Someday

by Karen Kingsbury

  Even with all that, Dayne had agreed to only the interviews their agent deemed mandatory. A few were local, but most required a quick round-trip to New York City. Dayne always made sure Katy was at his side, that they showed the world a united front, which was—they both insisted time and again—a very real picture of their love.

  But even so, things felt strained. Their relationship was so public at this point that any private time felt forced. As if the on-screen depiction of their relationship had done little more than transition to a quiet location. Sometimes they’d be talking on the back porch of their Malibu beach home, and Katy would catch herself sounding almost rehearsed. As if they were spewing nothing more than platitudes and cheap dialogue at each other.

  Dayne had reminded her that high on the list of their enemies was the greatest enemy of all. The devil certainly did not want their marriage to succeed, not when they had made public note of being Christians, of trying to live a godly life. Katy was aware of that, but the knowledge didn’t make their day-to-day visibility any easier to live with.

  Now the time had come to go their separate ways. It was well after midnight, the second Friday in October, and Katy had a flight to catch early the next morning. She didn’t plan to sleep. There would be more than enough hours on the plane for that.

  “I think it’s clear.” Dayne had been outside on the pitch-dark porch, and he stepped into the kitchen. The lights were off inside too. It was their attempt to convey a simple message to the paparazzi: Katy and Dayne were asleep, so pack up and go home.

  Katy was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking iced tea, staring into the darkness and going over in her mind the things in her suitcase. She felt Dayne come up behind her, felt his hand on her shoulder. She reached up and covered it with her own. “I can’t believe we’ll be apart till Christmas.”

  “Ten weeks.” Dayne sighed. “Are you ready?”

  “Packed, you mean? Yes.” She stood and faced him. Her heart was pounding, and in the shadows she could see fear in his eyes.

  “I meant ready to talk.” He looked over his shoulder. “I haven’t seen any activity down below for an hour.”

  She nodded and let her head fall against his chest. “I’m ready.”

  They had agreed a few days ago to take this walk tonight. The beach was so inviting, so peaceful. It was sad to live on the sand and never feel it with their bare feet. Dayne took her hand and quietly led her down their private back stairs, out the wooden gate. The late hour and the feel of his hand in hers, the gentle wind on her face, reminded her of their night on the lake in Bloomington.

  But this wasn’t a romantic walk in the moonlight. It was a chance to hold up everything good and right and true about their faith and their relationship and beg God that it would still be there when the next ten weeks had played out. There was no sense of adventure now, no feeling of wonderment or goose bumps. Just a weariness and a certainty that there would be rough seas indeed. They wouldn’t navigate safely back to the harbor of each other’s arms without seeking God and each other day to day. Hour by hour.

  For nearly a minute, they stood outside the gate. Dayne knew the places where the cameramen usually hid, and now he studied each spot before shaking his head. “They’re gone. We’re alone.”

  The beach was empty as far down as they could see, though Katy was sure that around the curve of shoreline there would be the usual bonfires and surfers camped out. They weren’t any concern because they came looking for waves, not Hollywood stars.

  Dayne took the lead again, his steps quick until they reached the hard-packed, damp sand. “North?”

  “Yes. North is good.” Katy fell into place beside him. They both wore shorts and long-sleeved T-shirts. The night air was cool and damp, but it felt wonderful after being in the house all evening.

  They set out, walking in silence, the sound of the crashing waves the backdrop for their separate thoughts. North would take them by other large homes and away from the public access beaches. At this hour, once they got past their own gate, no one would know them from any other couple.

  They walked a dozen yards before Katy realized how wonderful Dayne’s hand felt, his fingers woven between hers. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” He smiled down at her. His jawline looked rugged and strong in the reflection of light off the water. Even here, his good looks were enough to take her breath. America’s golden boy.

  Katy turned her attention to the sandy stretch in front of her. She understood why the public wanted to know his every move, but where would it all end? She breathed in, feeling the heavy salt air fill her lungs. “Someday, right?”

  “Hmmm?” They were down far enough from their house now, and Dayne stopped and turned to her. He took hold of her other hand, searching her eyes. “Someday?”

  “That’s when all the madness will stop, right?” She could feel the tears glistening in her eyes. “When we get out of the spotlight and make it back to Bloomington for good.”

  Regret changed his expression, and he slipped his hands around her waist, drawing her close. “I’ve thought about it a thousand different ways. We made these commitments.” He breathed the words into her hair, his face brushing against hers. “We have to keep them.”

  “I know.” Katy nuzzled against his neck. “I guess I just pray that it’ll really happen.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze straight on. “And that it won’t always just be sort of out there. One year after another, chasing our dreams, making movies. Always waiting for someday to come around.”

  Dayne looked like he’d been cut through the heart. “Katy—” he put his hands on her shoulders—“this isn’t forever, the movie life we’re living. It’ll end. I promise you.”

  “Maybe.” She tried to smile, but the sadness weighing on her wouldn’t let her. “You have two more movies to make after this one, and it’ll be the same story. Publicity and paparazzi, previews and people tugging at you from all directions.” She shrugged. “Why sit at home waiting for you back in Indiana? I might as well make movies too.” Her back was to the ocean, and her bare legs felt the light mist from a series of breakers.

  A stricken look came over Dayne, and he gave a few slow shakes of his head. “Don’t think about it like that. We’ll find a way out of this. Nobody stays in the headlines forever.”

  “Except maybe you.” Katy covered his hands with hers. “Dayne Matthews, America’s heartthrob.”

  Dayne seemed like he wanted to respond, but instead he dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a few steps closer to the water. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”

  “No.” She came up behind him and linked her arm through his so they were both facing the ocean. “I knew what I was getting into when I married you. I just didn’t know so many other people would care. The last episode of For Real . . .” She winced and made a low whistling sound. “Talk about taking off the gloves.”

  He said nothing, but she could feel his arm and his posture tense. Immediately she felt sorry. The episodes had gotten worse each week, hinting that Katy and Dayne were fighting constantly and implying that their acting was certainly that. “You know it’s Hollywood,” the announcer had said last week, “when a pair of actors can convince you on-screen that they’re really in love. Especially a couple with this much trouble surrounding them.”

  The tabloids were no better. Headlines screamed of a reunion between Randi Wells and Dayne on the beaches of Mexico. Katy had caught wind of so many “Trouble in Paradise” headlines she rarely even bothered to look. And maybe that was the best option anyway. She’d told herself before that the magazines were only damaging if she stopped to read them.

  Dayne took another step farther away and crossed his arms.

  Katy hadn’t meant to upset him. She slipped in beneath his left arm, then put her arms around his waist and laced her fingers near his hip bone. “Sorry.” She kissed his cheek. “It’s not your fault.”

  “No.” He relaxed against her but kept
his face toward the water. “So that’s it, huh?” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “You’ll make more movies . . . and I will. And we never make it to someday?”

  “It feels pretty far off.” She inched her way around in front of him. “Hey . . . look at me.”

  Frustration deepened the small lines at the corners of his eyes. But after a few seconds he met her eyes. “I keep thinking of Ashley and Landon, the way they held on to each other in the hospital that day. They had every reason to be mad at God and the situation, mad at the family members who doubted them.”

  Katy moved closer and felt the rise and fall of his chest against hers. “But they weren’t.”

  “I remembered something tonight.” He looked at the water again. “‘Consider it pure joy, my brothers . . .’”

  Katy closed her eyes. “‘. . . whenever you face trials of many kinds . . .’”

  “‘. . . because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.’” Dayne’s voice was quiet, heavy with emotion.

  “‘Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.’”

  “Exactly.” Dayne drew a full breath. “That was Ashley and Landon that day—a picture of the kind of faith that understands testing. Their baby girl was dying with every heartbeat, but they were smiling.” He narrowed his eyes, clearly shaken by the memory. “They loved little Sarah with pure joy. Even in the very worst circumstances.”

  Katy felt a ripple of guilt stir the waters in her soul. She stepped back and let her hands fall slowly to her sides. “So, you’re thinking if they can handle that sort of pain . . .”

  “We should be able to handle this?” He took her in his arms and held her. “Yes. That’s what I’m thinking.”

  For a very long time, neither of them talked.

  Minutes passed while the realization spread an ever-dawning light across Katy’s dark, self-pitying soul. Why had she been so shortsighted, so caught up in how bad her own situation was? Her troubles were so light next to Ashley’s that the comparison made Katy feel nauseated, furious with herself.

  Dayne was right, and Katy wasn’t sure why she hadn’t seen it before. Whatever lay ahead, the strife and pain wouldn’t be as bad as losing a child. The days would be long and the separation great, but she and Dayne would be making millions of dollars filming movies and being catered to along the way. They would be adored by thousands of fans, despite the headlines in the tabloids or the targets on their backs.

  Shame surrounded her, and suddenly she needed space from Dayne, needed to take this new understanding to God alone.

  Katy turned and walked slowly toward the water until her feet touched the foamy white surf. With her hands linked in front of her, she looked out across the sea all the way to the shadowy gray horizon. God, I’ve been so consumed . . . as if I were the only one in the world with troubles. How could I get this way? She pictured Ashley and Landon, smiling as their baby died in their arms. She hung her head. I’m sorry, Lord. Forgive me.

  She didn’t hear Dayne come up behind her, but she felt him. Even before he touched her, she felt his warm breath against her neck.

  His hands circled her waist, and the warmth of his solid chest sheltered her from the ocean air. “If they could get through that, then we can get through this.”

  “I know.” She turned in his arms, and suddenly she was desperate for his kiss, his embrace. She moved closer to him, lifted her lips to his, and their tenderness quickly became a passion that left them both breathless. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes searched his, and she saw the understanding she’d hoped to find. “I’ve been so negative, Dayne.”

  A smile started at the corners of his lips and then filled his face. “This is what I prayed for. You and I on the beach, celebrating our last night together—not arguing about it.” He tilted his head back, and in a voice that competed with the crashing surf he yelled, “Thank You, God!”

  They laughed together, something else they hadn’t done much of lately. Then they walked hand in hand back to their house, free from the burden of dread they’d both carried since leaving Bloomington. Along the way they stopped every few yards and kissed, promising to call each other and to pray and to remember the message about joy. It took them half an hour to reach their home, and when they did, Katy felt like they’d been given a second chance not only to survive the coming months but to embrace them.

  At the foot of their beach house stairs, Dayne held her close once more. “I’ll miss you with every breath.”

  “When you close your eyes—” she touched her lips to his—“I’ll be there. Always.”

  With that, they moved inside the dark house, up to the bedroom with the patio that overlooked the Pacific. For a long while, they prayed out loud, asking God to protect them and guide them and hasten the time until they could be together again. Then they found their way back into each other’s arms and picked up where they’d left off down on the beach. Against the soft crash of the surf, and with Katy’s flight just hours away, they shared the night in a fashion that could only be described one way.

  With pure, God-given joy.

  The dinner parties between Kari and Ashley and Brooke and their families were happening more often, and not just when their father asked them over to the Baxter house. With so many young kids between them and with the changes happening in their dad’s life, Brooke was glad they were taking the time to get together.

  Because when they did, like this October Saturday night, the love that filled Kari and Ryan’s house was something Brooke and her sisters and their husbands cherished. The sort of love the Baxter family had always been known for. A love that was—even at this moment—being passed down to the next generation.

  Dinner was over, and the three couples were sitting in the living room having coffee. Kari had a sleeping baby Annie in her arms, and Ryan was by her side.

  “She’s a daddy’s girl.” Ryan touched his daughter’s dainty chin. “But she’s growing up too fast.”

  Brooke cast a discreet look at Ashley, but her sister only smiled at the comment. Ashley seemed to hold no sorrow over the life of little Anne Elizabeth. The baby’s presence had to be a constant reminder of her loss, but Ashley never let on.

  “She sure is beautiful.” Ashley had her hand on Landon’s knee, and she stood and crossed the room. For a few seconds she admired the sleeping baby, then smiled at Kari. “She looks like Mom.”

  “As long as she doesn’t look like me.” Ryan grinned at Ashley and then the others. “We don’t need a little girl built like a linebacker.”

  “Although . . .” Peter lifted his finger. “I read in USA Today that more girls are getting full-ride soccer scholarships.”

  “Somehow—” Ryan leaned over his daughter and stared at her, clearly smitten—“I can’t picture her playing goalie.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Kari raised an eyebrow at her husband. “Pretty girls play soccer too.”

  “Yeah!” Maddie came tearing into the room. She put her hands on her hips and stuck out her chin. “I’m pretty, and I play soccer.”

  “Case in point.” Peter leaned back into the sofa.

  “Everything okay, baby?” Brooke slid to the edge of the couch and balanced her coffee cup on her knees as she peered at her oldest daughter.

  “Actually, no.” She gave Ashley an indignant look. “Cole’s hogging the crayons, even though I told him that nice boys are supposed to share.”

  Ashley turned away from baby Annie and made a concerned face. “That’s a problem.”

  “’Zactly what I told him.” Maddie gave a slight humph and tossed her head. “I said he was going to be in big, biiiig trouble when I told on him.”

  “She’s nothing but a tattletale!” Cole’s voice bellowed from the next room.

  Brooke hid her laughter as did Kari, Ryan, and Peter.

  Ashley exchanged a look with Landon, and without saying a word, he nodded and stood. “Son, come here, please.”
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br />   Usually their time together wasn’t without a few disagreements. Tonight, with all the kids spread out at a series of tables coloring autumn pictures to decorate their papa Baxter’s house, there was bound to be some confusion. Even still, Brooke loved the tradition. For years now, the grandkids would gather at one house and draw pictures of pumpkins and harvest corn, trees with bright leaves of red and orange, and big tom turkeys. The pictures would be hung around the dining room at the Baxter house so the place would be decorated on Thanksgiving.

  Now, though, Maddie pinched her lips together and waited for her cousin to enter the room.

  Cole came in, eyebrows knit together, hands raised as if he couldn’t be more baffled. “I’m coloring Indian corn. I need a lot of colors, so what’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is, I’m trying to color my pumpkin but—”

  “Shhh.” Brooke held her finger to her lips and shook her head at Maddie. “Let Uncle Landon handle this.”

  Maddie seemed ready to argue, but then she nodded, more prim and proper than before. Every inch the persecuted victim. “Yes, Mommy.”

  “How many kids are out there?” Landon put his hand on Cole’s shoulder.

  Cole thought for a minute and began counting with his fingers. “Me and Devin, Hayley and Maddie.” He said her name with extra emphasis and shot her a quick look for good measure. “Also Jessie and RJ. ’Course Devin’s in his playpen, so that doesn’t really count. Which makes five of us actually coloring.”

  “So if you’ve got all the crayons at your seat, is that fair to your cousins?”

  Cole sneered at Maddie. “She doesn’t need all those colors. She only needs orange. Pumpkins are orange.”

  “But the sky’s got a sunset in my picture.” Maddie took a few steps closer to Cole. “That’s why. Sunsets have a million colors.”

  The adults in the room nodded, as if they could hardly disagree with that logic.

  Landon lowered himself so his face was closer to Cole’s. “We talked about this earlier, Son. The people in that room are your very best friends. The best friends you’ll ever have.”