Someday: 3 (Sunrise) (10 page)

There was a knock at the door. “Hello?”

Randi jumped. “Uh . . . it’s occupied.”

“Oh, sorry.” Then came the sound of the person moving on down the hall.

Randi stared at herself in the mirror. The magazines had been shouting about how great she looked, how Dayne’s wife was bound to be worried with Randi and Dayne heading off to Mexico. Randi fixed her hair and grinned at her image. Just three months ago, the tabloids had criticized her for being ten pounds too heavy. She turned sideways and admired her figure. They had nothing to criticize now.

She was about to leave when her cell phone vibrated from inside her purse. She cursed under her breath, but the caller ID made her frustration fall away.

It was her mother.

Randi had been born and raised in Vancouver, British Columbia. She filmed her first movie in her early twenties, changed her last name, and quickly became a U.S. citizen. But her parents remained in Vancouver and stayed true to everything that had always mattered to them—their home, their community, and most importantly their faith. Randi had no delusions about the disappointment her mother held for her. The woman reminded Randi during their rare conversations that Randi’s decision to live with this actor or that one was against God.

“I hear about you. You’re living an immoral life.” Her mother would cluck her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You’ve cast shame upon our family.” There would be a heavy sigh. “We’re praying for you, that you’ll come to your senses.”

It had been the same way with her mother since Randi filmed her first movie. Conditional love, unrealistic expectations, a concern more about the way Randi’s actions might reflect on her mother than whether Randi was actually in need of help. Her mother might’ve meant well. But Randi had never been close to her.

Her relationship with her father had been entirely different. Louie Geer had owned a tour company, and he spent his days hosting groups of vacationers, telling people about Vancouver and its many sights, and doing so with a sense of dedication and humor that always brought people back for more. He’d been in his late fifties when cancer took him, but even before he got sick, he hadn’t been worried about funding a retirement portfolio. He gave half his profits to charities in the area and had a way of living out his faith.

Randi felt the familiar sting of tears that came with remembering her dad. From the time she was a little girl, her father had delighted in the plays and amateur performances Randi would do on a school stage or around the house. “One day,” he told her, “you’ll perform on a stage so big, everyone will know you’re a star!”

He’d believed in her when she was young and naive, and after she found great worldly success, he never questioned her. “We love you,” he would say when they spoke on the phone. “Remember, honey, I’m here if you need anything.” And when it came to the faith she’d been raised with, he made only gentle reminders. “God has a plan for you, Randi. Don’t forget that.”

During times the media had been particularly ruthless or when her husband walked out on her and their two young daughters, she’d had to fight the urge to run home and fall into her daddy’s arms. Especially as he grew sicker. And now, with her mother living alone, Randi’s long absences weren’t right—no matter what tension remained between them. Her father wouldn’t have wanted her to lose touch.

She’d told her mother as much when they talked a week ago. “After I’m finished in Mexico, I’ll come for a visit, okay?”

“That would be nice, dear.” Her tone was the usual mix of disapproval and a slight hurt.

Now the phone vibrated one more time, and Randi resisted the urge to answer it. Her father had loved her so much, no matter what she did or how far she strayed from her upbringing. But her mother would dampen her enthusiasm for the evening. She read the tabloids. More than once she’d warned Randi about staying away from Dayne Matthews. “He’s a married man, Randi,” she’d said at the end of their last phone call. “Respect that.”

How could Randi explain that no one was really married in Hollywood? Not the way they were married in the real world.

Randi swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed her phone back in her purse. She snapped the clasp shut and took a final look at herself.
I’m sorry, Mom. . . . I’ll call you later. I promise.
The thoughts comforted her, and she allowed herself to believe them. She had more to think about than a trip to British Columbia.

She’d been admiring Dayne from the sidelines for far too long. Katy Hart was a simple, country girl. She was no match for Hollywood’s leading man. If Dayne hadn’t figured that out already, then he would soon. Katy was a nice girl, but Dayne had made a mistake marrying her. Randi had always been the right choice for Dayne, the one who would’ve been his soul mate—marriage or not. Never mind that Randi had nearly befriended Katy after Dayne’s accident. The truth was, Randi should’ve been the one helping him through his physical therapy. She’d known Dayne much longer than Katy, and Randi understood the pressures of the business. Katy had come out of nowhere and stepped into a picture where, truthfully, she didn’t belong.

Randi found her smile again. One day, she and Dayne would be together; she was confident. Katy would be heartbroken at first, but then she’d move back to her small Indiana town and get on with her life. She’d marry some regular Joe, the way she should have in the first place, and she’d be fine.

It was Randi who wouldn’t be okay without Dayne.

And she was about to have ten weeks on a Mexican beach to make Dayne feel the same way.

Reagan heard her son’s piercing scream just as she laid Malin in her crib. The sound of it told Reagan there was big trouble, whatever had happened. “Tommy?” Her shrill cry woke Malin, but she left her daughter and raced down the hallway toward the sound of her shrieking son.

He was at the far end, where the wall became a railing system that led toward a winding staircase. The problem was instantly obvious. Tommy was on his knees, gripping two of the wooden spindles, his head stuck between them. “Help me, Mommy! I can’t get out! Help me!” He tried to jerk his head free, but the spindles wouldn’t let him, and he banged his head hard. He screamed again, this time clearly frantic. “Help me!”

Reagan dropped to the floor and put her hand on the small of Tommy’s back. “Baby, stop screaming. You’re okay. You need to be calm.” But even as she spoke, she felt herself falling prey to her own panic. She reached through the spindles and tried to carefully ease his head in one direction, then the other, the way a person might try to separate two pieces of a 3-D puzzle. However he’d gotten his head wedged between the wooden posts, he was definitely stuck.

The entire time, Tommy’s howling grew louder, and from down the hallway she could hear that Malin was crying too. “Dear God—” she uttered the prayer in a frantic whisper—“what am I supposed to do?”

“Call 911!” Tommy shouted, and even in his little-boy voice, his words made sense. “Tell them I’m stuck!” He let out another desperate wail and sucked in three quick breaths. He was crying so hard that he was beginning to hyperventilate. And from the room down the hall, Malin’s cries grew louder too.

“Tommy! Calm down!” Reagan stood and took a few steps toward the bedroom she shared with Luke. “I’ll call for help, but don’t panic!” With her heart racing faster than her feet, she tore down the hall and into her room. The phone was on the table next to her bed, and she grabbed it. She had 911 dialed before she reached the door on her way back to Tommy.

“Nine-one-one,” the operator said. “What’s your emergency?”

Reagan was shaking so badly she could barely think.

Tommy let out another scream.

“My son,” she shouted over the sound. “His head is stuck between the stair rails.”

“Your son swallowed a nail?” The woman raised her voice. “Is your son breathing?”

Reagan wanted to yell at the woman. Of course he was breathing. He was screaming, wasn’t he? Instead she covered her other ear and used her loudest possible voice. “Yes, he’s breathing. He didn’t swallow a nail; he’s stuck. His head is stuck.”

“Okay, ma’am. Someone’s on the way. Stay by the phone in case we need to call you back.”

She thanked the emergency operator and hung up.

In the distant places of her mind, Reagan thought that of course this would happen today, when Luke was away in New York City on business. Back when they lived in Manhattan, at least she would’ve had her mother around to help her with the kids. But here in Indiana, when Luke traveled she was on her own. They lived close enough to the Baxters to be a part of family holidays and birthdays, but too far for moments like this, when Kari or Ashley would’ve hurried over to help.

“Mommy, pray!” Tommy was panting now, making an attempt every few seconds to snap his head back through the space and harming himself each time. From the bedroom at the other end of the hall, Malin’s cries were full-blown screeching.

“Baby, stop doing that; you’re hurting yourself.” Reagan dropped to the floor again. She rubbed Tommy’s back and braced his head with her hand so he couldn’t hit it against the spindles. “You have to be calm!” It took that long for her son’s words to reach her heart. What had he said? Of course! They needed to pray. She leaned in closer. “Jesus, right now I beg You to be with Tommy. Help him be calm because help is on the way.”

Almost in direct answer to her prayer, an idea hit her. “I know.” She put her face as close to his as she could. “Let’s pretend you’re a baby dinosaur!”

Tommy let out one last wail, but it faded toward the end. “Wh-wh-why?”

“Because—” Reagan’s mind raced—“you’re a baby dinosaur and you’re caught in a trap. And . . . and there’s a T. rex downstairs looking for you.”

His cries fell to a breathless whimper.

Help me, God . . . please
. She searched her imagination. “And if he hears you, he’ll come up here and get us both, so you have to stop screaming.” She lowered her voice. “Okay, Tommy?”

“I’m . . . I’m not Tommy.” He tried to shoot her a disdaining look as if clearly he couldn’t be Tommy any longer. “I’m b-b-baby Ben, the brontosaurus.”

“Right.” Reagan turned toward the other end of the hall, where Malin was quickly losing what remained of her control. “You know what, Ben?”

“What?” Tommy was still struggling to catch his breath, but he was playing the game, believing there was a reason to stay quiet.

“Malin’s being too loud for the T. rex.” She gulped. “So I’ll go quiet her down, and that way we’ll all be safe.”

“Wait!” He raised his voice, the panic back in a hurry. “How do baby dinosaurs get f-f-free?”

“Special dinosaur doctors come and help.” She glanced out the window, but so far there was no sign of the paramedics. “And they’re on the way, okay, Tommy?”

“Ben!”

“Right, sorry. They’re on the way, Ben.”

He held his finger to his lips. “Tell Malin quiet!”

“I will. Remember, stay calm!” Reagan was up and racing down the hall before her words were fully out. She reached Malin and found her daughter’s face bright red, her nose running, and her eyes swollen from crying. “Mommy’s here, honey. I’m so sorry.” She lifted Malin from the crib and cradled her close to her chest. “Everything’s okay now.”

But Malin never calmed down easily, and she was still crying in Reagan’s arms when the knock came at the door. Reagan raced downstairs and flung it open. A team of paramedics moved in as she pointed up at Tommy, his head stuck through the second-floor railing. “He can’t get out.”

“I’m a baby dinosaur,” Tommy cried. “Look out for the T. rex!”

The rescue took only a few minutes and involved a paramedic carefully sawing one of the spindles in half and pulling it from the railing system.

The whole time Tommy entertained them with stories about baby dinosaurs. “I’m a baby brontosaurus. We hafta be quiet ’cause of the T. rex!”

One of the men made eye contact with Reagan, and the two shared a quick smile, the first Reagan had allowed since she heard Tommy’s initial scream. The paramedic was athletic-looking and younger than the others, probably in his midtwenties. Reagan noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and then she silently chided herself for looking.

“Quite an imagination.” The guy’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll probably have one just like him someday.”

Reagan still had Malin on her hip. “Good luck.” She grinned again and brushed her bangs off her forehead.

At the same time, the other two paramedics released the protective hold they had on Tommy’s head. “Okay, Ben, stand up nice and easy.”

Tommy did as they told him, and when he was fully upright, he rubbed both sides of his head. He looked at Reagan. “Sorry, Mommy. I won’t do that anymore.”

Reagan leaned against the wall, drained from the ordeal. “Why
did
you do it?” She glanced at the young medic again. “We’ve lived here a year, and he’s never tried this before.”

“I was a lion!” Tommy crouched down and put both hands in front of him, his fingers curled like vicious claws. “I was at the zoo and someone tried to pet me, so I zoomed in to get ’em.”

The medic let out a low whistle.

“Yeah.” Reagan managed a weak bit of laughter. “Welcome to my world.”

The two older paramedics were picking up the wood pieces left over from the stair railing and wrapping a long piece of rope around the remaining spindles to span the newly widened gap. “So we don’t need to make another trip out here,” one of them said.

While they worked, the other medic put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and stooped down to the boy’s level. “Your head feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” Tommy rubbed it again. “Dinosaurs get banged up.” He looked at the man. “Hey, come see my room. It’s got a million, trillion dinosaurs!” He grabbed the medic’s hand, and off they went.

Reagan followed, and halfway down the hall she set Malin down so they could walk hand in hand. Her daughter was calm now, too distracted by the commotion to remember how angry she’d been just minutes earlier.

Tommy gave a one-minute nonstop monologue tour of his room and every dinosaur represented there. Then he grabbed hold of Malin’s hand. “Come on, Mali. Let’s go find your baby dinosaur game!”

The children hurried out of the room, Malin toddling along as fast as she could behind her brother, leaving Reagan alone with the paramedic. A strange feeling crept in with her other emotions, but before she had time to analyze it, the medic stuck out his hand. “I’m Eric. I’ve worked with the department for three years, and you have to know, I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Reagan took hold of his hand and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She let go almost too fast and took a step back. Eric had blond hair and green eyes. He looked like he belonged in a calendar of men in uniform. She dismissed the thought and shifted her gaze to the floor. “The way Tommy is, we’ll probably see you out here again sometime.” She lifted her eyes to his once more.

And suddenly there it was. The unmistakable attraction in Eric’s eyes, a look any woman could recognize, even if it had been months since she’d seen it. The way it had once been when Luke looked at her.

Eric glanced at Reagan’s hand in a way that he must’ve intended to be discreet. “You and . . . your husband must stay busy with that one.” He paused, and his expression told her he didn’t mean to be too forward.

Again Reagan’s answer was hurried. “My husband’s away on business, but yes.” She forced a laugh. “Tommy definitely keeps us busy.”

“Well then.” Eric shook her hand once more. His hand didn’t linger, but his gaze did. “Maybe we’ll see you around town.”

Reagan’s pulse raced, much like it had earlier when Tommy was stuck. Only now she was the one in trouble. “Maybe sometime.”

Before she had time to wonder if what she’d said was wrong, Eric smiled at her. “Glad we could help.” He tipped his head in her direction, turned, and headed toward the staircase.

She followed, and just then Tommy and Malin flew down the hall. Tommy had Malin’s dinosaur game held high over his head, and Malin was toddling, arms outstretched, squealing at him. “Mine! Mine!”

The paramedics looked at the children, and Eric laughed. “We’ll let you get back to your evening.”

Reagan stepped into the path of her oncoming children and snagged the game from Tommy’s hands. But all the while she looked at Eric. “Thanks . . . really.”

They were gone and the moment was over before it ever really began. At least that’s what Reagan told herself as she tried to restore order. She returned the game to Malin, then led the children downstairs. “Time for a movie,” she announced. Both kids were too riled up for anything but a change of pace.

In a matter of seconds, she slipped in a Miss PattyCake video and moved to the front room. The fire truck with the paramedics was just pulling away. Eric was sitting against the window closest to her, and it might’ve been her imagination, but she thought she saw him look back at her house one last time.

Slowly she dropped to the sofa, her body half turned so she could see the truck drive out of sight. Only then did she grab a fistful of upholstery from the top of the sofa and close her eyes. What was she doing? Flirting with a perfect stranger? Making eyes at the paramedic who’d come to her house to rescue her son? In all the bumps and rocky places along the journey of her marriage, never had she allowed another man to turn her head. Not until now.

She released her hold on the sofa and let her hands fall to her lap.
What’s happening to me?
The question rang through her soul with terrifying significance because she already knew the answer. Luke was traveling more than before—an aspect of moving to Indiana that neither of them had counted on. Luke could run Dayne’s legal needs from the Indianapolis office, but he needed to meet with the main brass in New York at least once a month.

And that wasn’t all. From practically the time they’d moved in, Luke had grown more and more distant, detached from her and the kids. They had their good times, of course. After Ashley and Landon’s baby died, she’d seen a softer side of Luke, the tenderness she still looked for. He was also better after an hour of remembering his mother or when they talked about Elizabeth’s ten rules of a happy marriage.

Reagan clasped her hands and stared at the floor. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d read his mother’s advice, but recently when Reagan brought it up, Luke dismissed the idea. “I know the secrets.” He would sound tired, almost as if he was worn-out from trying to find the joy they once shared. “Knowing them and living them are two different things.”

The strange thing was, neither of them could put a label on what they were feeling. He seemed bored and uninterested, and along the way she’d grown lonely. So lonely that even though it was wrong to think so, the encounter with Eric today stood out as the highlight of her week.