Free Remembering You by Tricia Goyer

some raw footage she hoped to get over the next few days—battlefields, gravestones, distant and close-up shots of her grandfather. She also made a list of basic interview questions: What is one incident you’ll never forget? Who were your friends? Did you lose any of them? What was it like fighting in one of the most famous battles in history?
    Ava also labeled her video cards with a fine-tipped permanent marker—Europe 1, Europe 2, Europe 3—which would help when she needed to grab one fast. It was always easier to grab the next number than to sift through all the video cards to see which ones she’d used and which ones she hadn’t.
    Finally, she turned her notebook to the back page where she’d kept her log. One of her media teachers had told her to log each shot to make things easier to find.
    Ava realized she was smiling as she prepped everything, and she was reminded of why she’d gotten into this business in the first place. She liked systems. She liked creating order. She liked taking a jumble of words and photos and preparing a package that told a story.
    She also liked the idea of her stories being appreciated by others. Sometimes when she watched Clark and Laurie on set, she thought about the young mom watching as she fed her baby rice cereal, or the worried woman in the hospital as she waited for her husband to get out of surgery, or the retired man eating his sandwich on a TV tray and chuckling at Clark’s jokes and spouting his opinion back to the television set.

    Maybe sharing her grandfather’s story would make a difference to these people. It would remind viewers to spend time with their elders. To listen to their stories and learn from them.
    Ava took a deep breath and then released it slowly, knowing that whatever came would make a good tale. Even if they got lost and ended up down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere with a cow and a kid on a bicycle who didn’t speak English, she would experience it with her grandfather and get a glimpse through his eyes of what he’d been carrying in his heart for all these years.

Chapter Nine
    The following morning, Ava looked up expectantly as the elevator bell in the lobby dinged and the doors opened, but the man who stepped out wasn’t Dennis. She tried to hide her disappointment as she chatted with Grandpa Jack, who was finishing his breakfast in the lobby—croissants and jam.
    Concern about how unsteady Grand-Paul had been the night before and anxiety about spending the day with Dennis weighed heavily. Her breathing felt labored—like she was trying to breathe through a straw. She fretted. Would it be a good day? Would she and Dennis have things to talk about? Would they still enjoy each other’s company?
    It was strange, she realized, how you could be so close to someone—feel so strongly about them—and then have them disappear from your life completely. Looking back, she could see how young and independent she’d been. If she could transport her thirty-three-yearold self back to talk to who she’d been then, she’d tell herself a thing or two. Mostly that being on your own and facing the world with shoulders squared and chin cocked wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

    Ava gazed out the window, taking in the Paris view. Across the street from the hotel was what looked to be a park. If she had more time, she would have headed to the park to find a good bench to do some people watching. She could imagine old ladies feeding pigeons and mothers pushing their babies in prams.
    On the street next to the hotel, there was a shopkeeper setting up an outdoor display of trinkets—miniature Eiffel towers, colorful scarves, postcards. She remembered what Todd had said about not buying too many souvenirs but decided she should buy something to take home. She would pay for it herself.
    “Grandpa, I’m going to run outside real quick to get a souvenir. Do you want anything?”
    “No, there’s enough stuff around my place that your mom’s going to