Katy held her breath, needing an answer as badly as she needed her next heartbeat. She focused all her senses on just one—listening. But the only sounds were the tick of the clock and the distant hum of traffic on the streets below. She began to shiver, and she realized why. Back at the beginning of this free fall, hope had been a roaring flame, warming her to her core. But now not even a flicker of hope could be seen, and the dimly glowing embers that lay at the deepest, darkest places of her being were not enough to make a difference.
She exhaled and hung her head. Dayne couldn’t have her like this, weeping, falling apart. So maybe she should go somewhere different. Dayne’s studio had provided her an around-the-clock car and driver. It was the least they could do, the director had told her. She could contact the driver and ask to take a drive to the mountains or into the desert. Somewhere the paparazzi could not follow her to, a place where she could finish crying and beg God again and again for a change in Dayne. Yes, that’s what she would do. Find a change of scenery.
Before she could find the will to turn around, before she could make herself locate the driver’s number, she heard footsteps near the door.
“Katy?” It was a woman’s voice.
She wiped her eyes and turned toward the sound. Standing there, her eyes red and swollen, was Randi Wells.
From the beginning Randi had been on the list of approved visitors. Katy had added a few more names—Dayne’s current director, his agent, and several people whom the two of them suggested. Even so, Katy had seen almost no visitors. His agent stopped in once a week, and the director had come by twice. They would stand by Dayne’s bed, helpless, and after a few minutes they would mumble something about being sorry and leave.
Not until now had Katy seen Randi Wells.
Here, in the harsh glow of the fluorescent hospital lights, she didn’t look like America’s golden actress. She looked like any other person stricken by grief, trapped in the maze of pain and uncertainty. She took a step closer. “Can I talk to you?”
“Yes.” Katy motioned to the chairs where she and Dr. Deming had sat a few minutes ago. When they were seated, facing each other, Katy saw an abyss of fear in the woman’s eyes. Dayne had mentioned that Randi didn’t care much for Christianity or faith or God for that matter. One of his goals during the filming had been to change her mind.
Katy’s heart went out to the popular actress. The tragedy was all but impossible with faith. How must it feel without it? “You’ve been in to see Dayne?”
Randi folded her hands and stared at them for a moment. When she lifted her head, her chin trembled. “You have to understand something.” Her expression tightened, and she allowed a few gut-wrenching sobs. “I couldn’t bear to come before this. I kept waiting to hear it on the news: ‘Dayne Matthews makes complete recovery.’” She steadied herself. “See . . . Dayne was my rock for the few months before his . . . before this.”
Dayne was Randi’s rock? Jealousy tried to take over, but Katy resisted it. Dayne hid nothing from her. Katy knew Randi’s marriage was in trouble and that she sought Dayne often for advice. The fact that he also spent his days on-screen pretending to be in love with the woman rankled Katy, but she let the feeling pass. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. You’ve lost so much more than I have. I keep thinking how selfish I am, missing his friendship and stumbling around in the dark without him. But never once . . . never one time coming here to tell you how sorry I am for you.”
The hopelessness in Randi’s voice was terrifying, and it gave Katy a chilling glimpse of life without salvation. No matter how dim, she must never let the fire of hope inside her die. Never. She put her hand on Randi’s shoulder and begged God for the right words. “Have you prayed for him?” She was no longer intimidated by the woman. Never mind that Randi was known throughout the world. Here she was just one more lost soul, a person deeply in need of the lifeline only Jesus Christ could offer.
“I saw the Bible on the chair.” Randi sniffed twice. “Is it yours?”
Katy brought her hand back to her lap and nodded. “I read it to him. The doctors think maybe he can hear us.”
“Great.” She let loose a single sob. “Then he would’ve heard me crying.”
She wasn’t sure if Randi wanted to talk about the Bible, but it didn’t matter. Dayne would’ve wanted her to pray. “If he heard you cry, then he’ll be feeling sad. But maybe now you and I can go back in there and pray for him.”
“Pray for him?” A frown creased her otherwise-smooth forehead. “How can you, Katy? After all this time?” She leaned back in her seat, defeated. “Dayne read his Bible every night; I’m sure you know that. He prayed for me and the cast and you.” She jerked her thumb toward the hallway. “Jesus was the guy’s best friend, and look where it got him.” She narrowed her eyes. “What proof do you have that God isn’t just a nice fairy tale?”
Her words hit Katy slowly. Understanding dawned in her heart, and she looked deep into Randi’s eyes. No matter what the accident had taken from Katy, from Dayne, it hadn’t taken her faith. She felt God giving her strength, felt the answer coming to her crystal clear. “He’s alive, isn’t he? He kept his leg.” Passion filled her tone. “The Lord’s been here with Dayne, with me, every day since the accident. More than that, if God calls Dayne home, he’ll go straight to heaven. Forever.” A smile lifted the corners of her lips. “What more could he want?”
Randi studied Katy as if she were an otherworldly creature. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.” She stood and reached for Randi’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go back and ask God for a miracle. You could do that, couldn’t you?”
Randi looked like she wanted to shake her head, run back down the hall to the elevator, and never venture to the hospital again. But gradually the doubt in her eyes lifted, and her eyes had the guileless look of a trusting child. “That’s what Dayne would want, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
Then, without further conversation or analysis, they walked to Dayne’s room. Katy explained that Randi didn’t need to speak; she could agree in her heart with everything Katy was saying and that would be the same thing. Then for the next several minutes they did just that, asking God—once more—for a miracle this very day.
When they finished, the fear in Randi’s face was gone. “I think—” she looked at Dayne, and her eyes welled with tears—“when he wakes up, I’m going to ask him about the Bible.” She tried to laugh, but it came out like a cry. She leaned over him and kissed the top of his head. Then she turned to Katy. “I might as well see what the fuss is all about.”
Again Katy kept her jealousy at bay. “I think Dayne would like that.”
Randi thanked Katy and was halfway to the door when she stopped and turned. “I almost forgot.” She pulled a stack of magazines from her oversize bag. “These came out today. You might not want to see them—” she frowned—“but I thought you should.”
Katy’s heart fell. More tabloid news. She took the stack. “Thanks.” She gave the actress a sad smile. “I guess you know all about this stuff.”
“It doesn’t make it any easier.” She looked at Dayne once more. “He’s the real deal.” Her eyes found Katy’s again. “You’re very lucky, Katy Hart.” Guilt flashed in her expression. “The truth is, I would’ve stolen him from you in a minute, but he wouldn’t bite. Not at all. All he’s ever been to me is a friend. He only has eyes for you.” A sad smile played on her lips. “But I guess you already know that.”
There it was. The admission that Randi did indeed have feelings for Katy’s fiancé. But something else. The proof that Dayne had never shown any interest. Katy wanted to be mad, but she couldn’t. Randi Wells was only being honest, letting Katy know that she had nothing to worry about.
Katy closed the distance between them and took Randi’s hands. “I do know. But thanks for saying it.” She hoped her sincerity shone through her eyes. “And maybe someday after Dayne wakes up, you and I can be friends too
.”
“Yes.” Randi squeezed her fingers, then moved toward the door. “I’d like that.”
When she was gone, Katy had the sudden certainty that one day not too far off Randi would give her life to Christ, and she would most definitely become a friend. Maybe even a close friend. But before she could carry the possibility too far, she remembered the magazines. She couldn’t read them here.
But maybe there was a place she could go. . . .
She found her purse and the envelope tucked inside, the one Dayne’s agent had given her. It held the keys to Dayne’s Malibu house. “Use it,” the man had told her. “Dayne’s plants might need a little water, and you . . . well, the water might be good for you too.”
The possibility had hung in her heart since then, but she didn’t want a parade of paparazzi following her. She looked at her watch. It was only two in the afternoon. The paparazzi were used to her schedule by now. She stayed at Dayne’s side until ten or eleven every night.
The idea began to feel like it might work. She called for the car and asked for a pickup on Wilshire Boulevard—not in front of the hospital like usual. She told Dayne good-bye and promised to be back later that evening. Then she hurried down the elevator and out a lesser-known back door. She peered one way and then the other, but she could see none of the familiar cars. From there she walked to Wilshire and met her ride.
An hour later every one of Dayne’s dying plants had been watered, and Katy slipped out onto the sand with a blanket and the magazines. The beach behind the string of multimillion-dollar homes was nearly empty, the way it often was in the fall months. She walked a little ways, spread out the blanket, and sat down.
Only then did she look at the covers of the magazines. At first they looked like last week’s. “Dayne Matthews Still in a Coma.” But beneath that was a headline that made her heart sink. “Dayne’s Biological Brother Lashes Out.” Katy stared at the words, trying to comprehend the ramifications. The Baxters had been found, for sure. But what was this about Luke?
She couldn’t turn the pages fast enough. When she reached the spread on Dayne, there was a large photo of a very angry Luke Baxter. Beneath it the caption read, “Luke Baxter wants nothing to do with his famous brother.” Making up the rest of the layout were photos of each of the Baxters, complete with their names and a few sentences about them. Only Luke’s had a brief story beneath it.
Katy’s mouth hung open. Dear God . . . no. She found the beginning of the story on Luke and began to read.
Celebrity Life has learned the identity of Dayne Matthews’ biological family. Dr. John Baxter and his wife, Elizabeth, who died two years ago, had their first child—Dayne—before they were married and gave him up for adoption. They went on to have five more children—Brooke, Kari, Ashley, Erin, and Luke. Most of the family lives in Bloomington, Indiana, and is known throughout the community for their strong Christian beliefs.
Katy struggled to catch her breath. She could only imagine the details that filled the page. She read on.
At least one of the Baxters isn’t excited about his famous sibling. This week Luke Baxter, a legal assistant in New York City, told a reporter for Celebrity Life that “Dayne Matthews is not my brother. Blood does not make him a Baxter.” In addition, Luke Baxter threatened legal action if his or his family’s privacy was breached in any way.
No, Luke. Katy groaned. Why would you say that? She looked out at the ocean. Dayne would be devastated when he woke up and had the chance to see the quote. All those years of ignoring his desire to seek out the Baxters, to approach them, and now this?
She held the magazine up and read the few lines beneath the other photos.
Brooke was born after Dayne. She and her husband are doctors. Three years ago their youngest child was involved in a near drowning, and Brooke’s husband was addicted to painkillers.
Anger surged through Katy. An injured child was something private, not a detail to toss around in a gossip magazine. How could they print that? She moved on.
Kari is married to a former NFL star. It is her second marriage. Her first husband was violently murdered by a stalker.
Katy closed her eyes. She wanted to throw the magazines into the water and never look at them again. The Baxters were private people. This information should never have been made public. But that wouldn’t change the facts, and it wouldn’t stop millions of people from reading this same information. She found her place.
Ashley is an artist who was the single mother of one boy until she married a Bloomington firefighter. She is healthy after an AIDS scare two years ago.
Nausea welled up inside Katy. Ashley . . . I’m so sorry. This was exactly what Dayne had feared. And now it had happened in the worst possible way. About Erin, the magazine only said:
Erin is married and living in Texas with her husband and four daughters.
Katy threw the magazine onto the blanket. No dirty facts on Erin, but the press would keep looking. The story was too sensational to resist. She stood and walked toward the water, the wet sand slipping between her toes. She kept walking through the foamy surf and in farther until the water was knee-deep. She wanted to shout at God. Where are You, Lord? Can’t You see me? She tilted her face to the sky. Can’t You hear? Everything’s getting worse, and I can barely remember how to breathe. Father, I’m desperate for Your help. Please . . . are You even listening at all?
She looked to the horizon, as far as she could see, but before she could utter another prayer, her cell phone on the blanket came to life. She was using the song “I Still Believe” by Jeremy Camp for her ringtone. By the time she ran through the water and up the sand, the song was at the part about feeling God’s grace fall like rain.
Please, God . . . let it be good news. . . .
She flipped open her phone. “Hello?”
“Katy Hart?” The voice sounded familiar.
“Yes?” She bent over her knees and exhaled so she’d have room in her anxious lungs for the slightest bit of air. “This is Katy.”
“This is Dr. Deming. We need you back at the hospital right away.”
Katy dropped to her knees, but even in that instant she refused to believe that the news could be bad. Hope roared to a mighty flame. “Is he . . . ?”
“He’s moving, Katy.” She could almost see the doctor smile. “He’s coming out of the coma. I must warn you, though; a full recovery is still a long shot. But we’ll do everything possible to make it happen.”
“Dear God, thank You.” She uttered the words loud enough for the doctor to hear. “I’ll be right there.”
Katy grabbed her things, ran up the stairs to Dayne’s house, and rushed out to the waiting car.
All the way back to the medical center she felt as if she were floating, soaring even. God had heard her! She whispered a constant string of thanks to Him, her Lord and Savior. She’d asked for a miracle tonight, and God in all His merciful power had delivered. Dayne was waking up!
If that wasn’t proof that God was more than a fairy tale, nothing was.
Dayne couldn’t see clear of the darkness, but something strange was happening. One small pinpoint at a time, light was streaming through. Light and something else. A voice that he would’ve known anywhere—the only voice that mattered.
The voice of Katy Hart.
“Dayne, can you hear me? I’m waiting for you, right here beside you.” She sounded distant, as if she were talking underwater.
Yes, I can hear you! With every bit of his strength Dayne tried to speak, and then he tried to shout, but his mouth wouldn’t work so his words had no way out. Another tiny spot of light burst through the darkness.
Where was he? And why was the darkness so thick? It hung like the densest fog, filling the air around him, consuming even his senses. Was he dreaming? Had someone drugged him? He was in Bloomington, wasn’t he? Celebrating the Fourth of July and admiring the ring on Katy’s hand.
So why couldn’t he wake up?
Katy . . . I can hear you! Why ca
n’t I talk?
“There’s no question he’s coming out of the coma.” This time the muffled voice belonged to another woman, someone unfamiliar.
But who was coming out of a coma? Not him. He wasn’t hurt or sick; he’d done nothing that would cause him to be in a coma.
“When, Doctor? When will we know more?” Katy was still there beside him; he could sense her. Whom was she talking to? Whom did they know who was in a coma, and why was he in such a deep, dark sleep?
Maybe if he thought a little harder, forced himself to think about the past, he could wake himself up. He went back in time—way back. He had made a lot of mistakes—his confusion over Kabbalah, his relationship with Kelly Parker. The baby she aborted, the child Dayne would never know. Thinking of the baby made him sad. Beyond sad. He felt like weeping over the loss, but almost as quickly he had a certainty that the child was a boy and he was in heaven—safe in God’s nursery. The knowing was so strong that Dayne was immediately overwhelmed with relief. His baby boy was safe.
More pinpoints of light pierced the thick black fog. The first time he saw Katy at the Bloomington Community Theater and again that first day in Los Angeles at the audition. The crazy woman on the beach, his trek back to Indiana, and all the ups and downs ever since.
“Dayne, can you hear me? Please open your eyes.” Katy sounded a little clearer than before.
I’m here, Katy. Wake me up; shake me. I want to see you! He felt closer to the light, but still his words wouldn’t come. If remembering was helping, then maybe he needed to remember recent things. He was at the Fourth of July party and then . . .
Fragments of memories flashed in his mind—Dayne and an actress working on a hillside somewhere. He concentrated. The actress was . . . Randi Wells. The flashbacks stopped there. Frustration hit hard and he tried again. God, please . . . why can’t I remember?
“Dayne, I’m here.” This time Katy sounded clearer still.
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