Forever

by Karen Kingsbury

  She looked at her mom. “What just happened?”

  “It might take a while to figure that out.” Her mom hugged her for a long time. “Promise me you’ll call him, Bailey. Please.”

  “I will eventually.” She wiped her tears and tried to put the incident out of her mind. She poured herself a glass of juice and sat at the kitchen bar. “It’s okay. We’ll still be friends.” But even as she said the words she wasn’t completely sure. “Let’s talk about Katy and Dayne.”

  And they did for the next fifteen minutes. They dreamed about getting a group of kids over to the lake house and hauling away every piece of debris in the yard. But all the while Bailey couldn’t take her mind off the strange feeling inside her, a feeling she’d never known before.

  It wasn’t until that night—after never getting up the nerve to call Tanner—that she finally realized what she was feeling.

  Her heart was breaking.

  The first boy she ever liked was out of her life. Whatever had happened and whatever had gone wrong didn’t really matter. It was over with him. And she would never, ever be the same again.

  John Baxter enjoyed the drive to Indianapolis—especially when he was picking up one of his kids at the airport the way he was this early afternoon. Luke and Reagan and the kids were coming and would be staying in Luke’s old room at the Baxter house for the next five weeks. It would be wonderful—a little wild, maybe, but John could hardly wait to have the sound of children in the house morning and night.

  John relaxed in his seat and settled into the middle lane. The skies were blue across Indiana this October day, and the fall figured to be milder than usual. But that wasn’t necessarily true for the relationships between his children.

  The radio was on, a song playing from an oldies station. John flipped it off and sorted through the events of the past three weeks. Much had been worked out between Luke and Reagan, so that wasn’t a worry. At least not for now.

  The problem was Luke and Dayne and how they’d get along if Dayne made it home for Thanksgiving. The magazine article had stirred up quite a mess throughout the family. For a few weeks, Ashley and the other girls had been angry with Luke, wondering how he could say such a thing about Dayne.

  But then Luke passed around an explanation. He’d been caught off guard, and though he meant what he said, he didn’t mean it definitively. Just in the moment. The trouble was, John didn’t know if he believed that story entirely. He’d talked to Luke more than anyone else, and the quotes seemed like more than an off moment. They seemed perfectly in line with the way Luke had been feeling.

  Up until he learned about the offer from Dayne, anyway. The opportunity was amazing for Luke and his family. For all of them really. Move to Indianapolis or even a suburb south of the city. Live within an hour of his family and have a high-paying job with only one primary client—his brother, Dayne. What could be better?

  Luke and Dayne had spoken once since Dayne came out of the coma, and Dayne had reassured him that the offer was good. Whether Dayne moved to Bloomington or not. Luke didn’t mention the tabloid story and neither did Dayne. Luke seemed to think that everything was okay between them, but John wasn’t sure.

  Since then Dayne had stumbled onto one of the tabloids, and now he knew about Luke’s quotes. Luke had tried to call and apologize, but Dayne wasn’t taking calls. Apparently Dayne’s job offer to Luke was still good—Luke hadn’t heard otherwise. But everything else about the future seemed tentative.

  John passed a slow-moving trailer and then slipped back into the middle lane. He had a feeling about the coming months. If Dayne felt any hesitancy from Luke, he would walk away and never look back. Dayne wouldn’t come between them; he’d said that from the beginning. Dayne had been mostly worried about how his connection to the Baxters would hurt them. But his desire to know them had won out. At least until now.

  John couldn’t help but worry about the relationship between Luke and Dayne, especially in light of what Dayne had told him yesterday. He was getting better, working as hard as he could.

  “I have to be honest, though. I’m not sure we’re going through with our plans to move there.” Dayne’s words had been almost matter-of-fact. But hidden in his tone was a hurt that John could do nothing about.

  John reached the airport and left his car in short-term parking. Inside he joined a small group waiting to meet passengers. He found a place away from the crowd, and as he did, he noticed a young man in an army uniform walking toward them.

  Only one person was there to greet the soldier—a man who must’ve been his father. When they spotted each other, the soldier heaved his bag over his shoulder and took the last steps running. They grabbed onto each other hard and didn’t let go for half a minute. From where John was standing he could hear what they were saying.

  The older man was crying openly. “I prayed for you every day, Son. I’m so proud of you.”

  In return, the soldier beamed. As if every dusty mile, every dangerous mission, every sandy sleeping bunk was worth it all to hear those five powerful words. I’m so proud of you.

  The older man took the soldier’s bag, and the two walked off.

  But the scene made John think. How long had it been since he’d told Luke he was proud of him? A month? Two? Longer, even? All the talk lately had been about Dayne, and John was unapologetically proud of his oldest son. Dayne had followed his dreams, and despite wild success, he’d found his way home—in every way that mattered.

  Still, he was proud of Luke too. Very proud.

  He was making a mental note to tell him so when he saw the four of them. Luke was carrying Malin, and Tommy was holding Reagan’s hand. They looked tired. Even so, as soon as their eyes met, John could tell something about his youngest son. There was humility and sorrow and pain in his expression.

  Luke was hurting too. And that meant—whatever Luke’s past mistakes—John could only hope that his trek here was about one thing and one thing only.

  Making amends.

  Ashley pulled into the driveway of the lakeside home, drove up close to the front, and parked. What a day. Practice for Cinderella had been crazier than ever before. They needed Katy so badly that she and Rhonda were considering talking to Bethany about postponing the performances—moving them into December maybe.

  The trouble was the prince. Connor Flanigan almost got the part, except Rhonda noted that the prince should be someone old enough to shave. Ideally, anyway. The guy who landed the role was skinny and awkward and the only one tall enough to wear the costume. He didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He knew his lines, but every time he spoke Ashley had the desire to yawn.

  Ashley gripped the steering wheel with both hands and let her head fall forward. She needed to put CKT out of her mind. They still had several weeks before opening night. God had been working miracles left and right—first with Dayne, then with her family’s willingness to help on the house, even if it looked impossible that they’d finish it before Thanksgiving. The play could turn out all right. It could happen.

  She lifted her head and stared at the old structure. Okay, God . . . help me figure this out.

  Landon and Kari’s husband, Ryan, had taken the kids fishing. It was Ryan Junior’s first time, and the men were excited about the chance to indoctrinate another of the kids in the joy of angling.

  Her plan today was to make a list. An extensive list. She had lined up a contractor to do the counters and floors. But otherwise, they were on their own. She stepped out of the van and looked around. On a pad of paper she wrote:

  1. Mow yard, front and back.

  2. Pull weeds, front and back.

  She wanted to start at the back of the house, the area where Dayne and Katy would spend most of their time. The minute she rounded the corner and looked at the deck she let her notepad hang at her side.

  It was never going to happen. Not unless she could get half of Bloomington out here to help. She toyed with the idea of chucking the whole project. But then gradua
lly she remembered the television show. Slowly she felt her determination rise. They pulled off jobs like this in just a week on TV. If God brought the right people, it could still happen.

  She lifted her pad and started writing.

  3. Clear debris.

  4. Rebuild decks.

  The back door was broken, so she had no trouble getting in. She worked her way through the downstairs and up into every room on the second floor. Finally she returned to the backyard, where she was scrutinizing the windows when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She screamed and spun around.

  “Sorry.” It was Luke, and he was by himself. He laughed and made the same face he used to make when he was a kid. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “Thanks.” She bent over and willed her heart to remember how to beat. “You scared me.” She caught her breath and stood straight again. “Hey . . . what are you doing here?” Now that the shock had worn off, she squealed and flung her arms around his neck. “You’re a month early.”

  He laughed and put his arms around her waist. “Dad’s good. I asked him to keep it a secret.” His expression fell, and he searched her face. “I have to talk to you, Ash. I’ve messed things up with a lot of people. I want to start changing that.” He released her and slipped his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the back of the house. “It has potential.”

  “It does. I made a list of what needs to be done.” Ashley handed it to him. “It’s ten pages.”

  Luke let out a low whistle. “Dad says you’re working with a contractor?”

  “I was. He’s doing the counters and floors.” She studied her brother, and joy lifted her mood. Luke had been her best friend when they were kids. She had to spend only a few minutes with him to remember why. “So what brings you? Work?”

  A grin lightened Luke’s expression. “Yep. All month.” He pointed at the old house. “Working right here next to you.”

  Ashley’s mouth opened, and she sucked in a slow breath. “Are you serious? That’s why you’re here?”

  “It is.” The teasing left his eyes. “I figured something out.”

  She wandered to the old, broken-down picnic table and sat on top. He followed and took the spot next to her. “What?”

  “I figured out why I was so mad all the time.” He put his hands behind him and leaned back against his arms. “You know, with the whole Dayne situation.”

  “Why?” Ashley had wanted this moment for a long time—the chance to sit next to her brother and try to decipher his heart.

  He looked out toward the lake. “All my life I wanted a brother.” He grinned at her. “You were a good substitute, Ash. But I still wanted a brother.” He turned his attention back to the lake. “It wasn’t something I talked about.”

  A glimmer of understanding flickered in her soul.

  “Anyway, so here I am all grown up with a family of my own, and I get word that hey, what do you know? I do have a brother. Only he’s a famous movie star and he’s moving to Bloomington. Strange as it sounds, I think I was mad at everyone. Mad at Mom and Dad for never telling us and mad at Dayne for not being there all those years. And maybe mad that he turned out to be so famous. Because now—even if I did find a way to connect with him—he wouldn’t have time for me.”

  Ashley didn’t have to state the obvious. That none of what had happened to their family was Dayne’s fault. Instead she slipped her arm around Luke’s shoulders. “I can see that.”

  “Even hearing myself tell you makes me mad. What right do I have to be so selfish? It’s like you said. None of us can change the facts. We have a brother. He has a very public life. And right now he has more than that—he has hurdles to overcome that I know nothing about.” He narrowed his eyes, and his expression grew determined. “That’s why I’m here. My brother needs me.”

  Ashley rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re right. And I need you too.” She took her arm from his shoulders and studied her list. “There’s so much to do.”

  “Let’s see.” Luke looked at the first page. “You have people lined up to help, right?”

  “On the weekends, yes.” She felt the doubts rising inside her again. “If Dayne gets through rehab in record time, we have just four weeks and two days to get the job finished.”

  “Well, then.” He rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s see what we can get done right now.”

  And with that, they headed into the house and spent the next few hours dragging out broken bookcases and old blinds and other damaged items.

  By the end of the afternoon, they were tired and dirty. But Luke looked happier than he’d been since last spring. Ashley knew him well enough to understand why.

  He wasn’t only talking about having a brother. He was loving him.

  In the best way he knew how.

  No one could believe the progress Dayne was making. Not Dr. Deming or Dayne’s therapist or anyone at the rehab center. Not anyone involved in conventional understanding of traumatic brain injuries and the recovery time after a month-long coma. No one who heard about his progress or saw it detailed in a file or witnessed it firsthand could believe it.

  No one except Katy.

  Dayne looked at her. She was sitting across from him, the same place she always sat while he did his four daily workouts. He had the bar across his shoulders, about to do another series of knee bends. The therapist had already laid out the routine for this session, and now he was in his office. Katy and Dayne were alone—just the two of them and the clank of the weights balanced on either end of the bar.

  “Want me to count?”

  “No.” He clenched his teeth and stared across the room, as if he could tangibly see the goal in front of him. “Hit Play.”

  Katy hit the Play button on the CD player. The pulsing beat of something by The Fray filled the space. A week into his rehab, Katy had brought Dayne his MacBook from home. He used iTunes to create four CDs, each one loaded with music that helped drive him. There were movie themes and megahits and Christian songs, all with the same message—don’t stop trying; don’t ever give up.

  When they weren’t talking about his progress or working toward his progress, they watched inspirational movies or took turns reading the Bible. He posted Scriptures on the walls and nightstand. Nothing is impossible with God . . . I can do everything through him who gives me strength . . . the battle is the Lord’s . . . and many others. His efforts were singly focused. He wanted to be surrounded by whatever drove him emotionally and spiritually.

  The transformation was amazing. Dayne’s first day of rehab had been so taxing that they’d both been sick. Dayne’s body shook just shuffling with a walker three feet down the hallway. Back then he was thin and pasty, and he broke into a sweat getting out of bed.

  “Four.” Dayne pushed out the word and then bent again. He didn’t make eye contact. No distractions. Not until he marked another notch on his chart, finished another session.

  His form was perfect now—a complete knee bend with more weight on the bar than a rehab patient almost ever used. Strength wasn’t the issue anymore, though he still walked with a slight limp. The goal was his fine motor skills. In fact, the therapist had told him that most patients in Dayne’s condition would be discharged by now. A person could receive help with fine-motor-skill rehabilitation on an outpatient basis.

  “If I stay,” Dayne asked a few days ago, “will my progress be faster?”

  “The way you attack rehab?” The therapist laughed. “No question about it.”

  “Okay.” He felt steely determination. “Then I stay.”

  So Dayne split his time between the intense physical workouts—like the one he was starting now—and sessions on improving his hand-eye coordination and other routine movements. He worked on eating without a spill and using a pen or tapping out numbers on a cell phone.

  Time in the workout room helped, of course. The stronger his core muscles, the more likely every nerve and muscle in his body would respond. That’s why Dayne hadn’t let up. Not one day. Not one se
ssion.

  “Push me harder,” he would say at the beginning of each meeting with his therapist. “It’s not enough.”

  It was the same way with his meals. He wanted high protein and fresh vegetables and complex carbohydrates. In large quantities. As of this morning, he’d gained back all but five pounds of the weight he’d lost while in the coma.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Dr. Deming stopped in after his weigh-in. “You’re a walking precedent, Dayne. Whatever’s driving you, stay with it.” The doctor flipped through Dayne’s chart. “I never would’ve said this before, but I believe you’ll make a complete recovery.” She patted her rounded abdomen. “Before this little one comes around Christmastime.”

  There was only one problem. The thing that was driving him had changed. At first it had been his Thanksgiving goal. He wanted out of Los Angeles, away from the paparazzi, and he wanted it without a change in the original plan. For the first week or so, his determination to heal had everything to do with the Baxters and his move to Bloomington. If he stayed on schedule, he could meet his entire birth family in one setting and know that he wasn’t a visitor.

  He was home.

  If he missed Thanksgiving, he might not have a chance to visit with his entire family in one setting until his wedding. So he worked. To the point of passing out or throwing up or falling exhausted into bed each night, he worked. And for that first week, nothing looked like it would get in the way of his goal.

  But then he found the magazine. At first he’d been angry at Katy for not saying something, angry with John for pretending everything was okay.

  “Ten.” His face was sweating, his shirt damp.

  Katy stood and took a step toward him. “Want help with the—?”

  “No.” He didn’t look at her. “I’m fine.”