Sunset: 4 (Sunrise)

by Kingsbury, Karen

  Katy glanced down at his form and saw that as a second choice the boy was interested in working with the tech team in sound and lighting. Relief flooded her. As Sander left the stage, Katy marked the tech box on his audition form.

  Dayne looked over her shoulder. “Lighting and sound?” he whispered.

  “Definitely.” Katy met his eyes. “Thankfully.”

  They were midway through the final ten kids when an older-looking girl took the stage. She was dressed in tight jeans and a tighter sweater. As she faced the judges, a section of her long dark hair hung over her eye. She jutted her chin, her jaw set. “My name’s Miranda Miles. I’m sixteen, and I’m singing ‘Stay’ by Sugarland.”

  Katy resisted the urge to cringe. On the audition packet and on the CKT Web site, kids were advised to sing something from a musical. Karaoke CDs were allowed, and half the kids chose that as their accompaniment over working with the pianist. The song Miranda had chosen wasn’t only in the wrong genre; it was also a song about an affair. Not exactly wholesome.

  Poor girl, Katy thought. Everything about Miranda shouted rebellion and defiance, something Katy rarely saw at auditions. CKT required too much time and volunteer work for a parent to force a kid to participate. Katy sat back in her chair, curious. If she’s here for a reason, please show me, God.

  Miranda’s performance was average. She didn’t project the way she should, but her notes were on key. The fact that her hair swished across her face covering one eye seemed proof that she wanted to hide—not only from the judges but from the world. Ordinarily, if a student auditioned the way Miranda did, Katy would have to make the tough decision and pass. After all, half the kids who took the stage wouldn’t get parts.

  But Katy was drawn to Miranda like no other student who’d appeared before them today. When the girl was done, Katy leaned slightly toward Dayne. “I feel like we have to see her tomorrow.”

  Dayne hesitated. “Then mark the callback box.”

  Patrick and Lydia Moynihan—a brother and sister who had been with CKT for years—rounded out the group, and Katy was struck by the way their already good voices had matured in the past few months. Both were taking voice lessons, and their songs sent chills down her arms. They were brilliant.

  When Patrick finished his song, Dayne whispered, “God alone gives a kid a voice like that.”

  “Exactly.” Katy felt a warmth come over her, one that stayed as she dismissed the families and explained that they should check the CKT Web site for a list of kids who would be called back for tomorrow’s longer audition. As the kids began milling about and as the building took on the noise and excitement from earlier, the warmth grew and filled her soul.

  Katy looked around, taking in the moment and everything about it—the mix of voices, the musty smell of the old theater, the creak of the wooden floor as people headed for the doors, and the presence of Dayne a few feet away chatting with his sister Ashley. Dayne was finished with his movie and grateful to be at the start of a two-year break from Hollywood. His name was fading from the tabloids, and around town people were less starstruck by his presence. Exactly the way they’d prayed things might go.

  She understood the warmth inside her, because it was God’s very presence, His Spirit, reassuring her that He was having His way in her life. This place was where she belonged. And this was her calling, to give kids with faith and a desire to serve God a place where they could grow and develop and showcase the gifts He’d given them. Here kids like Sarah, Sander, and Miranda could work alongside kids like Bailey, Connor, and the Moynihan siblings and grow together the way God wanted His children to grow.

  The amazing thing about CKT was this—on the whole, the group was very talented. More talented than most theater groups Katy had ever worked with. Even so, an agent could walk through the door waving movie contracts and suggesting that the families move their kids to LA, and for the most part the CKT parents would tell the guy no. They weren’t interested because no amount of money or fame or promises from directors and agents could replace the experience these kids would get right here with Bloomington’s CKT.

  It was a lesson Katy had learned the hard way.

  Bailey Flanigan could hardly wait to get out of the theater. When she and Connor and their mom were finally belted into their Suburban and headed home, she released a sigh that had been pent up since her audition.

  “I hate when that happens.” She groaned and let her head fall back against the seat. “I work so hard for the perfect audition, and then I don’t bring everything to the stage.”

  “What are you talking about? You were great. You’ll get a callback for sure.” Connor was sitting next to her, since the front passenger seat was taken up with their mother’s computer bag in case she had time to write her latest magazine article during the auditions. But like always, the bag never left the vehicle. The auditions were way too entertaining.

  “Thanks.” Bailey let some of her frustration fall away. “Still . . . I didn’t sing it like I can.”

  “You were both fantastic.” Their mom glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. “Did you mark on your sheets your first choices if you get called back?”

  Their mother already knew what roles they wanted, but kids who auditioned weren’t obligated to write a specific character preference on their forms.

  Bailey sighed again. “I wrote narrator.”

  “I put down Joseph but that I’d take anything.” He flashed Bailey a concerned look. “You put you’d take any part, right?”

  “Of course. I’ve played my share of townspeople and ensemble roles. If that happens this time, I’ll survive. I was just hoping . . .”

  “It’s your last year.” Connor gave her a weak smile.

  “Right.” Bailey looped her arm through Connor’s and rested her head on his shoulder. She’d turned eighteen over Christmas break—three years older than him—and until a couple years ago she’d had the height advantage as well. But now he was nearly six feet tall with their dad’s build. Bailey loved that she could lean on Connor at a time like this. Not only that, but he seemed to always know what she was thinking and how she was feeling. He could practically finish her sentences. Wherever the coming years took them, he would always be her closest friend.

  “Should I give you the pep talk again?” Mom’s tone held the usual audition-day compassion.

  “Maybe you should.” Bailey squeezed Connor’s arm. “Right?”

  “Yeah, Mom. Good idea.”

  “Okay.” She settled back in her seat. “God had all this figured out long before today arrived.” She sounded patient and concerned. “When the parts are handed out—if there are parts to be handed out to the kids in this family—they’ll be the parts God intended for you. Each part or lack thereof comes with its own life lessons. Things you couldn’t learn any other way.” She went on, talking about the judges and how they were a loving, faithful group who would be fair above all.

  Bailey didn’t mean to, but she tuned out. Just the sound of her mother’s voice was enough to bring her comfort and peace. But it didn’t change the fact that she hadn’t turned in her best audition, and there was a reason. She’d been distracted by Tim Reed. Until this past Christmas, CKT had seemed a thing of the past. Tim was attending Indiana University, studying music, and he’d been dating a girl from his church. But things with the girl didn’t work out, and today Tim was there, back in Bailey’s life again. His face had lit up when he saw her, and he hugged her. “Can you believe it? CKT and Katy and this old building, even you and me. Here. Just like things should be.”

  Except Tim was a teacher now, and that meant he had to keep a certain distance from the students, even students as old as Bailey. Not that he’d ever really shown much interest. Still, his presence today was enough to confuse her. Especially when her last letter from Cody Coleman was sitting on her bedside table.

  Cody, her friend. The one who was writing less often now, even though Bailey still wrote every few weeks. Cody had explaine
d the reason in his last letter. She tried to remember the crucial few lines. Something about her being innocent and pure and deserving a guy who was the same and how he would never want their letter-writing to stand in the way of whatever God had for her future. Same sort of stuff he’d told her before he left for the army last summer.

  From the front seat, her mother continued the familiar talk. “So here’s how the weekend will go: we will pray for the judges, for the decisions they have to make—”

  Connor cut in. “And we’ll pray that some parts go to new kids or kids who really need to be involved in CKT.”

  “Exactly.” A calm marked their mother’s words. “Being a lead takes more time and effort, and it brings less time with friends during rehearsals.”

  “True.” Bailey sat up straighter. “I always forget that part.”

  “Being in the ensemble means getting closer with a whole group of kids.” Connor leaned against his door and grinned at Bailey. “But no matter what, we’ll stay up until one in the morning or whenever they post the callback list on the Web site.”

  “If we’re called back, we’ll ask God to help us do our best.” Bailey smiled in the rearview mirror at her mom. “Right?”

  “Right. Because callbacks should be treated as a one-day performance, when you should bring your very best before the judges.” Their mom’s voice grew more serious. “The Bible tells us God knows the plans He has for us. Plans to give us hope and a future. He alone knows how this weekend fits into those plans.”

  “Jeremiah 29:11.” The verse was written across Bailey’s heart and soul and bedroom wall. It was a wonderful reminder that God was in control of their lives, no matter how things seemed. She glanced at Connor. He had his cell phone out and was texting someone. They were crossing a busy intersection, and Bailey was about to say something about Sarah Nordlund, who she’d met this afternoon, when she saw a cement truck run the red light and come barreling straight for them, straight for Connor’s door.

  “No!” she screamed just as the truck swerved around them, missing them by maybe a few feet and narrowly avoiding two other cars before clearing the intersection. Bailey couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel her heartbeat. “Mom!” She gripped the back of her mother’s seat, and her heart lurched into double time. “Did you see that?”

  Her mom’s eyes were wide, her face pale. “Not until he was almost through the intersection.”

  “He almost slammed into the side of us.” Bailey looked at Connor. The lines on his forehead showed his concern, but none of them had seen it like she had. “If he’d hit us . . .” She couldn’t complete the thought. Not out loud anyway.

  The truck would’ve barreled right into them, and Connor would’ve been killed instantly. Almost for sure. Probably Bailey and her mom too. The adrenaline racing through her veins let up, and she felt suddenly exhausted. She slumped against the backseat.

  Connor patted her knee. “It’s okay. It didn’t happen.”

  But it could’ve. Bailey closed her eyes, trying to imagine the outcome, how everything about their lives would’ve changed forever in a single instant. The way it changed for people all over the country on days like this when the cement truck didn’t swerve in time.

  “Jesus, thank You. . . . We feel You with us,” their mom whispered.

  “I guess that puts CKT auditions into perspective.” Connor’s voice held a new sense of understanding.

  Bailey opened her eyes and stared at her brother, her best friend. What if in that little space of time he had been killed? Sure, he’d be in heaven, and there would be peace in that. But how could she live without him? Bailey slid closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder once more. He was right. The moment certainly brought perspective.

  They were quiet the rest of the way home, but the incident took Bailey back to her thoughts about Cody. He was in Iraq, and he faced dangers every day. She pictured him, her father’s former star football player dressed in fatigues and carrying a machine gun, dodging conflicts and wary of roadside bombs. Every time she thought of him she only wanted him home, back in their downstairs guest room.

  But what was he thinking? Had Cody forgotten the connection they’d made in the weeks before he left? how their friendship had seemed like so much more? Bailey looked straight ahead. He hadn’t kissed her, except on the cheek, but even then the feelings that summer day didn’t seem to be hers alone. Either way, she wanted him out of Iraq and home safe.

  As soon as they pulled into the driveway, their dad flipped on the front porch lights, and he and the younger boys rushed out of the house and began jumping around and waving, acting goofy, the way they always did. Their mom parked in the garage, and the whole family met on the lit outdoor basketball court that stretched across the driveway in front of the other garage doors.

  “So . . . ,” their dad began. He’d been at a basketball practice with BJ, Shawn, and Justin. Ricky had tagged along because, as he’d put it last night at dinner, “Basketball is addicting.”

  “Are you the narrator?” BJ had a ball tucked under his arm. He dribbled it between his legs. “Do you know?”

  “Not yet.” Bailey frowned in her dad’s direction. “It wasn’t my best.”

  “Really?” Her dad held out his arms.

  Bailey gave him a hug. “We almost died on the way home.”

  Her dad stiffened and pulled back, searching first her face and then her mom’s.

  “It’s true.” Mom still didn’t look quite back to normal. She swallowed and came up along the other side of Dad.

  “Was Bailey driving?” Justin gave her a teasing look, and the other boys giggled.

  “Hey—” Connor shook his head—“it isn’t a joke, guys.”

  “I was driving through the busy intersection, the one a few blocks from the theater.” Mom sounded shaky.

  “A cement truck ran the red light.” Bailey looked at her dad. “He was heading right for Connor’s door, and at the last minute he swerved.”

  “He ran the light?” Dad’s expression held the same shock she’d felt, as if he could see the near accident in his mind.

  The boys gathered in close so they could hear, their giggles replaced by looks of concern.

  Mom nodded. “I saw him pass behind us. I mean, a couple feet behind us.”

  “He almost hit two other cars.” Connor crossed his arms. “It was pretty crazy.”

  For a moment, the family stayed close together in the damp cold, as if all of them were trying to process what almost happened. What could’ve happened.

  Their dad put his arms around the shoulders of his two girls. “I guess that means your good news beats mine. Because God chose to bring you home safely to us.”

  Their mother raised her eyebrows at him. “What good news?”

  He winked and nodded toward the house. “Let’s go inside. We can talk about it there.”

  Suddenly Bailey remembered the silly way the boys were acting. Way too excited for a simple after-audition greeting. It was that time of year, the off-season for the NFL, when management from one or another team still knocked on their dad’s door, hoping they could get him to take a coaching position.

  Her stomach flip-flopped as their group headed through the garage and into the house. What if he’d taken a job on the other side of the country? CKT was finally back, and Bailey had no intention of leaving. She wanted to study theater at Indiana University and maybe travel with her CKT friends to New York for an audition every now and then. Also, if her family left, what home would Cody have to come back to?

  When they were inside, Bailey watched the younger four boys exchange looks that said they were about to burst from keeping the secret. Dad directed them to the brown suede sofas that rounded out the family room. Bailey and Connor swapped a look that confirmed one thing: Connor was worried about the news too.

  As they all took their seats, Mom beside Dad, she studied him. “Jim? Tell me.”

  He put his arm around her and grinned. “I got a call from
the Colts. The only team that hasn’t called before.”

  The Indianapolis Colts were only an hour from Bloomington. Bailey felt her fears ease, but even so she wasn’t sure. She liked her dad coaching at the high school, liked the idea that he’d be there for her brothers as they grew older.

  The younger boys were squirming, giving each other virtual high fives across the room and barely able to contain their joy.

  “They offered me an assistant position. Meetings would start the middle of March.”

  Their mother smiled, but she looked dizzy, and Bailey understood. It was a lot to handle. All eyes were on her, waiting for her reaction. She laughed, then stood and threw her arms around Dad’s neck. “That’s wonderful. I can’t believe it!”

  Like every time something big happened in their lives, Bailey was sure there’d be more conversations between her parents later when the kids weren’t around. “So, you said yes?” Bailey was on her feet now too and slowly moving toward her dad.

  “I told them I’d talk to my family and let them know on Monday.”

  Ricky let out a shout of victory and flung his fist high in the air. “Say yes! Of course!”

  “Yeah!” Shawn danced around his brothers, his smile exposing a mouthful of braces. “Dad’s gonna coach in the NFL again!”

  “That’s great.” Connor was quieter than the others, and Bailey thought she knew why. Just a few months earlier, Connor had transitioned from CKT to football, playing for his dad. Now with CKT back in full swing and their dad probably taking a job with the Colts, Connor would most likely be finished with football.

  “Your mother and I have a lot to talk about. I wanted you kids to know so you could think about things over the weekend. If any of you has doubts about this, talk to me.” Dad paused, making eye contact with each of them. “Everyone has a right to an opinion, so I want to know.”

  Their mom had a Crock-Pot chicken and rice dinner going on the kitchen counter, so they set about the meal, and when they were seated around the dining room table, the conversation went in three main directions—basketball, football, and the auditions.