Chapter 19

Max walked a few steps without saying anything, and then asked, "Okay, what do you mean?"

"Well," I said, "I know you've been a Christian longer than I have, and probably you know a lot more about it. But I've found out that originally 'evangelical' didn't refer to what I guess we could call low-church conservative Protestantism, but meant something like 'having to do with the Gospel.' You could have an evangelical meeting, or an evangelical sermon, but they never used to refer to people as evangelical."

"And so, if I understand you right, you want our wedding to have something to do with the Gospel."

"Exactly. I want the guests to know what we're Christians, and to hear the truth somewhere in the ceremony."

"That's not a bad idea," Max said, and bumped her head against my shoulder. "Do you have any notion of how we could do it?"

"Well, I'd thought of having the preacher – Earl, you remember – say something, but that's so ... so standard, if you know what I mean. The preacher says something every Sunday morning. So what if we said something?"

"How do you mean?"

I was trying to explain something that I wasn't sure I'd completely grasped yet. "Well, neither of us is a preacher, so neither of us could preach a sermon—"

"Actually, either of us could. When in doubt, preach the Gospel. I think what you mean is that neither of us is a pastor."

"Whatever I mean, Max, you could at least wait till I'm finished."

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. She looked down at the ground and squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry, beloved. You're right – I have been a Christian longer, and I wound up spouting my superior knowledge at you, and interrupted too. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Max. I'm not trying to turn you into a yes-woman, after all. Anyway, what I was saying is that we wouldn't need to preach a sermon, but what if, somewhere before the vows, each of us said something about Jesus?"

"That's sort of vague, but I like it. We could, I guess, each give our testimony."

"That's it!" I said. "I've been trying to think what to call it, and that's exactly it."

"In that case, we'll consider it settled. We'll have to work out exactly where in the ceremony, but we'll include our testimonies." She paused, looking up at me as we walked. "I've got an idea too."

"I'll bet it's a good one."

"I think so – and it's an evangelical one, too."

"Oh, you're learning new words, Max!"

She laughed. "Oh, I already knew the word. You just gave me a new definition for it."

"So, using the new definition, what's your idea?"

"Just before the vows, beloved, I want us to partake of the Lord's Supper."

"The whole crowd?" I asked, trying to imagine the logistics of interrupting the wedding for such an observance.

"No, not everyone," Max said. "Just us. I want us to go into our marriage remembering Jesus, who died for us."

"Just us?"

"Yes. I want to serve you the emblems, and have you serve them to me. I want our last thoughts before we say our vows to be of Jesus, and I don't know any better way to do it than that."

"It's certainly interesting," I said. "And I guess it would make an impression on the guests..."

"It would. Of course I'm not interested in making impressions as such, but if the last thing they saw before we said our vows was a remembrance of Christ's death, they could hardly miss the point, could they?"

"Well, maybe they could. How many people sit in church their whole lives and still miss the point?"

"Okay, you've got a point," she said, and giggled – no doubt at hearing point so many times in succession. "I've known people who were in church forever, and were so hateful or worldly that I've wondered if they knew Jesus. But you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," I said, and kissed her pale hair. "And I think it's a marvelous idea. I guess, from the way you've described it, that the testimonies would come earlier in the ceremony."

"I would think so, yes."

"Okay, that's what I thought." I looked down at her, at her hair and her fair skin and the freckles that spread across her nose and cheekbones. "I wonder what our kids will look like?"

She looked up at me, startled. "You changed the subject with a vengeance," she said.

"Well, I do wonder."

She smiled. "With your dark coloring, and my whiteness, they could come out anywhere along the spectrum. But I would like a son who has your olive skin and your dark curly hair. Of course this isn't a brand new subject with us..."

"No, it's not, though I didn't remember till you mentioned it. Well, I'd like a daughter who looks like you – freckles and all." As I said it, I realized that it wasn't just a joking rejoinder, but the actual truth.

"Let's have both."

"Both?"

"Both, Derek – a dark son and a light daughter."

"We could have more children than two, you know."

She nodded. "I do know – and I do want more than two. But my career is there..."

"Well, we can deal with the question when we come to it, but I could be a househusband."

"We'll discuss that at the time, yes. But even if you stay at home and take care of the children, I can't fly pregnant."

I considered that. If Max became pregnant, the harsh G forces that fighter pilots face could harm the unborn baby, and she'd have to be off flight status for nearly a year. And she was nearly 30. Could I ask her to lose two years out of her career in order to have children? But did she want to wait to have children until she'd reached some point in her career? She had a few years of safe childbearing left, but the longer she waited the older she'd be during her children's lives.

"I think I know what you're thinking," Max said. "You're trying to weigh flying and age, aren't you?"

I nodded.

"I've been thinking about that as well. I've thought about it, off and on, for a long time. And ... and I don't know how to decide. I know I want children – I really do want those two we've been talking about, and more besides. But I want to fly too. Derek, I fly like you breathe. It's part of me. And I'm not ready to give that up, any more than I'm ready to give up having children."

"So how do we decide?"

"I don't know. We do have a little bit of time. But we are going to have to thrash it out. I'm not sure, though, that now's the time. Right now we're planning our wedding, and I think we ought to wait till we're married to figure out how we're going to balance flying and children."

I grimaced. "If we didn't have to hurry..."

"I know. I don't like it either. But I got us into this situation, and now we've got no choice."

I stopped walking, and tugged on her hand – we were still holding hands – until she turned to face me. "Max, stop blaming yourself for where we are. Yes, you pursued me – very aggressively, and in spite of my protests. But I never once said, 'Lieutenant, this is wrong, and I refuse to be a part of it.' I could have done that, Max, and I think you'd have backed off. But I didn't. I'm just as responsible for our situation as you are."

"I would have backed off, if you'd said something like that. I was afraid the whole time that you would."

"But I didn't, did I? And so the fact that I'm on my way out of the Air Force rests on my shoulders too. Don't try to carry the whole burden, Max. It's not yours to carry."

She took a step and leaned against me, her arms wrapping loosely around my waist. "Okay, beloved, I'll try to remember that."

My arms were around her shoulders, holding her gently. "And remember that I love you, Max."

Her voice was muffled against my chest. "Oh, I'll never forget that, Derek. And another thing I'll never forget – I love you too."

After that weekend, Max and I didn't see each other as frequently. I got word Monday that my separation orders were ready, so I picked them up at the squadron headquarters, a stack of paper half an inch or so thick, a good portion of which would stay in various offices so they could document who I was and what was happening to me. I had time, so I didn't hurry, but I did begin my out-processing. And I also began hunting for a job – but had to slow that way down, since an Air Force-trained jet engine mechanic turned out to be a hot commodity. I talked to two airlines, and had everything I could do to convince them that I was not ready to begin work the next day. I could have a job, it seemed, whenever I wanted one, so I didn't have to work hard on that front.

Meanwhile Max was on the flight schedule. She was flying every chance she could, hassling with other pilots, doing air-to-ground training, helping newer pilots become seamless in their approach to aerial tankers – and getting some good news.

She called me on a Monday morning, when I was lazing around the apartment. "Derek, you'll never guess what's happened!"

"You've captured Osama bin Laden, along with enough evidence to convince even Massachusetts to impose the death penalty?"

"Never mind capital punishment and Massachusetts," she said. "That's not exciting enough."

"You've discovered a way to make an Eagle fly backwards?"

"That might do it," she said with a laugh, "but it's not that either."

"Hmmm ... for my third guess, I'll say ... they've promoted you to bird colonel and given you the wing?"

"Close!" she said. "I just got word today that the promotion board has selected me for captain!"

I whooped, forgetting to pull the phone away from my mouth, but I could hear Max whooping too, so probably she hadn't suffered any hearing loss. "Well, captain selectee Max Bois d'Arc, this calls for a celebration."