“She did. I remember that.” His father checked the bread and then turned to Cole. “Your mom said today was really special.” He smiled. “You’re a good son, Cole. Including her in your project this way.”
“Thanks.” Cole loved times like this, talking to his dad, feeling the connection between them. “I didn’t realize it would make me feel so many things, hearing Papa’s story. Then talking to Mom at the cemetery.”
His dad pulled the bread from the oven. It was golden brown. “Perfect.”
“Yes. Janessa will be thrilled.” Cole laughed again.
Once the bread was safely on the counter they moved to the round table just off the kitchen. When they were facing each other, his dad looked straight into his eyes. “Mom says you talked about Sarah Marie.”
Cole thought back to his little sister’s grave marker. “She had such a short life.”
“In some ways that was the miracle of her time here.” His dad folded his hands and set them on the table. “So many people were praying for us, believing for a miracle. When she died we all were shown the truth. That the miracle was even knowing her at all.” He smiled. “You know?”
“Yeah.” Cole nodded.
“Because all life is precious to God.” His dad was quiet for a moment. “And it should be precious to us. No matter how long a person lives.”
“And now she’s with God . . . waiting for the rest of us.” Cole leaned back in his chair.
Cole thought about the conversation with his mom earlier. “I like that she’s with Grandma and Aunt Erin and the rest. Mom and I talked about that. It’s nice that God lets them all be together.”
His dad’s smile gave an easy view to his soul. “God loves us more than we can ever understand.”
The door opened and the other kids burst through, all talking at once. Something about Janessa catching the biggest tadpole of the afternoon and how Amy had helped her and how Devin was proud of the girls for not being sissies.
The quiet conversation between them was over, but Cole didn’t mind. He’d had his time, his chance to share the importance of today with his dad.
After dinner he excused himself to his room. He had a few hours of homework still. No time for tadpoles today. Something else that stirred the depths of his heart. His dad used to say there would always be precious lasts along the journey to being a grown-up. The last time that they ran across the lawn . . . the last time that they looked for tadpoles in the pond.
It was his way of teaching them to appreciate every day.
Which was why before he started his homework he thanked God for today. The time with his papa and his parents. It was a day Cole would remember always. Like the day that was coming sometime soon. When his mom would tell him about the love story between her and his father. That would be a beautiful day for sure.
Because his mom was one of the most loving people he had ever known.
• • •
ASHLEY WAITED UNTIL the kids were in bed before she found Landon in the TV room watching the Indiana Pacers. She sat next to him and rested her head on the back of the sofa. The day had been so much more emotional than she had expected. Sure, she’d known her heart would get involved in hearing the story of her parents’ beginning.
But she hadn’t expected the beautiful time at the cemetery, and she certainly hadn’t expected the bomb Cole dropped on the ride home. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine how she would even begin to tell Cole his story.
“You okay?” Landon took her hand in his. He slid his fingers between hers and ran his thumb over her thumb. The way he always did when they were together.
She opened her eyes and sat up straighter. “After the cemetery today Cole asked me a question. On the way home.”
“A question?” Landon turned down the TV and faced her. “What sort of question?”
Ashley felt sick to her stomach. How would Landon feel hearing this news? She felt a chill run down her spine. Help Landon understand, dear God . . . this has nothing to do with Cole’s feelings for him.
“Ash?” Landon released her hand and ran his fingers through her hair. “I’m here, baby. What is it? What did he ask?”
She couldn’t put this off another minute. She took a deep breath. “He asked me about my story . . . about his father and me.” She searched his eyes. “He wants to know, Landon. I’m not sure what to tell him. I mean . . . I never wanted to go back to that time and now, where would I even—”
“Ashley.” Landon put his hand along the side of her face. “Honey, it’ll be okay. Maybe it’s time to share some of the details. He’s almost seventeen.”
Her fears were so great she didn’t want to speak them. But she had to. Landon was the only one who would understand. “If he knows what I did . . . he might see me differently. Things might never be the same.”
Understanding filled Landon’s eyes. “You’re thinking of your brother, Luke.”
He was right. Luke had been her best friend growing up. But after she came home from Paris with a baby, her brother was disappointed in her. Angry, even. Luke thought Ashley had ruined the Baxter family name, and for a while it seemed their relationship might be over. Then Luke’s girlfriend wound up pregnant. Luke’s world was rocked for a while, but in the midst of a rebellious time for him, he had reached out to Ashley.
Today they were closer than ever.
Landon still had his hand alongside her face. “You’re afraid what happened with Luke will happen with Cole. If he knows how it was with you and his father. Honey, that would never happen with Cole.”
Ashley began to shiver. She wanted Landon to be right, but still . . . “What makes you so sure?”
“Honey, for one thing, he already knows at least some of his past. He knows I’m not his biological father. Which could only mean one thing.”
“I had a baby with some other man.”
“Exactly.”
Ashley stared at her wedding ring. Landon had always been proof that God loved her. That He hadn’t given up on her because of her terrible choices in Paris. Instead of throwing her away, God had brought her Landon. She lifted her face to his. “Why would Cole want to know that story?”
“Because it’s part of his past.” Peace warmed Landon’s expression. “You don’t have to tell him everything. Not now . . . and maybe not ever. Just enough so he understands how much you love him. How you wanted him . . . and how his presence eventually brought you back to God.”
The shivering eased off and Ashley leaned closer and slipped her arms around Landon’s neck. “Thank you.” She whispered the words near his face. “I needed to hear that.”
“It’s the truth.” He brushed his cheek against hers and then he kissed her.
There would never be a time when she wouldn’t feel butterflies in her stomach when Landon kissed her. She still couldn’t believe he was hers.
But the butterflies quickly disappeared as she remembered one more troubling thing. She didn’t want to say it, but they’d come this far in the discussion. “Also . . . I guess I can’t believe he could even use the word father to describe a stranger he doesn’t know.” She slid back a little so she could look at him. “That’s an insult to you, Landon. It feels completely wrong.”
This time Landon smiled. For a while he just looked into her eyes, melting her heart and making her know that everything would be okay. Not just for her and Cole, but for all of them. “Ashley, baby.” His smile remained while he spoke. “I will always be Cole’s dad. His father. No one could ever change that. No story or truth from his past.”
Relief came over Ashley like a warm blanket. What an amazing man Landon was, that he could have a conversation like this and not be threatened in the least. “That’s really how you feel?” Her voice broke a bit, but she held back her tears.
“Of course. And like I said it only makes sense Cole would want to know about his beginning. He’s studying heritage in school.” Landon leaned closer and kissed her again. “Everyone has a beginning. Some
times it’s a beautiful love story—like your parents’.”
She kissed him this time, longer than before. “And sometimes it’s a broken story”—another kiss—“that God turns into a masterpiece.”
The passion between them never dimmed. It only grew deeper, like the connection they shared. Landon put his hands on either side of her face. “Exactly. And that’s what Cole will take away from your talk. Whenever you have it.”
Ashley still dreaded the moment. But at least now she didn’t feel sick about the possibility. “Thank you. For always making sense of my crazy emotions.”
He turned off the TV and stood. She did the same. “Happy to oblige.”
“Tell me we’re going to bed. To finish this upstairs.” She gave him a look that said there was no place she’d rather be.
“Yes.” He kissed her once more and took her hand, leading her to the stairs. “Especially now that we’re done talking.”
• • •
COLE FINISHED HIS homework sometime after eleven o’clock, but his mind was too busy to fall asleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about his papa’s story. What would the other three weeks tell him about their history? His heritage?
One thing he kept coming back to was his papa’s mention of the Vietnam vet. As far back as Cole could remember, he’d been fascinated by war and the sacrifice of those who served.
In history class Cole had already studied Vietnam, how soldiers had come back from war to people spitting at them and disrespecting them. Cole knew that if he had been alive back then he would’ve made sure each soldier got a proper thank-you. That’s something his papa always said. People deserved a proper thank-you for a job well done.
The soldiers that went to Vietnam were only boys, hardly older than Cole. He wondered what the man had to do with his papa’s story. He already knew his papa didn’t serve in Vietnam. So how did they know each other?
And what if Cole could find the guy? How cool would it be if his ancillary character was a vet? It wouldn’t be easy. His papa had already said he’d lost track of the man a long time ago. Still . . . Cole wanted to try.
Cole got ready for bed, climbed under the sheets and stared at the ceiling. The longer he thought about the idea, the more it seemed like the perfect addition to the story. He was required to do interviews with at least one other person besides the main source. It could be someone in his immediate family, so Cole had planned to talk to his mom. After all four hours of interviews were finished.
But if he could find the Vietnam vet, that would really be something.
He would wait until tomorrow and he’d call his papa, just for a few quick questions. What was the name of the man? Where did he live the last time his papa had talked to him? That way he could start looking for him. Cole would do it as a thank-you for his papa. For helping with his project. And deep inside, Cole had the sense he’d find the guy.
Because the feeling stirring inside him was certainty.
As if somehow God was going to make this happen.
Cole could hardly wait.
• • •
WILSON GAGE SETTLED into his La-Z-Boy recliner and popped the top on another cold one. His sixth of the night. He focused his eyes on the television and tried to remember what he was watching. Something on CNN. A special on the current administration. A checkup. Or a report card.
He couldn’t remember.
His eyes blurred and he struggled to make sense of the show. But it was beyond him, like most things these days. Too many head injuries, the doctor told him.
Not from football. He barely even got to play football before he enlisted and was whisked into the war. No, the head injuries were from his days in Nam. Times when he had been slammed to the ground by a grenade or the afternoon when his jeep took a round of friendly fire. The driver had jerked the wheel and the men inside had flown twenty feet in every direction.
Keep fighting, his commander told him. The headache will go away. But it never really did. Oh, sure, he could get by at first. His determination to find life again after the war was too great to let a little thing like a headache get him down. But these days he had trouble remembering. Trouble processing.
Which was maybe a good thing. He was eighty now.
It wouldn’t be long.
For so many years, he worked on and off in construction. Trying to forget the things he saw in Vietnam. He didn’t believe in God. Not anymore. Not since Scarlett died three years ago. He pictured her beautiful face, her sweet voice. Scarlett had loved Jesus, yes she had. She was in heaven now, no doubt. Hanging with the good crowd. Wilson could’ve been there one day, too.
But God hadn’t answered his prayers.
When Scarlett got sick, Wilson dropped to his knees every morning, every night begging God to heal her. She was all he had after the war. The only reason he wanted to live through Vietnam. The only reason to come home again.
So of course, when God took his Scarlett that was the end of Wilson’s faith. Why believe in a God who didn’t care? That’s what he figured. Better to pop a cold one and drift away in a drunken haze.
But lately Wilson had to admit something.
The years weren’t slowing down. He wasn’t getting any younger. One of these days not too far off he’d wake up to his final sunrise. The head injury or the drink or the calendar . . . something would catch up with him. And that would be that.
Then what?
Several years ago he’d heard a preacher put it succinctly. A person would die just once. They’d face Jesus—every one of them—and a verdict would follow. Heaven or hell? Everyone would go to one place or the other.
He used to believe he was going to heaven, but now he was sure he was wrong. Nothing but hell for him. He was already living it.
He squinted at the TV and took another swig of beer. Then another. The next one finished it off, and Wilson crumpled the can in his hands. The sound always reminded him of the jungle. People hiding behind trees, climbing into military vehicles. It made him feel afraid and bulletproof all at once.
The way he’d felt back then.
On the television people on the news were arguing. Screaming about taxes or tax hikes. Something. Wilson picked up the remote and turned it off. After half a dozen beers he couldn’t concentrate anyway. He leaned his head back against the chair and kicked the footrest out. Maybe he’d sleep here tonight.
He looked around and his eyes fixed on the cross, the small wooden one that hung near the front door. Scarlett had given it to him—back before she passed. Even though he didn’t believe anymore, he kept it because it reminded him of her. “You with me, God? Do you see me?” His words slurred and they sounded loud, even to him.
Then Wilson had an idea.
“Okay, God, I believed in You once. So if You’re there . . . if You’re really there, then can You show me? Give me a sign, God. Please give me a sign.”
As soon as the words left his mouth Wilson wondered if they were the wrong kind of thing to say. God might not want him throwing out a request like that. Asking for a sign.
Wilson thought a minute. Maybe if he offered something in return.
“Here’s the deal, God. You show me that You’re real. That You’re here and You care about this old vet . . . and I’ll stop drinking. I will, God. Right there on the spot. I promise.”
For some reason Wilson waited. As if God might actually talk to a lowly old drunk like him. The house remained silent. Wilson kept his eyes on the cross until they started to feel heavy. Yes, he would sleep here tonight. In the shadow of the cross.
If God wanted to give him a sign, there couldn’t be a better place than this.
9
Spotlights shone in every direction as Bailey Flanigan Paul stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet next to her husband, Brandon. Bailey was seven months pregnant, but she didn’t look it. Her pale pink sequined chiffon dress did a great job of covering it up. Not that they were trying to hide her baby bump.
But tonight wasn’t a
bout that.
Bailey took her place next to her husband for their official arrival at the Hollywood premiere of Brandon’s newest movie, The Chance.
Dayne Matthews had produced the film, so once Bailey and Brandon could make their way inside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre they would connect with Dayne and his wife, Katy.
“How’s our little girl? Kicking much?” Brandon leaned in and whispered even as he smiled and waved for hundreds of cameras on each side of the carpet.
“All the time.” Bailey smiled for the cameras even as she kept the conversation going. They had found out that the baby was a girl. Something they had both secretly hoped for.
Brandon put his arm around her shoulders. “You cold?”
“I’m fine.” Bailey grinned at him. Her gown wasn’t enough to keep her warm. The dress had cap sleeves and felt nearly weightless on. But with Brandon beside her she didn’t feel the chill in the night air. He lowered his arm and offered it to her. She took it and whispered to him, “As long as I have you.”
He ran his fingers over hers. “You always will.”
With practiced experience they made the walk, taking their time, smiling at the sea of photographers. Bailey could handle this. She was past her days of nausea. The second and third trimesters were definitely better than the first.
“You’re handling this like a pro.” Brandon winked at her as they reached the carpet’s halfway point. He talked with his face set in the sort of smile the cameras expected. They’d shared moments like this before, but tonight was special because of the movie’s message. And because their baby girl was making the walk down the red carpet with them.
“Not as much a pro as you.” Bailey kept smiling, shifting her gaze for the cameras as they walked. She glanced at Brandon, laughing a little. “Which is fine with me.”
Just before they reached the grand double doors one of the marketing assistants stopped them in front of The Chance backdrop. A dozen hired photographers snapped studio shots as they posed.
“Go ahead,” the marketing director shouted. “Interact. Look natural.”
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