Free Living Stones by Lloyd Johnson

psychology lecture droned on, explaining the significance of conditioned responses. Robert had learned of Pavlov’s dog in junior high school. He spotted Jenny across the lecture hall, and she smiled when their eyes met. After class, they spoke in the hall, revisiting her invitation to church. Her eyes sparkled.
    “Next Sunday will work for me,” Jenny said.
    “Sounds good. Where do we meet?”
    “How about right in front of the college where the flag and benches are located? On Broadway. Maybe nine-thirty in the morning? You driving?”
    “Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll pick you up and you can show me how to get there.”

Chapter 18
    Najid listened to the news on his radio while he hurried to dress. It felt good to be home and showered, and he was anxious to see Ashley. He had solved the puzzle of riding the buses in Seattle and had no trouble arriving at Harborview Medical Center. He checked at the nurses’ station on Eight North before tiptoeing toward Ashley’s room. The door was partially open, and Najid eased his way in to find Ashley asleep. Beeping monitors and the screen showed changing numbers. Fluid ran into her arms through the IV tubing. He didn’t know what he should do. He didn’t want to hurt Ashley by waking her. So he sat down in a chair by the window to wait.
    He watched over Ashley, beautiful and almost smiling in her sleep. His heart ached as he saw her, so open, generous, and loving—so seriously hurt. He wanted to hold her hand, to kiss it. He found a recent newspaper from Oklahoma City on the sill with headlines about the bombing in Seattle and immersed himself in it. So he didn’t notice when Ashley opened her eyes and turned her head toward the window.
    “Najid, Najid! Oh, you’re OK!” She flung her arms upward,forgetting about the IVs and cracked ribs. Najid leaned over the bedrail to join in the hug. “I’m so glad to see you.” She jerked and grimaced with pain suddenly. “It seems like every time I move, my chest hurts. They tell me I have some broken ribs. I asked about you but no one seemed to know if you survived the blast.”
    “And I didn’t know about you after they took you away in the van with the flashing lights. You were bleeding on the sidewalk and couldn’t answer me. I didn’t know what to do except shout for help.”
    “Did you get hurt too?”
    “Just scratches on my arms. You took the force of the explosion and I was behind you.” Najid’s voice broke. “You . . . protected me.” He swallowed several times and couldn’t speak.
    “I did? Well . . . that’s good. But tell me exactly what happened and what you did, where’ve you been. Nobody tells me anything, and I have so many questions.”
    Najid stood by the bedrail and looked into the eyes of the most beautiful person he could remember meeting outside his family. He shook his head and smiled. Their eyes met as his face flushed and his eyes filled with tears. “Ashley . . . I prayed for you to live.” He became silent, nodding as she smiled. Then he began to grin. “So you want to know everything?”
    “Everything, Najid.”
    That began a long account of all that had happened to a bewildered foreign student in a faraway land who had become a terrorist victim along with Ashley. She had additional questions about his confinement as a “person of interest” and legal questions, many of which he couldn’t answer.
    Then Ashley asked about the bombing itself: What had happened? She continued, “I don’t remember much at all. Being at the synagogue is a big fog. I must have been stunned if not knocked out. A policeman came briefly yesterday asking about what I remember, and I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. He said that people who lose consciousness in an accident often have no memory of the events just before it happened. The doctor confirmed it and called it ‘retrograde amnesia.’ ” She grew silent for a moment. “Maybe it’s best that I can’t remember anything.” She