Sarah’s cheeks reddened and she looked at the floor for a few beats. “Hey.” She looked up, her eyes filled with concern. “Don’t say anything about last night, huh? My guy wouldn’t understand.”
Her guy? Dayne wasn’t sure whether to laugh out loud or tell her to leave. In the end he decided on the latter. He pretended to zip his lips together. “It’s our secret.” He nodded his chin toward the door. “Go ahead, Sarah, but use the back door. I’ll stay another few hours so no one thinks anything.”
Her expression softened. She stood, kissed him on the cheek, and tousled his hair. “You’re a good sport, Dayne.” The corners of her lips lifted, and she winked at him. “Last night was awesome.”
She was gone before he had time to sort through his feelings. Last night was awesome, but see ya later? What had she said? The guy she was exclusive with was more of a family type? And guys like Dayne were better for a night or a few months? Was that really what people thought of him?
He slid back beneath the covers and stared out the window. Ten years of Hollywood living flashed at him in as many minutes. Leading lady after leading lady, he’d gotten together with them and walked away when the thrill wore off. If that was his reputation—and it obviously was—then he’d done everything in his power to earn it.
His frustration at Sarah passed.
She had her own issues, certainly; otherwise she wouldn’t have come home with him. But he couldn’t be angry with her. Her thoughts about him were right. In a sense what she was telling him was “hey, thanks for the fun night, but a season of wild living is just a little too much for me.”
She didn’t want a playboy; she wanted a family guy.
The word family filled his mind and took up every bit of his consciousness. Family. A mom and dad, brothers and sisters. Wasn’t that what he’d always been missing? A family to call his own?
A memory began to form. He was sixteen, a sophomore at the Indonesian boarding school while his parents were on the mission field. A girl in his math class asked him how long until he’d see his parents again.
“Three months, maybe four,” he’d told her.
“Don’t you hate it?” She tipped her head, pensive.
“Hate what?”
“Not having a family.” She leaned forward on her forearms. “At least most of us have brothers and sisters, but you . . . you’re always alone.” A sad look flashed in her eyes. “I’d be mad at my parents if they did that to me, you know, made me an only child and then stayed away so much.”
The memory lifted.
Even as a kid Dayne hadn’t been a family guy. He didn’t have the first idea how to be one. No wonder he hadn’t stayed with anyone longer than a few months. He’d been alone, indepen-dent, as far back as he could remember.
He rolled onto his side and stared at the photo on his dresser, the only photo he kept visible anywhere in his apartment. It was a picture of his parents, dressed in khaki pants and tops, surrounded by village people, somewhere deep in the outback areas of Indonesia.
How come he hadn’t remembered that he’d been adopted? In the back of his mind he’d always known, hadn’t he? After his mother had shown him the picture of the woman who birthed him, the truth was out. He hadn’t belonged to his parents from the beginning.
But somehow in his little-boy heart he hadn’t wanted to believe anything but what was comfortable. His parents were his parents. Period. Never mind about some strange picture of a woman who had given birth to him. Not once until he went to the storage unit had he thought of her as his birth mother.
He studied the faces of the village people surrounding his parents. The people in the mission field were more family to his parents than he had been. His parents lived with those people, cared for those people, prayed for those people. All while he lived at the boarding school year after year after year.
Maybe he did have a right to be mad at them.
The picture of Luke Baxter’s mother came to mind. What if by some strange, bizarre coincidence she really was his birth mother? If so, then the pictures that covered Luke’s desk were pictures that could’ve been his own, pictures that would’ve lined his dresser even now.
The thought exploded in his mind, tearing at his lifelong belief that he hadn’t missed out on anything by not having a real family. Of course he’d missed out.
Sarah’s words came back to him: “Not much of a family guy . . .”
Unless maybe he did have a family somewhere. If not Luke Baxter’s mother, then someone else. Whoever she was, she’d be in her midfifties now, something like that. According to the papers in the box, the adoption had been closed. She might’ve tried to find him and been unable to. Or maybe she was looking even now.
Maybe fate had brought him into Luke Baxter’s office that day, so that he’d be driven to the storage unit. Otherwise he never would’ve faced the fact that he had a birth mother or that maybe she was someone he wanted to find.
Dayne sat up in bed and stared at the telephone on the nightstand. Maybe if he found his birth mother, he would find a family at the same time. Then he might have a reason to give up his independence, settle down with a girl who had no ties to Hollywood whatsoever.
Before he had his mind made up, before he was certain this was something he really wanted to do, he picked up the phone and dialed his agent. “I need the number of a private investigator, someone I can trust.”
His agent hesitated. “Dayne?”
“Yeah, sorry.” He leaned back against the headboard. The clock on his dresser read nine-thirty. “It’s a little early.”
“Right.” Concern rang in the man’s tone. “Why do you need a PI, Dayne? You can’t afford to be in trouble, not now.”
“No trouble.” Dayne wondered how much he should say. Nothing, probably. If he did find his birth mother, the last thing either of them needed was publicity. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. But if he couldn’t trust his agent, whom could he trust?
“So what is it, Dayne? Be straight with me.”
“Listen—” he pursed his lips and blew out—“I was adopted, man. I guess in the back of my mind I always knew, but last time I was in L.A. I did a little research. Found some papers my parents kept.”
“Okay.” His agent sounded relieved. “So why the PI?”
There was no turning back now. He closed his eyes and worked his fingers into his brow. “I wanna find my birth mother. It’s important to me.”
A silence followed. “Look, Dayne, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” Dayne leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
“Because you’re Dayne Matthews. That means whatever woman gave you up for adoption has no idea her biological child is a famous multimillionaire.”
Dayne tried to make sense of his agent’s argument. Then, gradually, a light began to dawn. “You mean she might want money?”
“She might want a lot of things. Fame, a slot on the nighttime talk shows.” He made a sound that expressed his frustration. “What if she’s a drug addict or locked away in some insane asylum? That would look good, wouldn’t it?”
Dayne hesitated. His next words came slowly, laden with emotion. “What if she’s got a beautiful family and all she’s ever wanted was to meet me.”
“Touché.” His agent waited, his voice softer than before. “You really want to find her?”
“Yes.” This time when Dayne said it, he had no doubts. If his birth mother was alive—and he maybe even had a family out there—he wanted to know about it. “I want it quiet, though. That’s why I need your help.”
“You have some papers; is that what you said?”
“A whole box of papers. They’re in storage in North Hollywood.”
“Okay. Sit tight. I’ll make a few calls and see if I can find someone who’ll help you.”
Dayne showered, got dressed, and made himself some eggs. The whole time he couldn’t stop thinking about the chain of events that had led to this moment. Finally, jus
t before noon, the phone rang. Dayne grabbed it on the first ring. “Hello?”
“I found someone. The guy works for entertainers, promises complete anonymity. He’s been around, Dayne; he keeps his word.”
“Can he find birth mothers?” Dayne’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might come through his chest and bounce about on the kitchen floor. “Does he do that?”
“Yes. He’s very good. Let me see here . . .” A rustling sound filled the phone lines. “Yes, adoption is one of his specialties. I put him on retainer for you, and he says he’d like the box of documents as soon as possible.”
“Then what? How long will it take?”
“No guarantees, Matthews. All he can do is try.”
“Okay.” Dayne paced across the kitchen and back again. He thought of his attorney’s words yesterday, how Luke Baxter’s mother was sick. Of course, she was probably not his birth mother, but still. Whoever she was, he wanted to find her. Now, before another week went by. “But he’s good, right? He has a good chance of finding her?”
“Yes, Dayne. He’s good and very expensive.”
“I don’t care.” He worked the muscles in his jaw. This was a new feeling, this determination. Strong and unyielding and bent on getting his way. “Whatever the cost, I’ve got to find her. I want to know who she is and why she gave me up and if she ever wishes she hadn’t done that. I want to know how my parents wound up with me, and what arrangement my birth mother had with them. I have dozens of questions.”
“All while keeping the whole thing out of the press, right?” His agent sounded doubtful.
“Right.”
“All we can do is try.” He hesitated. “But in the end, if someone ends up getting hurt over all this, Dayne, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Dayne dropped to the closest chair and hooted out loud. “Thanks, friend.” He hung up.
Dayne spent the rest of the day cleaning his apartment and packing for his flight back to Hollywood. The excitement bubbling within him was different than any he’d ever felt in his professional life. Better, somehow, than getting an Oscar nomination or a raving review in People magazine. Better than knowing he could command top dollar for a film.
He was about to find his birth mother. How amazing was that? And how great that his agent had found a PI who would keep things confidential. That way he could find out her identity, set up a meeting, and get to know her—if she was willing, that is. All without ever having the press find out about it.
No one would get hurt by this strange and unusual search.
Dayne was completely convinced.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The kids were arriving and no matter how bad she felt, Elizabeth couldn’t be sad or sick or tired or anything but happy. This was the reunion she had dreamed about since Erin and Luke moved away. No, they wouldn’t go to Sanibel Island to bask in the sun, but at least they’d be together at the Baxter house, the way they hadn’t been in nearly two years.
The very thought of it made her feel stronger than she had in a week.
And another good thing—they already knew about her cancer. After telling the kids about her sickness, Elizabeth had at first doubted herself, wondering if she should’ve waited until she had them in person before explaining the situation. But now that it was behind them, she was relieved.
Now they could focus on having fun together, making memories, and getting ready for Ashley’s wedding. Yes, she was sick; she was probably dying. And there were entire days when the sorrow of leaving her family was so suffocating she could barely breathe.
But she wasn’t afraid. Not since that day in her bedroom, the day God used a simple Scripture to speak so loudly to her heart. And as much as possible, she wouldn’t be sad—not while the kids were around. The tears could come late at night or closer to the end—if this was the end. But for now she wanted to celebrate her family, every wonderful moment they’d ever had together.
Elizabeth was sitting in a chair in the living room, watching out the front window. Ashley was at the airport picking up Luke and Reagan and Tommy. She tilted her wrist and checked her watch. It hung on her bony wrist these days, but she wore it anyway. It was a gift from John, an anniversary present he’d given her seven, maybe eight, years ago. Even cancer couldn’t make her take it off.
She looked out the window again and strained to see down the long country road that led to their house. It was two-fifteen, just about the time Luke’s plane was to arrive. Ashley should be back with them no later than four o’clock. Brooke was going to pick up Erin and Sam and Heidi in two hours, and that carload would show up around six.
Elizabeth folded her hands on her lap. They were having the Spanish casserole tonight, the one that had been a Baxter family favorite since Brooke was a little girl. Earlier Elizabeth had mixed together the filling—tamale sauce, sour cream, black olives, salsa, mushroom soup, and cooked chicken. The mixture was in the refrigerator, and all she had to do now was fill the tortillas, cover them with more sauce and grated cheese, and bake it.
For days, Elizabeth had been praying that she’d have the energy to fix dinner tonight, their first night home. Now, though she was somewhat tired, she was half done and grateful for the chance to cook for them again.
Funny how she was progressing, really. Her body was still recovering from the initial chemo, which meant that in some ways she felt better every day, more able to stand or take a short walk with John. But at the same time, the cancer was gaining ground, taking its toll on her breathing, most of all, and causing her to lose what little weight she still had.
A flock of birds drifted from one tree to another, soaring and dipping in unison across the field out front. How wonderful to sit here, looking across her property, waiting for her children to come home. What if she’d gone ahead with the second surgery? Elizabeth shuddered and pressed her arms against her sides, warding off the sudden chill. She would’ve been lying in bed, drugged to ease the severe pain, suffering through a minute-by-minute existence. The entire visit would’ve gone by without her ever enjoying a bit of it.
For what? Dr. Steinman was one of the top oncologists in the state—John had known that much. If he was certain a second surgery wouldn’t have helped, then there was no question she’d made the right decision.
Elizabeth smiled to herself; it was the only decision, really, since her cancer was progressing so quickly. Of course, she was still praying for a miracle, but God—in all his mercy—had been placing something new on her heart recently. Miracles didn’t always come in the shape of a dramatic healing. Maybe her miracle was having this time to quietly ponder the wonderful life they’d all shared together, the joy of being married to the man of her dreams all these years, the reward of being Mom to each of her kids.
And of course the miracle of this reunion, the chance to be together even if it was the last time.
Elizabeth reached for the portfolio, the one she carried with her whenever she had a chance these days. The letters were almost written, and that was another miracle. That she’d had the time and energy and health to put on paper her thoughts for each of those she’d spent a lifetime loving.
She opened the cover and pulled out the letter for the children; she was working on Erin’s part now. John was at the store getting food for the weekend, so she could write for an hour or so. Write and gaze out the window and look forward to seeing Luke and Erin and their families.
Life couldn’t be much better than that.
* * *
Ashley recognized them even from far away, her handsome brother and his pretty wife. She waited near the front of a crowd of people gathered near the airport security system, her eyes stinging. It hadn’t been that long since she’d seen him. Except for Brooke’s husband, Peter, they’d all been together last December for Luke and Reagan’s wedding.
But so much had changed since then.
No matter that they were getting together to celebrate her own wedding this time; they couldn’t kid each other
about the bigger situation. Unless God granted them the most extraordinary miracle, their mother wouldn’t live through the summer; this would be the last time they’d all be together with her.
Ashley watched her brother draw closer, watched him search for her, and then spot her. He smiled big and Ashley felt a tug in her heart. She would always feel a special connection to Luke, despite their hard years after her time in Paris. He was the kid brother who had spent most of his waking childhood minutes with her.
Luke had one hand on Tommy, who was snuggled in a front pack against Luke’s chest, and his other hand around Reagan’s waist. She reached Ashley first and gave her a quick hug. “Ashley! You look great!”
It was Luke’s turn. Because of the crowd milling past, his hug was rushed also. “Look at you!” His eyes were shining, telling her how happy he was for her. “You’re going to be a stunning bride, Ash.”
They started walking, but Ashley reached for Tommy’s finger. “My goodness, he’s huge.” Her nephew had turned one the month before and he seemed twice as big as last time they were together. She smiled at Reagan. “What are you feeding him?”
“Everything we can get our hands on.” Reagan laughed. “He’s a chunker all right.”
“Yep.” Luke made a silly face at his son. “He’ll be a football player like his Uncle Ryan.”
“Where are Landon and Cole?” Reagan peered around Luke and the baby.
“They stayed home. Landon was off today; he took Cole looking for a tux for the wedding.”
“I always knew he’d make the perfect dad.” Luke patted Ashley’s back. “It’s about time you figured it out too, big sister.”
Ashley loved the small talk, the way it felt to simply be together again. But her stomach hurt because she knew what was ahead. They made their way to the luggage area and found a quiet place off to the side. Reagan took Tommy from Luke and rubbed her nose against his blond head. “Off for a diaper change.” She made a crooked smile. “My favorite part of being a mommy.”
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