Family

by Karen Kingsbury

  They went inside, and there on the kitchen table was a breakfast spread. She grinned, feeling the fear leave her, and stared out the window. The Pacific lay spread out in an endless, brilliant blue, sparkling with a million diamonds from the morning sun. In this light, the water looked even closer to the beach house than before. “Dayne . . . it’s like a dream.”

  “Yes.” He touched her chin. He wasn’t taking in any of the scenery outdoors. “Having you here, Katy. That’s the dream.”

  The day unfolded just that way—like something they might’ve imagined but never thought possible. After breakfast they went outside and set up their towels on a pair of chaise longues near the shore. The waves came in harder, and the sound was mesmerizing.

  Katy didn’t have her swimsuit, but her shorts and tank top gave her the chance to soak in the sun, same as Dayne. She tried not to notice his tanned chest or the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he shifted or took a drink of his water. They spent two hours mostly sleeping, enjoying the feel of the sun and the breeze and the occasional spray from the ocean.

  At lunchtime Dayne brought out a picnic basket and a blanket. They played backgammon and ate chicken sandwiches and grapes, the whole time avoiding the one topic that absolutely had to be dealt with—what was going to become of them after today?

  The afternoon sun was more intense, and they both slathered on sunscreen and played a rousing game of Frisbee in the foamy surf.

  “You’re pretty good for an Indiana girl,” Dayne called to her across the beach. His smile lit up her heart.

  Her laugh came easily. “You forget I spend most of my time around kids, and these days—” she flung the Frisbee back at him in a perfect throw—“every time kids get together, a game of Ultimate Frisbee breaks out.”

  “And my little miss Katy Hart is right there at the center of the action, no doubt.” He tossed the disk back to her, but it got caught in the wind and headed over knee-deep water.

  She ran for it, her bare feet springing through the water. “I’ll get it.” Before she could snag it from the air, she heard footsteps behind her, loud splashing footsteps.

  Dayne bounded over to her, grabbed the Frisbee with his left hand, then with his right, caught her by the waist and fell alongside her into the surf.

  “Dayne—” The water hit her in the face. It was so cold it took her breath away, but after an hour of playing Frisbee in the hot sun, the feeling was wonderful.

  He had her by the hand and led her farther out. “You can’t spend a day at the beach and not get wet!” He laughed and shook his hair at her, spraying water on her face.

  A small wave was building ten feet away, and it crashed down on them, knocking them to their knees and leaving them drenched.

  Katy worked her way back to her feet. “Okay . . .” She was laughing, winded, but she felt more alive than she had in a long time. “Enough!”

  Dayne was on his feet, and he pulled her into his arms. For a moment, she thought he was going to knock her into the water again, but suddenly the waves and the water, the silly game they were playing—all of it was forgotten. His hands encircled her waist, and hers came up around his neck. He was warm against her, and the feeling made her dizzy.

  “Katy . . . don’t ever leave me.” He kissed her, and the salt water mixed with the heat of the kiss sent sensations through her she’d never felt before. He held her closer, kissed her longer this time. When he drew back, there was a desire in his eyes that was unmistakable. “Don’t run from me.”

  She had to lighten the moment, had to do something or she might never come up for air. After one more kiss and then another, she squirmed from his arms. “Like this, you mean?” She took a few light steps parallel to the surf and sprayed him with water. “Come on, Dayne.” She could feel her eyes dancing. “You already know I’m going to run.” She took another few steps. “The question is, are you willing to chase me?”

  She took off, and he came up fast behind her. She could feel herself about to be leveled into the water, but instead of tackling her, he ran past her toward the crashing surf.

  “Look.” He pointed at the red disk floating farther down the beach. “We forgot the Frisbee.” He ran after it, snagged it, and threw it to her—just far enough that she had to run out of the water toward the sand to catch it.

  She did, and then she took a few steps and dropped it on the beach. Her body was hot and cold at the same time, and she ached to be in his arms again. She bent over, her hands on her knees.

  “You okay?” He jogged back through the surf toward her, intentionally splashing her as he came closer.

  She lifted her head and grinned at him. “It’s colder than it looks.”

  “Yeah.” He was out of breath, the desire in his eyes replaced with something more lighthearted. “I forgot to tell you that.”

  She flicked a bit of water at his face as she straightened. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Come on.” He took her hand. “Let’s go warm up.”

  They were walking back to their chairs when Katy heard a helicopter. She stopped and peered toward the southern sky. “What’s that?”

  “No . . .” Dayne slowed his steps. He squinted in the same direction. “There’re two of them.” He hesitated. “That isn’t good.”

  “It’s not paparazzi, right, not in helicopters?” They reached their chairs. Katy snatched her towel and wrapped it around her arms. The sound of the aircraft was ominous, warlike. As if they’d been caught in the middle of a battlefield without any weapons or form of protection.

  “The tabloids do it all the time. Someone tips them off about a wedding or a meeting at the beach, and they grab a chopper. Quickest way to get a picture, and they can cover a lot more ground.”

  Fear choked out every wonderful thing Katy had been feeling. She shaded her eyes, watching the helicopters. They were approaching faster than before. She squinted at Dayne. “You’re serious?”

  He grabbed the picnic basket and wrapped his own towel around his shoulders. “Get your things. Come on.”

  The helicopters were closing in, and suddenly they had no time. Dayne took her hand and began jogging toward the house, and somehow she matched his pace. The pulsating sound of the choppers drowned out every other sound on the beach. Katy looked up in time to see the first one hovering almost directly over their beach chairs. A camera lens poked through the open door, aimed straight at them.

  “Don’t look,” Dayne shouted, his words barely loud enough to be heard.

  Her heart pounded, but she turned away and put every bit of effort into following him up the steps of the house and through the back door. They dropped their things, and she fell against the wall, gasping for air.

  Dayne ran to the far side of the window and began pulling the cords on the blinds. “From a chopper—” he was out of breath too—“they can see straight into the house.” He worked the blinds until they were shut; then he did the same to the kitchen window and the one on the street side of the house.

  When every window was covered, he came to her and faced the wall. She leaned her head back, still struggling to draw a normal breath. He only looked at her and shook his head. Then he raised his arm against the wall, resting his forehead in the crook of his elbow. “I can’t believe this.”

  She couldn’t either. It had happened so fast. One minute they were enjoying the rarest of chances, a day alone on the beach without anyone bothering them, without any fear of cameras or paparazzi. And the next they were running for what? For their privacy? For their sanity? “How . . . how did they find us?”

  “Who knows?” He turned around and rested his back against the wall. “I swear, they’re bloodsuckers. It’s never . . . ever enough.”

  She could feel him breathing hard beside her. Her heart was still racing, but at least they’d been close enough to get inside quickly. “Did they get pictures?”

  “Definitely.” He grabbed at his hair and made a frustrated sound. “How could I be so stupid? I should’ve bee
n watching for them.”

  Slowly the reality was hitting Katy. Obviously the helicopters had snuck up on them while they were in the water. The combination of the sounds of the surf and the wind and their laughter was enough to keep them from hearing the helicopters. She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “You . . . think they took pictures of us in the water?”

  He sighed and turned toward her, his shoulder pressed to the wall. “I hope not.” He winced. “But the cameras they use could’ve caught us from pretty far out.”

  “And just now?”

  “Absolutely. They’ll have a hundred pictures of us running up the beach.” He threw his hands in the air. “Sometimes I think it’s better to stop and wave at them, rather than give them a picture like that one.” He gritted his teeth. “I mean, come on. We have nothing to hide.”

  She wanted to say he was only half-right. He had nothing to hide. He was used to seeing his face plastered across the tabloids at every supermarket checkout across the nation. But she was terrified at the idea. They had spent two days telling the world they were only friends, and now . . . now there would be enough photos to convince anyone that they’d been lying. Even so, the news would do nothing to hurt Dayne. No, she was the one with everything to lose.

  He touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry. What I said . . . that wasn’t fair.” He raked his fingers through his wet hair. “Your privacy means the world to me, Katy.”

  They could hear the helicopters outside, still circling, looking for a crack in the blinds, some way to capture whatever was happening inside the beach house. It was an hour before the sound of them faded entirely. By then she and Dayne had changed into dry clothes and taken up places next to each other on the soft leather sofa.

  “Does that mean it’s safe?” Katy peeked out of the shades. Two cars were parked across the street, where before there’d been none.

  “Of course not.” Dayne looked out. “Once one of them sniffs out a story, the rest aren’t far behind. They’ve probably got us circled by now.”

  “So what do we do?” She was shivering, in part because she was still cold from the dampness. But more because it was a strange feeling, being trapped in a house while rabid strangers lay in wait for them. Never mind that their weapons were cameras and not knives. They weren’t in danger, but the end result was almost as unnerving as if Margie Madden was out there with them.

  Dayne had been quiet and edgy since they’d been forced inside. Now he let his head fall back against the sofa, and he looked at her. “We outlast them.” A weak smile tugged at his lips. “We eat dinner and watch a movie, and when it’s late enough, I’ll take you home.”

  The plan worked for a while. They ate and talked about the trial and tried not to think about the people with cameras probably camped around the beach house. Afterwards, Dayne found a VHS tape of Fletch, an old Chevy Chase comedy. Once it was on, he took a cozy, thick blanket from the top of a nearby chair. He sat next to her and spread it over their legs.

  Somehow being alone with him didn’t feel alluring now—knowing that people were gathered outside, watching the house. They held hands and tried to get caught up in the movie. But never did either of them laugh, even at the funny parts.

  The movie was half-over when there was a loud rap on the door. “Dayne!” a man yelled. He banged the door and shook the knob.

  Katy gasped and grabbed hold of Dayne’s arm. “He’s trying to break in.”

  “He can’t.” Dayne slid to the edge of the sofa.

  “Come on!” Another several loud bangs on the door. “Let us get our pictures, and we’ll get out of your way.”

  Dayne pointed down the hallway. “Go, Katy. Hide in one of the rooms.”

  Her heart was pounding. The whole thing felt like a scene from a horror film. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m getting rid of them.” He pointed again. “Please, Katy. Go.”

  She was about to protest when the man outside banged the door again, even harder than before. The sound shot Katy up and off the couch. She hurried down the hall and ducked into a bathroom. The only room without a window. She kept the door open a crack so she could hear what was happening.

  It occurred to her that she should’ve grabbed her cell phone in case Dayne fell into trouble or the man didn’t leave easily. She leaned against the counter and closed her eyes. God . . . protect him. Protect us both, please. . . .

  Daughter, I am with you.

  The words echoed in her heart and gave her a reason to hang on. She focused all her energy on listening to what was happening in the next room. First she heard Dayne open the door, and at the same time she heard pounding feet outside. Whoever had been at the door must’ve run. But then she heard a burst of camera clicks and Dayne shouting, “Get off my property . . . now!”

  From the distance someone shouted, “Where is she, Dayne? We want Katy Hart.”

  “Listen. I’m calling the police.” She hadn’t heard this much anger in Dayne’s voice ever. “Any of you still here when the police pull up, I’ll press charges.” He slammed the door.

  Over the next minute, Katy heard the slamming of car doors and the squealing of tires. She couldn’t help but smile at Dayne’s good work. Another minute passed, and then she heard him close the front door.

  “Katy?”

  She stepped out of the bathroom and squinted in the light. “Did they all leave?”

  “The nasty ones.” He held his hands out to her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know.” She came to him, put her arms around him. She was worn out from the feeling of being pursued, a feeling that hadn’t left her since she first saw the helicopters. She let herself fall against him. “I’m exhausted. Maybe you should take me back.”

  “The problem is—” he kissed the top of her head—“I can’t be sure they’re gone. Not all of them.”

  She tried to imagine what would happen if they left the house together now. The cameras would catch them, and the story would write itself. Katy Hart and Dayne Matthews, holed up in a beach house together all day. No one would have to ask what they were doing. If Dayne Matthews was involved—the Dayne the public still knew him to be—the answer was obvious.

  “Maybe I could slip out first. Or you could,” Katy said.

  “It wouldn’t matter. They’d get the picture of us in the car, pulling away.” He frowned and looked over his shoulder at the front door. “I don’t want to give them the satisfaction.”

  Katy didn’t either, but she was tired and frazzled, too much to enjoy herself another minute. “So we wait?”

  “Awhile.” He led her back to the couch. “It’s ten o’clock. Let’s watch TV, and in an hour I’ll go out and see if anyone’s stirring.”

  “Okay.” She settled next to him and pulled the blanket up around their chests. “I’m sorry about all this, the trouble I’m causing.”

  “It’s not you.” He put his arm around her and ran his fingers through her hair. “I told you before, this is about me.”

  “But you’re used to them.” She snuggled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. “If I didn’t care about staying out of the tabloids, we could do what you said earlier. Smile and wave and that would be the end of it.”

  “No, Katy. Where paparazzi are concerned, there’s never an end to it.”

  He turned on ESPN and they watched SportsCenter. She nodded off for part of it, and when she opened her eyes, he was watching country music videos. “I think I fell asleep.”

  “You did.” He kissed the top of her head again. He seemed more interested in protecting her than making a pass at her.

  Katy was glad. “We haven’t talked about what happens next.”

  “We don’t have to.” Dayne held her close, easing her head back to his shoulder. “If you run, I’ll follow you.” There was a smile in his voice. “Just like earlier.”

  A mellow song was playing on the television, and she nodded off again. The frenzied feeling from earlier faded. It felt nice, sitting
beneath a blanket, her head on Dayne’s shoulder. As another hour passed, the last thing she wanted to do was leave. Even if the paparazzi had packed up and gone home.

  Eleven became midnight, and sometime later she opened her eyes and realized what had happened. Dayne had turned off the television, and he was asleep, leaning on the arm of the sofa. His hand was around her waist, and her head was still on his shoulder. His breathing came in slow, even measures.

  Panic grabbed hold of her. They’d lost track of time, and now what? She was about to wake him up when she realized there was no point. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her. They were simply two people who’d been chased from late afternoon on and needed a chance to get beyond their exhaustion. She settled her head back against his shoulder, and within minutes she was asleep again.

  The next time she opened her eyes, sunshine was streaming through the cracks in the blinds.

  Dayne must’ve sensed her being awake, because he stirred and opened his eyes. In a rush, his eyes opened wider than before, and he leaned up on his elbow. “Katy! It’s morning!”

  “I know.” She smiled, watching him react to the situation the same way she had. “It’s okay.” She rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t want to go anyway.”

  The couch was comfortable enough that they’d slept soundly, without ever stretching out. But now she felt his body ease in along hers. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Mmm.” This was wrong, lying here with him now that they were both awake. It was probably wrong to do so last night when they were only sitting. But she couldn’t help herself.

  “I didn’t want you to leave either.” He played with a strand of her hair, and for the sweetest moment he kissed her. But then, as if something had struck him deep inside, he tossed the blanket to the floor, stood, and stretched. “I’m making coffee.”

  Katy let herself sink into the sofa. She felt humiliated, angry at herself. She never should’ve allowed herself to fall asleep on his shoulder. In the middle of the night she could’ve woken him and asked that he take her home. What must he think of her now? That she wasn’t the person he thought her to be?