Reunion

by Karen Kingsbury; Karen Kingsbury

  Finally he spotted Landon—as if maybe he hadn’t actually noticed him before because of his responsibility of pushing the wheelchair down the aisle. Cole gave a big wave, tucked the ring pillow under his arm, and took a few running steps toward him. Just then, Ryan gestured him over, and Cole stopped short, gave another wave to Landon, and went to stand with Ryan.

  The music changed again, and “The Wedding March” rang out through the church. People stood and faced the back door, and Landon watched Elizabeth. She didn’t have anyone sitting near her to help, but she was able to stand on her own. The look on her face was one Landon would remember all of his days.

  And then, like a vision, Ashley was there. Holding gracefully to her father’s arm, she started down the aisle. Landon had been to weddings—even Baxter weddings—where the bride glances at the guests while she walks down the aisle, taking in the family and friends who were there in support.

  But Ashley did nothing of the sort.

  She found Landon’s eyes the moment she stepped into the aisle, and her gaze didn’t waver once while she walked alongside her father. Even from seventy-five feet away, he could read her look, feel how the truth was hitting her, the way it had been hitting him all day.

  They were really here, really getting married.

  Though she had run from him, hidden from him, refused his ring the first time around, and told him to fall in love with someone else, here they were. In love and determined to share every day of forever, thanking God for allowing them to find a way to be together. And now—looking more beautiful than she’d ever looked before—she was about to become his wife.

  He prayed he could make it through the ceremony. Because the look of love and awe and adoration in Ashley’s eyes was enough to bring him to his knees.

  * * *

  The entire walk down the aisle, Ashley couldn’t stop thinking about the past. Yes, there was Landon, standing at the front, shoulders squared, eyes locked on hers. But at the same time he was coming into a coffeehouse, spotting her and telling her she should call him sometime. He was playing Frisbee with her on the shores of Lake Monroe and sitting beside her at a campfire listening to her tell him details about her past that she’d never told anyone.

  He should’ve been long gone by now, right? Wasn’t that what people did when they found out someone they cared about had a sordid past? They disappeared—fast. But not Landon. She blinked, her steps slow and in time with her father’s.

  The image in her mind changed, and Landon was lying in a hospital bed, half dead, and her father was telling her to say something to him, to give him a reason to live, a desire to hang on; and then he was recovered and she was telling him she wasn’t sure, didn’t know if she could love him the way he wanted her to love him, and he was telling her he was leaving for New York City.

  The pictures in her head blurred, but Ashley kept her eyes locked on Landon’s. The same eyes that had loved every painting she’d ever created, the eyes that had held hers that night in Manhattan and asked her to be his wife. How was this happening after she’d told him no, after she’d rejected him so many times?

  And it was Landon at Luke’s wedding last December, dancing with her, telling her he loved her no matter what happened with her health; Landon coming up behind her at Irvel’s funeral service and telling her he’d taken the matter out of her hands. He was back in Bloomington, and there was nothing she could say to make him go away. Landon . . . picking her up and swinging her around and around when he got the news that she wasn’t sick after all.

  Always Landon, every time. Loving her and bearing with her, putting up with her when no one else would’ve.

  What kind of love was that, anyway? A crazy, life-defining type of love that would see them through whatever the road ahead held. Even her mother’s sickness.

  They reached the front of the church, and her father tightened his hold on her. She gave him a quick squeeze and looked at Pastor Mark.

  “Who gives this woman to be married?” He smiled at Ashley and then at John.

  Her father stood a little straighter. “Her mother and I do.” He lifted her veil just long enough to kiss her cheek and whispered, “Love you, Ash.”

  “Love you, Dad.”

  He circled behind her and took his place beside Mom. At that, Landon stepped forward, took her arm, and the two of them stood together in front of the pastor and faced each other.

  This was the part where Pastor Mark would talk, and Ashley was sure he did a great job. Every now and then she caught something he was saying, something about knowing the Baxters and learning from the Baxters and realizing that they defined the way a family was supposed to be.

  But she didn’t catch every word; she was still too busy looking at Landon. He mouthed the words, his whispers just loud enough for her to hear. “Did anyone ever tell you . . .”

  She lowered her chin so no one would see her giggling beneath her veil.

  “You have the most beautiful hair.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze and mouthed one last thing. “We’re getting married!”

  She felt chills down her spine, her arms. The moment was surreal, like something she might’ve painted. Here they were getting married and whispering like schoolkids. “I love you, Landon.”

  Finally it was time to say the vows. Like most of her sisters before her, Ashley had chosen to write her own. Landon, too.

  He went first. “Ashley, you are my other half, the part God gave me before I even knew your name.” He looked deeper at her. “Come with me, stay with me, dance with me, play with me. Love me all the days of our lives. No matter what happens, be my wife and my friend, the piece my heart can’t live without.”

  Seconds passed, and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of what to say or do. Landon loved her! They were here, getting married. What more was there to say?

  Pastor Mark made a quiet coughing sound and gave her a pointed look. It was enough to snap her into action. She caught Landon’s look again and began reciting the lines she’d written the day he gave her the ring.

  “I belong to you, Landon Blake. God directed my steps even when I was running, so that one day you would find me and you would find my son, and we’d never, ever be apart again.” She paused and out of the corner of her eye she saw Cole take a step closer. “I see life as a painting, a picture to be savored. And you, Landon, are my reds and oranges and brilliant golds. In my life you are the sunrise and this is only the beginning. My heart was locked up tight when you came to me, and now you will forever hold the key. Be my husband, Landon, and walk forever with me and God Almighty.”

  “And me!” Cole spouted the words before Ryan could slip a hand over his mouth. Again a tittering worked its way across the church.

  Ashley grinned at Cole and gave him the okay sign. “That’s right. And Cole, too. Because we both love you and we always will.”

  Landon’s eyes shone and he let loose a quiet chuckle. He wanted to kiss her; his eyes told her that much. Instead it was Pastor Mark’s turn again. He led them through the various statements, the promises to be true in good times and bad, the exchanging of rings. Finally he pronounced them husband and wife and gave Landon permission to kiss her.

  The moment was brief, with only a hint of the passion they would share with each other later. The guests clapped, and Pastor Mark said the traditional words Ashley had asked him to say: “I’d like to introduce to you . . . Mr. and Mrs. Landon Blake.”

  Ashley spotted her mother sitting in the front row, looking straight at her. And somehow she knew that God had answered their prayers after all, that he’d given them a miracle the last time she had cancer all those years ago. That she’d been living on borrowed time ever since, going along year after year so that she might be here to see each of her children get married.

  She felt Landon take her hand and lead her down the aisle. And though the clapping came from the family and friends that filled the church, she was sure she heard a distant clapping, too. A clapping of all the ang
els in heaven and earth who knew that a moment like this could only come from one source.

  Their loving, faithful Almighty God.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The end was coming fast. John knew better than he let on. But since Ashley and Landon had postponed their honeymoon, the reunion continued unabated. There were picnics in the backyard, game nights, and conversations that lasted until all hours of the morning.

  Elizabeth was there through most of it.

  She hid her pain as best she could and did most of her coughing into a handkerchief, which she kept with her. But on Tuesday morning, three days after Ashley’s wedding, he could see in her face, in the whites of her eyes, how quickly she was fading.

  “You aren’t feeling well, are you?” He walked around the bed to meet her.

  She looked almost green, as if she might not survive the effort it took to get out from underneath the covers. “I’m . . . I’m a little queasy.”

  He helped her into the bathroom, but before she could reach the sink, she called out his name and collapsed in his arms.

  “Elizabeth!” he shouted at her, suddenly terrified that the end had come without any traditional warning, without any parting words, or last-minute chances to tell her how much he loved her, how much he would miss her.

  She was limp, so he stretched her out on the bathroom floor. Adrenaline coursed through him and his heart raced. He had to force himself to stop shaking long enough to feel for her pulse. “Elizabeth?” His fingers found the spot on her neck. It was slow and thready; she needed immediate help. “Honey, wake up. We need to get you to the hospital.”

  When she didn’t show any signs of responding, John raced into the bedroom and dialed 9-1-1. God, let them hurry. Don’t let this be it. . . .

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  “This is Dr. Baxter from the hospital.” It was a detail he didn’t need to mention. His information would, of course, come up on the screen of the operator as soon as his call went through. But he was desperate, hoping maybe they’d come faster if they knew it was him. “My wife’s collapsed; please . . . please hurry.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, Doctor.” The woman’s voice was familiar, probably someone he’d seen in the emergency room before. She sounded alarmed at the news. “We’ll have someone there in five minutes.”

  He thought about waking the others or calling Brooke or Kari or Ashley. But he couldn’t leave her side. Her arms were pale and clammy, same as her neck and chest. This time he got down low to her face. “Elizabeth, it’s me . . . honey, wake up.”

  Still there was no response.

  Sirens sounded in the distance, but the driver must’ve turned them off as he got closer to their house. He was at the door, ringing the bell, before John could get down the stairs. He flung open the door and pointed upstairs. “She’s up there.”

  At the same time, the other bedroom doors flung open. “Dad, what’s happening?” It was Erin, and she pulled a robe around her as she darted down the stairs.

  “Your mother collapsed; I can’t rouse her.” He looked up and saw Luke in another doorway wearing sweats and a T-shirt. His mouth hung open, face pale from the sudden shock. “Please, one of you call the others. We can meet at the hospital.”

  “Dad . . . is she . . .” Luke clearly couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

  John shook his head. No, she wasn’t; she couldn’t be. “She’s breathing, Luke. Maybe she just needs some fluids, but they have to take her in. Please . . . stay calm. We’ll get through this, okay?”

  “Okay.” The old Luke would’ve gotten angry or shaken his head or stormed off, doubting God for not giving them the answer they wanted. But the look Luke had in his eyes now was that of a grown-up, a young man ready to face whatever the day held.

  And John was fairly sure whatever it held, it wouldn’t be good.

  * * *

  Dayne was on location in British Columbia when he got the call.

  His pager had a distinct sound when the message was from his agent. It was Friday, and the director was blocking a scene that didn’t involve him, so he waved at one of the assistants. “I’ve got a call; okay to take it?”

  The woman nodded and smiled at him.

  His playboy image was still intact, but only because he hadn’t had the chance to prove otherwise. Sarah Whitley was on location with him, but the two had kept their distance. Meanwhile, all Dayne wanted was to hear back from the private investigator. In some ways, his entire life felt like it was on hold while he waited.

  He’d spent some time dating since he’d been filming in Canada, but very little. The assistant director was hot for him; he could tell that much. But nothing interested him. He’d lived the wild life so long it had lost its appeal. Beautiful Hollywood women all looked alike to him now, and he found himself looking at families who stopped by to watch the filming. Not people in the business, but everyday families who had only stopped by out of curiosity to see what was happening.

  Dayne would see a couple, hand in hand, with a few children gathered around them and he’d stare, wondering the same thing he’d wondered so often since meeting Luke Baxter. What would it have been like to grow up with brothers and sisters, to know the tangible presence of his parents day in, day out?

  Funny, he would think as the family got bored and wandered off. He had everything the world considered important: money and fame and talent and looks. But none of it would buy him the one thing he’d never really had.

  A sense of belonging.

  These thoughts flashed in his mind as he stepped off the set toward his trailer and called his agent. “Hey, it’s me.” Dayne turned to block out the noise. “What’s up?”

  “I heard back from the PI this morning.”

  Normally, nothing made Dayne anxious or nervous or surprised. But suddenly his palms were sweaty. He looked around and found a stump to sit down on. “Shoot.”

  “What was that kid’s name, the one who worked at the law office in Manhattan?”

  “Baxter.” Dayne’s heart rate tripled. In the distance, the director was barking at someone. He covered his other ear with his hand so he could hear better. “Luke Baxter.”

  “No wonder you hit it off with him.”

  The ground beneath Dayne’s feet felt suddenly unstable. His head spun and he used a tighter grip on the phone so he wouldn’t drop it. “What’s that mean?”

  “According to the investigator, your birth mother’s name was Elizabeth, and about three months after you were born she married your father—a John Baxter. John and Elizabeth went on to have five other children: Brooke, Kari, Ashley, Erin,” he paused. “And Luke. Dayne, the guy’s your brother.”

  Dayne couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. The woman in the photograph on Luke Baxter’s desk was his birth mother? She really was? The idea was crazy, insane. He’d dreamed tens of times that Luke’s framed photographs were pictures he could share one day, a nice family, siblings who cared about each other, loving parents.

  Everything he hadn’t known before.

  A single question worked its way past the shock. “Why? Why’d she give me up?”

  “The records are pretty clear on that, too. Elizabeth and John met in Michigan, attending the U of M. I guess when she got pregnant, her parents sent her to a girls home in Indiana. They insisted she give you up or they wouldn’t support her.” The agent paused, and Dayne heard the sound of loose papers being shuffled. “I guess she got smart at the girls home, because after they took you from her, she lived with her parents for less than a month before marrying John Baxter.”

  “What about Luke and the other kids?” He held his breath. He hated having to ask the next question. The answer could determine exactly what he would do from this point on. “Do they know about me?”

  “Well—” more shuffling—“the PI talked with some people at their church in Bloomington, Indiana, and apparently not. Everyone interviewed said John and Elizabeth had just five children. Churchgoers, pretty c
lean folks. Sounds like you were their one secret.”

  Anger stepped into the ring and threw punches with the other emotions fighting it out. “They never looked for me, never cared to find me?”

  “Don’t be too hard on them.” His agent took a few seconds. “Back in the 1990s, they filed some papers with the court, trying to locate you, but the records were closed. It was a dead end.” He was quiet for a beat. “And look where they wound up living, Dayne. Back in Indiana, where you were born. Makes me think they’ve always hoped they’d find you.”

  Dayne hung his head, trashed by the feelings in his heart. No wonder he and Luke Baxter looked alike. They were biological brothers. The idea was more than he could grasp, sitting there on the outskirts of the shoot.

  “Matthews!” It was the director, waving a rolled-up script and scowling at him. “Off the phone; we have a movie to make!”

  Dayne waved his hand, signaling that he’d be finished in a minute. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his agent’s voice. “Anything else, anything important?”

  “Yes.” The man’s tone grew somber. “This is the worst part. Your birth mother is sick, Dayne. She has terminal cancer. She’s in the hospital there in Bloomington. Her records show she doesn’t have long; it could be anytime.”

  Dayne thanked the man, clicked the phone off, and stared at the ground. He hadn’t come this far to miss his only chance to meet her. Maybe she hadn’t told his siblings about him; maybe he would never tell them either. But he wanted the chance to see her, to look her in the face and tell her he’d turned out okay. That the couple who had been his parents were nice people—misguided, maybe, but nice all the same.

  “Matthews!” The director was heading his way, his steps long and angry. “What’re you doing? This isn’t break time.”

  “Sir.” He let the cell phone drop to his side. “An emergency has come up; I need the weekend.”

  “Right now?”

  Dayne doubled his determination. “Right now. I can be back Monday morning.”

  The director wasn’t known for his compassion, but he must’ve seen something in Dayne’s eyes. He huffed and kicked up some dirt with the toe of his boot. “Go. We’ll work on some of the technical shoots.” He started to turn away, but looked back again. “I hope everything turns out okay.”