Remembering You by Tricia Goyer Page A

first verse, Grandpa Jack joined in. Ava tried not to let her frustration ruin the trip, and as softly as possible she hummed along. She was pleasantly surprised to discover that Dennis knew the words as he joined in with the guys.
    As they approached the outskirts of Bastogne, Ava spotted large gun turrets on either side of the road. She sat straighter in her seat.
    “Would you look at that,” Dennis said. “Those are ours.”
    “They sure are,” Paul said.
    “I never would have thought…,” Grandpa Jack mumbled.
    “That’s amazing—that the town still remembers and honors the liberators,” Ava said, trying to show the guys she could still be pleasant even if she didn’t get her way.
    Ava pulled her digital camera out of her bag, but instead of taking a photo of the turrets, she turned and took a photo of the men.
    Turning back around, she clicked the button to view the photo. The men’s faces were solemn, but their eyes held a special sparkle. The expression on their faces spoke what they didn’t say.
    We’re back.
    They still care.
    They remember…

Chapter Twelve
    Blue curtains with bright pink flowers fluttered in the open windows as Ava, Dennis, and their grandfathers sat in the hotel dining room enjoying dinner that night. The white floor was spotless, the chairs had comfortable blue cushions, and a painting of a medieval village hung near their table. Other tourists sat around the room, enjoying quiet conversation.
    Grandpa Jack leaned forward, arms on the table, telling them how—after weeks of fighting—the people from Bastogne had been so thankful that the Americans had finally pushed the Germans out.
    “The women brought us flowers. The men had tears in their eyes. We passed out chocolate to the children.”

    Grandpa Jack spoke a little too loudly compared to the others at neighboring tables. Other customers looked over, and Ava shrank down a little bit in her seat. She didn’t want to interrupt to tell him that he was talking too loudly or that he had bread crumbs making indentions in his lower arm where his sleeve was rolled up. She couldn’t remember the last time he had told a story with such enthusiasm. Part of her was happy. The other part was frustrated. Why can’t he share his stories with this much enthusiasm in front of a camera?
    “Could you imagine the lives of those kids? All they knew was war,” Dennis said.
    “Worse yet were the ones who didn’t make it. The bodies…” Grand-Paul lowered his head.
    “Let’s not talk about that, Paul.” Grandpa Jack’s voice quavered. His face looked pained, as if a clear memory had surfaced.
    Ava looked at him and noticed tears. Her own eyes misted. She looked at Dennis and saw him looking at her—watching her as she watched Grandpa Jack. Heat rose to her cheeks, which made her even more frustrated. He’d been rude to her on much of this trip, so why did she still blush under his gaze? Part of her wanted to ignore his attention. After all, he knew about Chenogne and refused to tell her what had happened. Yet another part of her wondered if they could ever have the type of friendship they had after high school. Could they pick up where they had left off? Was that possible? The idea both excited and frightened her.
    Cigarette smoke filled the room, giving it a dim and hazy feeling. She leaned closer to the open window, appreciating the nosmoking policy in restaurants back home.
    They finished their simple meal of goulash, frites, and vegetables, and Grandpa Jack seemed more solemn than he had at the beginning of the meal. Grand-Paul pushed back his chair. Without a moment’s pause, Dennis rose and helped him.
    “So are you going to have a long night working on that video?” Grand-Paul asked.
    “I hope not. I need to work on it, but I’m really tired.” She stood and stretched. “The jet lag’s finally hitting me.”

    “Maybe you should get some rest. This is just the beginning of the trip. You don’t want to make yourself