What had mostly kept him awake was his own soul-searching. What was he willing to risk? Nothing he valued was inviolable, no matter how hard he held on. Nica’s emotional frailty had brought out his natural protectiveness accentuated by their childhood trauma. If he’d trusted God, she might have developed strength of her own. Or had she, and he hadn’t noticed?
He’d brought that same zealous caretaking to Myra, who despised him for it. She had proved to be a riptide he’d barely survived. Now Gentry was asking him to trust her in ways that looked so similar to Myra’s infidelity it sickened him. He rubbed a hand over his face.
An actor with Gentry’s potential would be cast in bigger and bigger projects, her charisma attracting all the Alec Warners in the industry. He knew how it worked, the short-lived marriages and side romances of the stars. If he was this gone after knowing her a couple months, why should he expect it to be different for anyone else? He’d be setting himself up for another train wreck. And yet …
Listening to her hopes last night had shown him the intense faith she brought to her work. She believed she could make a difference, be a witness, a part of the body of believers in Hollywood—incongruous as that seemed.
Her childlike faith reminded him of Nica’s. But Nica wasn’t on the way to stardom. As Gentry’s credits amassed, would hope be enough to ward off the temptations, the pride, the weight of fame? What would their relationship look like from the shadow of her glow?
Did he want his life to stay as it had been the last few weeks, scavengers circling, her private life made public, her public life displayed? Did he want the world to watch her making out with Hollywood studs and believe what they saw? She made it believable, made it all so believable. And as Myra said, she belonged to everyone. They paid for the rights to her.
Add to that the way she triggered envy and malice. Maybe it was her goodness people couldn’t stand. But how many times would her reputation be trashed, her life endangered? Those were the things he’d told her he’d live with last night in the candlelight, but he braced himself now on the counter and felt utterly vulnerable. It wasn’t humanly possible.
Gentry came down the hall. He’d hoped to see her tousled and sleepy-eyed, but she’d showered and dressed and looked professional. This was her world, not his island.
She came to him, laid her hand over his and read his thoughts. “Have you come to your senses?”
He lifted his arm and moved her into the cage he’d formed with the counter. Scary how proximity wiped out reason. All the thoughts that had loomed large last night, insurmountable this morning, disappeared into the depths of her gaze. He’d entered the tunnel, and this wave might peel forever. The question was, could the faith he’d inherited be enough?
“I’m not going into this blind. I know how it feels to fail.” He half smiled. “Maybe you should be the one concerned.”
“I dreamed last night it was you in the cave, only there was no ledge. You were lying underwater, and I breathed air into your lungs. But then I had no more, and you breathed it back to me.”
A song came to mind about only needing the air that he breathed and to love her. He smiled. Maybe it was as simple as that.
After dropping Cameron at the airport, Gentry pulled into the studio lot an hour before her first call time. She climbed out of the car and rolled the tension from her shoulders. He hadn’t asked again to be there, either because she’d said no or because he’d thought it through.
She read over her call sheets once more to know exactly where to be, when. The critical scene wasn’t until later. She had one with Helen, several action packed with Alec, and then, inevitably, the part would come where Eva and Matt succumbed.
Alec joked around as they prepared for that scene, relaxing her, the less-seasoned actor. But after the scenes they’d played already, her head was there. It scared her how deeply she stayed in character. She was Eva, and Eva wanted Matt Cargill. As the camera rolled, every bit of that wanting passed between them. Inside, her spirit deflated while the kiss went on, her head tipped back, his hand gripping her ribs, his thumb brushing the base of her breast. Not in the script!
But Eva wanted Matt. She imagined him undressing her. The camera rolled. Again the brush of his thumb. Heat coursed through her. Tears burned behind her eyelids, then went away because Eva was in control. Her eyes opened. Her mouth closed. Leave him wanting more. Let him wish he hadn’t made her feel small. Back off. Hold eye contact.
“Cut.”
Please, God.
“Print.”
She drew a jagged breath and walked out of the tent.
A minute later Alec joined her. “Gentry.”
She turned. “I need you to stick to the script.”
He spread his hands. “I did.”
“The script said kiss.”
“Didn’t you hear? Ron’s still raving. Talk about on-screen chemistry.”
“It said kiss, Alec. Not feel me up.” Compared to other such scenes, it was nothing. But all she could think was what if Kai had been there? Then she recalled the word “Print” and realized he would be.
“We were awesome.”
She wanted to say it was Eva and Matt. But it had also been them.
He cocked his head. “It doesn’t always work, you know.”
She knew. But that was the first kiss of the movie. It was supposed to build from there. “Alec—”
“I hardly touched you.”
But she’d responded. She was more angry about that.
Alec turned her around and rubbed her shoulders. “The first time’s hardest, and we nailed it, take one.”
“If we hadn’t, I’d have slugged you. Don’t do it again.”
“I played the scene, Gentry. It’s how Matt is.”
Had it rung as hollow when she explained it to Cameron?
“And Eva’s no ingénue.”
He was right. They’d given the scene exactly what it called for. She’d known it all the while the cameras rolled. She stepped away. “I’m taking a walk.”
There was only one more scene for them and she’d be done for the day. She had to keep her head straight. And she did. But by the time she got home, it had settled into a hard ache. She showered and tried to eat. She went to her room and thought about sleeping. Then she picked up the phone and called Cameron. At the sound of his voice, she started to cry.
“Hey. What is it?”
“You were right, it’s—I can’t—it’s Eva, but it’s me too.”
A hard silence, then, “Okay.”
She gave way to the broken sobs.
He expelled his breath. “This is worse than when you first saw Malakua. I hate that you’re so far away.”
She sniffed. “I wasn’t just saying what I said. I really thought it was different. It’s not as though I haven’t kissed someone before. I was almost engaged two years ago.”
“Let me deal with one blow at a time, okay?”
She’d been pacing frenetically. Now she dropped to the bed and lay back. “I’ve been kissed on almost every stage I’ve played.”
“Not in Steel.”
“Yes, I was. Right near the end, when we reconciled.”
“Oh. Right. I blocked that part. So why is it bothering you now?”
She could not believe he was discussing it so calmly. Of course, she couldn’t see if he was shredding his pillow or defoliating the palm. “I don’t know. I mean, it was more than I’ve done for the camera. But … I … Kai, I have to finish the movie. If I breach my contract, I’ll never work in the industry again. They could sue me. I—”
“Gentry. No one’s telling you to break your contract.”
She drew a calming breath. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with this, and here I’ve called and told you everything.”
“Have you?”
Her stomach clenched as she realized why she’d gotten so upset. “Kai, they want more next time. The first kiss was such a success, they’re heating up the next.”
&nbs
p; “Can they do that?”
“My contract says no nudity. Nothing between the sheets, though they’re discussing implied activity.” Her throat ached. “Beyond that, there’s quite a lot of room for interpretation. And it’s real to the story, to the characters.”
His hurt carried over the miles and smothered her.
“I shouldn’t have called you. I should have just told you not to watch it.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I couldn’t see you tomorrow and hide it.” Now he’d say he wasn’t coming. Like Daniel he’d say she asked too much.
His voice roughened. “That’s the best thing you’ve said all night.”
What? She forked the hair back from her forehead and stared at the ceiling as the truth sank in. “It’s because of you that it hurts. Because of what we wanted and didn’t do. Because of who I am with you. I don’t want anyone else spoiling that.”
His breath got choppy.
“I don’t know what to do.”
He didn’t speak.
Oh, Lord, I’ve ruined everything. “I hurt you, Kai. I’m so sorry.”
“You haven’t hurt me.” His voice was thick with emotion. “You’re healing something that’s been broken a long time.”
When they hung up, she went to the bathroom and washed her face, then looked into the mirror. No one would cast her in a Jane Austin movie where nothing more untoward than brittle words were employed. Not after Rachel Bach and Eva Thorne. They’d found what they wanted in her, the brash and vulnerable woman her counterparts wanted to break and possess. And each time they’d want more.
Whether or not what she and Cameron had was real and lasting, she had a choice to make. Had she been called for such a time as this? Like Esther, had God placed her where she was for his own purpose? And how much had Esther, in becoming wife and queen to the pagan king, compromised?
Cameron got into his truck, drove to the shore, pulled off his shoes and walked across the firm, damp sand to the edge of the cold surf. The water rushed in and lapped his feet and ankles, churning as his emotions churned, surging and falling. A heritage of belief wasn’t enough. He knew it with aching clarity. He had to make it his.
Gentry’s tears had opened and washed the wounds of Myra’s betrayal. He might have preferred not to hear it at all, but the fact that she couldn’t hide it meant more to him than anything. Now he needed the strength to deal with it. The sobs came. Akua. No. Iesū . The God-man who knew all the pain and betrayal of the world.
Standing in the sea, the ground shifting and sucking under his feet, the water tugging against his calves as he called on Jesus, he understood the lure that had almost carried Nica away. Such love and forgiveness. Such power and grace. Who would pull him back?
He wasn’t aware of stepping out of the waves or walking to his truck, didn’t know which way he drove home. He got out in the driveway, walked to the front door; almost didn’t see her.
“Cameron.”
The voice set his teeth on edge, but amazingly no anger came through in his own. “What are you doing here?”
Myra wrapped her arms around her knees, a huddled form, rocking slightly in the dark. Apropos that the bulb was out on the porch since he’d been in the dark with her from day one. He sat down, wary and wounded, no idea what wickedness she might still intend.
But when she spoke it was surprisingly honest. “I never wanted to be married. But Mary did and so I had to.”
“What are you talking about?” His tone was weary.
“It was always Mary. Not just with Mum and Dad, but with everyone. It was as though she sucked up all the attention, all the good feelings in the world. I had to fight just to be noticed. ‘Don’t interrupt, Myra, your sister’s talking.’ ” She spread her hands. “ ‘Take this to your sister; do that for your sister.’ ”
The bitterness shouldn’t surprise him, though she’d never discussed it before. He’d thought their lack of relationship strange, but Myra had used it to mock his closeness to Nica, and he’d been unsure enough to wonder.
“No one ever saw me. It was always, ‘Oh, you’re Mary’s sister,’ or ‘You’re the other Blakeney girl.’ They didn’t even give me my own name, just rearranged the letters of hers. How wrong is that?”
He tried to remember if she’d ever talked about her childhood. But that would have fallen into “looking back”—a taboo that gave this conversation an eerie unfamiliarity.
“Her wedding was the event. I was maid of honor so that I could witness firsthand how perfect she was.” The words poured out of her as never before, words that meant something, told him something. “So I had to make mine even better. And there you were. You looked at me as though I was the most interesting, amazing person you’d ever known.”
She had been. In a way.
“It had taken Tom a year to ask Mary, but after one month, you wanted to marry me.”
Two months later they had. And now he knew why. Mary had a husband, so Myra needed one.
“I wasn’t a good wife.” She sniffed. “I know I hurt you.”
His throat tightened.
“But when I realized I was pregnant, I had my chance. I could do what Mary never would. I could have a baby I didn’t want and give it to her. And every day she would look at the child she loved and know he was mine. I had won.”
She’d taken away his son to best her sister. He shook his head.
“Cameron, hurting you is my only regret. I wish … I could turn back time.”
“And not leave?” A ghost of a voice.
“And not marry you.”
He stared out into the night. “We finally agree.”
FORTY
Since Aunt Allegra had not responded to her calls, Gentry had the taxi stop there before going on to her uncle’s. The patio community had immaculate upkeep, something her aunt would require. No uncut grass, no scraggly shrubs. She rang the bell and heard the chimes tone inside. If there was any chance of bringing her aunt to Uncle Rob’s homecoming, she had to try.
Allegra opened the door, surprise melting into a smooth smile. “Gentry.”
“Can I come in a minute?”
“Of course. Would you like some sun tea? The pitcher’s on the porch.”
“I have the taxi waiting.”
“Oh. Yes.” She glanced at the cab. “Is … something wrong?”
Could she seriously ask that when so much was wrong? Were they all masters of denial? “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. I know we haven’t talked in too long.”
A gracious tilt of her head. “Our situation has been awkward for you.”
She didn’t say “You chose your allegiance,” but she might have. She motioned Gentry to sit and perched on a yellow chintz wing chair like an elegant and content matron. But Gentry always sensed something fragile behind her aunt’s poise, a molecular tension that might all fly apart if she lost her temper or said a cross word. They might all be better for it if she did.
“I don’t know if you got Mom’s message that Uncle Rob is coming home.”
She dropped her gaze and nodded.
“I wanted to tell you personally how much he’d appreciate it if you came for the celebration.”
“Celebration?” She looked stunned. “He’s … handicapped.”
Gentry smiled. “Have you ever known anything to handicap Uncle Rob?”
“But, isn’t he …”
“Lonely?” Way more direct than she’d ever been. “Yes. He misses you so much. He doesn’t want to burden you, but if you could just come and see him.”
“I’m sure he’d rather I didn’t.”
“How can you think that?”
“He wanted a new beginning, even before the accident.” She looked away, and her composure slipped a little. “I don’t want to start over. I can’t. Whatever you and he experienced—”
“He knows he didn’t handle that well. Aunt Allegra, he can live without his leg. He doesn’t want to live without you.”
&
nbsp; Again emotion moved over her face. “He hasn’t said so.”
“He’s afraid you’ll be horrified.” In the vein of honesty she’d begun, she continued. “He knows how perfect you want things.”
“Me?” She looked as though that was something absurd.
“Anyway, I’m going there now. Will you come? Please?”
“Gentry, I …” The fissures in her composure widened. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Just welcome him home. Wish him well.” Please, Lord, soften her heart. She sent a flurry of prayers that whatever was blinding her would be broken.
At last Aunt Allegra drew herself up. “All right. I’ll take my own car.”
She might change her mind and not go through with it, but Gentry smiled and stood. “Okay. Thanks.”
Rob sighed. The party had not been his idea. Julie and his brother were making a big deal of what was only the next step. Since he lived alone, he’d needed to demonstrate adequate stability and endurance. His strength had returned slowly, as Kauai had been fertile ground for systemic invasion.
Spiritual invasion as well—of the darkest and brightest kinds. Since his conversion, he’d filled his head with knowledge, but his heart had remained stubborn, his pride unshaken. He understood now why David had been chased into the desert, his life threatened, his dignity destroyed, his virtue questioned; deserted by his friends, hunted by his enemies. In that extremity he’d poured out his heart to God and learned God’s. Only then was he fit to govern in God’s name.
Rob turned and continued around the pool. The artificial leg, including knee unit and terminal device, was microcomputer controlled. It was a sign of healing that he’d not only learned to use it but had studied in depth its components and manufacture. Step by step he moved down the length of the tiled deck. Walking took ten to forty percent more energy with a below-the-knee amputation. An above-the-knee prosthesis, such as his, required sixty to a hundred percent more. Something could certainly be done to improve that.
A shadow spread across the tiles. He looked up, expecting Brendan, who hadn’t quite gotten around his hale, younger brother being a gimp. But it was Cameron Pierce who met him poolside. He hadn’t seen him since their visit weeks ago. They shook hands.
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