Fame

  “Oh.” Katy nodded. “That’s not bad news.” She hurried up the aisle, her eyes still on Heath. “We’ll just open the doors.”

  In a blur, she rushed into the lobby, flung open the double doors, and was instantly slapped in the face by a sheet of hail. “Oh, brother.” She shut the doors again and spun around.

  The parents and kids in the lobby were all staring at her, trying not to laugh.

  “That’s why we had the doors closed.” One of the dads grinned.

  “I see that.” Katy brushed her clothes off and shook the hail from her arms.

  Tim’s little sister Mary came up and tugged on Katy’s blouse. “You have snow on your head.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mary. I thought I might.” She ran her fingers through her hair and dashed back into the sanctuary. “Okay,” she shouted. “Group two, get ready.”

  Katy was running back down the aisle when she spotted one of the college girls who would help with the show. She was seated at the back of the sanctuary next to her boyfriend. He had his arm around her, his eyes lost in hers, their heads tilted toward each other.

  The picture filled Katy’s senses and drew her back. Suddenly the ache in her heart returned, raw and painful and lonely, the way it still felt even two years after leaving Chicago. She glanced once more at the couple. They were laughing about something and holding hands, lost in a world of their own.

  Katy hesitated. That was her not so many years ago, wasn’t it? The college girl sitting with her first love—her only love—in the back of an auditorium while their class rehearsed near the front. Back then she had dreams of marriage and babies and living in Chicago forever. But it hadn’t worked out that way, and here, now, she missed that time with an intensity that took her breath away.

  She turned her attention back to the front of the church and picked up her pace. Tears stung her eyes. The pain hit her at the strangest times, smack in the midst of an entire building full of people who loved and adored her. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Let’s go! Group two, get your music ready.”

  A single breath and Katy felt control coming over her. The life she had in Chicago was gone; she would never go back. Her eyes were dry again, and she forced herself to focus on the whispery jitters and rustling lyrics sheets and excitement brimming all around her. This was her home, where she belonged.

  And it was enough.

  Katy sat at the table and stared at her notepad. This is all I need, isn’t it, God? Isn’t that what You told me? Being a part of three dozen families with a hundred kids calling my name? These are the plans You have for me, right?

  There was no answer, not even in the quiet places of her heart.

  “Katy, you with us?” Rhonda tapped Katy’s foot under the table. “Let’s get these kids through here.”

  “Right.” Katy looked at the first row, where the next ten kids were waiting. “Number eleven, take the stage.”

  Katy didn’t lose focus again.

  After the first thirty auditions, a woman came up to Katy and touched her shoulder. “You’re Katy, right? The director?”

  Katy turned in her seat. “Yes, hello.” They’d only talked on the phone, but Katy had no doubt this was Sarah Jo’s mother.

  Alice Stryker moved in closer and lowered her voice. “Sarah Jo’s been practicing the part of Becky for some time now.” Mrs. Stryker pinched her lips together and gave Katy’s shoulder a light push. “I already made her a Becky Thatcher dress.”

  “Mrs. Stryker—” Katy tried to keep the shock from her tone—“the team won’t be choosing kids for the roles until after tomorrow’s callback.”

  Her expression changed and she uttered a polite laugh. “Of course, dear. I’m just planting seeds for tomorrow, since parents can’t watch the callbacks and I’m convinced Sarah Jo can play the part.”

  Mrs. Stryker was gone before Katy could catch her breath. It would take everything in her to call Sarah Jo back after her mother’s unfair expectations.

  Katy was still replaying the woman’s words when Sarah Jo approached her. Katy watched the girl’s tentative steps, her wide, hesitant eyes. For the first time she considered that maybe Sarah Jo was nothing like her mother.

  “Miss Katy?” The girl glanced over her shoulder as she ran her tongue along her lower lip. Her face was downcast when her eyes met Katy’s again. “I’m Sarah Jo.” She held out her hand. “Whatever my mama said, I’m sorry. She—” the girl swallowed, her expression tense—“she has her ideas about me.”

  Katy’s heart melted. “Oh, honey, it’s okay.” She took hold of Sarah Jo’s hand. “Don’t worry. Everyone’s a little excited at auditions.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” The hint of a sparkle appeared in Sarah Jo’s eyes. “Thanks.”

  Katy watched Sarah Jo blend back in with the other kids and noticed the two oldest Flanigan children, fifteen-year-old Bailey and twelve-year-old Connor, near the back of the room. Connor had earned a part in each of the first three shows, but Bailey was an unknown. Since Katy lived with the Flanigans and felt like part of their family, she had worried for a week about whether Bailey would have what it takes to get a part and whether it would be uncomfortable with Jim and Jenny, their parents, if either of the kids wasn’t cast in the play.

  During the break before their auditions, Jenny Flanigan came up to the table and took hold of Katy’s hand. “No favors, Katy. Treat them like anyone else.”

  They were just the words Katy needed to hear. “Thanks.” Her heart swelled and she squeezed Jenny’s fingers. “I needed that.”

  Bailey was first up when they got started again. Her audition was upbeat and right on key. Everything about it proved that Katy had nothing to worry about. The Flanigan girl was a natural, a willowy beauty with a sweet voice. She moved easily onstage, and Katy guessed she would be a wonderful dancer. Katy made a note next to Bailey’s name to call her back, maybe for the part of Becky Thatcher. She could always ask Alice Stryker to have the dress adjusted.

  Sarah Jo was next, and Katy held her breath. Okay, let’s see what she’s got. Sarah Jo sang “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid, and after the first line, Katy understood Mrs. Stryker’s determination. The girl looked unremarkable—thin with wispy brown hair—but she sang with her entire being, letting the song flow through to her fingertips as she stretched out her hands during the chorus.

  Very simply, Sarah Jo Stryker lit up the room. Her voice was amazing, beautiful and full, mature in a way that sent chills down Katy’s spine. She was composed and self-assured, presenting the song in a way that made everyone in the room see her as Ariel, the conflicted mermaid.

  No wonder her mother expected Sarah Jo to be famous. If the girl wanted a career on the stage, she definitely had the voice and stage presence for it.

  When she finished, a burst of applause came from the group seated in the sanctuary. Sarah Jo gave Katy a weak smile and a slight shrug.

  Katy’s heart went out to her. It was clear Sarah Jo expected to be penalized because of her mother’s behavior. Katy returned the smile with a nod. She stared down at her notepad and pursed her lips. Apparently she’d have to find a way to work with Mrs. Stryker. She poised her pencil over the paper and wrote Sarah Jo Stryker—callback.

  Next up was Ashley Zarelli, a sweet, dark-haired seventeen-year-old who had overcome a troubled past. As an infant, Ash had been left in a dresser drawer for the first two months of her life. A local senator and his wife took her for the next eleven months, but then the state stepped in and placed her back with her biological mother. Life spiraled downward quickly, but not until Ash was four years old did the state take her from her biological mother for good and return her to the couple. She’d been part of the Zarelli family ever since.

  Tani Zarelli, Ash’s adoptive mother, once told Katy that as difficult as her daughter’s life had been, she was certain the Lord had given her a message regarding Ashley. That one day she would be a teacher of His Word. It was a promise Tani and her husband held on
to when Ash was younger and suffered from low self-esteem and nightmares.

  As the Zarelli girl took the stage, Katy was struck by the faithfulness of God. Here was a precious teenager who had been left for dead by her biological mother, now glowing with the light of Christ. Ash’s involvement in the theater was a living picture of God’s promises alive and at work. In the last CKT performance—Charlotte’s Web—Ashley had worked with Tim Reed to lead the cast in Scripture reading or prayers.

  She sang a song from The Sound of Music and did well enough to earn a callback.

  The auditions continued right up until seven o’clock, with one hundred thirty-six children from both ends of the CKT age range—eight-year-olds auditioning for the first time to eighteen-year-olds taking their last chance at a part.

  Once the kids and their parents were out of the building, Heath Hudson approached Katy. “Want me to wait for you?”

  Katy’s mind went blank. “Do we have plans?”

  “No, I just, uh . . .” Heath’s cheeks grew a shade darker. “I thought maybe I’d wait in the other room and we could get coffee when you’re done.”

  “Heath, that’s so sweet.” Katy took his hands in hers. “But we’ll be a while, and when we’re done I need to get home.” She paused. “Okay?”

  “Sure.” Heath gave her hands a squeeze and separated himself, taking a few steps back. “I’ll see you Friday at practice.”

  “Right.” Katy gave a friendly wave. “See you then.”

  When she turned back to her creative team, both Nancy and Rhonda had knowing looks on their faces. Katy held up one hand. “Stop. Don’t even start.” Being single around so many families meant someone was always trying to set her up. But that night they had more to talk about than Heath Hudson.

  “I won’t give you a hard time, Katy.” Al crossed his arms and gave his wife a teasing poke in the ribs. “You girls are terrible around each other. Can’t she say hello to Heath without you setting a wedding date?”

  They all laughed, but the silliness faded quickly. The creative team huddled for the next hour and decided on forty-three kids for callbacks. There would be some sixty kids in the play, but not everyone needed a callback to get a part. The second day of auditions was only to cast the speaking parts. Some children would earn smaller ensemble parts merely on the strength of their first audition.

  Katy’s stomach was in knots by the time she drove back to Clear Creek and pulled into the Flanigans’ driveway. The knots were normal. Auditions were the hardest of all. In a perfect world, every child wanting a part in the play would get one, but Katy had parts for less than half the kids who tried out.

  And something about the way she felt was different this time.

  The lights in the house were off, which was good. She didn’t want the distraction of conversation, not tonight. Not only because of the task that lay ahead the next day, while she and her creative team held callbacks and cast the show, but because of something else, something that made the knots in her stomach worse than usual tonight.

  Katy lay awake trying to figure out what it was, and she kept coming back to the same thing—the memory of the college girl and her boyfriend at the back of the sanctuary. Even after three hours of auditions and another hour of discussion, Katy couldn’t get the picture out of her head.

  The longer she thought about it, the more it made sense. Because for all the richness of CKT and all the ways she felt part of the biggest family anyone could ever hope for, there was no denying the basic truth. Katy had no one to call her own, no boyfriend or special someone as a prospect for the future.

  As she fell asleep she was convinced that the thing causing knots in her stomach was more than anxiety over casting Tom Sawyer, something more than worrying about what part Bailey Flanigan or Sarah Jo Stryker or Tim Reed or Ashley Zarelli might earn at callbacks. It was something no one else could see or understand, something so big it threatened to send her packing her bags and running straight back to Chicago.

  A deep and crushing loneliness.

  Ashley Baxter Blake was sitting at her easel putting the finishing touches on a lakeside painting and missing her mother when she heard the front door open.

  “We’re home!” Landon’s voice rang through the house, and the sound of a child’s footsteps followed.

  “Mommy, we caught the greenest frog on the whole shoreline!” Cole was six now, kindergarten behind him. He had mud smudges on his cheeks and lake scum stuck in his blond hair. “I couldn’t get him ’cause he was lickety fast, but then Daddy creeped up real quiet and—” Cole made a sweeping motion with his hand—“he snatched him just like that.”

  Landon entered the room, the knees of his jeans caked with dirt. He looked at Ashley, his eyes shining, speaking volumes before he ever said a word.

  “Actually—” Cole scratched at the green slime stuck in his hair—“Daddy caught three frogs. He’s the bestest catcher.”

  “Three?” Ashley raised her eyebrows in Landon’s direction, teasing him. “My big, strapping, firefighter husband catching not one but three frogs on a sunny summer morning? I’m so impressed.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Cole’s eyes were big and excited. “But the last one was the greenest one.” He looked up at Landon. “It even had bright green feet, right?”

  Ashley lowered her chin in Cole’s direction. “And where’s the bright green froggy right now?”

  “Oh, we let him go.” Cole gave a serious nod. “He lives at the lake.” His eyes lit up. “But we can catch him again next time, right, Daddy?”

  “Right.” Landon dropped down to Cole’s level and worked his thumb across one of the smudges. “Hey, how about that shower?”

  “Oh yeah.” Cole grinned at Ashley; then he bent halfway over and shook his hair. “No lunch until we get the dirt out of our hair.” He straightened; then with a quick wave at both of them, he dashed out of the room and down the hallway toward the bathroom.

  Ashley set her paintbrush down. She used the back of her hand to brush a lock of hair off her forehead; then she moved away from the easel and into Landon’s arms. “Sounds like a successful morning.”

  “Mmmm.” He nuzzled her face. “A hike along the lake with my favorite boy . . . bright green frogs . . .” He kissed her, a kiss of smoldering passion and desire that had only grown stronger in the year they’d been married. “And now this.” He drew back and looked into her eyes. “Mornings don’t get much better than this.”

  From down the hall, they heard the sound of the shower.

  Ashley drew Landon closer and kissed him again, longer this time. When she stopped for a breath, she giggled, brushing her nose against his. “Know what I love?”

  Landon ran his hands down the length of her arms and searched her eyes. “What?”

  “I love hearing Cole call you Daddy.”

  Light and love mixed together and shone from Landon’s eyes. “Not as much as I love having him as my son.”

  Ashley moved into his arms again and laid her head on his chest. “All those years I fought you. How could I have been so stubborn?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “It doesn’t matter. Look at what we’ve got.”

  Landon was right. Never mind her escapades in Paris, the fact that she’d come home pregnant and alone and feeling like the Baxter family black sheep. Landon had always been there, coaxing her toward him, making her believe she was worth something even when she couldn’t believe it herself. They survived the years when he was in New York City and she was dealing with fears about her health. Years when she never would’ve dreamed they’d find a life together.

  But here they were.

  He pulled back and studied her painting. “You haven’t done one of the lake from that angle before. I like it.” He cocked his head, his voice tender. “Reminds me of the last Baxter picnic.”

  “Before Mom died.” Ashley took a step closer and ran her fingers along the edge of the canvas. “I thought so too.”

  “Will there be peop
le in it?”

  “I think so.” She looked at him. “I’d like to put an older couple on a bench looking out at the water. We’d only see the backs of their heads.”

  Landon shifted his attention to the painting and then back to her. “Your parents?”

  Tears stung Ashley’s eyes. “Mmm-hmm.” She let her gaze drift to the image of the lake. “It’s like if I put her in my paintings, I can keep her memory alive longer.”

  “Ash.” He held his arms out to her. “Come here.”

  In the background the shower stopped, and they heard Cole moving about in the bathroom.

  Ashley closed her eyes and let herself get lost in Landon’s embrace. “I can’t believe it’s been almost a year.”

  “I can still hear her voice.”

  “Me too.” Ashley sniffed and looked up at Landon. “Every time we visit Dad it’s like I sense her there, working in the kitchen or having tea at the dining room table. Reading a magazine in the living room.” She hesitated. “I miss her so much.”

  Landon didn’t say anything, and Ashley was glad. He didn’t have to have an answer every time she missed her mother. It was enough that he held her and let her talk about her feelings.

  “Know what I’ve been thinking?” She moved back to her easel and sat on the stool, facing him.

  “What?”

  “We need to get involved in some . . . I don’t know, some community work. Something in Mom’s memory.”

  Landon leaned against the wall and looked out the window. “Your work at Sunset Hills was like that.”

  He was right. The work she’d done with Alzheimer’s patients at Sunset Hills was something that would’ve honored her mother’s memory. But she had left the job after getting married and never returned. The owner of the house had hired a new manager, and now she only stopped by on occasion to visit her favorite residents.

  Ashley sat a little straighter. “Kari was telling me about this new theater group in town—Christian Kids Theater—something like that.” She and her sister Kari had grown much closer in the past year, comforting each other in the wake of losing their mother. Now she tried to remember the details of their conversation.