Forgiven

by Karen Kingsbury

  The people leaving the theater didn’t notice him. They moved slowly, and even when he rolled his windows down he couldn’t hear their conversations. Over the next ten minutes several more left through the side doors, found their cars, and drove away. Finally there were just two cars left—a red two-door in the spot closest to the road and a white Jeep. Another few minutes passed, and two girls came through the doors.

  For the second time tonight, Dayne felt his heart react. One of the girls was Katy Hart—he had no doubt. He’d spent time with her, watched her film, studied her audition tape enough to recognize her leggy figure, the way she moved, the way her straight blonde hair swished around her shoulders.

  They hadn’t spotted him yet, hadn’t had any reason to look twice at the car parked in the lot. There were small downtown businesses all around the theater. He could’ve been anyone, an attorney or an accountant coming to put in a few late-night hours.

  From where he sat he could see Katy’s face, not well enough to tell if she was crying, but well enough to know she was sad. Her slumped shoulders and the occasional way she covered her eyes with her hands told him that much. Wherever the funeral had been, the theater was where the kids and Katy had come afterwards. Minutes went by, and finally the other girl hugged Katy; then she turned, climbed into the white Jeep, and drove off.

  Katy walked around her car, and as she reached for the door, Dayne opened his and got out. She turned at the sound and spotted him. At first she didn’t recognize him. Her eyes grew wide with fear, and she stepped back.

  “Katy, it’s me.” He moved toward her, and when he was halfway there, he stopped and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Dayne. Dayne Matthews.”

  Her hands fell slowly to her sides, and she stared at him. In the glow of the parking-lot lights, he could see the disbelief in her expression. “How . . . how did you know?”

  “I didn’t.” He took a few more steps and stopped three feet from her. The expression on her face made his heart ache. “We’re filming here next week, and I . . . I just found out about the accident.”

  She hung her head and gave a subtle nod. Then she looked at him and lowered her brow, confused. “But how did you know I’d be here?”

  “Just a guess.” He took his hands from his pockets and folded his arms. The breeze was cooler now, and a chill ran down his back. “I didn’t know where to go. I . . . wanted to see the theater again.”

  A long sigh came from her. “The funeral was beautiful. The saddest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Dayne was through with pretenses. With his eyes locked on hers, he went to her and drew her into a hug, one that tore down the walls between them. Whatever it was about Katy Hart, whenever he saw her the connection was instant. It had been that way when he first spotted her at the end of a Charlie Brown performance at this very theater. And it had been that way in Hollywood when she first read for the part and later when she shot a scene with him.

  The hug lasted a long time, and Dayne thought maybe she was crying. Finally, he allowed some space between them. He brushed her hair off her face. “I’m sorry . . . about the girl.”

  Katy sniffed. “She was my lead last summer.” Her eyes shifted to the theater. “She played Becky Thatcher.”

  “I thought her name was familiar.”

  “Her mother was the worst . . . the worst stage mom I’d ever had.” Katy made a sound that was part sob, part sigh. “She berated that girl day after day, wanting her to work harder, sing better, talk louder.” Her eyes found Dayne’s again. “All so she could have a future in theater.” She eased out of his arms and leaned back against her car door. “You know what she told me?”

  “The mother?” Dayne planted his feet at shoulder width apart, watching the emotions play on Katy’s face. Sadness and grief . . . and now a sense of awe.

  “Yes. She’s barely out of the hospital herself, and she came up to me and hugged me.” Katy crossed her arms tight around her waist. “She told me she wants to talk to the CKT families and tell them to hold on to today.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “Because that’s all any of us have.”

  Dayne felt as if a lead blanket were draped across the back of his shoulders. “A little late for Sarah Jo, is that it?”

  “Yes.” Katy dropped her chin and gave him a sad, crooked smile. “That girl wasn’t allowed to enjoy one day of CKT. It was all—” she swallowed another sob—“all about what tomorrow held.”

  He waited a few seconds while she wiped her eyes. Then he nodded toward the theater. “How many kids came?”

  “All of them.” She smiled and looked at the theater again. “We talked and prayed and sang together.” A car drove by, and Katy waited until it passed. “The kids of CKT have never been closer; I can tell you that.”

  “What about the drunk driver? What’s his story?”

  “He’s just a kid, eighteen. Multiple offenses.” Her expression darkened. “A lot of the older kids are struggling with that part. They want the guy to pay.”

  “I can understand.”

  “Me too.” She straightened and took a sharp breath. “But I’m praying they change their minds. Hate never made anything better for anyone.”

  Dayne let her words find their rightful place in his heart, his soul. “Hate never made anything better for anyone.” That was true, wasn’t it? How many people had he hated or been angry at lately? His adoptive parents, his birth parents, the crazy murderous fan. Even God. All of them had harmed him in some way. He fingered the red bracelet on his wrist. That was the whole point of Kabbalah, wasn’t it? Releasing negative emotions, moving on to the upper world?

  “What’s that?” Katy pointed to the red band around his wrist. She took hold of his hand and lifted it so she could see it better.

  “A reminder, I guess.” He wanted to hug her again, but he resisted.

  “There’re so many bracelets out now, you never know. Lance Armstrong has his yellow band, and there’re a dozen different What Would Jesus Do bracelets.” She released his hand. “What’s it for?”

  “It reminds me of what I’m going to do when I get back home.”

  “Which is?”

  “Get closer to God.” Dayne intended to sound more confident, but it was the first time he’d told anyone. Somehow putting the words together made him sound unsure—doubtful even. “Some of my friends are into Kabbalah, kind of a spiritual journey.” He shrugged. “I’m interested—that’s all I know.”

  “Kabbalah?” Alarm colored her eyes. “Weren’t your parents missionaries? Christian missionaries?”

  “They were.” He gave her a serious sort of grin. “A lot of good it did them.”

  “So what exactly is Kabbalah?”

  “It helps people get rid of negative emotions and find oneness with the creator.”

  “Hmmm.” She sucked on the inside of her cheek, then clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I guess I didn’t know you were searching.”

  He looked straight to the places his heart always found with her. “I wasn’t. Not until you left.” And just like that it was out there—the way he felt, the way he cared. The way he could never come close to getting her out of his mind. For a long time he said nothing. Then, his eyes still locked on hers, he said, “Don’t you ever think about it, Katy? What might’ve been?”

  She moved closer to him again and touched his arm. “I think of you, Dayne.”

  For a moment he considered kissing her. She was so close, and with the truth laid out for both of them, the idea felt right. He steadied himself, keeping his distance this time. Then it hit him. No matter how right kissing her might feel, the timing was wrong. He crossed his arms and studied her. “How do you think of me?”

  A different kind of sadness became clear in her eyes. “As someone I could never have loved.” She tried to smile but failed. “I couldn’t, Dayne. Our worlds are too different.”

  So there it was—the real reason. Nothing had changed. The fact that he’d shown up in
Bloomington early or that they were standing in the theater parking lot on a September evening didn’t erase the facts. He pulled on his acting face and chuckled. “Well, then—” he glanced over his shoulder—“I guess we should be glad there’s no media out tonight.”

  “Right.” She leaned back against the car again. “So you picked Bloomington, huh?”

  “How could I not?” He was teasing her now, finding his way out of the emotional depths they’d been swimming in a few minutes earlier. He gestured to the horizon. “As far as I can see, Bloomington defines not just small-town America but America itself.” He winked at Katy. “It’s the perfect place.”

  “When do you start working?”

  “Working?” Dayne pointed to himself. “Did I say I was working on the film? I brought it here, but actually—” he gave her another smile—“I’m thinking of quitting my day job.”

  She almost laughed, but the sadness from earlier still hung over her. “Then what’ll you do?”

  “Paint sets, you know, backdrops for community theater. That sort of thing.” He pointed his thumb at the theater. “Think they’re hiring?”

  “I know I’m not.” Another car passed by, this one with a rap song blaring. When it was gone, she gave him a partial grin. “I’ve got Ashley Baxter Blake, world famous painter, doing my sets.”

  “Ashley Baxter Blake?” Dayne felt the blood drain from his face. Katy Hart had befriended his birth sister, one of the Baxter family? He could hardly believe it. If he hung around Katy and the theater long enough was it possible he might meet her, make a connection with her? The air was getting colder, and his knees began to shake. “Her mom died of cancer, right?”

  “Right.” Her eyes moved from curious to suspicious. “How’d you know that?”

  For an instant, Dayne panicked. He hadn’t thought about an answer, but the words came to him easily. “I heard about it last time I was here. Someone must’ve told me.”

  “Oh.” Katy didn’t question him. Maybe she was too distracted by the events of the day or too emotionally drained. “Ashley’s amazing. The other CKT offices around the country want her to paint sets for them too—” she smiled—“not that she has time.”

  Dayne was still dizzy with the information, but he kept his composure. “Are you saying you don’t have an opening for a sets painter?” He crossed his arms again. “I was really looking forward to a career change.”

  She giggled, despite the tearstains on her cheeks. “Maybe Ashley needs an assistant.”

  They talked about sets for a few more minutes, and then Dayne fell quiet. He’d come this far. He could ask to see her, couldn’t he? “Hey . . .” His tone changed, and the humor faded. “I’m not busy until Tuesday morning. Can we spend some time together tomorrow? go for a walk somewhere maybe?”

  The conflict played out in her expression. “Dayne, you have a girlfriend.” Katy looked down at her feet and then lifted her eyes to his again. “I read the tabloids more than before. I like you a lot, but . . . we’re so different.”

  Dayne tried to think of a comeback, but he had none. She was right. Their worlds were different, yes. But it was more than that. She was driven by morals and values and faith. He was just finding faith and living with Kelly Parker in the meantime. He had no right to mess with Katy’s feelings. Still . . .

  He took her hands in his. “I like you, Katy. I want to be your friend.” He gave her a defeated grin. “Can’t I have a friend in Bloomington, Indiana?”

  Katy ran her thumbs over his hands, her eyes never leaving his. “Is that really all you want?”

  Her question was deeper than it sounded; the look on her face told him as much. In that moment he made a decision. He wouldn’t lie to her—not now or ever again. She deserved the truth, and if he gave it to her, whatever they shared, for however long they shared it, they’d both be better off in the process.

  “No.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “That’s not all I want. But it’ll have to be enough.”

  Even in the dimly lit parking lot, he could see her blush, see the way his honesty affected her.

  She looked away, but she didn’t let go of his hands. “So . . . we see each other for a few days.” Her voice was softer than before, scratchier. “What for? Why?”

  “Because we can.” He tapped her shoe with his and felt the corners of his mouth inch up. “Because it might give me an edge if I ever need a job as a set painter in Bloomington.”

  She couldn’t contain a quick laugh.

  Then without either of them saying another word, he pulled her into his arms and held her, running his hand over her back. “I want to spend a day with you, Katy. Before the rest of the crew arrives and everything changes again.” He leaned back and searched her eyes. “Please?”

  She thought for a while, glancing from the theater back to him again. When she finally nodded, she looked almost defeated. “Okay.” She released his hands and took a step toward her car. “You still have my number?”

  “Of course.”

  “Call me in the morning.” She lowered her chin. Somehow she seemed shier than before. “We can go to Lake Monroe. We can take a walk around the shoreline.”

  They said their good-byes, and Katy walked around her car toward the theater again. “I left something inside.”

  “Want me to go with you?”

  “That’s okay.” She raised her hand and gave him a small wave with her fingers. “Call me tomorrow.”

  He nodded and waved back at her. Then—feeling better than he’d felt in months—he climbed into his car and drove off toward the Holiday Inn at the edge of town. He’d registered under a false name, so he didn’t expect any public scene at the check-in desk. No, he’d have all night to wonder about their conversation and the newest connection to Ashley Baxter Blake and the way Katy’s hands had felt in his.

  And the best part of all.

  The fact that come morning he’d have an entire day with Katy in a place that might’ve been his if things had been different. A day when he wouldn’t be Dayne Matthews, Hollywood star. Rather he would be something better and more difficult all at once.

  Katy Hart’s friend.

  Katy watched Dayne drive away, and she had the strangest feeling—as if he were taking a piece of her heart with him. That was ridiculous, of course, because even now, even in the midst of her saddest day since she’d lived in Bloomington, a day when seeing him had taken her breath away, she still knew the truth.

  The two of them could have nothing together—not even a friendship. Yes, he was in Bloomington for a couple of weeks. But after that he’d go home to Los Angeles and slip back into his strange and unusual lifestyle. Paparazzi would follow him everywhere he went, and every week pictures of him and Kelly Parker would be on the cover of another magazine, shouting about how close they were, how in love.

  Katy pulled her navy sweater tighter around herself as she headed into the theater. Dayne wasn’t in love with Kelly Parker. She could see that as easily as if he’d pasted the news on his forehead. Never mind that the world saw him as Dayne Matthews—cool, confident, movie star. She could see the truth. Dayne was confused and searching and unsure about what to do next.

  Searching for God? She frowned as she slipped her key in the door, opened it, and turned on the lobby lights. The red bracelet looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Several big-name Hollywood stars were part of the Kabbalah movement. Dayne had mentioned it, but she hoped his search wasn’t leading him in that direction. From the little she’d heard about the group, it was almost cultlike. She hoped Dayne had enough training when he was a young boy to stay away from anything like that. She’d ask Jim and Jenny Flanigan. She knew they had once taken a course on modern religions, so they’d know about Kabbalah.

  Not until she was inside the theater house area and sitting in her favorite spot—third row, center section, end of the aisle—did she let herself exhale. How had she missed the fact that Dayne was coming to Bloomington to film the location sc
enes for his movie? He’d talked about it back when she was reading for the part, but once she was out of it, she figured he’d find somewhere else.

  Seeing him tonight, watching him walk up to her was like something from a dream. And she did dream about him, more often than she talked about or admitted to herself. He might as well live on Mars for how different their lives were. It was the reason she hadn’t returned his phone calls. There was no point holding on to whatever it was she’d felt with him last summer. Put him out of your mind, she’d told herself a hundred times. Then maybe her feelings for him would fade.

  But she’d been wrong.

  That much was clear the minute she saw him in the parking lot. He had obviously waited, waited until Rhonda and the others were gone. Whatever time they shared while he was in Bloomington would be kept between the two of them. She gripped the cool wood seat and stared at the empty stage. It was dark and shadowy, like her motives for agreeing to see Dayne in the morning.

  Every bit of her common sense told her to tell him no. But common sense had nothing to say about the way he made her feel when they were together. The connection was strong, immediate, the way it had been the first time she talked with him at the Los Angeles studio. In the end she figured it couldn’t hurt. Spending a day with Dayne would make it harder to forget him, but it would be nice all the same. Walking with him, talking about his life and his curiosity about faith. Sharing about the accident and the funeral.

  She could use a day like that, even if it never happened again.

  A draft came over her, and she squinted into the darkness. The heavy velvet curtain swayed ever so slightly, and shadows danced on the stage. She’d told Dayne the truth about coming back inside the theater.