Reunion

by Karen Kingsbury; Karen Kingsbury

  Luke might not have been starstruck, but he knew enough to rise for the occasion. He stood and shook the partner’s hand. “Mr. Morris, good to see you.”

  “You, too, Luke. I thought I’d introduce you to one of our clients.” He stepped aside and nodded at the man on his left. “This is Dayne Matthews, and his agent, Chris Kane.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Luke shook Dayne’s hand and then nodded at the man’s agent. He grinned at Dayne. “My wife’s a big fan.”

  “Thanks.” Dayne looked comfortable. He wore a pullover and a baseball cap, but he would’ve had to work hard to hide the face America was coming to love. “Joe tells us you’ll be the next big entertainment attorney.”

  Luke smiled and gave a slight roll of his eyes. “As soon as I get my law degree.”

  Joe Morris and Dayne’s agent started a conversation about some aspect of Dayne’s current contract. They stood near the door, leaving Dayne no choice but to take the chair opposite Luke’s desk. He shrugged his shoulders. “Looks like it could be a while.”

  This had happened before. Joe and an agent would get into discussions and leave Luke to talk to the client. With the two of them blocking the door as they talked, Dayne was right. It could be a while.

  “You’re on location, right? Filming something in Manhattan?”

  “Yes.” Dayne smiled. “They’re going through technical shoots today, so we had some time off.”

  Luke felt himself relax a little. The office always made a big deal about the stars it represented, and many of them were high-maintenance, demanding the attention they felt they deserved because of their visibility.

  Dayne was different.

  From the moment they met, Luke felt something familiar about him, as if Dayne didn’t quite believe the fame and attention people had awarded him. The air of pretense that surrounded most big names was simply missing with Dayne.

  “So what’s your story, Luke Baxter?” Dayne fingered the nameplate on Luke’s desk. “You look too young to be married.”

  “Young but definitely happy.” Luke chuckled and pointed to a framed photograph of him and Reagan with Tommy. “That’s my family.”

  Dayne picked up the picture and studied it. “I can see why you’re happy.” He set it back down and looked at the other pictures on Luke’s desk. A photo of Tommy on his six-month birthday, one of Luke and Reagan at their wedding the previous Christmas.

  Then Dayne’s expression changed. “Who’s this?” He picked up a small photograph of Luke’s mother and father. It was taken when they were both students at the University of Michigan.

  “My parents.” Luke twisted so he could get a good look at the picture. “The way they looked in 1967, the year they met.”

  Dayne studied the photo a little longer, and then put it back. “They look nice.”

  “They are.” Luke reached up and took another photo from the top shelf of his desk. “This is them now. They’ll be married thirty-five years in August.”

  Again Dayne took special interest in the photo. “Thirty-five years.” He shook his head. “That’s just about unheard-of where I come from.”

  For a single instant, Luke felt sorry for the movie star seated across from him. For some reason, the man was giving Luke a glimpse of his heart, of the things that might’ve mattered to him if life were different. Almost as if Dayne longed for a desk like Luke’s, one with a photograph of a pretty wife and an infant son and parents who had stayed married for thirty-five years.

  Dayne leaned back and crossed his arms, studying Luke. “You’re a Christian, aren’t you, Luke?”

  “I am.” Again, Luke was struck by Dayne’s transparency. “How did you know?”

  “Your eyes.” He laughed and flashed the smile that brought in millions at the box office. “And the eyes of your wife and parents. It’s the same way my own parents looked.”

  “They’re believers, then?”

  “They were.” Dayne sucked in a long breath and sat a little straighter in his seat. “I lost them a long time ago. They were missionaries; they died in a small-plane crash in the jungles of Southeast Asia.”

  The story triggered something Reagan had told him. She’d found a copy of People magazine in the doctor’s office at one of Tommy’s appointments and read that Dayne Matthews was raised in a boarding school, the son of missionaries. Luke kept the memory to himself. Instead he bit his lip and held Dayne’s eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

  Dayne raised his shoulders. “They loved God more than me.” He laughed, but it sounded practiced. “I was just a kid; I couldn’t exactly compete with God, you know?”

  Luke was hardly a psychiatrist, but even so he could read between the lines of what Dayne was saying. No wonder he was taken by Luke’s family pictures. He had lost the people he loved most, and all because they had loved God more than him. That was how Dayne saw it, anyway, and his story explained much about his ability to express emotions on the big screen.

  Luke wanted to keep the conversation going, find out more about the man sitting across from him. But everything he thought to ask, he already knew. Dayne had a reputation for playing the field, dating his leading ladies, and then walking away before things got too serious. His personal life was splashed across the cover of People magazine and every tabloid in the business.

  “You know something, Luke Baxter?” Dayne leveled his gaze at him. He was a straight shooter, a man whose star status didn’t figure into the conversation. Dayne pointed at the pictures on Luke’s desk. “You’re a lucky young man. That—” he nodded to the faces in the photographs—“that’s what matters in the end, you know?”

  “You’re right.” Luke looked at the pictures again. “I almost lost them all a year ago. But now—” he met Dayne’s eyes again—“now I’m never letting go. Not for anything.”

  “Good.” Dayne grabbed the arms of his chair and looked over his shoulder. His agent and Joe Morris had moved their conversation into a nearby room, so there was no longer a reason for Dayne to stay. He stood and stretched. Then he reached out and shook Luke’s hand. “Nice meeting you.”

  “You too.” Luke was struck by this guy, how easily they’d hit it off from the moment they were introduced. In another setting, they might’ve become friends, taken an interest in getting to know each other. But Dayne Matthews was, well, he was Dayne Matthews. People didn’t just befriend big-time movie stars.

  Dayne nodded at Luke. “See you around.”

  “Yeah.” Luke did a small wave. “Good luck with your film.”

  “Thanks.” And with that, Dayne turned around and walked out of Luke’s office and down the hallway.

  Luke didn’t see him again that day, but he was sure of one thing: He wouldn’t forget their conversation as long as he lived. Not because Dayne was a movie star, someone larger than life. But because he was human, just a guy caught up in the fast pace of life, wistful over the thought of normalcy.

  Something about it made Luke sad, and he could hardly wait to share the story with Reagan. She would be bowled over, of course, asking him if he’d gotten the man’s autograph or invited him for dinner. But when the silliness faded and she listened to the story, she would feel it, too. An ache for someone like Dayne Matthews, someone with limitless fame and talent and looks and money. But someone who was maybe missing the most important thing of all.

  Family.

  A few hours later, Luke finished up. He gathered his things and headed down the hall. On his way he poked his head into the office of Joe Morris. “Hey, thanks for introducing me. He’s the real deal. Very down to earth.”

  Joe was about to say something, but he set his pen down and stared at Luke. “My word, Baxter, look at you.”

  Luke took a step back and shot a glance at the length of himself in Joe’s mirror. “Did I spill pizza sauce on my shirt again?”

  “No.” Joe stood up, his eyes wide. “You look exactly like Dayne Matthews.” He shook his head. “When I hired you I knew yo
u looked like someone famous, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.” He chuckled. “Now I know.”

  “Really?” No one had told him that before.

  “I mean, Baxter, you could be the guy’s twin.”

  “I guess there are worse things you could say about me.” Luke laughed and raised his portfolio in the air. “Maybe I should drop law and take up acting.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  With all that was going on in her life, Ashley had asked the owner of Sunset Hills for six months off. Long enough to get them through the summer, the reunion their mother wanted, and her wedding.

  She still had money in savings from the paintings she’d sold in Manhattan, and the occasional sale that took place at the local gallery. Taking time off was a good thing. It gave her time with Cole and Landon and her mother. Most of all her mother.

  Two weeks had passed since her mother’s surgery. Often in the afternoon Kari and Jessie joined Ashley and Cole in long conversations around their mother’s bed. She was still weak from the operation, her incisions still healing. And the sickness had already kicked in.

  She’d lost weight and hair and had trouble keeping food down. But at times like this, with the early April sun streaming through the bedroom window and her mother sitting up in bed smiling and laughing at the stories Kari told about little Jessie, it was easy to think her mother wasn’t sick at all.

  Elizabeth drew a long breath and pressed the blankets down around her waist. “You tell the funniest stories, Kari. Sometimes I think you should’ve done stand-up work.”

  “Who knew two-year-olds could provide such good material?”

  They all laughed again and Ashley remembered something. “I think I found the bridesmaids’ dresses.” She darted across the room and pulled a slip of folded paper from her purse. “I found this in one of those wedding books.”

  Ashley opened the advertisement and showed it to Kari. Their mother leaned closer, trying to get a better look. “Oh, Ashley, it’s beautiful.”

  The dress was formfitting but not tight, a thin black satin with a single strap over the left shoulder.

  “Oh, sure.” Kari chased after Jessie and whisked her up onto her lap. “I’ll be—what?—over four months pregnant.” She traced the narrow waist of the model wearing the dress. “I’ll be the general shape of a rectangle by then; keep that in mind.”

  Kari and Mom laughed, but Ashley was quick to accommodate. “We can have yours custom-made. That won’t be a problem.”

  “Just give me a gunnysack. That way I can be sure the waist will fit.” Kari set Jessie down, and they watched her skip across the room and stare out the window.

  “Kitty, Mommy! Look!” Kari struggled to her feet and went to Jessie. As she did she looked over her shoulder. “Of course, if Jessie keeps up this aerobics program, I might actually fit into the dress.”

  Again they laughed, and Ashley savored the feeling.

  This was what she’d always hoped for, wasn’t it? Not just the fact that she was marrying the man of her dreams, a man who would be her best friend and the greatest daddy in the world for Cole. But that she had this, too. Unhurried conversations with her mother and sisters about dresses and fittings and all the other details that went into planning a wedding.

  “Have you decided on the music?” Her mother reached into the top drawer of her nightstand and pulled out a pad of paper.

  “You mean I’m not singing?” Kari kneeled beside Jessie, who was still caught up in watching the kitty through the window. “I thought for sure you’d have me sing.”

  Ashley and Mom winced at the same time. Kari had always been good in front of a camera, but never in front of a microphone. She was completely tone deaf. Everyone in the Baxter family knew that.

  “Well—” Ashley played along—“I want people to dance, not leave early with a headache.”

  Kari made a face. “Ouch, little sister. Cut me deep.”

  Their mother studied the notebook on her lap. “Last time we talked, you were leaning toward a DJ; is that right?”

  “Actually . . .” Ashley watched her mother and tried not to notice the way her lightweight cotton robe fell flat against her chest. “Landon’s thinking about a live band. One of the guys at the fire station plays in one that does weddings. They can do seventies, eighties, country—pretty much anything that gets people on a dance floor.”

  Her mother thought about that. “It sounds lovely, Ashley. Would you like me to find out what they charge, or will Landon take care of that?”

  Ashley’s heart melted. “Landon’ll do it, Mom. You’re supposed to be recovering, remember?”

  “My hands still work.” Her mother held her chin up. “I hate just lying here when I could be doing something to help. Your wedding’s in less than four months, honey. That’s sooner than you think.”

  “Let’s see, four months . . .” Kari studied the ceiling. “That means Jessie will be two and my morning sickness will be gone.” She punctuated the idea by jabbing her finger into the air. “Let’s hope it’s sooner than we think.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember feeling that way.” Their mother grinned, but she gave Kari a pointed look. “I thought I’d never have all you kids out of diapers, but it was over in a blur.” Her voice was tender, her eyes suddenly damp. “Your little Jessie girl is a handful now, but savor every minute, Kari. Blink a few times and you’ll be at her high school graduation.”

  Ashley was about to agree when the phone rang.

  Elizabeth picked up the receiver and tapped the On button. “Hello?” A pause followed and she covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Erin,” she whispered. “Yes, I remember.”

  For several minutes their mother carried on a conversation with Erin, assuring her that yes, everything would be okay. Yes, God had a plan for her life and the life of the baby girl Candy had refused to give up. “He has a baby for you, Erin. I believe that much.” A bit of silence. “Have you and Sam prayed about that?”

  Ashley could hardly believe it. Here was their mother, fighting some awful, aggressive breast cancer, struggling to keep down even a glass of water, but her entire energy was focused on her children, on the events they were dealing with: Erin’s loss of the baby she’d been waiting for, Luke’s highs and lows at his new job, Kari’s struggles with her strong-willed two-year-old, even the wedding she and Landon were planning.

  All of it mattered more to Elizabeth than her own situation.

  Their father had always been the strong silent type, the spiritual leader everyone fell back on when times were tough. But their mother was the family’s heartbeat. Always she was at the center of their good and bad times, lending perspective or a kind word or a shoulder to cry on.

  Never did any of them appreciate her more than they did now. Ashley talked to her siblings every day, and all of them were praying, praying with a kind of fervor none of them had known before. Not because they doubted God’s faithfulness in hearing their prayers and answering. But because they appreciated her so much more now, appreciated everything she’d ever done, every perfect word or loving touch. Before they might’ve taken her for granted once in a while, the way kids sometimes do with their parents. But not anymore.

  Now they savored every minute. And when they weren’t doing that, they kept busy trying not to think about what would happen if God decided to take her home early.

  Because none of them—Ashley most of all—had any idea how they’d survive without her.

  * * *

  The girls had been gone for thirty minutes, and it was an hour before John would be home.

  Elizabeth was glad. She hated getting sick in front of them, and the nausea hit her like clockwork every afternoon. Always she found a reason to say good-bye to whichever visitors had stopped by. Almost always Kari and Ashley were there, and often Brooke came by on her lunch break.

  But come four o’clock, she would yawn and tell them she was tired; she needed her rest if she was going to kick cancer in the shins and send it on its way. But th
e truth was, she needed her privacy in order to hide her sickness.

  The nausea came at her like a baseball bat, hard and swift and relentless in its accuracy. She would barely make it to the bathroom, grab the sink, and thrust her face toward the toilet.

  This afternoon was worse than usual, the way Dr. Steinman had predicted.

  “When will it go away?” she’d asked him the last time John had taken her in for a post-op checkup. “A few weeks?”

  He’d sighed and shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not, Elizabeth. It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

  Indeed.

  Elizabeth clung to the toilet rim. If she didn’t hang on, she would fall to the floor and never get up. Her stomach twisted and convulsed until she had nothing left but dry heaves. Then, gradually, the nausea subsided and she slithered to the floor.

  Sweat streamed down her face, and she ran her hands through her hair, trying to cool off. But the action left something strange in her fingers, and when she looked she gasped out loud. Her hands were full of hair—thick, dark clumps that stuck to her palms and twisted around her fingers.

  The picture made her sick in a new sort of way. She pushed herself into a sitting position and grabbed a piece of toilet paper. Then she gathered the hair from her hands, wrapped it in the paper, and threw it in the trash.

  From the beginning Dr. Steinman had told her what to expect, but nothing could’ve prepared her for this. At the rate she was losing her hair, she’d have to start wearing a baseball cap in the next few days. Not that she had to; she’d even told herself that it wouldn’t matter.

  It was just hair; it would grow back.

  But now that it was falling out, leaving blank patches along her scalp, Elizabeth was horrified. All her life her hair had been part of her look, something she’d expected with each glance in the mirror. Watching it fall out was horrifying. She would either shave it all off or wear a cap. That way when she stumbled into the bathroom for another round of vomiting, her reflection wouldn’t make things worse.

  Minutes passed, and finally Elizabeth had the strength to stand. She was halfway out of the bathroom when she stopped and stared in the mirror. Dr. Steinman had been checking her incisions every few days, and he was happy with how she was healing. He had advised her not to look at herself until she was prepared mentally for what she would see.