Sunset

by Karen Kingsbury

  Now it was merely a matter of finding the courage to tell Landon.

  Sometimes Luke Baxter felt like he was walking underwater, lost in a world all his own as he went through the day-to-day motions of existence. Guilt put him there, but Reagan played her part too. She admitted as much, but otherwise she said very little. They needed counseling, of course, needed to dig through the muck and mire and sift to the surface whatever lay buried beneath. No matter what came to light in the process.

  But first they had to agree to make an appointment with a counselor.

  Luke let up on the gas. He’d be home in five minutes, and he still wasn’t sure how the conversation with Reagan would start or where exactly it would go. His father had offered to take the kids for the weekend, so he’d dropped them off with their overnight bags and a promise to call often.

  “Let God give you the right words.” His father had walked him to the door and hugged him before he left. “Be honest. You and Reagan have a lot to talk about.”

  Luke turned onto Adams Boulevard and headed west. Maybe they didn’t have that much to say, after all. Since Christmas they’d been together more often, shared more nights with the kids than before. Gone were his frequent trips to New York City, and she had stopped visiting with her firefighter friend. But they were no longer the young couple so in love, no longer the two people who couldn’t exist without each other.

  Luke sighed. It was the first Friday in February, and for two months he and Reagan had lived more like roommates than married people. He tightened his hold on the steering wheel. This weekend had come at Reagan’s request. “We need to get to the truth,” she’d told him. “I can’t live like this anymore.”

  A pit formed in Luke’s stomach. Maybe his dad was right. If their time together this weekend went well, they could at least agree on counseling, and by doing so they would be taking a first step. One that could lead them back to the flames of love.

  Or maybe not.

  Luke pulled into their driveway, killed the engine, and slumped forward against the wheel. He stared at the front door of his house, at the dimly lit windows and the shadows that fell across much of the siding. In this lighting, the place looked cold and ominous, like something from a horror film. He felt sick to his stomach. Exactly how honest were they going to be with each other? Was he supposed to tell Reagan the details of his theater nights in Manhattan? Would she want to know what happened between him and Randi Wells late one night on a Mexican beach?

  He drew a slow breath, straightened, and opened his car door. No wonder Reagan had been quiet and distant for the past few months. She was probably torn between waiting for him to be honest and dreading the truth. Because the truth was going to hurt, no way around it.

  Luke pulled himself from the car and trudged up the front steps. Week-old, dirty snow was a foot high on either side of the dry, frozen walkway. Once he was inside, the atmosphere warmed considerably. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee mingled with something sweet and home-baked, and he heard the crackling of a fire in the next room. He felt himself relax a little. “Reagan?”

  “In here.”

  Luke followed her voice into the living room. She had pulled two chairs close to the fireplace, and she sat in one, her feet pulled up beneath her and a thick blanket tucked around her legs. She held an oversize mug close to her face. “Hi.” The nervous anticipation in her expression must’ve matched his own. For a moment, he saw the fresh-faced college girl she’d been, full of dreams and purpose and virtue.

  A sudden nervousness came over him, and his heart pounded. He tried to find an easy smile. “Hi.”

  She looked away. “I thought we could talk by the fire.”

  Luke hesitated, his heartbeat twice its normal speed. Was he really supposed to tell her everything? “I’ll get some coffee.” As he headed for the kitchen, he felt again like he was walking across the bottom of the ocean. How did two people start a conversation like this? Where would it take them, if the things they learned today were too great to move past?

  He poured himself a cup and made his way back to the living room, to the chair beside her. As he sat down, he wondered if she too could hear the thud of his heart.

  “How were the kids?” Reagan glanced at him over the top of her coffee cup. Their chairs faced the fire, but they angled slightly toward each other.

  “Fine.” Luke’s palms were sweaty, but he kept them cupped around his drink. “I went over everything with my dad. Malin’s ear drops, Tommy’s latest tricks.”

  Luke allowed the briefest smile. Tommy’s antics were constantly keeping the rest of the Baxter family on their toes. These days the boy was finding every possible chance to slip into the garage, climb into the driver’s seat of whatever car was available, and search for ways to work the steering wheel or the gearshifts. Luke’s dad sometimes left his keys in the car if it was in the garage. Luke shuddered. He could only imagine what might happen if Tommy found keys in the ignition.

  “That boy needs more structure.” Reagan sighed. She stared at the flames dancing behind the wrought iron screen. Then she turned to Luke. “But I guess he’s not the reason we’re here.”

  “No.” After leaving his dad’s house, Luke had prayed for guidance. Just like his dad asked him to do. And now, without giving the idea a second thought, he set his mug down on the floor beside him and reached out to Reagan. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. “Pray with me, Reagan. Please.”

  She looked almost surprised, and somehow her reaction cut Luke deeply. Had that much time passed since he’d asked her to pray? Maybe that was part of the reason they were in this position.

  Reagan shifted her cup to one hand and held out the other, lacing her fingers between his. “You say it.”

  A memory flashed in Luke’s mind, a time when he and Reagan were both at Indiana University and once in a while they would meet at a favorite bench between the buildings where they had their separate classes. More often than not, Reagan would take his hand and impulsively ask if she could pray for the two of them. Back then, prayer came as easily as breathing for both of them. Luke wished he could figure out exactly when that changed or how they could return to that place.

  He took a quick breath. “God, we come to this place not sure of what’s next. So lead us, please.” He thought about the details he might have to share in the coming hour. “Whatever is said today, give us the right words to bridge the gap between us, the strength to see tomorrow on the other side of today, and the grace to love each other no matter what.”

  They released the hold they had on each other’s fingers, and they both fixed their eyes on the fire. For nearly a minute, neither said anything.

  Then Luke shifted in his chair and faced Reagan. “Honesty, right? That’s what this day is about?”

  “Yes.” Reagan’s eyes were dark, layered with a sorrow and bitterness that had taken years to build. “How should we do this?”

  “Well—” Luke swallowed—“I can go first, I guess. I mean, what do you want to know?”

  “I’m not sure.” Reagan lifted her mug and took a sip. “I guess start at the beginning. How things got this way.”

  Luke tried to think of an entry point that would make his wanderings seem less a violation of his promise of faithfulness. But there was none. He settled into his chair and drifted back to the days when they first moved to their house near Indianapolis.

  Maybe it was the pressure of the new job, knowing that Dayne was counting on him, or dealing with the struggles Reagan was having at home with their kids every day. Whatever it was, Luke had started taking trips to New York. “I didn’t have to go. I could’ve gotten the details about the meetings later, in an e-mail or a conversation.” He kept his tone even. “The trips were helpful, but they weren’t necessary. That’s the first thing.”

  Reagan kept looking straight ahead, as if she was preparing herself.

  Luke sorted through the next pieces of the story. None of it would get any easier. “T
he girl at the office, she wasn’t anyone special. Just a new hire who gave me extra attention. I wanted to think she saw something in me, but . . . probably it was all about Dayne being my brother.”

  He held his breath for a few seconds. He was like a man in the middle of Times Square, bombarded on every side by noise and chaos and options, not sure which way to turn. But as he exhaled, the next part of the story came in a rush. “I started pulling together theater nights. Anyone in the office could go.”

  Reagan’s look changed and fell just short of accusatory, but still she didn’t speak.

  Luke blinked. “She . . . she always came along.” He explained that sometimes the excursions included other lawyers from the firm, and sometimes they didn’t.

  He was midstream talking about how he’d let himself believe that no harm could come from hanging out with a woman on the road, someone who was kind and complimentary and seemed to enjoy his company, when Reagan turned and interrupted him. “Did you kiss her?”

  He pictured the young paralegal, how close he’d come two different times. “No.” He ran his tongue along his lower lip and felt his heart ricochet hard against the walls of his chest. “Almost . . . a couple times, but no. There was nothing physical between us.”

  Her look grew more intense, as if she were seeing beyond the details of Luke’s story to the part he wasn’t saying, the part about how he’d sat next to the woman in the theater, their arms touching, and how he’d thought about her long after he’d returned to his hotel room. But if she was thinking that, she didn’t say so. “I guess the real story is Randi Wells.”

  “Yes.” Luke suddenly felt like someone was standing on his shoulders. He crossed his arms and tried not to look as defeated as he felt. How had he allowed such a crazy thing to happen? And why hadn’t he thought about how his actions would harm his marriage?

  Reagan was still waiting, still watching him. She took another drink of her coffee. “You know what makes me mad?”

  Luke could only imagine the list.

  “That you would let everyone think it was Dayne in that picture.” Her voice was quiet, controlled. But it held both anger and bewilderment. “I mean, how low is that?”

  Luke hadn’t wanted to defend himself, but he couldn’t resist. “You have to know something.” He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled hard, his frustration showing. “I didn’t go to Mexico looking for a fling with an actress.” But even as he said the words, he recalled his reaction when he saw Randi the day Dayne drove him from the airport to the film location. He released the memory and reached for the coffee mug beside his chair. Honesty. I have to be honest. He swallowed. “What I mean is . . . I didn’t go looking for an affair, but I didn’t have the right attitude either. That’s the truth.”

  Reagan stared into the flames. “Go on.”

  Luke wasn’t sure either of them was ready, but they had no choice. His actions had brought them here, and it was too late to do anything but come clean. The story moved ahead like a car with engine trouble, in jerky fits and starts. He told Reagan how he’d been on the beach that night, sitting around a campfire, and how Dayne had been called away to one of the editing rooms. Left alone together, Randi asked Luke to take a walk.

  At that point in the story, Reagan flashed him a look, her way of marking the fact that the walk was the first of his compromises.

  There was no point justifying why he’d agreed to the walk or thought it was okay to stroll into the dark of night on a remote foreign beach alongside a single, beautiful woman. Luke didn’t even try. Instead he stuck to the facts. He and Randi walked a distance, and when they stopped to talk, her phone rang. The news was about her mother, and it wasn’t good.

  “She started crying, and I . . . I went to her. Maybe I was thinking I could comfort her—” he looked down—“or maybe I wanted something more. I’m not sure.”

  Reagan’s expression told him that she knew the answer even if he did not. She didn’t blink, didn’t turn away as she waited for the rest.

  This was the part Luke could’ve done without. Wasn’t it enough that the tabloids captured the kiss for all the world to see? Did he really need to go into details about what happened as the hug between him and Randi became something terribly more?

  Luke clasped his hands and sighed. “Again, it wasn’t like I planned it. We were hugging, and the next thing I knew we were kissing.”

  “How long?” Reagan’s question came sharp and quick, her eyes wide, her emotions a mix of cool anger and indifference. “How long did you kiss?”

  “I don’t know.” Irritation crept into Luke’s tone. “Awhile, okay? We kissed for a while. We didn’t see or hear the photographers; I can tell you that.”

  Reagan didn’t ask what else happened. She didn’t have to. The look on her face asked it without any words whatsoever.

  Luke rushed ahead. “There was nothing more. We kissed, and then at some point I pulled away and told her I needed to go. We . . . we held hands back to the bonfire, and when we were almost within sight of the others, we split up. I went to my room, and she went toward the fire pit. So no one would think we’d been together all that time.”

  “But there was more.” For the first time, the hint of hurt crept into Reagan’s voice. “That night, right? And after that?”

  She was right, and Luke hated this part just as much. Things between him and Reagan might be different today if only he’d come to his senses as soon as he reached his hotel room. He rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger and summoned the strength to tell Reagan the rest of the story.

  Hours after the kiss, Randi had knocked on his door, and when he opened it, she was in his arms before he could stop himself. Again they kissed, and this time Randi told him she was attracted to him, drawn to him.

  “She told me she knew I was married, and she was willing to wait until I figured things out.”

  “Nice,” Reagan muttered.

  The guilt was a physical presence, eating through him like a disease. Luke ached all over, the way he’d felt freshman year of college when he got the flu. “For a while after that we would text each other. We talked on the phone. Eventually she asked if I was willing to leave you.”

  Reagan raised her eyebrows.

  “I told her the truth.” Luke felt like the world’s worst creep. “I said I was attracted to her, but I couldn’t imagine leaving you.”

  Reagan nodded. “Considerate.”

  Luke hated her sarcasm, but he deserved it. “Nothing I did was considerate. I just thought you should know.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Even caught up in the moment, I couldn’t picture life without you.”

  For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Her eyes softened the tiniest bit. “I’m glad.” She looked away. “Really.”

  He wasn’t sure what to make of the subtle shift in her attitude, so he didn’t acknowledge it. His story was almost finished. He could hear the defeat in his voice as he continued. When the pictures hit the tabloids, he and Randi talked about the damage done, and she begged him to stay quiet. Dayne would take the fall, which Dayne could do a lot easier than Luke. No one would ever know the difference.

  “Only neither of us could live like that.” Luke didn’t intend to sound self-righteous. What he’d done was wrong; there was no denying the fact. “Eventually I called Dayne.” He pursed his lips and exhaled. “And here we are.”

  Reagan hugged her knees to her chest, and for a long time she stared into the fire, as if she were absorbing every painful blow, every detail finding its place in her heart, where she could later sort through the fragments. Then, without warning, she turned to him. “I guess it’s my turn.”

  Her turn? Luke’s heart skipped a beat. In all the time he’d spent thinking about this moment of truth, planning for it and dreading it, he hadn’t once thought about what she might share with him. He was the bad guy in the story, right? She was the victim.

  But now she folded her hands. “It started out as a friendship.”<
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  The room tilted, and Luke felt his heart slam out a few double beats. What was this, her firefighter buddy? Was that the friendship she was talking about? She would only have more to tell him about her own recent past if . . . if . . .

  Reagan looked at him for a few seconds. Just long enough so the guilt on her face was vividly apparent. “I didn’t mean for anything to happen.” Her opening statement sounded strangely like his.

  Luke felt his muscles tense up. “The firefighter?”

  “Yes.” Reagan’s eyes were lifeless, lost in what could only be a distant moment Luke knew nothing about. “After the incident with Tommy, he came by the house to check on me, to make sure things were okay.”

  “I remember that.” Luke reminded himself to exhale.

  Then, like a floodgate, the story spilled from Reagan. The firefighter started coming by the house for an hour each afternoon when Tommy and Malin were down for a nap. At first he and Reagan sat in the family room and talked, but at the end of the week, when Reagan walked him to the door, the two shared a hug that led to a kiss.

  “The next day when he came over, it was like we both knew. We tried to act like nothing had happened, but it was there for both of us.”

  Luke stared at the floor. How could he be hearing this? All this time he’d been afraid to have this talk because it meant coming clean with his recent behavior. Not for a minute did he think Reagan was hiding something.

  She was still talking, explaining herself. It took all his concentration to process what she was saying.

  “We talked for a few minutes, and then the kissing started again. Until it was too much and . . . I told him to leave.” Reagan lowered her feet to the floor. “I’m sorry.” The pain in her eyes was raw and unresolved. “You weren’t expecting this.”