Sunset

by Karen Kingsbury

  Luke studied his wife. Her admission was screaming at him, replaying again and again at the center of his mind and shouting at him that this was only the beginning. Because her tone told him there was more. “And . . . ?”

  “I didn’t want him to stay.” She looked at him, pleading with him. “But I didn’t want him to go, either.”

  A sound that was part cry, part groan came from Luke, and he was suddenly on his feet. “Are you serious?” He took three steps toward the doorway, then spun around. “Am I supposed to sit here and listen to this?”

  Reagan’s expression hardened. “What, Luke? You mean the way I had to?”

  Luke glanced around the room as if there might be an escape, a way out of the truth. But there was none. Half a minute passed, and finally his shoulders fell forward, the fight inside him morphing into defeat and desperation. He could leave, but there would be no turning back. Not with the mangled pieces of what remained of their marriage. He positioned himself against the nearest wall so he wouldn’t fall to his knees.

  The question hung in the air between them until he had no choice but to ask it. “Are you saying . . . you slept with him?” His words were incredulous and strained, barely loud enough to reach her.

  When Reagan’s words came, they were aimed more at herself than him. “I let it go too far. I won’t deny that.” She gave a slow shake of her head. “But I didn’t sleep with him. I sent him away before . . . before things—”

  “Stop.” Luke held up his hand. He couldn’t bear to hear another word, not one more detail. Warring emotions ripped through his heart and soul—shock and betrayal, sorrow and regret. But furious anger quickly took the lead. Wisdom shouted at him not to ask the question, but he wasn’t listening. “You know what I can’t believe?”

  Tears appeared in her eyes, but she didn’t answer him.

  Luke didn’t stop himself. “I can’t believe you didn’t learn from the first time . . . when the guy on your couch was me.” As soon as his words were out, he regretted them.

  Reagan jerked back as if she’d been slapped; then she froze, her expression unlike any he’d ever seen before.

  My son, reach out to her; tell her you’re sorry. . . .

  Luke dismissed the quiet whisper in his soul. His anger doubled, and he stayed anchored against the wall. This is her fault too. Why should I make the first move? He could feel the Holy Spirit urging him forward, pushing him to erase the distance between them. Suddenly he was a teenager again, furious with his sister Ashley because of the choices she’d made, and he could hear his mother’s voice echo clearly through the halls of yesterday. “Luke, you have to forgive the people you love. . . . Relationships take a lifetime to build. Pride destroys them in a moment.”

  He clenched his fists. No, this is different. It’s too late, too far gone for forgiveness. For either of us.

  Reagan stood and stared at him. “Can you hear yourself?” She took a few steps backward, her tone wounded and incredulous. “Never mind. This isn’t going anywhere.” She studied him a moment longer before turning and running toward their bedroom.

  As she left, Luke thought of a hundred things he should have said or done. He could feel God telling him to follow her, to apologize and return to the place where reconciliation seemed possible. But the only words that came to mind were the ones Reagan had just said. Their relationship wasn’t going anywhere.

  Luke exhaled hard, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. A flashback shot through his mind—he and Reagan getting married, their families surrounding them. How far had they fallen since then?

  All this time, he’d thought of Reagan as the victim, when really . . . really . . . He couldn’t complete the thought. What did it matter, anyway? They’d broken their vows and lied and cheated. They couldn’t talk about it without the conversation ending at an impasse. There was no point chasing Reagan and trying to make amends, because she was right about their marriage.

  No matter how it had started out, this wasn’t going to be a season of healing.

  It was going to be a season of saying good-bye.

  It was snowing outside, and a joyful chaos filled the packed Bloomington Community Theater as Katy Hart Matthews hurried down the center aisle and took her place at the front of the room with the other judges. The auditions today were for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and the buzz in the room belied the citywide expectations. Katy and her husband, Dayne, now owned the building, and January had been full of delays while contractors made basic improvements. But now it was open for use, and after the kids of Bloomington had fought so hard to keep their theater group, people figured this might be the best Christian Kids Theater production yet.

  Katy was four months pregnant and no longer feeling sick the way she had before. She wasn’t showing, but her waist had disappeared, and she felt more breathless than usual as she took the middle seat at the narrow table.

  “A hundred and fifty kids and counting.” She leaned in close to Dayne. “The show’s going to be incredible.”

  Dayne squeezed her hand. “I keep thinking . . .” He looked around the room at the kids of all ages and sizes, each wearing an audition number. “Where would these kids be if you hadn’t come back?”

  The love in his eyes reached straight to the depths of her heart. Katy smiled at him. “If you hadn’t bought the theater, you mean.” She gave him a quick kiss. Already they’d started plans for the diner and coffee shop that would eventually stand on either side of the theater. “We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

  Dayne looked at his watch. “It’s time.” He handed Katy the first ten audition forms. “Better get going.”

  Katy took the forms, stood, and faced the crowd of parents and kids. Usually at this point on audition day, the room would quiet down and Katy would give the familiar speech, explaining the process so the new families would know the protocol. Kids would be called up in groups of ten, no one could come or go during those auditions, there’d be a five-minute break before the next set, and so on.

  But today, as she opened her mouth to begin, the Flanigans, Picks, Shaffers, and Farleys stood and smiled at her. Then they began to clap. Before Katy could understand what was happening, other families rose and joined in the applause until finally everyone in the building was clapping and howling and hooting.

  A rush of emotion came over Katy, and she looked back at Dayne. He put his hand on the small of her back, supporting her, sharing in this clear show of appreciation.

  Next to them on either side, the rest of the creative team joined in the applause. Besides Dayne, who was her codirector and chief sets builder, there was her sister-in-law Ashley, who would oversee set designs and cheer for her son Cole, who was auditioning for the first time, and Tim Reed, one of her favorite former CKT kids, now a college student, sitting in the first row with a handful of the volunteers who would teach CKT classes that session.

  Katy shifted her gaze and there, also on her feet, was the new twenty-eight-year-old dance instructor who had moved to Bloomington from New York City and volunteered her services as choreographer. The young woman’s sisters had long been involved with CKT. And a few feet away was their new pianist, June Johnson, applauding and grinning.

  Katy smiled at the gray-haired woman, a former teacher whose granddaughters had been involved in CKT the year before it closed. She was a brilliantly talented soprano, full of the sort of spunk that would make her quickly loved by the theater kids. But what Katy appreciated most about the woman’s decision to be part of the show was the fact that she’d done so as a way of spending more time with her grandkids. The same reason so many parents and grandparents got involved in CKT.

  Before the kids began arriving this afternoon, June had pulled Katy aside. “I always thought my favorite days were the ones I spent with my granddaughters at our lake house.” She looked around the theater, her eyes sparkling. “But I have a feeling this will be even better.”

  Katy could only agree.


  She focused on the cheering crowd of parents and children, and she did the only thing she could do in that moment. She pointed straight up to heaven, to the One who had given all of them this second chance. Then she held up her hands, asking them to quiet down and return to their seats.

  Dayne’s presence beside her was enough to help her find her voice despite her emotions. She looked from one family to the next, seeing a mix of so many happy memories in this very space and feeling the awareness of so many more yet to be experienced. “You are my friends . . . my family.” Katy massaged her throat, struggling to keep her composure. “Since God has given us another chance here, it seems only right that we should start today by thanking Him.”

  A hush fell over the room as people bowed their heads.

  “Dear Lord, we thank You.” As the words came, Katy felt herself growing stronger. Her shaky voice became clear, her prayer directed straight to the Creator. “You’ve given us our building and our theater group. Most of all You’ve given us hope. For that, we are so grateful, and we pray that this production will bring You great joy. The way we know it will bring us great joy. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Another round of applause filled the room, and then Katy started in with her introduction. The first audition of the afternoon was Ashley’s son. Cole had just finished a season of basketball and still planned to play baseball, whether he won a part in the play or not. But Joseph was his favorite story from the Bible, and he wanted to audition.

  Though Ashley was on the creative team and acting as a judge today, she wouldn’t be able to cast a vote for her son. Katy glanced at her as Cole took the stage. In this moment she was merely a nervous parent, same as the others in the theater.

  Cole tucked his hands in his back pockets and grinned at the judges. “Hi. My name is Cole Blake, and I’m nine years old. I’ll be singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game.’” His smile faded, and he looked straight at Ashley. “Because my grandma used to sing it to me.”

  Ashley gave him a reassuring smile and a slight nod.

  From where Cole was standing, Katy guessed he couldn’t possibly see the tears welling in his mother’s eyes. Ashley’s mom had died several years ago, but the pain was still there. Maybe even more lately, from what Ashley had said. After all, this was the year her father was going to remarry. Maybe because of that or because she was still grieving the loss of her infant daughter, Ashley seemed quieter than usual.

  Her husband, Landon, was in the audience with their younger son, and Katy caught a glimpse of him giving Cole a thumbs-up.

  Katy turned her attention to the boy. June had his sheet music, her fingers poised at the piano, and Cole gave her a look that said he too was ready.

  As Cole began, Katy realized she’d never heard him sing. When he and Landon had stopped in at the theater with Ashley during some of CKT’s long evenings of painting sets, Cole was always full of enthusiasm, ready with a story about a ball game or an anecdote from school. But he had never had a reason to sing.

  As the song began to grow, Katy was pleasantly surprised. Cole had a clear voice, right on key. Better still, he had a way of connecting with the judges and the audience, making eye contact and showing a confidence that was rare in a child his age.

  Katy had a feeling that his grandmother had given him more than a love for the old tune she used to sing to him so many years ago. She’d probably given him a love for singing too. Katy glanced once more at Ashley. She was glowing with approval for her son, but there was no mistaking the tears on her cheeks.

  When the song ended, Katy had a certain feeling that Cole would be part of the Joseph cast. She checked the callback box at the bottom of the form, the one intended for any performer who she thought should come back the next day for a second, more involved audition.

  The others in the first group made their way to the front one at a time, and the afternoon took on a sense of familiarity that warmed Katy. She and Dayne exchanged a grin when the third child announced she’d be singing “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid. On a typical audition day, they were bound to hear the song seven or eight times, something Katy had shared with Dayne before they were married. Now it gave them a reason to smile—at least with their eyes.

  The Flanigan kids were in the second group of ten, and both Bailey and Connor sang beautifully. No question they’d be part of the callbacks tomorrow.

  At the break after their group finished, Bailey hurried over to the table, and after a quick hello to Dayne, she turned to Katy. “I met this girl. She’s new. Anyway, she’s in the next group, and she’s really nice. Her name’s Sarah. I think she really needs this. I’ll tell you more later.” She gave Katy a hug. As she pulled away, she whispered, “Just thought you should know.”

  Katy watched Bailey return to her seat. She loved that about the Flanigans and so many of the CKT kids. They truly cared about their peers. Bailey seemed unconcerned about the obvious competition between herself and the new girl and only wanted Katy to know that beyond this new girl’s ability to sing, there might be a greater reason to cast her.

  Halfway through the next set of ten kids, a petite girl with dark blonde hair took the stage. She smiled at the judges, and in her eyes Katy saw confidence and determination. “I’m Sarah Nordlund. I’m fourteen, and I’ll be singing ‘Home’ from Beauty and the Beast.”

  The song was a tough one, an unforgiving ballad that would reveal exactly how trained Sarah was as a singer. Katy uttered a silent prayer that she could pull off the number since Bailey seemed to believe it mattered deeply for the girl to be cast in the show.

  The music began, and partway into the first line, Sarah froze, her words forgotten. She hung her head. “Sorry. I already know the drill—no second chances.” Then she turned and started walking off the stage.

  No second chances? Katy wanted to pull the girl into her arms and soothe away her doubts. “Wait!”

  Sarah stopped and looked up. “Yes?”

  “CKT is all about second chances.” Katy smiled and hoped it might calm Sarah’s anxious heart. “Do you know the song?”

  “Yes.” Sarah shrugged. “I just blanked out.”

  “Okay, then.” Katy nodded to June at the piano. “Let’s try it again.”

  Sarah returned to center stage, appearing a little less confident than before. But when the music began, this time she remembered every word. The song grew and built, and Sarah hit the high notes with a clear voice that was right on key.

  After every audition, the kids in the room always applauded. Sometimes when the student auditioning was someone the CKT kids knew well—like Bailey or Connor—there would be an especially loud applause. But when Sarah finished her song, the room erupted into the loudest cheering since the auditions began.

  “Thank you, Sarah.” Katy marked the callback box on the girl’s form.

  Sarah’s expression shouted her gratitude. Katy had a feeling she was going to like Sarah Nordlund and that this was the first of many future auditions for her.

  The creative team focused on the next girl taking the stage. Later, when auditions were over, Katy would find out what Bailey knew of Sarah Nordlund.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait that long. During the break, while Dayne and the others at the table were in the lobby getting water, Sarah came up to Katy. “Am I allowed to talk to you for a sec?”

  “Sure.” Katy adjusted her chair so she could see her better.

  “Okay, well . . . thanks for that. For letting me have a second chance.”

  Katy melted. “Honey, of course. Everyone forgets the words once in a while. We want everyone to succeed.”

  Sarah squirmed a little. “I’m . . . I’m an ice skater. Competitive figure skating.” She shook her head. “No second chances there.”

  “Oh. I see.” She smiled. “Well, I’m glad it worked out for you.”

  “Something else.” Sarah seemed nervous. “I’m a type 1 diabetic.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hate it, you know? �
�Cause I just wanna be like other kids.” A sparkle came to her eyes. “So, thanks. What you did . . . it meant a lot.”

  As Sarah hurried off toward the others, Katy was overcome by a flood of emotions. Sarah might’ve needed CKT, but on this day—when Katy had walked away from a life of making movies and being on the big screen—she was the one who needed Sarah. Without knowing it, the girl had given confirmation that this was where Katy belonged. Where she would always belong.

  The afternoon became the evening as one group of ten after another filed to the front and took their turns auditioning. There were the usual surprises, where a student who had been earning occasional ensemble roles used this audition to break through to another level, and there were the disappointments, students who clearly hadn’t prepared and would receive a lesser role or no role because of that.

  Fourteen girls sang “Part of Your World,” and twelve boys sang “The Bare Necessities” from The Jungle Book. Only two kids came in full costume, including a twelve-year-old boy, Sander, who wore a homemade Phantom of the Opera mask.

  After mumbling through two lines of “The Music of the Night” from the Broadway play, Katy kindly interrupted him. “Sander, I need you to take off your mask.”

  The boy slowly removed the white plaster piece that covered half his face. “But—” he lowered the mask—“it helps me sing in character.”

  “I’m sorry. We can’t understand your song.” Katy hoped she sounded as compassionate as she felt. Sander was a good boy from a nice family that had long supported CKT. “With acting, it’s important to find your character in here.” She put her hand over her heart. “Okay?”

  “Yes.” The boy sighed and set the mask down. “Here goes.”

  When his song began again, Katy had a better idea why the boy wanted a mask over his mouth for his audition. The notes were too high and too low, and the words never quite on beat. His voice cracked three times.