Family

by Karen Kingsbury

  Cole gave a serious nod. “Yeah, but more for us kids, right? Since grown-ups don’t eat much popcorn.”

  John chuckled. “We’ll see.”

  “Come on, Jessie.” Maddie turned and motioned to her cousin. “Let’s help Cole.”

  They ran off, and Ashley leaned toward John, her eyes shining. “You’re the best grandpa ever, Dad. Just thought I’d tell you.”

  He smiled and patted her hand. “The kids make it easy.”

  The coordinator for Christian Kids Theater took the stage and explained that the show would start in a few minutes. “Please turn off cell phones and cameras.” She smiled. “And let me take this time to tell you a little about the CKT summer schedule. . . .”

  Bethany Allen’s spiel gave John a chance to turn around and check the balcony, the place where Dayne would be if he’d come. He wanted to be here; he’d told John as much a few days ago when they last talked. “I haven’t missed a show in a while.” He sounded torn about the situation. “But I’m pretty sure we’re having a prepub party that night.”

  Dayne’s tone had reminded John about the strange life his firstborn son led, the very public nature of it. If he was attending a prepublicity party, then no doubt the pictures would grace the covers of every tabloid for the next week. Part of the plan certainly. But that hadn’t been all that was troubling Dayne. “I’m not sure I can keep up the pace.” He had sounded tired, drained. “The new film hasn’t even begun, and the paparazzi won’t quit.”

  Then he talked about something he hadn’t shared before. He and Katy had been chased by cameramen before Katy returned home. “We were nearly killed.” Defeat rang in his tone. “That’s when I knew.”

  “Knew?” John had been outside, checking on the fish in his pond. He waited for Dayne’s answer.

  “That’s when I knew I had to let her go. It’s one thing for me to live this crazy life, but Katy . . . she never asked for this.” There was heartbreak in his voice.

  John hurt for the pain his son was in. “You don’t mean you’re thinking of letting her go forever . . . do you?”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to do. Maybe I’m supposed to love her enough to let her go, let her have the life she’s used to living.”

  The conversation faded, and the kids returned with the popcorn. At the same time, Katy Hart buzzed across the front of the theater and up a set of stairs toward her spot in a box on the left side of the theater balcony, the place she’d sat for every performance John had ever attended. He watched her, tried to imagine what she might be feeling.

  He didn’t know Katy well, but he couldn’t imagine that she was happy with the way things had ended in Los Angeles. Dayne had talked about how close they’d become, how he’d never felt for anyone what he felt for Katy. Every indication suggested she felt the same way for him.

  She took her seat, and John was almost certain he saw her turn and look across the theater at the spot where Dayne might’ve been sitting. Yes, she was dressed nicely for the opening of the play—wearing a stylish summer skirt. But her glances at the empty seat across the theater told a different story.

  John exhaled and looked down at his knees. God, You’ve made me a perceptive man, able to know my kids’ hearts long before they are sometimes willing to share with me. Now, God, Katy Hart isn’t my daughter, but I know she must be hurting. So especially tonight, Father, will You put Your arms around her and let her know You love her? He paused as the houselights dimmed and the stage lights came to life. And give her answers about Dayne, Lord. He loves her so much. Thanks ahead of time, Lord. Amen.

  John looked at the stage, and a sense of expectation began to build inside him. He loved the old C. S. Lewis classic, the idea of children discovering the fictitious kingdom of Narnia.

  The curtain rose and the play started. The CKT kids did a wonderful job telling the early part of the story. With their father fighting in a war and their mother worried about their safety, the four children travel together to a safer house, a place in the country owned by a professor. The point was to establish the characters and the grand old house where they quickly find a mysterious wardrobe.

  But John wasn’t thinking about the story. The four children of Narnia reminded him of his own kids and how they’d stuck together through the revelation that they had an older brother. They were grounded in faith and in their love for him and their mother. He glanced down the row at Ashley and Landon, holding hands, with Cole now tucked beneath Landon’s other arm. A few spots down the row Ryan had his arm around Kari, the two of them cuddled close as they watched the play.

  He’d heard from Luke nearly every day, and Erin seemed to be coming to grips with the fact that Elizabeth hadn’t been willing to share about Dayne.

  Brooke, John’s most analytical daughter, had been talking with the others in a straightforward way about the reality of having an older brother. “The important thing is that we figure out what’s holding him back and make a connection with him,” she’d told John yesterday. “He has his own life, but it would be healthy for all of us to meet.”

  John leaned back against the padded seat and smiled. Onstage, the four siblings were linking arms and walking slowly toward the wooden wardrobe. The bond between them was emotional and physical, one that nothing could tear apart.

  Same as his children.

  Yes, the news about Dayne had been difficult for them. But they would be fine even if they’d been thrust into a brand-new world—one they’d never anticipated, one with a brother they hadn’t known existed, and one with experiences they had never counted on. They would cope because they were rooted in love, and love would be enough to see them through no matter what lay on the other side of the wardrobe. Same as love was seeing them through this—one of the most trying seasons of their lives. And because of love—God’s love—they could all be sure that one day the difficult times would pass.

  And like the four children, they’d live together in Narnia forever.

  The play was going beautifully, even if every few minutes Katy checked what she could see of the opposite balcony and the empty seat she’d purchased. She had taken a seat a few feet from where she usually sat so she would see if he showed up. Just in case.

  It was almost intermission. Katy sat on the edge of her seat, the way she always did for opening night. Often it was at this point in the play run that she would celebrate God’s goodness in bringing their show together, and tonight was no different. By now she knew every line, every word, every voice inflection, and every movement. From the opening scene when the children arrive at the professor’s house to the entrance of the White Witch, the kids had pulled off a nearly perfect performance so far.

  The child playing Edmund was doing a brilliant job, and now he was onstage stepping precariously over frozen statues of those who had tried to oppose the witch. The scene was a perfect cliff-hanger, and as it ended—with Edmund about to knock on the witch’s door—Katy could feel the audience’s excitement over what came next.

  There was a tug at her elbow, and she turned.

  “Katy.” It was Audrey Johnson, a precocious girl who had starred in previous CKT plays. This time Audrey’s schedule hadn’t allowed her to try out, but she was staying involved by ushering. Her eyes were wide, and shock filled her expression. She swallowed. “Alice Stryker’s in the lobby. She wants to see you.”

  Katy stood, confused. “Okay.” Audrey was ever the drama queen, but this time she seemed truly troubled. “Why the serious face?”

  “Because . . .” Audrey drew out the moment. “She has another family with her, and they have a girl. A girl about Sarah Jo’s age.” Her eyes grew watery. “I think . . . I think it’s the girl.”

  Understanding came over Katy, and she felt the shock work its way through her. She gave Audrey’s hand a quick squeeze. “Tell Mrs. Stryker I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Audrey ran off, and Katy dropped slowly to her seat. What had Alice said a while ago? Katy thought hard.
She’d been busy, running from one group of kids to another, trying to work out the last-minute kinks in the play. Then she remembered. Alice had told her that the girl who’d received Sarah Jo’s eyes and her family would be attending a performance of Narnia. This could be the girl.

  Katy closed her eyes, and she was there again, sitting in the coffee shop with Rhonda, when Bethany had called.

  The news had been terrible. Alice Stryker had taken her two kids and the two Hanover kids out for pizza after auditions for Annie, and on their way home they’d been hit head-on by a drunk driver. Everyone in Alice’s van had been seriously injured, but little Ben Hanover had been killed, and within a week they had also lost sweet Sarah Jo, Alice’s twelve-year-old daughter, the girl who had brilliantly played Becky Thatcher in CKT’s Tom Sawyer production.

  The tragedy had thrust Katy and the drama kids into the most difficult season of their lives, one that culminated in a trip to a lonely jail cell where three van loads of kids each extended forgiveness to the teenage drunk driver. Some of the kids still made trips to the jail to visit the boy.

  Katy shuddered at the memory of that difficult time and pressed her fingers to her eyes. She could see it still, the Flanigans’ great room filled to overflowing with almost a hundred CKT kids, all of them looking for a place to grieve, for answers to the questions that hurt so badly. Tim Reed, who had starred as Tom Sawyer in the same play, had led the group in a few songs and a prayer for understanding, for something good to come of the terrible loss.

  One answer seemed to come that very night. Katy and the CKT staff received news that Sarah Jo’s eyes had been donated to a girl about the same age in Indianapolis. A girl with a dream of being onstage but who desperately needed her vision. Over time, Alice Stryker—who prior to the accident had been an intolerable stage mom—began attending Bible studies at the Flanigans’ house. On a couple occasions, Katy heard that Alice was in touch with the family of the girl who had received Sarah Jo’s eyes.

  Katy lowered her hands and looked up at the dusty rafters of the old theater. God . . . if that little girl is down in the lobby, I need Your help, Your strength. I can’t break down and cry, not with all the parents standing around, not on opening night. Please, God . . . help me hide my emotions until later. When it’s just You and me.

  A sense of strength filled her. She could do this, even on a night when her emotions were already running high. She drew a long breath, held it, and—moving a little slower than usual—she headed downstairs to the lobby.

  Katy surveyed the crowd. People stood in clusters, eating popcorn and candy, smiling and laughing and talking in animated conversations—probably about the first half of the play. Any other opening night and one look at the crowd would’ve sent happy chills down Katy’s spine. The house was sold out; the crowd was upbeat. The show run was bound to be a success.

  But now all of that was secondary to finding Alice Stryker and her guests. Katy searched the crowd, looking past the Shaffers and Picks and Reeds and Johnsons, past the Taylors and Kohls and a dozen other familiar faces of kids and families who had been in one CKT show or another.

  And then, near the side door, she spotted Alice. She was talking to a couple and a young girl, a girl with long brown hair whose back was turned toward Katy.

  Katy exhaled. Okay . . . strength, God. Please. On the way across the lobby, she was stopped by several people.

  “Amazing show so far!” Bill Shaffer patted her on the back. He had his big Nikon camera around his neck. “I got some great shots in the greenroom during circle-up time.”

  “Thanks, Bill.” Katy smiled big and kept walking. Bill put together a scrapbook after each show, one that was kept at the CKT office. Normally, Katy would’ve stayed and asked more questions, looked at the shots on his digital camera. But not tonight.

  She made it past another few groups before she came alongside Alice Stryker. “Hi!” she kept her tone upbeat, her gaze entirely on Alice. “Audrey said you were looking for me.”

  “Yes.” There was a mix of emotions on Alice’s face. Joy and awe and sadness all mingled into a sweetness that seemed to shine from somewhere deep in her soul. She ushered Katy into the group and motioned toward the threesome she’d been talking to. “This is the Bell family. Len, Sue, and their daughter, Cassie.”

  Katy shook hands with the couple, but when she got to Cassie she felt her heart skip a beat. There was something familiar about the girl’s eyes. No doubt this was the girl. Katy kept her smile but looked quickly at the girl’s mother. “What’d you think of the first half?”

  “Fantastic.” She put her arm around her daughter. “In fact—” she grinned at her husband—“we’re moving to Bloomington later this summer. Cassie would like to try out for the fall show.”

  Katy felt like she was hiking through sand in high elevation. Her mind turned somersaults, and she couldn’t catch a full breath. She was careful not to look at Cassie. “How . . . how wonderful.”

  “It is wonderful.” Alice couldn’t have looked happier. “Sarah Jo would be so glad for Cassie.”

  Suddenly Katy was certain she would faint there on the weathered wooden floor if she didn’t get some air. Tears threatened to fill her eyes, so she blinked fast several times. The girl’s parents were talking, and Katy nodded and smiled and made a minute’s more small talk. Finally, when she had no other choice without being rude, she let her eyes find Cassie’s. “I guess we’ll see you in the fall.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The girl was petite and somewhat frail looking. But there was no getting past the grin on her face. Whatever her story, the next chapter looked brighter than the sun reflecting off Lake Monroe.

  Katy made a quick exit from the group and stopped just once, pretending to check a poster on the wall, before stepping out the side door and collapsing against the cool brick building. It was dark outside, and the street was empty. Katy looked up and savored the feel of the evening breeze against her hot cheeks.

  Cassie Bell was going to be a CKT kid? How would that work, when word was bound to get out and everyone in the theater group would know she was the girl, the one who . . .

  God, help me. . . . Katy looked down at her feet and steadied herself. She couldn’t bring herself to think about it, let alone look at the girl. It felt wrong somehow. Too sad that a part of Sarah Jo lived on when she no longer had the chance. How would it feel seeing Cassie onstage, the place where Sarah Jo had shone so brightly, and knowing that her death had given Cassie the chance to perform?

  Her stomach hurt. She thought about Cassie, her pale face and frail frame. Katy hadn’t given her much of a welcome, not really. But it had been all she could do to keep from crying in the few minutes they’d had together. Crying and gaping at the girl in shock and running from the lobby as fast as she could. How was she going to spend an entire season working with her?

  Katy released a shaky breath and straightened herself. God, I don’t know how to feel about this. . . . Sarah Jo should be here, not . . . not someone with her eyes. So, help me, please. You’ve brought her here for a reason. She looked up again. Clouds blocked the stars and moon, and the darkness felt thick around her. Help me get past whatever it is I’m feeling. Please . . .

  Daughter, My ways are not your ways. I make all things beautiful in My time.

  Peace put its warm arms around Katy’s shoulders. The words sounded clear and distinct in her heart, almost as if God Himself were standing beside her whispering them. The thought was something she’d read in Ecclesiastes not long ago. In the section about how there was a time for everything. The Lord promised that He would make all things beautiful.

  She moved slowly for the door. So what was the message? That no matter how tragic the loss of Sarah Jo, something beautiful would come of it now? Or was it that Alice Stryker’s heart had become beautiful through the tragedy?

  The second act had already begun as she reentered the theater. She crossed the dark lobby and jogged lightly up the stairs to her box.


  A battle was raging onstage. Aslan and his followers were waging war against the White Witch and the creatures of darkness. Katy settled back into her seat, her eyes wide. She’d watched the kids perform the scene dozens of times, but this was different. The tears she’d held back earlier filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.

  The scene was gripping, mesmerizing. The evil forces advancing hard on the side of the light, and then—when it looked like all hope was lost—Aslan’s followers moving in strong against the witch’s groupies.

  Katy let her tears fall. Wasn’t it a picture of life? Dayne being lured toward Kabbalah . . . the drunk driver eliminating two lives full of love and promise . . . even her walking away from Dayne, just when he’d found faith and hope in Christ.

  Life was a battle, all of it.

  Finally and fiercely, the witch raised her hand. Bailey Flanigan was doing such a good job in the role that even Katy no longer saw anything but the character. “Edmund is mine! According to the law of Narnia, the penalty for his crimes is death!”

  At that moment—with the help of a voice-changing machine—a loud roar shook the theater. The crowd of fighting parties parted down the middle, and Aslan, the great lion, walked regally and resignedly onto the stage. Up until the last day of dress rehearsals, the boy playing Aslan hadn’t seemed adequate for the task. Not passionate enough, not fearsome enough.

  But here, now, as he moved slowly from center downstage to center upstage, as he looked from the faces of darkness to the faces of light and back again, he seemed to finally understand. His people would have no hope, no way of escaping the White Witch unless he himself took on the penalty of death—once and for all.

  Katy wasn’t sure, but it almost looked as if the boy had tears in his eyes as he finally reached the witch, stopped, and faced her squarely. “No.” He gave a slow shake of his mane. “No, you may not have Edmund.”