will continue to follow your lead, as you follow Christ's.

  To Kelsey, my little Norm, our precious teenager. The other day I remembered a time when you and Katie and Jentry were walking into kindergarten together. You were just the way I've made Sierra to be in this book—long golden curls and a smile that left a mark on everyone it touched. The beautiful thing, honey, is that you're still like that. I love that you are a one-in-a-million girl. You are the laughter in our home, Kelsey. I love you always and forever.

  To Tyler, my special boy. Watching you grow up I am often moved to silent awe—not an easy place (especially if you ask your dad). Handsome and tall, eyes set firmly on the goals you have for tomorrow. How many ten-year-olds want to star on Broadway, produce Hollywood films that are pleasing to God, and still write novels as a hobby? We all know the answer. Tears fill my eyes when I look to the day—dangling out there in the not-so-distant future—when the theme to Annie won't play constantly in the background. But for now, I'm savoring every note, memorizing every crazy thing you say and do, and knowing that God has a special plan for you. And remember what you mean to me. I'll always love you, always believe in you, always pray for you … my oldest son. Hold on fast to Jesus, buddy. He knows the way from here to there.

  To Austin, my miracle boy, who's gotten so big this past summer. Just a few more months and our time together will be over, little one. In the fall you'll join the whirlwind with the others—off to school. But for now you and I still have what feels like endless mornings of give-and-go on your plastic indoor basketball hoop. “Make it higher, Mommy … I'm Michael Jordan, remember?” Yes … I remember. And when you score seven goals in a soccer game as you did last week, I know without a doubt that God is smiling at you. Was it five years ago that the doctor rushed you into surgery and told us there was something wrong with your heart, when he told us you might not live to see your fourth week of life? Even the doctors are amazed at how well you are now, how you have not a trace of the heart problem you suffered back then. Lucky, they say. Very lucky. But we know the truth, don't we, MJ? God gave you back to me, and I am grateful for every single morning. I love you, Austin. Always and always.

  To EJ, my first chosen son. You have grown in leaps and bounds since coming to live with us from Haiti. We thought we were going to bless you by giving you a place in our home. But that wasn't how it worked out. The blessings have been all ours … watching you go from a frightened, helpless child to a self-sufficient, articulate little boy. God is the one who brought us together, and I pray you hang on to Him every day of your life. He has huge plans for you, son. I love you, EJ.

  To Sean, my happy silly-heart. You are so easily pleased, so happy to be here. I remember when you told me that one day you'd get a job and save up some money. “So I can give it to you, Mommy … for everything you and Daddy have done for me.” What I told you then is the same thing I want to tell you now. Just love God, Sean. Nothing would make me happier in the years and decades to come than to watch you love God the same way you love Him now. Don't forget about all the gifts He's given you … I love you, Sean.

  To Josh, our gentle giant. You are easily the fastest boy at school, the strongest in any game you play. Yet watching you is like watching an adult among children—you have that same gentle quality, that patience and kindness. I see it especially when you play with Austin, letting him win and even more, letting him think he'
s won. That takes a special type of confidence, a rare gift. You can do whatever you want to in life, Joshua. God has blessed you that greatly. Always remember that your abilities come from Him … and know that I love you forever and ever.

  And to God Almighty, the Author of Life, who has—for now—blessed me with these.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  One Tuesday Morning

  Dedication

  A Note to the Reader

  Acknowedgement

  Chapter: One

  Chapter: Two

  Chapter: Three

  Chapter: Four

  Chapter: Five

  Chapter: Six

  Chapter: Seven

  Chapter: Eight

  Chapter: Nine

  Chapter: Ten

  Chapter: Eleven

  Chapter: Twelve

  Chapter: Thirteen

  Chapter: Fourteen

  Chapter: Fifteen

  Chapter: Sixteen

  Chapter: Seventeen

  Chapter: Eighteen

  Chapter: Nineteen

  Chapter: Twenty

  Chapter: Twenty-One

  Chapter: Twenty-Two

  Chapter: Twenty-Three

  Chapter: Twenty-Four

  Chapter: Twenty-Five

  Chapter: Twenty-Six

  Chapter: Twenty-Seven

  Chapter: Twenty-Eight

  Chapter: Twenty-Nine

  Chapter: Thirty

  Chapter: Thirty-One

  Chapter: Thirty-Two

  Chapter: Thirty-Three

  Chapter: Thirty-Four

  Chapter: Thirty-Five

  Chapter: Thirty-Six

  Author Notes

  Beyond Tuesday Morning

  Dedicated To

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter: One

  Chapter: Two

  Chapter: Three

  Chapter: Four

  Chapter: Five

  Chapter: Six

  Chapter: Seven

  Chapter: Eight

  Chapter: Nine

  Chapter: Ten

  Chapter: Eleven

  Chapter: Twelve

  Chapter: Thirteen

  Chapter: Fourteen

  Chapter: Fifteen

  Chapter: Sixteen

  Chapter: Seventeen

  Chapter: Eighteen

  Chapter: Nineteen

  Chapter: Twenty

  Chapter: Twenty-One

  Chapter: Twenty-Two

  Chapter: Twenty-Three

  Chapter: Twenty-Four

  Chapter: Twenty-Five

  Chapter: Twenty-Six

  Chapter: Twenty-Seven

  Chapter: Twenty-Eight

  Chapter: Twenty-Nine

  A Note from Karen

  About the Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A book of this magnitude does not come together without an enormous amount of research and assistance. For that reason, there are several people I must thank before getting into the story of One Tuesday Morning.

  First, a humble thanks to the firefighters across the nation who courageously do their job on our behalf; and especially to the brave members of the FDNY. I have used a fictitious New York station in this novel, and also a fictitious Engine and Ladder company. But the truth is it could have been any of those in Manhattan and the surrounding areas. A special thanks to FDNY Press Secretary David Billing for helping me with determining fictitious Engine and Ladder companies, and for helping me accurately depict certain FDNY details. Also a heartfelt thanks to firefighter Brian Baum and dozens of others who lent priceless insight and accuracy to this novel. I count you among my heroes and friends.

  As in the past, I want to thank Dr. Bryce Cleary for helping me have a true picture of the medical side of what my characters went through in One Tuesday Morning. You are my honorary doctor, and I enjoy giving you cameos in the stories that grow in my heart.

  Thanks, also, to my editor at Zondervan—Dave Lambert. I am blessed beyond measure to have the privilege to work with you in this novel. The book it is today is proof that you are gifted in what you do. In that same vein, a thanks to the others at Zondervan, and especially to my amazing cover designer—Kirk DouPonce of Uttley-DouPonce Designworks. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. People judge a book by the cover, and I can only pray the story measures up. You are amazing!

  A thank-you to my agent, Greg Johnson. There isn't enough space here to adequately thank you for all you do, Greg. I treasure our friendship, trust your judgment, and easily leave my career in God's hands and yours. I'm still grateful beyond words for that CBA luncheon when Terri Blackstock told me about you. Nothing has been the same since.

  Thanks also to my special friends—the ones who encourage me and pray for me. Sylvia and Walt Walgren, Anne and Ron Hudson, Vicki, Joan, Kathy, Melinda, John, Robyn, Rick, and many, many more. Please keep praying, friends. I need you now more than ever. A special thanks goes to my family as well for understanding the extra hours I put in on this novel. I believe the end result has been well worth it … and I look forward to the time we'll have together in the coming weeks. You guys are the best!

  And, of course, a special thanks to my parents and my sister, Tricia, for helping me down the stretch while I edited One Tuesday Morning. I am grateful for your servant hearts in helping me through what would otherwise have been an impossible time.

  Finally, a special thanks to God for giving me the story of One Tuesday Morning. When I wrote the last page, there were tears on my face, and I raised my hands upwards. Because a novel like this one could only have come from Him.

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  To write a novel rooted in truth, an author must take certain liberties. I did that with One Tuesday Morning. Certain events—for instance the funeral of the unnamed probational firefighter detailed early in the book—were changed for the purpose of the story line. In reality firefighter Michael Gorumba, twenty-seven, suffered a heart attack and was remembered on September 1, 2001, at a St. Charles Catholic Church service in Staten Island, not on September 2, in Manhattan as my novel depicts. Other such changes to true events occur in a minor sense only.

  For the most part I've tried to write my novel within the confines of the tragic reality of the events that took place around September 11. One Tuesday Morning does not pretend to be a novelization of the tragedy that happened in Manhattan that terrible day. Too much of what took place with the terrorist attacks is not covered in this novel for that to be the case. Rather, I drew from hundreds of firsthand accounts, news stories, personal interviews, and other research. In the process I created a story that truly could've happened, given the multiple cases of amnesia caused when the World Trade Center collapsed.

  One Tuesday Morning is my way of grieving through all the events of September 11.

  Out of respect for the New York City Fire Department and the real heroes who fought and in many cases died on September 11, I've created for the purpose of this novel a fictitious fire station, along with fictitious Engine and Ladder companies. Any similarities to actual FDNY firefighters or fire stations is purely coincidental.

  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 stoo
d a few inches away, tall and proud, his blue uniform pressed crisp, right hand sharply at attention near his 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.”