She came to him with fury in her steps. “Yes, I’m serious.” She glared at him, but her heart must’ve been breaking also because tears streamed down her face. “You didn’t—” a sob stopped her sentence short—“you didn’t love me, Dayne! Why in the world would I want to have your baby?”
He felt furious and faint. She was telling him the truth; sometime since their last conversation she’d had an abortion without so much as a phone call to let him know. He grabbed a quick breath and doubled over, his hands on his knees. The loss grew and swelled in his heart until the enormity of it threatened to suffocate him.
Slowly, he straightened and studied her features. Whatever she had become, he no longer knew her. She was cold and callous and cruel. “You never even . . . you never called.”
“Look.” Her expression told him she was scared to death, that she regretted what she’d done. But her tone told an entirely different story. “I didn’t have to call you.” She pressed her hand over her heart. “It’s my body, my pregnancy. It was my choice to end it—mine alone.”
“Sure, Kelly . . .” Dayne’s heart was breaking for the child they’d lost. It was all he could do to keep his composure. “Sure, tell yourself that.” He motioned to the door and the party beyond it. “You’ve got the right lingo; that’s for sure. All that garbage sounds neat and tidy, the way everyone in Hollywood sounds. Your body . . . your choice . . . your right to have an abortion.”
“I don’t need to hear this.” She spat the words at him and moved toward the door.
“Wait!”
She hesitated and looked as if she was trying to hold on to her anger. That way she couldn’t give in to the regret he’d seen earlier. “Hurry, Dayne. I told you . . . I have plans.”
“Okay.” Tears choked his voice now, tears of anger and hurt. “You can tell me about your rights. But deep inside you know the truth.” His chin was quivering, and a lifetime of sorrow welled in his heart. “Our baby was growing inside you, the first child for both of us.” He jabbed himself in the chest. “My child, Kelly.” The reality of what had happened was still hitting him, still tearing into him like shrapnel from a lethal roadside bomb. “I had nothing to say about it, and now that child is dead.”
She crossed her arms and drilled her eyes into him. “Please, Dayne . . . don’t be so dramatic. We had sex. I got pregnant. I had an abortion.” She tilted her chin, once again the proud, controlled actress—the one she’d been on Hawk Daniels’s arm earlier. She took one more step toward the door. “I wasn’t even five months along when I had it. So there never was a child.”
Dayne let his hands fall to his sides, defeated. “You can tell yourself whatever you want, Kelly.” Images came to his mind, photos of aborted babies he’d seen in science class. He shuddered and struggled to find his voice. “But don’t—not for one minute—tell yourself there was never a child.”
Her expression was harder than it had been all night. She looked like a bored teenager, tired of a lecture from Dad. She put her hand on the doorknob and shot him one more dagger. Then without saying good-bye, she reentered the party, shutting the door behind her.
Dayne was still reeling. He held on to the railing with both hands and let his head hang. Dear God, how can this be happening? He squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t talked to God since hearing the news about the baby back in January. He wasn’t even sure he believed in God anymore—not if He had allowed Kelly to get pregnant, even though Dayne didn’t love her.
But now his thinking seemed to border on insanity.
“God . . .” The word was a desperate cry, a strained whisper. “It wasn’t You; it was me. All along it’s been me.” The tears came, and he did nothing to stop them. He was the one who had asked Kelly to move in with him, the one who had been stung by Katy’s rejection after the crazy knife-wielding fan’s attack, the one who had then allowed lust to take the place of love.
The fact that Kelly got pregnant wasn’t God’s way of abandoning him. Rather it was the natural consequence of sleeping with Kelly, of acting in direct opposition to everything his adoptive parents had ever tried to teach him. All of it had been his fault, and he deserved to have it change his life forever.
Only now the worst thing of all—the baby was dead. Just yesterday he’d stopped at a Wild Oats grocery store and seen a mother cradling her newborn. Beside her, a man wearing a wedding ring pushed their cart. For a moment—until the first fan came up asking for an autograph—Dayne just watched. That would be him in a few months, pushing a cart, supporting Kelly, and taking turns holding a tiny infant. As he watched, he could almost feel the weight of the child in his arms, almost hear the little cries of the baby that was about to be his.
His tears came harder. Now there would be no child, no baby to hold. “Was it a girl or a boy, God?” His question rattled around in his mind and echoed across his soul. Whatever their baby was, the child was in heaven now.
Dayne believed that as surely as he believed in oxygen.
And if he believed that, then he had to believe in God as well—the God who was listening to him, weeping with him even now. His lifestyle, his choices had led to this. Kelly truly believed the lies she’d been told: that abortion was a choice, an option. Her body, her call.
Of course the people who fought for such a travesty never really looked in a woman’s eyes, never saw the regret and pain like what he had seen deep in Kelly’s expression. She was hurting. No matter what lies she told herself, she knew deep down that he was right. There most certainly had been a child, an unborn baby.
And now there wasn’t.
“God . . . help me.” He squeezed the words through clenched teeth. Last fall he had done what his birth mother had asked, what she had written to him in the letter on the back of her photograph. He had forgiven. Forgiven his birth parents for giving him up, for not fighting harder to keep him. Forgiven his adoptive parents for choosing the mission field over giving him a normal childhood.
And he had asked forgiveness from Kelly for how he had treated her.
But this . . . how could God ever forgive him for taking part in the death of a child? For that matter, he must’ve been crazy to sleep with a woman when he didn’t know her opinions on something as crucial as the right to life. And what did he think she’d been doing this past month? Had he really thought she was making plans for a nursery between nights of partying and flaunting her relationship with Hawk Daniels?
He should’ve seen this coming weeks ago.
The truth was, he was every bit as guilty as Kelly. “I’m sorry, God . . . I’m so sorry.”
My son, come to Me . . . let Me find you while you still may be found.
Dayne straightened and looked over his shoulder, turning one direction and then the other. Who had said that? The words felt like they had been whispered, carried on the night breeze that sifted across the small, private patio. A chill ran down his spine. God . . . was that You?
There was no audible response, but now he had a new sense of strength, of peace.
He dragged his hands across his cheeks and looked inside. It was dark enough in the party room that he could make it through the place without anyone asking what was wrong. People at movie premieres were concerned with making connections and looking good for the cameras. Every one of the gossip rags and even People magazine would run a full spread on this premier event—so impressions were everything.
The photographers had gotten hundreds of shots of him earlier, so he could smile big and leave the party without causing a stampede. He leaned against the iron railing and gazed into the sky. He felt stronger, yes, but the hurt was no less overwhelming. He’d thought about his baby every day since Kelly had first told him. Boy or girl? His dark blond hair or Kelly’s? Blue eyes or brown? Would the child have been interested in drama and the arts or crazy for sports? He would never know now, not this side of heaven. Never hear his child’s voice or see his baby’s smile. The loss was so great it took his breath.
No, it wasn
’t the right timing, and no, Kelly wasn’t the right person. But none of that was the baby’s fault. Dayne pressed his fists into his middle. His first child was dead. The tragedy hurt deeply. As he stood there, as he let the breeze dry the remaining dampness in his eyes, there was only one place he wanted to be now, one person who could help him take the next step toward finding God—if God truly was calling him.
A woman with pale blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes, who at the very least would point him in the right direction. And something else . . . something no one he knew in Hollywood could ever do. She would grieve with him and ache with him for a hurt that would stay until he drew his last breath. She would understand how great his pains were and that his regret would last for a lifetime. She would feel his sadness because of a series of bad decisions he could never, ever take back.
And most of all she would cry with him because of a baby who lived in heaven now, a child who would not have the chance to live and grow and become on this earth. His arms hurt at the emptiness of it, because he never got to meet his baby.
Because his first child would forever be a baby he never even had the chance to hold.
Ashley had the feeling her father was hiding something from her. Landon was at the fire station this Saturday afternoon, and she and Cole were on their way to the Baxter house to go over plans for the reunion. The whole ride there, Ashley replayed in her mind a few of the recent conversations she’d had with her dad.
Every time she asked her father about her older brother, he was vague. “How’s it coming with the search?” she had asked him a few nights ago. “Anything new from the private investigator?”
“Uh . . .” Always there seemed to be a slight hesitation. “No, nothing yet.” Frustration echoed in his voice. “You’ll be the first to know, Ashley. I promise you.”
Ashley leaned forward and clicked on the radio.
“Put on eighties, okay, Mom?” Cole piped up from the backseat. “Daddy always lets me listen to the eighties.”
She laughed, and the sound of it temporarily erased her suspicions. “You’re the only kid in Bloomington who listens to eighties, Cole. I just want you to know that.”
“I don’t just like eighties.” In the rearview mirror she saw him grin. “I like country too. ’Specially that song about coming home.”
“‘Who Says You Can’t Go Home’?”
“Yeah.” Cole giggled. “I love that song!”
She turned to the eighties station and relished the feeling. A Bryan Adams song was half-over, and the instant Cole heard it, he started moving to the music. She took a deep breath. These were the moments she would always remember. She and Cole, music filling the van, bopping around town together as if he’d always be young and she’d always have him in the backseat.
By the time they reached the Baxter house, Ashley’s mind had taken a dozen different trails—thoughts about how wonderful it would be to see Luke and Erin. How much she’d missed them and how she couldn’t wait to see their kids and how they’d grown. Also how sad it was that their mom wouldn’t be there, and that brought her full circle to her father.
And why he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with finding their older brother.
The reunion was the perfect place for all of them to meet him—if he were willing and able to come, of course. The timing had seemed perfect before, but now that it was the middle of March they were running out of days. It would take a miracle to make a connection with their brother in only two weeks.
Her dad was outside waiting for them, sprinkling bits of food into the frog pond. Ashley took hold of Cole’s hand, and they started toward him.
“Good news!” Her dad smiled at them. “I bought a few dozen goldfish.” He stared at the water. “They love the place.”
“Goldfish!” Cole released her hand and ran toward the pond. “To keep the frogs company, you mean?”
“Exactly.” Her father rubbed Cole’s hair and pulled him close for a hug. He looked at Ashley. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” She couldn’t move as fast as Cole, but she was sleeping all right. “The baby’s not as active as before.” She put her hand on what used to be her waist. “But I can’t blame him. Not much room left in there.”
Her dad chuckled. “I think you’re right.” He pointed at the water. “Come look at the fish.”
“Yeah, Mommy, Papa’s right.” Cole dropped to his knees and lowered his face inches above the water. “You never saw such happy goldfish.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “They have little fish smiles on their faces.”
Little fish smiles. She loved this about Cole, his enthusiasm for life, his imagination. “Wait till Maddie sees them.”
“Yeah!” He jumped to his feet, tugging at his grandpa’s sleeve. “Can we ask her to come now, Papa? Can we?”
“I think Aunt Brooke’s bringing the girls by later. Uncle Peter has some work at the hospital.”
“Goodie!” Cole pumped his fist. Then he dropped to his knees again and stared at the fish. “I wish I had a net so I could catch ’em.”
Her father frowned. “Maybe we should wait on that.”
“Yeah.” Cole looked over his shoulder. “Until they’ve been here awhile.”
Ashley stood at her father’s side and watched Cole. “The pond looks great.”
“You noticed?” His voice rang with pride.
“Of course.” Ashley pointed to the pebbly landing. “You made a place for the kids to kneel down closer to the water.”
“Right.” He nodded to the ring of large rocks. “Cleared the weeds too.” He slipped his arm around Ashley. “Remember the fishpond I made for you kids when you were little?”
Ashley laughed. “Of course.” The years peeled back, and the memories were vivid once more. “Luke and I spent three summers around that pond.”
“That’s right.” He chuckled, his tone nostalgic. “Always Luke and you, my tomboy.”
“Didn’t the fish have babies?”
“Babies?” Cole spun around, his eyes wide. “Fish can have babies?”
“Yes.” Her dad grinned big. “When your mommy was a little girl, our fish had babies and grandbabies and great-grandbabies. So many fish we had to catch some of them and give them to neighbors down the street.”
“I remember that. Luke and I wading through the pond with our little nets.”
“Really?” Cole turned back to the pond. “When these fish have babies and there gets to be so many like that, maybe you could let me and Maddie be the catchers.” He squinted against the glare of the sun. “’Cause I think I’d be a really good catcher, Papa.”
A pair of geese flew overhead and landed in the front field, fifty yards away.
Cole spotted them immediately. He stood and took soft running steps in the direction of the birds. “Watch what a good catcher I am, Papa.” He spoke with a loud whisper.
Long before Cole reached the geese, they lifted and settled another twenty yards from him.
With him out of earshot, Ashley took a step toward the pond and then faced her father. This was as good a time as any. “You know what I’m going to ask you?”
It took only a few seconds for the knowing look to fill her dad’s eyes. “About your older brother?”
“Right.” She smiled. This didn’t need to be an awkward subject between them. She just wanted to know where he was, who he was. And if her father was having such a hard time finding him, then maybe she should take over the search. “I guess it feels like every time I bring him up you change the subject. Like you don’t want to talk about him.”
Her father gave her a slow nod and shaded his eyes. “I know.” A heavy sigh rattled on his lips, and his shoulders seemed to slump a few inches. “I’m sorry.”
“I mean, Dad—” she took his hand—“maybe it’s too much for you. I’d be happy to take over, maybe make a few calls to the investigator, see if I can’t get him more enthused about finding him, where he is and who he is and whether he’d want to—”
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“Ashley.” He brought his free hand to her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes. “The PI found your brother.”
Ashley had to hold tight to her father’s hand so she wouldn’t drop to her knees. This was hardly the news she’d expected to hear. Her throat was suddenly dry and tight, and she swallowed so she could think of what to say. Even then all she could manage was “He found him?”
“Yes.” But instead of joy and elation, there was fresh sorrow in her dad’s expression. “But the news isn’t good.”
Not good? A handful of possibilities flashed across Ashley’s mind. He was sick or dead, or maybe he’d done some horrible thing. Her legs and arms trembled, and she waited, breathless.
“It’s a closed door, Ashley. He doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
“What?” Outrage immediately replaced the shock working its way through her body. Her baby began to kick, and she motioned to the porch swing. In the distance Cole was still chasing the pair of geese. “Let’s go sit down.”
Storm clouds were gathering in the distance, and in a few hours there was bound to be thunder and lightning. But for now Ashley appreciated the sunshine on her back as they crossed the driveway. The news chilled her to the bone. How could her brother turn down his entire birth family without ever knowing them?
She steadied herself against her father until they were seated on the swing. Then she looked at him, angry and desperate for answers. “Tell me everything, Dad.” Her words were dry. “Start at the beginning.”
“I should’ve told you sooner. I’ve known about him for two months now.”
“Two months?” Ashley raised her voice. She gripped the arm of the swing and angled her large body so she could see her father better. She worked to lower her tone. “Dad, two months?”
“I wanted to make sure.”
“Make sure of what?”
“That he didn’t want contact with us.” He looked sad and tired and old, sunk against the back of the swing. “I’ve done everything I can do.”
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