Mention of her mother took the wind out of Ashley’s concerns. If only her mother were here right now. They could be comparing notes on pregnancy, and she wouldn’t have anything difficult to say to her father. Elaine Denning would simply be a distant friend, someone who had faded out of their lives years ago.
“Anyway, honey, sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.” He took a few swallows of his iced tea and set the glass back down. “What were you going to say?”
Ashley felt funny now. Maybe she shouldn’t bring it up at all. Kari had said it was no big deal. In fact the entire situation seemed to bother her more than anyone else who knew about it. Of course, her brother, Luke, didn’t know yet. And she and Luke had always seen eye to eye. She thought about her time in Paris. Well, almost always.
Her father was waiting. “Well . . .”
“Okay, Dad, it’s this.” She used her hands to talk whenever she was nervous. Now she forced them back onto her lap. “I talked to Kari, and she says you’ve been seeing Elaine Denning.”
“Hmmm.” He allowed a quiet laugh. “I thought that’s what this might be about.” He leaned forward and released the footrest on his chair. Then he crossed the room and took the spot next to Ashley. “I’m spending time with her, yes. She and I are at a similar place in life, Ashley. Our kids are raised, and the loves of our lives are gone.” He hesitated. “We’re both lonely.”
Alarms rattled the control panel in her subconscious. “But what’s it mean, Dad? That you and Elaine are . . . that something’s happening between you?” She was afraid, but her tone sounded more frustrated. “I guess I don’t get it.”
“There’s nothing to get.” He patted her knee. “Elaine’s a friend, Ashley. Someone I can talk to and buy vegetables with.” He lowered his face and peered past her fear. “That’s okay, right? I can have a friend, can’t I?”
“You don’t need her.” Ashley sounded like a hurt child, and she offered a small smile in his direction.
“What other friends do I have?”
Ashley’s answer was quick. “Me. I’ll go to the farmers’ market with you.”
“Honey—” he studied her eyes—“you have your own family. Landon and Cole and your new little one. You’re busy most of the time, and that’s okay. It’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Mom should be going to the market with you.” Ashley shifted her lower jaw to one side. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“You’re right.” Her dad exhaled, but he didn’t sound as tired as he had a month ago. “But she isn’t here, and I still need a friend.”
“Well . . .” Ashley blew at a wisp of her hair. “That’s all it is? Really?”
“Really.” He smiled at her and helped her to her feet. “Let’s go see if they caught their snake, okay?”
She wanted to ask more questions, maybe how he felt when he was with Elaine or what exactly they talked about. But her father seemed finished talking, and his answers had calmed her nerves considerably. Who was she to deny him a friend? It was like Kari had said. Their father was a social person, someone who thrived on people and interaction. He had work, yes. But he needed something more. Elaine was a Christian, someone who shared his morals and beliefs. She and her husband had raised their children much the same way Ashley’s parents had raised the five of them.
A friendship couldn’t hurt too much.
She took a deep breath as she followed her dad to the patio door. “Knowing Landon, they’ve probably caught three by now.”
Sure enough, Landon and Cole had a couple of garter snakes in a cardboard box. “They’re the biggest snakes, Papa. Bigger than Jessie’s fish the other day.”
Ashley and Landon exchanged a smile. No doubt their son was competitive. He still talked every day about how having a pretty fish was more important than having a big one.
“Hey—” Ashley’s dad pointed to the stream behind the house—“I built a new footbridge. Did I show you?”
“A new bridge!” Cole hopped around in a circle. “I bet we can catch frogs off it, Papa. We can spot ’em and jump in and catch ’em.” He clapped his hands. “Just like that.”
“Let’s go see.” Her dad led them down a trail through the grass toward the place where he’d built the bridge.
Ashley marveled at him. Spending his days diagnosing patients and proving himself to be one of the most brilliant doctors in the area. But in his evening hours, he was busy building footbridges for little Cole. She smiled. “It’s perfect, Dad.”
“What’d it take you?” Landon took the lead and walked over the bridge first. “A whole afternoon?”
Landon and her dad had a running commentary on who could pull together the fastest home-improvement jobs. Landon always took longer, so now he liked to guess at how quick her dad was.
“Two afternoons and one evening.” John pointed to a pile of lumber a few feet away. “I have enough to make it wider. One of these days you and Cole come over and we’ll make it a two-lane job.”
“Oh, boy!” Cole danced over the bridge to the other side of the stream and back again. “Let’s do it right now, Papa.”
Ashley could’ve watched them interact forever. But her dry lips were killing her. The past week had been cool and windy, and she tried to carry ChapStick with her wherever she went. This morning, though, she’d gone to church without it. “Hey, guys, I’ll be right back. I need to find something for my lips.”
She headed into the house and took a drink of water first. Then she walked upstairs to the guest bath near her parents’ bedroom. She sifted through the two drawers on the far side of the sink but found nothing. Her mother used to keep a stock of extra tubes of ChapStick or toothpaste or lotion in the drawers. Whatever she thought a guest might need. Now the drawers were mostly empty except for a few loose buttons and an old hairbrush.
She drifted into the hall and into her parents’ room. Surely her father would have something in his medicine cabinet or in one of the drawers in his bathroom. She went through the cabinet and spotted a tube of ChapStick right away.
She made an ahhh sound as she rubbed it onto her lips and stuck the tube into her pants pocket. She could get her dad a new one and a few extra while she was at it. Just to keep the guest bath stocked the way it should be.
Her lips feeling much better, she walked out of the bathroom and was about to breeze past her parents’ bed when she saw her mother’s box of letters sitting on the floor, with a few sheets of paper scattered next to it. A surge of joy came over her. Her father must’ve been starting the scrapbook project! Maybe it was a surprise, something for Christmas.
That must be it, because he hadn’t mentioned working on it. She moved a little closer, and for a moment she thought about taking a peek. What would it hurt? He was going to copy the letters for all of them to read, anyway. Couldn’t she sit down and look through a few of them? Just knowing that they had belonged to her mother made her want to touch them.
She eased herself onto the edge of her parents’ bed and peered into the box. It was full of letters with her mother’s handwriting. She reached for a letter on top, but something else caught her attention. On the floor beside the box was a manila envelope, and spilling out from it was another envelope with one word written on it:
Firstborn.
It was definitely her mother’s handwriting. Ashley frowned. Why would her mother write a special letter to Brooke? And why would it be here instead of at Brooke’s house? Then she considered something. Maybe the letter was intended for Brooke, but it never made it to her. Her father must’ve been going through the letters when he found it. He probably set it aside so he could remind himself to give it to her the next time she stopped by.
Well, she could do that one favor for her father. Besides, she’d probably see Brooke before he would. She took the envelope and tucked it under her arm. Then she reached into the box of letters. But as soon as she touched the one on top, she was overcome by guilt.
Her father had asked
her to stay out of the box. Going through the letters was something he wanted to do alone. She pulled her hand from the box of envelopes and stood up. Fine. If he wanted to go through them, she would let him. She would resist the urge to read them here, now, all by herself.
She took the letter marked Firstborn and returned to the kitchen. She slipped it safely inside her purse, making a mental note to let her dad know what she’d done. He’d be glad she found it, glad she was saving him the hassle of getting it to Brooke, where it belonged.
As she headed outside, she felt good about herself. She was right to resist reading the letters today. It was one way of respecting her father. And with all he was going through—fighting loneliness and trying to make his way with a new friend in his life—respecting her dad was the least she could do.
That and an occasional favor to help him out.
The filming was under way, but off camera nothing was going right.
Dayne grabbed a paper cup of lukewarm coffee from a portable dispenser and downed it in one gulp. They were smack in the middle of Main Street, not far from the Bloomington Community Theater. An old park lay sprawled out on one side, and a row of brick shops lined the street on the other side.
The scene was between the female lead—Kelly Parker—and her father. They were supposed to be running errands. Kelly was supposed to keep trying to tell her father she was leaving, that she’d taken a job in New York City. But time and again they would run into someone her father knew.
It was one of the movie’s early scenes, meant to show the relationship between the main character and her father and the fact that she feels both fondness and frustration about living in the same small town where she grew up.
The setting was perfect, and even the weather had cooperated. Sunshine streamed down on them despite a forecast of clouds and rain. But Dayne couldn’t shake the feeling of being caged, locked onto the location no matter what his heart wanted him to do.
He hadn’t done much but stay in his hotel Saturday and Sunday, and early Monday Kelly called his cell phone. She had arrived in Bloomington before the rest of the crew and wanted to see him. They spent the day walking around the location, checking angles and areas of interest, and talking about everything but the most important thing.
Finally Monday night she’d brought it up. “She must love living in a town like this.”
There was no point lying about it. He nodded. “Katy Hart, you mean?”
“Yes.” They were sitting across from each other at a diner near the back of the Holiday Inn. Occasionally someone would approach them and ask for an autograph. But the paparazzi still hadn’t shown up. Kelly pushed her fork around the inside of a baked potato. “So . . . did you see her?”
“I did. We hung out for a couple days.”
“What exactly . . . ?” Anger tightened Kelly’s mouth. She pressed her fingertips into her eyebrows and massaged them. When she dropped her hands to the table, she looked a little more controlled. Control was important to Kelly. “What does that mean—you hung out for a couple days? You mean you’ve been here having a tryst while I get ready for this movie of ours?”
“It wasn’t a tryst.” He was quick to defend Katy, but he had no intention of being honest. People in Hollywood weren’t honest, just careful. He took a bite of his burger, chewed it, and swallowed. “Katy’s not like that. We just talked and hung out.”
“Just . . . ?”
Dayne sighed. “What do you want from me, Kelly? I care about her. You know that. You know I offered her the part. But nothing happened between us, okay?”
“Why should I believe you?” She was losing her edge again. “You see a girl and you sleep with her, Dayne.” She waved her hand at him. “You spend time here where she lives and you expect me to believe nothing happened?”
He pushed his plate back, slammed his napkin down, and stood to leave. “Believe what you want, Kelly.”
They didn’t talk again until the meeting Tuesday morning. It was held in a private banquet room at the Marriott, where everyone was staying except Dayne. He’d arrived early to go over the location map with Mitch Henry, but there was no missing Kelly’s arrival. She was dressed in tight black pants and a form-fitting turtleneck, and even people who had seen her a hundred times and worked with her on previous films turned to appreciate her beauty.
Dayne saw her walk in, but her body caused him none of the usual thrill, and he turned away just as quickly.
“Talk to her, you idiot,” Mitch hissed at him. He folded the marked-up Bloomington map. “We’re finished here. Go on.”
“Fine.” Even then Dayne had felt caged, boxed in. Forced into a life that he no longer wanted. He took a seat near the back of the room, and Kelly spotted him. Her eyes told him she wasn’t interested in fighting.
“Hi.” Her word was almost too soft to hear, but she took the seat next to him. For a long time she looked at him, her eyes big and childlike. “I’m sorry.”
Dayne felt the tension from deep within. He shifted, hoping she couldn’t tell. He didn’t want another inquisition. “Me too.”
She put her hand on his knee. “I shouldn’t have pushed you last night. If you tell me something’s true, I have to believe it.”
“That’d be nice.” He gave her a partial grin, one that told her things were okay between them. People were still milling around, and there was an air of excitement in the room. It was always this way at the beginning of a shoot. He put his hand over hers. “The movie’s going to be great.”
“That’s what everyone’s saying.” She leaned in and kissed him. “It’s important that we’re okay, you know?”
A few months ago, he would’ve assumed she meant for her own well-being. Back then she’d been very needy, so bothered by the paparazzi that she wouldn’t leave her house without him by her side. But that had been changing in the weeks leading up to the film. She’d been out with her friends several times, and more than once the rumor mill linked her with his buddy Marc David.
When the dust settled and everything came to an end after filming Dream On, Kelly Parker would be just fine. He touched her hair. “We’re okay. Don’t worry.”
But now it was Wednesday, and he wasn’t sure he’d last two weeks here in Bloomington, minutes from Katy Hart. But he might as well have been on the other side of the world. Police tape cordoned off the area being used by the film crew, and along the perimeter were easily a hundred people with cameras. Some were locals who had come to see what all the fuss was about. Others were serious fans, no doubt.
A group of teenage girls moved along the yellow tape, trying to stay as close as they could to him. They carried an enormous cardboard sign that read “We drove four hours, Dayne Matthews. Give us a kiss!”
Another group of fortysomething women held a spot as close as they could get to the food table. Whenever Dayne breezed past for a bagel or a cup of coffee, they’d scream his name and act faint. They had a sign too. Theirs said “Desperate Housewives. Desperate for Dayne.”
Brother.
He wanted to duck under the tape and run until he found Katy, wherever she was this morning. Instead, he had to be aware of everything happening around him because a number of the people surrounding the taped perimeter were members of the press. The Bloomington paper was out and would stay on location every minute of the two-week shoot. Same for the Indianapolis papers. Both towns had television reporters standing by for possible live updates every hour.
But that wasn’t all. The paparazzi were here too. He recognized half a dozen of them, faces that had trailed him through the streets of Hollywood and hidden in bushes while he shared a sandwich with a friend. The bottom-feeders of the journalism pool.
Every move he made this week would be captured and chronicled for the gossip magazines. Was he in love with Kelly? Were they struggling? Was there tension? What did their body language suggest? Why didn’t he have that certain special look in his eyes the way they used to when they talked?
The camera
s would be clicking nonstop, and every photo needed a caption. He had an act to keep up for the fans also. If he smiled and waved and let them take pictures with him, the press would sing his praises: “Dayne Matthews Gives Fans Something to Cheer About!” But if he dared grab a sandwich without winking at the desperate housewives, he was doomed: “Dayne Matthews Snubs Fans at Location Shoot.”
For now he was trying to stay in the middle of the cordoned area, as close to Mitch Henry as possible. That way everyone would assume he was busy talking work. If he was half the actor everyone thought he was, then certainly he could convince them he was caught up in the filming. He didn’t want anyone to know the truth.
That he wanted to be anywhere but here.
“You with us today, Matthews?” Mitch checked his clipboard and shot him a quick look. “Where’re all the flashy Hollywood smiles the fans are used to?”
“I’m giving them.” He turned to the teenage girls and waved at them. They screamed and jumped, hugging each other and waving back. “See? Everything’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Mitch sounded disgusted. “But it’s going to be for these scenes. I’ll see to that.”
Dayne was up next, so he had no time to think about leaving. The sunlight was just right for the scene when he comes to the small town looking for Kelly, trying to understand why she’d come back home, hoping to talk her into returning to New York. It was a scene from the last half of the movie, but this was where it needed to be filmed, and with everything else lining up perfectly, Mitch had slated it next on the schedule.
Kelly was across the street in another cordoned-off area, talking with the actor who played her father. They’d finished one of their scenes. The others needed different lighting, so they’d wait until later in the day for those.
“Okay, Matthews, make the rounds.” Mitch nodded to the fans standing around the tape. The number had doubled since earlier that morning. “I need you on the set across the street in five.”
“Right.” He took a step away from the director, and already the girls behind him were screaming. With a practiced grin, he saluted Mitch and turned toward the food table. Along the way he spotted a few regulars from the paparazzi crew, and he stopped and smiled for them.
Forgiven Page 22
