Family

by Karen Kingsbury

  The color left Ashley’s cheeks. “You have?” She was motionless, probably trying to make sense of this newest detail. “How come you didn’t say anything before?”

  “He wants to meet you.” John rested his forearms on the table. “All of you. He knows your names and ages, who you’re married to, the names of your children. He knows everything.”

  Ashley stood. “Really?” She raised both hands and looked upward. “Thank You, God.” She made a sound that was mostly a laugh. Her words came faster than before. “So when’s the meeting? When are you going to tell the others? And why did he change his mind?”

  John felt his heart sink. Maybe telling her this much wasn’t such a good idea. “Sit down, honey. Please.”

  The smile stayed on her face, but she did as he asked. “I can’t believe this, Dad. . . . Tell me.”

  “It isn’t that easy, sweetheart.” He leaned closer, willing her to understand. “There are special circumstances. His life . . . his life is very different from ours. He hasn’t decided if it’d be good for us if we all met.”

  Ashley went limp against the back of the chair. “Of course it would be good.” She searched his face as if the entire conversation made no sense. “We aren’t asking him to move in with us. We want to meet him.” Her voice had grown loud, and she made an obvious effort to lower it. “You want to meet him, don’t you, Dad?”

  He’d told her this much. She might as well know as much truth as he could give her. “I have met him, Ash. I met him last month. He flew here, and we talked at the park downtown.”

  This time she looked as if she might pass out. “Wow.” She pursed her lips and exhaled. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  John picked up his fork and took a bite of salmon. It was colder than he liked it. The whole time he watched his daughter. “I’m telling you this now so you’ll see God’s working here. There’s progress.”

  Ashley seemed frozen in place. “You’re serious. You really met him?” She pushed back from the table. “What’s he like? Does he look like us?” She raked her fingers through the roots of her hair. “Dad, I have a hundred questions. Did you tell him about me, that I’m the only one who knows about him?”

  “I did.”

  “Okay . . . so, did you tell him I want to meet him?”

  This was harder than John had imagined. How could he keep up the facade when the truth was that Ashley had already met him? Dayne had given her a ride home from drama practice last fall. Both of them had spoken about the incident. God . . . help her understand. Let it all work out one day soon. He cleared his throat. “I told him. And he’s thinking about it.” He lowered his brow, pleading with her. “Keep praying, Ash. Really.”

  She hesitated. “So what’s he like?”

  “He’s nice.” John could see Dayne’s face, hear him the way he’d sounded in their recent conversations. “I think you’d like him.”

  A dozen curiosities danced in Ashley’s eyes. “Does he look like me or Brooke or who?”

  The question was easy. “He looks like Luke.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Ashley stared at him and then out the window. For nearly a minute she was quiet. “Pray, right? That’s what you want me to do?”

  “Yes, Ash.” John’s heart hurt. With everything inside him he wanted to tell her the whole truth. “Please understand.”

  She nodded and ate the rest of her lunch in silence. “I need to get back.” She stood and took both their empty plates to the kitchen sink. When they were rinsed and placed in the dishwasher, she turned to him. “Devin’ll be hungry.” She kissed his cheek. Her lips formed a smile, but her eyes remained flat. “Thanks for lunch.”

  “Ash, you’re mad.” He took tender hold of her hand. “Please don’t be upset. Things are moving in the right direction.”

  She looked deeply into his eyes for several seconds. Then the intensity of her expression eased. “Can I ask you one favor?”

  “Anything.” He hated the pain this was causing them both. How could he have known that his older son would be a top Hollywood movie star?

  “Tell the others they have another brother. As soon as possible.” Her tone was kinder now, imploring him to see the request as possible. “He could call today and tell you he’s ready to meet us.” She motioned toward the door. “But Brooke and Kari and Luke and Erin . . . they know nothing about him.” She paused. “You can’t wait until next spring, Dad. Please . . . tell them now.”

  John’s stomach flip-flopped. He wanted to argue that it was too soon, better to wait until their brother had made up his mind, until a decision had been reached. But in as much time as it took for the argument to flash across his mind, he knew she was right. What would Dayne think if he called and wanted to come for a visit, only to find out that John had dragged his feet in telling the others?

  Ashley leaned closer. “They’ll be okay, Dad. Nothing’s going to change the way they feel about you and Mom.” She smiled, and this time her eyes held the familiar glow. “Nothing ever could.”

  Her words infused a strength into his veins that surged through him and made the answer obvious. He nodded slowly, as if his body were still trying to imagine the possibility. “Okay.” He looked beyond her to the window. He felt like a man standing at the open door of an airplane ready to jump. God would have to provide the parachute. That much was sure. He met her eyes. “I’ll tell them.”

  “This week?” She gave him the same look she’d given him as a little girl when she hadn’t cleaned her room but wanted to spend the night at a friend’s house anyway. “Please . . .”

  This week, God? Without any time to get ready . . .

  My son, I am with you. . . .

  The silent exchange took only a moment, but it brought with it a peace and certainty John couldn’t deny. He put his arm around Ashley’s shoulders. This time he allowed the hint of a smile. “Yes.” He walked her to the door. “This week.”

  After she was gone, he stayed at the window and stared at the deep blue sky. There would never be an easy way to tell his adult children about their older brother. But it had to be done. He could write them each a letter, explain the situation the best way he knew how. Then he could ask them to call when they were ready to talk. He pictured Dayne, sitting beside Luke perhaps at this minute, the trial just getting under way. Yes, Ashley was right. He needed to get past this next step.

  The sooner the better.

  All night Dayne tried to think of a way to take the pressure off Katy.

  He was still thinking about it that morning when his attorney, Joe Morris, pulled up out front in a rented black Suburban. Dayne wore a dark Armani suit, a crisp white buttoned-down shirt, and a conservative Yves Saint Laurent tie. This wasn’t his typical about-town clothing, which meant the cameramen would be all the more anxious to get his picture. Maybe that would mean more attention aimed at him and less on Katy. At least he hoped so.

  He stepped out of his house and instantly heard the stir of photographers. Six of them lined his sidewalk, each with a camera aimed at him—the only paparazzi willing to give up a place in line at the courthouse for photos of him leaving his Malibu home. They fired a battery of questions at him.

  “Will the woman testify today or tomorrow?”

  “Is she staying at your house, Dayne?”

  “Dayne, who is she? What’s her name? How long have you two been dating?”

  He ignored all of them and slipped easily into the waiting SUV.

  Joe grinned at him. “Hope you brought your popcorn. The courthouse is a circus from what I hear.” He pointed to the cup holder adjacent to the front passenger seat. “I picked up Starbucks. Got you a venti double-vanilla latte. Your favorite.”

  Dayne snapped his seat belt in place. “A double?” He looked over his shoulder at the paparazzi, hurrying to their cars, anxious to follow him. “Pretty sure I don’t need a double shot to feel wired this morning.” He picked up the drink and breathed in the steam. “If I wind up on the ceiling,
you get to scrape me off.”

  “Whatever you need.” Joe had one hand on the wheel. He pulled onto Pacific Coast Highway, then glanced in his rearview mirror. “Wow.” He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “They’re out for blood today.”

  There was the sound of screeching tires behind them.

  Dayne didn’t turn around. “You got that right.” He let the warmth of his drink soak through his hands and into his body. “It’s no big deal. I’m used to it. Try to ignore them.”

  Joe’s eyes opened a little wider. He had no funny comeback, almost as if he hadn’t thought about that before. This was the life Dayne lived every day—not just when a big trial was about to begin.

  The attorney grew quiet and turned his attention entirely to the road. He deftly moved the Suburban through the morning traffic toward the criminal courts building. The crime had taken place outside the jurisdiction of Los Angeles, but early on both attorneys and a judge agreed that the trial would be better off in Los Angeles. If nothing more than for the fact that the LA courthouses could better handle the sheer volume of media interest.

  “You nervous?” Joe held his coffee in one hand. He took a quick drink and returned his cup to its place on the console.

  “No.” Dayne’s answer was sure, confident. “Should be an easy conviction.”

  “Yeah.” Joe glanced at him. “I meant about Katy Hart. You seem sort of distracted.”

  Dayne sighed. Was he that easy to read? He shifted so he could see his attorney better. “I’m worried about her.” Dayne hadn’t told his attorney about his deeper feelings for Katy, and for another five miles he wondered if he should. Joe was safe—he wouldn’t talk to the press. And if he knew, maybe he’d be more determined to help protect Katy. Besides, now that the photographers had photos, there was no point hiding the truth. “Hey, Joe . . . about Katy.”

  “I know. You want her shielded from the press.” He gave a quick nod. “I’ve got Luke Baxter on it.”

  His brother. Dayne wanted to laugh. How could any of this actually be happening? “Okay . . . but there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Joe gave him a longer look, one that told him this probably wasn’t the time for surprises. “I’m listening.”

  “Katy and I . . .” Dayne looked straight ahead. He waited a long time, trying to find the right words. Finally he uttered a single laugh. “There’s no other way to say it. I’m crazy about her, Joe. I’m in love with her. Seriously.” He could hear the amazement in his own voice. He hadn’t been this straightforward with anyone but John Baxter. “I’ve had feelings for her ever since I met her.” There was no stopping now. The truth spilled out like water from a dam. “A couple photographers caught us last night on the beach. It was just a quick kiss, but it’s on camera.”

  Joe let out a low whistle. “It’ll be in every gossip magazine within a week.”

  “I know.” Dayne made a face intended to show Joe his dilemma. “That’s why I need your help. Yours and Luke’s—anyone who can keep the spotlight off her.”

  “But if you’re dating, it’ll be out soon enough any—”

  “We’re not.” Dayne’s answer was quick. “She’s the director of a Christian Kids Theater group. We live and work in different worlds.”

  Joe’s brow was twisted, his expression confused. He shot Dayne a look. “I thought you said you love her.”

  Dayne felt the conflict stronger than he had in a month. “I do.” He looked straight ahead again. “It’s something we have to work through.”

  “Sounds like it.” Joe thought a moment. “And you want to work it out away from the magnifying glass of the paparazzi, is that it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “All right, no problem. The plan’s simple. Between Luke and myself, we’ll stage press conferences, do what we can to keep feeding them nonstories.” Joe hesitated. “Before lunch I want you to put together a list of things I can tell the press—her name, age, pieces of her background I can mention. That might keep them occupied for a while.”

  It was exactly what Dayne had been thinking. “I’ll get it to you before we break today.” The details would be very general, but it was a good strategy. Make the media think they were getting something, even though the information would be less than they’d find on their own. “I think it could work . . . make it easy for them.”

  “You got it, Dayne.” Joe was a fast thinker, a man whose mind was in a dozen places at once. His certainty made the situation with Katy feel a little less complicated.

  Dayne leaned back in his seat and felt himself relax. Joe would handle it. He was the attorney, after all. He didn’t need to understand Dayne’s personal life or the decisions he made. He was paid to handle whatever Dayne threw at him.

  The rest of the ride Joe went on about a high-profile case in New York City involving a former Hollywood star accused of murdering his wife.

  Dayne didn’t really listen. With every mile he felt himself growing anxious again. What if feeding the press didn’t work? What if the gossip rags still dug, and Katy’s entire life was laid bare for the country to examine?

  Joe was talking about penalties and prison sentences, the fact that the former Hollywood star could face a life term.

  Dayne nodded at the appropriate times, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how crazy his life was becoming. He was holding long conversations with John Baxter, sharing his feelings about Katy Hart and the pressure of the paparazzi and his thoughts about getting to know his siblings. When he thought about John now, it was as a son thinks of his father. But was their relationship and the one he shared with Katy all little more than make-believe? Would there ever come a day when he could call John Baxter and say the words that were growing in his soul? “Hey, Dad . . . it’s me, Dayne.” And that was only a fraction of what was consuming him.

  Not only would he need to do everything possible to keep the attention off Katy, but throughout the proceedings he would be sitting next to his brother, Luke Baxter. The people in his attorney’s office were right. The resemblance between him and Luke was uncanny. If the media hounds looked hard enough, they were bound to at least joke about the fact that Dayne and his attorney’s assistant looked alike.

  All of it felt like a twisted movie plot, and combined with the double latte, his heart was pumping hard and fast by the time they arrived in front of the Criminal Courts Building. Spectators stood in large groups on either side of the street, and a swarm of media vans with ten-foot-high antennas was gathered near the courthouse entrance. Police were stationed every twenty feet, keeping the crowd in check and holding the public at bay.

  Joe surveyed the situation. “Luke Baxter’s bringing Katy in through the back door. They should be inside by now.” He looked at Dayne. “You can enter wherever you want, but I’ve got police clearance to park in front.”

  “Let’s do it.” Dayne studied the throng of reporters camped on both sides of the main sidewalk. “Anything to keep the attention on me.” He clenched his jaw, ready for whatever they threw at him. “It’s my trial, my problem. The psycho would’ve killed anyone to get to me. None of this is about Katy Hart.”

  Joe pulled up as close as he could to the curb. An officer came toward them, and Joe rolled down his window. “I’ve got Dayne Matthews.”

  The officer peered into the Suburban and nodded at Dayne. “Sorry about the chaos.”

  “No problem.” Dayne grinned. It was time to be on. “Thanks for holding a spot for us.”

  “Happy to help.” The officer leaned a little closer to the window. He held out a pad of paper and a pen. “I hate to ask . . . but could you sign an autograph for my wife?” A sheepish grin lifted his otherwise serious face. “Her name’s Kathy with a K.”

  “Sure thing.” Dayne reached across Joe, signed the paper, and handed it back. “Hey—” he flashed his silver-screen smile at the guy—“we might need some help getting one of the witnesses out later on.” He nodded at Joe. “Can my attorney be in touch with
you after lunch? Maybe make special arrangements?”

  “You got it, Mr. Matthews.” The officer straightened and took on an authoritative look again. “Whatever you need.” He took a few steps back and motioned for Joe to park the Suburban.

  Joe winked at Dayne. “Nice work.”

  The moment Joe killed the engine, they slipped out and headed up the walkway—Joe slightly ahead. Like the depositions in January, Joe straight-armed the crowd, his face grim. He and his famous client took the matter of a knife-bearing fan very seriously.

  A CBS newscaster stepped in front of them. “Dayne . . . what’s your hope for the outcome of the trial?”

  At the same time a woman with a CNN microphone separated herself from the crowd. “Do you think the obsession with celebrity has gotten out of hand, and what should Hollywood do about it?”

  Joe waved and shouted, “I have an announcement!”

  A hundred cameras were aimed at Dayne, and each of them continued to click. But otherwise a hush fell over the throng.

  Joe cupped his mouth so he could be heard. “I’m Dayne Matthews’ attorney. He is a witness in this trial, and as such he cannot be interviewed yet. I’ll hold a press conference later today on the front steps of the courthouse. When we have a verdict, Dayne will meet with you and answer your questions at that time.” He waved off what was an immediate response from the crowd. “Thank you.”

  Dayne was impressed. As they climbed the steps he leaned in close to Joe. “Nice work yourself.”

  Joe grinned at him. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

  Dayne glanced back as they headed through the double doors. The press was packing up, hurrying along behind them. The situation was about to get difficult. It was one thing to walk through a mob of media on a courthouse lawn. Katy hadn’t had to face a single one of them. But once they were in the courtroom, the press would fill every available space. Then it would be only a matter of time before Katy and her identity were made known to the world.