Rejoice by Karen Kingsbury Page B

five days should be enough for a young firefighter to commit to a lifetime in Manhattan. No doubt.
    “Very well, then.” The battalion chief stood and held his hand out to Landon. “I happen to think you already know what you want, Lieutenant. And I’m convinced beyond a doubt that we made the right choice in calling you here today.”
    Landon stood and took firm hold of the man’s hand. “Thank you, sir. You won’t be sorry.”
    “I’m sure of it.”
    The handshakes continued around the table, with several men nodding their approval and reminding him to make the call sooner if he was certain about his decision. When he finally left the room, Captain Dillon followed him.
    “I knew what you were thinking in there, Blake.” He stood inches from Landon’s face, his expression serious.
    Did he know? Could he have read Landon’s thoughts about Ashley and Cole and the life that awaited him back in Bloomington. He searched the man’s eyes. “You . . . you did?”
    “Yes.” The captain took a step back and crossed his arms. “You’re thinking it isn’t fair; you’re not next in line for a promotion like this one, right? Isn’t that what you were thinking?”
    The man was partially right. “Yes, sir. Other men should have the chance before me.”
    “You’re right, Blake.” His voice fell to an insistent hush. “But other men aren’t brass material. The decision to promote you was unanimous, and in all my years one thing has always been true when we agree on the man we’ll promote.”
    “What’s that, sir?”
    “We’re right.” He brought his tone back to a normal level. “Go enjoy the rest of your day off, Blake.”
    Landon had taken the subway to the station, but now he wanted to walk, to suck in big gulps of city air and sort through everything he’d just been told. His station was only a block from Central Park. As he left, he took long fast strides toward his favorite path, the one that wound east and then north past several play areas and the skating rink.
    The streets were crowded, full of the tourists who came for the fall leaves and milder autumn temperatures. Vendors shouted about T-shirts for sale and off-Broadway theater productions, but Landon hurried past, not paying attention to any of them.
    They wanted to make him captain? in January?
    Instead of the hundreds of people he passed, his mind saw only one face. His friend Jalen’s. Hadn’t that been Jalen’s dream? To make captain and one day find himself among the FDNY brass? Was he up in heaven right now, nudging God and asking that the plans for Landon’s life include his very own long-ago dreams?
    Landon walked harder, pushing himself.
    For two years he’d been too busy to think about the possibility of promotion. Busy finding Jalen’s body in the heap of rubble after the World Trade Center collapsed, busy getting established in the department last January. And most of all busy trying to figure out Ashley Baxter.
    He’d done everything he knew to win her heart, but where was she? The answer caused a bitter burst of air to slip through his teeth. She was back in Bloomington avoiding his calls the same way she’d avoided them back when they were in high school.
    He was in the park now, shaded by the trees that lined the path. A dark-skinned man in a white coat caught his eye and waved an ice-cream sandwich at him. “Ice cream . . . get your ice cream . . .”
    Landon kept walking.
    A hundred scenarios could have played out in that meeting room. He could’ve been under scrutiny for failing to file a report, or he could’ve messed up on protocol at one job or another. They might have wanted his opinion about a certain call or asked questions about the way a rescue had gone down.
    They could’ve even hinted at a promotion.
    But captain? And a shot at one day becoming chief of the department?
    All when hours earlier he’d practically heard God tell him to relax, rejoice, because the Lord’s plans for his life were set