The phone in Luke’s pocket rang, and he jumped. He pulled it out and stared at the caller ID, his heart skipping a beat. It was Dayne. He gulped and flipped the phone open. “Hey.” He kept his tone appropriately somber. By now Dayne would expect he’d seen the picture.
“Listen, I don’t have long.” Dayne sounded mad, his words like a series of rapid-fire bullets. “Tell me what happened that night with you and Randi on the beach.”
“Me and Randi?” Luke searched for something to say, anything to make Dayne believe he wasn’t having an affair with Randi. He managed a weak laugh. “Don’t tell me you think I’m the guy in the picture?”
“Well, it isn’t me. That’s all I know.” Dayne’s voice was laced with anger, but it was obvious he was working to keep it from being heard. “My life’s falling apart over here. Tell me the truth.”
“I am.” The laughter in Luke’s voice was replaced with a solid confidence, a convincing assurance. “I promise you, that isn’t me in the picture. You’re asking the wrong guy.”
There was a pause. “Okay.” Dayne seemed at a loss for words. “Thanks. I had to ask.”
When the call was over, Luke looked at his hands. He was shaking hard, his heart thumping erratically against his ribs. He put the phone back in his pocket and stared out the window. Dayne would find a way out of this mess; he always did. But then what would happen? Someone was bound to figure out the truth.
Luke studied the photo, the way Randi looked lost in the moment. The guy . . . the guy was someone he no longer even recognized.
Dear God . . . what have I done? Who am I?
There was no response, no comforting answer. Guilt came down around him like the claustrophobic bars of a prison cell, guilt like Luke had never felt before—not even back when he left home and cut ties with his family. This was guilt strong enough to destroy him. Luke could feel it like poison in his blood. Because no matter what story the picture told and no matter what lies Luke was willing to tell . . . even if the whole world believed otherwise, Dayne wasn’t having an affair with Randi Wells.
Luke was.
John stared at the magazines spread across his office desk. Ashley had called yesterday and told him about the tabloids, right after she learned the news. Now the door was firmly locked, and John had half an hour before his next appointment.
Funny how it was, raising a family, being a father. Babies came and parents did the mental math: twenty years and the house would be sadly quiet again, the children out on their own, making their way in life. John leaned closer to the magazines and studied the picture of Dayne and Randi, and a deep sadness pierced his soul. The truth was, parenting never really ended. Here was his oldest son—a young man he hadn’t even met until a few years ago—caught publicly making the worst mistake of his life.
But all John could think was, Hey, that’s my son! He would’ve flown to Mexico that afternoon if he thought Dayne needed him. He’d called him, of course, but their conversation was brief. Dayne denied kissing Randi and explained that the photo had to be of someone else.
“What about Randi? What’s she saying?”
“She isn’t talking. I told her it wasn’t me in the picture, and she only said that it should’ve been.” Dayne sounded exhausted. “I talked to Katy but only for a few minutes. She had to run—something about her film. But I could hear it in her voice. She doesn’t believe me.”
John frowned. To be honest, Dayne’s denial sounded pretty flimsy. Still, Dayne was his son, his firstborn. Whatever his trouble, John wanted to be there for him. Even if in the end Dayne came clean and admitted the whole thing. This wasn’t the time to abandon him.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Son. This is terrible.” He tried to think of how he could offer encouragement, but no words came to mind. Dayne ran in a different world, and John knew little about how to navigate it. In the end, he offered the only help he could. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“There is.” Dayne’s voice was thick with emotion. “Pray, will you? Just pray for us.”
Now, in the quiet of his office, John was grateful to have some tangible way to help, a way he could keep being a dad for his fully grown son—even at a time like this.
John’s thoughts shifted to Luke, and his heart ached with a heaviness he hadn’t known in years. Ashley had spoken to Reagan a few times in recent weeks, and finally Ashley had talked to him about their conversations.
“Reagan thinks Luke’s having an affair.” Ashley sounded heartbroken. “He’s in New York much more often than before, and several times he’s been out to see plays with some woman from the office.” A cry sounded in her voice. “We have to do something, Dad.”
John sat very still, the pain of his sons’ choices sharp within him. Both his sons, struggling in their marriages . . . both dabbling with outside relationships that threatened to destroy the commitments and promises they’d made. Anger toward the enemy of their souls rose up inside him. Dayne and Luke were Baxters, after all. It wasn’t the Baxter way to disregard marriage, to treat so cavalierly the bond between a husband and a wife.
So John would do what he’d done so many times in the past—he would fall to his knees and beg for God’s help, for His Spirit to intervene and His life and light to reign in the situations with both sons. John stood, pushed in his chair, and lowered himself to the carpeted area between his desk and the sofa against the wall. As he hit his knees, he remembered key times when he’d done this before.
A decade ago, when Ashley left for Paris, a rebellious young woman searching for thrills she couldn’t find in Bloomington, and when she came home, pregnant and alone, so ashamed that John and Elizabeth wondered if she’d ever connect with their family again.
He’d fallen to his knees when Kari’s first husband moved out to live with one of his college students and again when a jilted boyfriend of the young woman stalked Kari’s husband and killed him. Kari was weeks away from delivering Jessie, and without seeking God, without prayer for strength, John was certain none of them would’ve survived with their faith intact.
He had prayed this way after the tragedy of September 11 and again when it became clear that Reagan had lost her father in the collapse of the Twin Towers, and he’d prayed when Luke chose to leave home and live with a girl who was opposed to everything that had once mattered to him.
Always John took his pain and fears and brought them to this place, his private office. Here, on his knees, he could feel the Spirit of God beside him, sense His presence and know for certain that his Lord would answer. One way or another, He would answer.
John took a deep breath. I’m here again, here on my knees, humbled before You. My sons are struggling, Father. He closed his eyes and pictured the photograph on the cover of the magazine. Dayne could deny what was happening between him and his costar, but the picture told the story. He sighed. I think Dayne’s in denial, Lord. He’s so far from family, so far from the kind of support that could help him in his faith. Open his eyes and let him see that what he’s doing is wrong and that by denying the truth he’ll only make things worse. And Luke, Lord . . . convict him of his actions and bring him back to a right life. Help him make amends with Reagan. Please, Father, hear my cry today.
He stopped because over the years he’d learned one very important lesson whenever he sought God this passionately, this fervently. He needed to do more than ask; he needed to listen. He hunched over his knees, waiting. Listening.
Then in the stillness of the room, a Scripture came to him, filling his mind with truth and peace. The verse was from Colossians, something John had read a few days ago. “In him lie hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.”
My son . . . heed My words. I know all things. . . . I will show you in time.
A holy presence came over the room and the place where John was kneeling. What did the Scripture mean here, in light of John’s troubled heart for his sons? He let the words run through his mind again and again, and finally
a picture began to take shape. Today things with his sons and their wives seemed hopeless, beyond repair. But God alone knew all things. His wisdom and knowledge were indeed very great treasures.
John wasn’t sure what hidden wisdom and knowledge might come from the incident with Dayne and Randi or with Reagan’s suspicions, but suddenly he had no doubt. Some truth was going to come to light, and when it did, healing could begin. That was what God wanted him to understand, and the realization flooded John’s soul with an indescribable joy.
No matter how great his love for his sons, God loved them more. And God knew all things, which meant John could lean on the Lord and know that Dayne and Luke were being shaped and molded by God alone—however terrible things seemed at the moment.
He spent another twenty minutes kneeling on the floor, praying about his daughters and their families, asking God to protect their marriages and to strengthen their faith. As he was nearing the end of his prayer, God granted him another piece of wisdom, making one thing very clear: John needed to send the scrapbooks to his children as soon as he was finished with them so their mother’s message of love, her words on marriage and commitment and family, would reach them as soon as possible.
Before it was too late.
Her mother’s funeral was over, and Randi was trying to find the strength to make her way out of the church. She walked next to her daughters, gripping every other pew as she moved up the aisle toward daylight, toward the rest of her life without either of her parents.
She was home now, in British Columbia, where it didn’t matter that she was a famous American movie star. Two more days and she’d be back on the set, back in the place where she was praised and held up as an icon of fame and celebrity. But here, people were far more taken by her parents and the legacy of faith and community involvement they’d left behind. The packed church this morning was because of her mom’s friendship to others and because of her father’s generosity, his quick smile and helping hand. If someone needed something, they could turn to Louie Geer and know that he would come through.
“Put God and family first, little girl, and all the rest will fall into place,” he used to tell her.
Randi’s youngest daughter tugged on her jacket. “Mommy . . .”
“Yes?”
She tilted her face up, her brow furrowed. “Is Grandma gonna stay in the pretty box?”
Randi took hold of her hand, then turned to the side and reached for her older daughter. She could feel the truth from her childhood rushing into place. She gave her little one a sad smile. “Grandma’s not in the box, baby. She’s in heaven. With Papa.”
When they walked out into the bright midmorning, Randi put her sunglasses on. Across the street from the church was an old park, with a grove of evergreens and a number of stunning aspens. It was the last day of November and the leaves had long since fallen, but that didn’t matter. In a single glance Randi could see the way the park looked in any season. The place called to her, offering the familiarity she was longing for.
“Let’s go to the park.” Randi waited for a clearing in the traffic and then crossed the street.
The girls were quieter than usual, but once they reached the swings, they skipped off together and started playing.
Randi sat on the nearest bench, and a million memories danced to life. Here, after church, was where she’d sit with her daddy when she was too tired to swing, when her sisters, Jamie and Kelly, were busy playing on the slides and Randi simply needed time with her father. Even back then she was a daddy’s girl. That’s why today was so hard. She didn’t have more than a handful of really good memories with her mother, and now she was gone.
Randi leaned back against the park bench. The memory faded, and she stared up through the barren branches to the sky beyond. “How can you and Daddy both be gone?” She’d cried so much already; she wasn’t sure she had more tears left. But now, alone with the past, her eyes filled once more. Her voice was a broken whisper. “How am I supposed to live without you?”
The answer came over her slowly and brought with it a shame Randi had denied ever since leaving home for Hollywood. Her parents had taught her to love God first, no matter what. A mountain of guilt pressed down on her shoulders and made her squirm in discomfort. She had taken none of her parents’ advice, and still they had loved her. Right to the end, in their final conversation, her mother had stressed only one concern. “I don’t know how you really are, sweetheart, but please come back to Jesus.” Her skin was clammy and pale, death only hours away. “I love you, Randi. . . . I don’t want to be without you.”
Now the words washed over and over Randi again.
The possibility that maybe she had misunderstood her mother all these years grabbed hold of her and pressed in against her chest. She tried to fill her lungs, but she couldn’t draw a complete breath. As loving as her father had always been, as much as Randi and her sisters had been his princesses, her mother had loved them too. If Randi didn’t find her way back to the Lord, she would miss out on heaven. That was the message of the Gospels, after all. Randi remembered that much.
A shiver ran over her arms, and her teeth chattered. She was having an affair with a married man. She and Luke Baxter had come together quickly and passionately on the beach that night, as if there were no one else in the world but the two of them. In the five weeks since then, they’d sent each other text messages and shared quiet conversations. When she returned to Los Angeles, they had plans to meet up once a month, if possible.
And Luke was hardly her first detour from the path her parents had lived. She couldn’t count the number of men she’d been with—all of them connected to the entertainment industry one way or another. Some were married; some weren’t. During her own brief marriage, she’d been faithful until she caught wind of her husband’s outside interests. After that, neither of them had been faithful.
A sob caught in Randi’s throat, and she felt consumed with a new and sudden fear. If she died today, the Lord wouldn’t recognize her. He could hardly welcome her into heaven to spend eternity in the place where her parents were.
Randi stared at the bench and ran her hands over the smooth wooden slats. For the first time in a decade, she could see herself for what she was—filthy and wretched and without hope. She was walking down a path of destruction, and if she didn’t let the death of her mother change her, nothing ever would. She gripped the arm of the bench and closed her eyes tight.
I’m sorry, God. I’ve failed You in every possible way. I’m dirty and tired and ready for a change. Right here, Lord. Forgive me and make me clean in Your sight.
She wasn’t sure whether to expect an answer or not, and there was no audible response. But as she finished praying, she remembered something else her father had told her. “Whenever you’re ready, whenever you let go of yourself and grab hold of God, He’ll welcome you with open arms.”
The mountain lifted, and her next breath filled her lungs with a new peace and assurance. There was no time to waste on making her next move. She had chosen Luke because he looked and acted so much like Dayne. But how wrong she’d been. She couldn’t have Dayne or Luke, and maybe God wanted her to be alone, without a man at all. Maybe the Lord wanted to be the only one in her life for a while. She steeled herself toward the possibility and pulled her cell phone from her purse.
The entire country had seen the photo of her and Luke, and they’d pinned the indiscretion squarely on Dayne’s shoulders. Immediately after the picture ran, Dayne had confronted her about it. “You know that isn’t me!” He seethed with anger and fear she’d never seen in him before. “You can clear this up, Randi.” His eyes had been wildly desperate. “Call the tabloids. Tell them the truth.” He threw his hands in the air. “How can you not care? My marriage is on the line.”
Randi had only mumbled something about how the guy in the picture should’ve been Dayne, and then she’d walked away. In the weeks since then, Dayne had been the consummate actor, professional in all things as they
continued shooting the film. The director had never even once asked if things were okay between them, never mentioned the possibility that their chemistry had taken a blow. But it had, of course.
Randi figured Dayne could handle the heat; he was used to it. Luke was a private guy, she told herself. It was more important that his identity be kept a secret when it came to their affair.
The wind rustled through the evergreens in the small park. Luke needed his privacy? Was that the only thing that had motivated her? Randi felt disgusted with herself. She couldn’t lie anymore—not to herself and not to the world. Her real hope had been that the photo might break up Dayne’s marriage, and then . . . finally . . . she would have a chance to win him over, the way she’d always tried to win him over.
Again she felt dirty, but then she remembered her prayer and the certainty of God’s forgiveness. With that in mind, she had no time to waste. She punched in a series of numbers on her cell phone and waited, her breathing quick and shallow with anticipation. This was the first of several calls she needed to make, but this one was the most important.
It was a call she should’ve made five weeks ago.
Katy was tired nearly all the time, and twice she’d talked to Stephen about how she was feeling. She had no symptoms, really. Nothing other than a lack of energy and a struggle with getting out of bed each morning. Her director pegged the problem right away, since what else could be wrong with her?
She was depressed, and if not for the distraction of the movie, she might’ve tumbled into the throes of a depression so great she’d need to check in to a facility. That might come later. For now she had just a few weeks until they wrapped up the movie, a few weeks until she could return to Bloomington.
Katy was in her trailer, searching for the energy to get back out to the set. Their break would be over in five minutes, and there wouldn’t be another chance to rest until lunchtime. They’d been working since six this morning because they needed sunrise shots. Now it was eight o’clock, and Katy would’ve been happy to sleep another ten hours.
Someday Page 21
