Someday: 3 (Sunrise) (13 page)

Ashley smiled at the memory. The feeling was the same one she’d been having lately. Pictures in her head. Proof that her son maybe saw life’s precious moments the way she did—worthy of capturing and framing.

Then he’d handed her this very picture. Across the top he’d written,
I love you, Sarah. Tell Grandma hi for me
. Beneath that he’d drawn a picture of an older woman, smiling bigger than life. In her arms was a tiny baby girl, tucked safely in a pink and white blanket. When Ashley asked him about it, Cole said that God told him Sarah was going to be with his grandma.

It was this picture that Ashley had to paint before any other, while the details of Sarah’s precious face were still fresh in her heart.

She lightly tacked Cole’s picture on a worktable next to her easel.
Okay, God, help me bring the images to life
. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and breathed in slowly. In the distance, someone was burning a pile of leaves. The smoke hung faint in the air and mixed with the familiar smell of her paints. She opened her eyes and stared out the window. Clouds had gathered in the far sky but not enough to block the sun or rain on Landon and Cole’s project.

Once more she studied Cole’s picture, allowing his simple, childlike details to become the very real images of her daughter and her mother. With a fine-point charcoal pencil, she began sketching. Her mother’s face first, then her dark hair and her slim, straight shoulders. The edge of the dark walnut rocking chair.

She filled in as many pieces of the picture as she could before turning to the setting, where her mother’s rocking chair would sit once the painting was complete. A field would be best because that’s how Ashley saw heaven. A more spectacular picture of earth, with fields of lush green and flowers of every vibrant color possible. If that was the background, this painting would be more beautiful than any Ashley had ever created. A rocking chair set amid brilliant petunias and poppies and pansies, her mother and daughter surrounded by every sort of wildflower and vivid fields of green. She liked the idea. There would definitely be flowers because certainly heaven had . . .

Heaven had . . .

Gradually, almost in slow motion, she lowered her hand to her lap and stared at the canvas. It had been more than three years since her mother’s death. She lived in heaven now . . . not here.

Ashley stood and walked to the window. She sat on the edge of the sill and looked out. A different sort of picture began to take shape. Dear Irvel living out her final years at the Sunset Hills Adult Care Home, certain with every breath that her beloved Hank was not dead more than a decade but merely out fishing with the boys.

Alzheimer’s was a terrible, wicked disease. But in some ways it had been a blessing to Irvel because the illness allowed her to live where she was most happy. In the past with her memories of Hank.

Ashley blinked and the picture disappeared.

What about her father? His memory was sharper than ever, which meant he had the blessing of remembering her mother. But also the certainty of knowing that she was never again going to walk through the front door. By choosing his memories over the life God had given him today, her dad would be cheating himself and Elaine out of countless years of joy and laughter, years of celebrating the here and now.

No matter what changes that might bring.

She walked back to her easel, set her pencil on the table with her paints, and headed downstairs. If her father married Elaine, the wedding would be bittersweet. She might cry through the whole thing. But she could embrace Elaine as her dad’s new wife, and Ashley wanted to make sure she said so. Before her dad convinced himself to cut off all feelings for the woman.

She found him outside near the pond, wearing his old jeans and a denim shirt, a straw hat and work gloves. Already he’d cleared half the weeds around the pond. She stopped and watched him. Was this how he should spend the rest of his days? Tinkering around the house, doing odd jobs, and waiting for invitations from his kids and grandkids?

The notion felt all wrong to Ashley. Her father was social and outgoing, a conversationalist with a dynamic faith and a passion for life. Of course he should have the chance to spend his days with a woman who shared his interests. She walked out to him, careful to stay on the path. She couldn’t afford a twisted ankle.

He looked up and tilted his head, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Everything okay?”

“No.” Ashley let her hands fall loose to her sides. “Can you come in for a minute?”

Her dad set down his shovel, dusted off his hands, and peeled back the gloves. “You aren’t sick, are you?”

She smiled, allowing warmth to shine in her eyes. “No, nothing like that.”

His expression relaxed some, and he followed her through the closest door, into the formal dining room, where he had the scrapbooks laid out—six of them, one for each of his adult kids.

“Hey, look at this.” Ashley studied the extent of the project. “You’re really putting these together.”

“You weren’t supposed to see.” He chuckled. “Of course, you were the one who first asked me to take this on.”

The scrapbooks would contain a lifetime of wisdom, her mother’s words compiled into one collection. There could be no greater gift when her dad finished putting them together. Ashley stared at the stacks of copied letters, and then—so she wouldn’t get sidetracked—she turned her back to the project. She gathered her thoughts and took hold of her dad’s hand. “I couldn’t let another minute pass without saying something.”

His smile looked deep into her heart, a smile that said he loved her and cherished her, the way he always had. “It must be important.”

“It is.” She fought a wave of nostalgia for what might’ve been had her mother lived. “Okay . . . so about Elaine. I think you’re making a mistake by cutting her off like this.”

It took a few seconds for her dad to clearly understand what she was saying. “You mean, you think I should still see her?”

“More than that.” Ashley’s voice was soft but certain. “I think you should marry her.” She took hold of his other hand too. “Mom’s gone.” Tears sprang to her eyes and made her throat feel thick. “We all wish she were here, but she isn’t. She . . . she wouldn’t want you walking around this place like it’s a museum.” She smiled, even though her chin was quivering. “Mom would’ve wanted you to live. Even if that means getting remarried.”

John’s eyes grew wide, his surprise etched into the lines on his forehead.

Ashley realized she was trembling, her knees hitting each other. She’d taken a huge step, given her blessing to something that at one point she couldn’t have imagined, let alone endorsed. She pursed her lips and blew out. “That’s what I wanted to say.” Then, as the tears in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks, she moved into her father’s arms and held him. “I miss her too. So much. I still can’t believe she’s really gone.”

For a long time they stayed that way, Ashley feeling the way she had when she was a teenager and her father would be the only one who really understood her, the only one who could hug away her hurt and confusion. She clung to him, and a few sobs caught her by surprise. She still wanted to turn around and see her mother sitting across the dining room table, smiling at her, telling her she was silly for being upset because she wasn’t gone at all.

But she was.

Ashley laid her head on her father’s shoulder. After her mother died, people had told her time would heal the pain. But it never did, and now Ashley was sure it never would. They would live with the loss of Elizabeth Baxter all the days of their lives, the way maybe they were supposed to live with it. So that when they were all reunited in heaven one day, there would be a completeness that could only come from being a part of eternity. But for now . . . for now they needed to get on with life—her dad especially.

She sniffed and pulled back. “Okay, Dad? Don’t become a hermit on our account.”

Questions and uncertainty and the hint of tears reflected in his eyes. He backed up a step and held Ashley’s hands again. “I’m not sure. . . . I don’t want to leave her behind.”

Ashley released one of his hands and searched for the words. “You won’t have to. Elaine loved her too. Remember?” She could hardly believe she was talking her father into growing his relationship with Elaine at a time when he was ready to let his friend go. But it was the right thing; Ashley was convinced to her very core. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed her father’s cheek. “Live your life. That’s what Mom would’ve wanted. Now . . .” She gave him one last smile, then glanced toward the staircase. “I have some painting to do.”

Not until an hour later, when she was fully done sketching her painting, did she let her mind drift back to the idea of the scrapbooks her father was putting together. Each of them would have some of the same letters, of course. Like the one her mother had written about the ten rules for a happy marriage. But other times a letter might be directed just to the girls or to one or another of them. For instance, back before any of them knew about Dayne, her mother had written a very powerful letter addressed simply to her precious first—

Ashley gasped. Why hadn’t she thought about this before? Their mother had written a very special letter for Dayne. Since he hadn’t been raised by her, the letter was one of the only pieces of her Dayne would ever have. Ashley had found it in the box of letters in her parents’ closet and thought it was for Brooke, the only firstborn they’d known up to that point. Instead, Ashley read it and realized it was directed toward a son, a brother she’d never known.

The letter had changed everything, but until now it had never occurred to Ashley that the precious words from her mother were still tucked in their original envelope. She’d given it to her dad, and she’d watched him place it high on the top shelf of his computer desk. She’d known that one day her dad would give the letter to her brother, but it had taken months to find him. Along the way, she’d forgotten about the letter. Her dad might’ve forgotten too.

As she turned her attention back to her painting, only one thought comforted her. Dayne should’ve had the letter years ago, but maybe God knew better. Maybe the timing was such that this was when Dayne needed something from their mother more than ever. Ashley thought about that. Maybe it was part of the miracle Ashley was praying for where Katy and Dayne were concerned. More than in the past, their mother’s heartfelt letter, her outpouring of love and concern and support for Dayne, would quite possibly mean everything to him now.

At a time when nearly all the world was against him.

Katy and Dayne’s good-bye rushed up on them like the final scene of a movie, one they didn’t ever want to come to an end. Katy was impressed with how Dayne had handled the tidal wave of publicity that had slammed into them since the premiere.
But Then Again No
was bringing in more box office receipts than any other movie he’d made. Between that and the weekly episodes of
For Real
, Katy and Dayne were household names and living in a city where they were under constant watch.

Even with all that, Dayne had agreed to only the interviews their agent deemed mandatory. A few were local, but most required a quick round-trip to New York City. Dayne always made sure Katy was at his side, that they showed the world a united front, which was—they both insisted time and again—a very real picture of their love.

But even so, things felt strained. Their relationship was so public at this point that any private time felt forced. As if the on-screen depiction of their relationship had done little more than transition to a quiet location. Sometimes they’d be talking on the back porch of their Malibu beach home, and Katy would catch herself sounding almost rehearsed. As if they were spewing nothing more than platitudes and cheap dialogue at each other.

Dayne had reminded her that high on the list of their enemies was the greatest enemy of all. The devil certainly did not want their marriage to succeed, not when they had made public note of being Christians, of trying to live a godly life. Katy was aware of that, but the knowledge didn’t make their day-to-day visibility any easier to live with.

Now the time had come to go their separate ways. It was well after midnight, the second Friday in October, and Katy had a flight to catch early the next morning. She didn’t plan to sleep. There would be more than enough hours on the plane for that.

“I think it’s clear.” Dayne had been outside on the pitch-dark porch, and he stepped into the kitchen. The lights were off inside too. It was their attempt to convey a simple message to the paparazzi: Katy and Dayne were asleep, so pack up and go home.

Katy was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking iced tea, staring into the darkness and going over in her mind the things in her suitcase. She felt Dayne come up behind her, felt his hand on her shoulder. She reached up and covered it with her own. “I can’t believe we’ll be apart till Christmas.”

“Ten weeks.” Dayne sighed. “Are you ready?”

“Packed, you mean? Yes.” She stood and faced him. Her heart was pounding, and in the shadows she could see fear in his eyes.

“I meant ready to talk.” He looked over his shoulder. “I haven’t seen any activity down below for an hour.”

She nodded and let her head fall against his chest. “I’m ready.”

They had agreed a few days ago to take this walk tonight. The beach was so inviting, so peaceful. It was sad to live on the sand and never feel it with their bare feet. Dayne took her hand and quietly led her down their private back stairs, out the wooden gate. The late hour and the feel of his hand in hers, the gentle wind on her face, reminded her of their night on the lake in Bloomington.

But this wasn’t a romantic walk in the moonlight. It was a chance to hold up everything good and right and true about their faith and their relationship and beg God that it would still be there when the next ten weeks had played out. There was no sense of adventure now, no feeling of wonderment or goose bumps. Just a weariness and a certainty that there would be rough seas indeed. They wouldn’t navigate safely back to the harbor of each other’s arms without seeking God and each other day to day. Hour by hour.

For nearly a minute, they stood outside the gate. Dayne knew the places where the cameramen usually hid, and now he studied each spot before shaking his head. “They’re gone. We’re alone.”

The beach was empty as far down as they could see, though Katy was sure that around the curve of shoreline there would be the usual bonfires and surfers camped out. They weren’t any concern because they came looking for waves, not Hollywood stars.

Dayne took the lead again, his steps quick until they reached the hard-packed, damp sand. “North?”

“Yes. North is good.” Katy fell into place beside him. They both wore shorts and long-sleeved T-shirts. The night air was cool and damp, but it felt wonderful after being in the house all evening.

They set out, walking in silence, the sound of the crashing waves the backdrop for their separate thoughts. North would take them by other large homes and away from the public access beaches. At this hour, once they got past their own gate, no one would know them from any other couple.

They walked a dozen yards before Katy realized how wonderful Dayne’s hand felt, his fingers woven between hers. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He smiled down at her. His jawline looked rugged and strong in the reflection of light off the water. Even here, his good looks were enough to take her breath. America’s golden boy.

Katy turned her attention to the sandy stretch in front of her. She understood why the public wanted to know his every move, but where would it all end? She breathed in, feeling the heavy salt air fill her lungs. “Someday, right?”

“Hmmm?” They were down far enough from their house now, and Dayne stopped and turned to her. He took hold of her other hand, searching her eyes. “Someday?”

“That’s when all the madness will stop, right?” She could feel the tears glistening in her eyes. “When we get out of the spotlight and make it back to Bloomington for good.”

Regret changed his expression, and he slipped his hands around her waist, drawing her close. “I’ve thought about it a thousand different ways. We made these commitments.” He breathed the words into her hair, his face brushing against hers. “We have to keep them.”

“I know.” Katy nuzzled against his neck. “I guess I just pray that it’ll really happen.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze straight on. “And that it won’t always just be sort of out there. One year after another, chasing our dreams, making movies. Always waiting for someday to come around.”

Dayne looked like he’d been cut through the heart. “Katy—” he put his hands on her shoulders—“this isn’t forever, the movie life we’re living. It’ll end. I promise you.”

“Maybe.” She tried to smile, but the sadness weighing on her wouldn’t let her. “You have two more movies to make after this one, and it’ll be the same story. Publicity and paparazzi, previews and people tugging at you from all directions.” She shrugged. “Why sit at home waiting for you back in Indiana? I might as well make movies too.” Her back was to the ocean, and her bare legs felt the light mist from a series of breakers.

A stricken look came over Dayne, and he gave a few slow shakes of his head. “Don’t think about it like that. We’ll find a way out of this. Nobody stays in the headlines forever.”

“Except maybe you.” Katy covered his hands with hers. “Dayne Matthews, America’s heartthrob.”

Dayne seemed like he wanted to respond, but instead he dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a few steps closer to the water. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”

“No.” She came up behind him and linked her arm through his so they were both facing the ocean. “I knew what I was getting into when I married you. I just didn’t know so many other people would care. The last episode of
For Real . . .
” She winced and made a low whistling sound. “Talk about taking off the gloves.”

He said nothing, but she could feel his arm and his posture tense. Immediately she felt sorry. The episodes had gotten worse each week, hinting that Katy and Dayne were fighting constantly and implying that their acting was certainly that. “You know it’s Hollywood,” the announcer had said last week, “when a pair of actors can convince you on-screen that they’re really in love. Especially a couple with this much trouble surrounding them.”

The tabloids were no better. Headlines screamed of a reunion between Randi Wells and Dayne on the beaches of Mexico. Katy had caught wind of so many “Trouble in Paradise” headlines she rarely even bothered to look. And maybe that was the best option anyway. She’d told herself before that the magazines were only damaging if she stopped to read them.

Dayne took another step farther away and crossed his arms.

Katy hadn’t meant to upset him. She slipped in beneath his left arm, then put her arms around his waist and laced her fingers near his hip bone. “Sorry.” She kissed his cheek. “It’s not your fault.”

“No.” He relaxed against her but kept his face toward the water. “So that’s it, huh?” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “You’ll make more movies . . . and I will. And we never make it to someday?”

“It feels pretty far off.” She inched her way around in front of him. “Hey . . . look at me.”

Frustration deepened the small lines at the corners of his eyes. But after a few seconds he met her eyes. “I keep thinking of Ashley and Landon, the way they held on to each other in the hospital that day. They had every reason to be mad at God and the situation, mad at the family members who doubted them.”

Katy moved closer and felt the rise and fall of his chest against hers. “But they weren’t.”

“I remembered something tonight.” He looked at the water again. “‘Consider it pure joy, my brothers . . .’”

Katy closed her eyes. “‘. . . whenever you face trials of many kinds . . .’”

“‘. . . because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.’” Dayne’s voice was quiet, heavy with emotion.

“‘Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.’”

“Exactly.” Dayne drew a full breath. “That was Ashley and Landon that day—a picture of the kind of faith that understands testing. Their baby girl was dying with every heartbeat, but they were smiling.” He narrowed his eyes, clearly shaken by the memory. “They loved little Sarah with pure joy. Even in the very worst circumstances.”

Katy felt a ripple of guilt stir the waters in her soul. She stepped back and let her hands fall slowly to her sides. “So, you’re thinking if they can handle that sort of pain . . .”

“We should be able to handle this?” He took her in his arms and held her. “Yes. That’s what I’m thinking.”

For a very long time, neither of them talked.

Minutes passed while the realization spread an ever-dawning light across Katy’s dark, self-pitying soul. Why had she been so shortsighted, so caught up in how bad her own situation was? Her troubles were so light next to Ashley’s that the comparison made Katy feel nauseated, furious with herself.

Dayne was right, and Katy wasn’t sure why she hadn’t seen it before. Whatever lay ahead, the strife and pain wouldn’t be as bad as losing a child. The days would be long and the separation great, but she and Dayne would be making millions of dollars filming movies and being catered to along the way. They would be adored by thousands of fans, despite the headlines in the tabloids or the targets on their backs.

Shame surrounded her, and suddenly she needed space from Dayne, needed to take this new understanding to God alone.

Katy turned and walked slowly toward the water until her feet touched the foamy white surf. With her hands linked in front of her, she looked out across the sea all the way to the shadowy gray horizon.
God, I’ve been so consumed . . . as if I were the only one in the world with troubles. How could I get this way?
She pictured Ashley and Landon, smiling as their baby died in their arms. She hung her head.
I’m sorry, Lord. Forgive me.

She didn’t hear Dayne come up behind her, but she felt him. Even before he touched her, she felt his warm breath against her neck.

His hands circled her waist, and the warmth of his solid chest sheltered her from the ocean air. “If they could get through that, then we can get through this.”

“I know.” She turned in his arms, and suddenly she was desperate for his kiss, his embrace. She moved closer to him, lifted her lips to his, and their tenderness quickly became a passion that left them both breathless. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes searched his, and she saw the understanding she’d hoped to find. “I’ve been so negative, Dayne.”

A smile started at the corners of his lips and then filled his face. “This is what I prayed for. You and I on the beach, celebrating our last night together—not arguing about it.” He tilted his head back, and in a voice that competed with the crashing surf he yelled, “Thank You, God!”

They laughed together, something else they hadn’t done much of lately. Then they walked hand in hand back to their house, free from the burden of dread they’d both carried since leaving Bloomington. Along the way they stopped every few yards and kissed, promising to call each other and to pray and to remember the message about joy. It took them half an hour to reach their home, and when they did, Katy felt like they’d been given a second chance not only to survive the coming months but to embrace them.

At the foot of their beach house stairs, Dayne held her close once more. “I’ll miss you with every breath.”

“When you close your eyes—” she touched her lips to his—“I’ll be there. Always.”