Forgiven

  “Well, Dayne—” the woman looked troubled—“your parents have made a promise to tell the people in the Indonesian jungles about Jesus. It’s their passion and purpose in life.”

  That afternoon was a turning point for Dayne. He might have been only nine years old, but he could see past the dorm mother’s explanation. His mom and dad were parents. Shouldn’t that be their passion and purpose in life?

  From then on, Dayne thought so. Once when he was twelve and his parents were visiting, he told them what he thought. “God wants you to tell people about Jesus, right?”

  “Right.” His parents sat together on a bench, holding hands. His father smiled at him. “That’s what we’re building our lives around.”

  He tried to keep his tone even, but his anger got the better of him. “Then how come you haven’t told me about Jesus?”

  His mother let out a soft gasp. “Of course we’ve told you, Dayne.”

  “No. I know who Jesus is because of my classes. But I don’t understand Him. Not even the basics about Him.” He lowered his brow, studying his parents. “Doesn’t that bother you a little?”

  “Son, we can change that right now.” His father looked at his wife, and they gave each other a nod. “Go get your Bible and we’ll take a look at the book of John.”

  Dayne left but he didn’t come back with a Bible. He came back with a baseball. With so little time to spend with his parents, he wasn’t about to waste one of their afternoons talking about Jesus. He’d only wanted to make a point, and by the look in his parents’ eyes when they left the next day, his point had been made.

  “We might be far away, Dayne,” his mother told him when she left, “but we think about you and pray for you every day.”

  Her comment made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want her thoughts and prayers. Even as a preteen he wanted her hugs and her time, her attention in the evenings, and her advice on everything from the plays he was interested in to the girls who seemed to notice him more often now.

  He wanted parents, not distant missionaries, praying for him and thinking of him.

  But his parents were determined to finish the work God had given them. They spent more time in the jungles as he got older, visiting him sometimes only three times in a given year. Left on his own, Dayne became best friends with another drama student, a guy named Bob Asher. Like him, Bob had no siblings, and he’d been raised at the boarding school since he was old enough to walk.

  Bob had the best attitude of anyone at the school. If his parents missed a visit, he’d shrug and smile. “So what? So we don’t see our parents much. At least we see ’em sometimes.”

  Bob helped temper Dayne’s feelings, and through middle school and high school, the two could always be found together. But long before graduation, it was clear they were headed in different directions. Dayne wanted to act, but Bob had a craving for the faith of his parents. He wanted to preach, tell people the good news about Jesus the way his parents had.

  “Don’t you see?” Dayne told him one day. “Your parents picked Jesus over you. Doesn’t that make you mad?”

  “They made a sacrifice.”

  “We all did. Only no one asked us about it—the sacrifice just happened. It became part of our lives!” Dayne hated the way so many kids at the school knew exactly what to say, how to justify the life they lived. But he couldn’t hate Bob. “Don’t you see it, Asher? We never got a vote. Aren’t you bugged by that?”

  “Not if it’s what God wants. . . .”

  The debate raged, especially as Dayne’s senior year drew to a close. He had applied to UCLA, hoping to earn a drama degree. The school had great credentials, but even better it would take him away from Indonesia and the truth that his parents still weren’t available for him.

  The day he received his acceptance letter from UCLA was the day he realized it was too late. He was eighteen, about to graduate from high school. His childhood had passed, and to show for it, he and his parents had only a handful of hurried memories.

  Dayne’s and Katy’s pace around the lake was still slow, and Dayne let the story sit for a minute. “The plane crash came in April that year. They were planning another furlough, two months to help me get situated in college.” He bit the inside of his cheek and stared at the water. “The dorm mother—the same one who’d been there back when I was nine years old—was the one who told me.”

  They came to a stop, and Katy studied him, looked deep into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dayne.”

  “It was a long time ago.” He scattered some gravel with the toe of his tennis shoe. “Those single-engine jungle planes go down all the time.” He found a smile for her, but it didn’t come from his heart. “Hey—” he uttered a dry chuckle—“they were doing God’s work, right? What could be wrong with that?”

  “Can I tell you something?” She cupped his elbow with her hand. “I think God’s work would’ve been staying home with you.”

  “I think so too.” The touch of her fingers against his arm made him hesitate before speaking. What was it about her? How come he felt like he’d known her all his life? And what about the rest of the story? Could he trust her with the truth? In the distance thunder sounded, and they started walking again. “You know what I found out last year, eighteen years after they died?”

  She gave him a sad look. “That they regretted leaving you?”

  “No.” He wanted to pull her into a hug. Saying that made her seem perfect, not for the other hundred reasons he liked her, but because she clearly ached along with him over the loss of any normal sort of childhood. He cleared his throat. He could trust her. “I found out that I was adopted.”

  “Seriously?” She stopped and leaned against the nearest tree. “I never knew that.”

  “Hardly anyone does.” He took a spot against another tree, one opposite her. “The tabloids would have a field day with it. They’d find my birth parents and print every picture ever taken. Then they’d start digging for dirt until the papers were covered with it.” He laughed, but the sound was more disgust than humor. “Everyone has dirt if the tabloids get free rein on them.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I know I am.” His voice softened. “I have a friend in Hollywood, an actor. The tabs found out that his father was in prison, and they ran the story under huge headlines, made up some of the crimes, and exaggerated every other detail. Now the guy’s marked for life.” He shook his head. “I don’t ever want them knowing I’m adopted. My birth parents have the right to their privacy.”

  She was quiet, looking at the lake, her expression pensive. After a while she turned her attention to him again. “Do you know who they are? your birth parents?”

  He angled his head, wondering if she could tell. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because most adopted people talk about their birth mother.” She shifted her position, still leaning against the tree. “You talk about your birth parents.”

  He nodded. “You’re a good listener, Katy Hart.” He told her about hiring a private investigator and figuring it out. “My birth parents were young, unmarried. From everything I can tell, they weren’t allowed to keep me.”

  Her eyes widened. “So you’ve met them?”

  “Not really.” The tree he was propped up against was digging into his back. He tucked his hands behind himself and smiled at her. “Let’s just say I found closure.”

  Katy looked doubtful, but she didn’t push the issue. “How’d you figure it out? that you were adopted?”

  Images of Luke Baxter came to mind, the way Dayne had happened upon his office and the myriad of family pictures around his desk. If Luke hadn’t worked at his attorney’s office, he might never have known. He studied Katy, saw the integrity in her eyes and face. She was safe, definitely. Still, it wasn’t the time. “I found a framed photograph in my storage unit. It . . . it looked familiar so I picked it up. Underneath it were all these documents, papers on my adoption.”

  “Wow. How weird would that be?” r />
  “It was.” He took a deep breath. “I found out my birth mother had written me a letter on the back side of the photo I’d found in my storage unit.” He let his head rest on the tree as he watched her through narrowed eyes. “I haven’t read it yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I guess I was angry. I mean, why didn’t she fight her parents? And if she had to give me up, why’d she let a couple of missionaries adopt me?” He chuckled, trying to keep the conversation light. “Her picture’s still there in the storage unit. I could read it whenever I want, I guess.”

  “So your parents, your adoptive parents, never told you?”

  “They did once. After I found my birth mother’s photo, I remembered seeing it before. I was in primary school, about six, when my parents showed it to me. They told me she was the woman who gave birth to me. But they never came out and said I was adopted. They never brought it up again, and I forgot about ever seeing the picture. I really had no idea I was adopted until last year.”

  He took a breath. That was all he could say. The Baxters lived too close to bring them up now. No, the identity of his birth family would remain a secret unless somehow fate brought them together. Even so, he was determined it wouldn’t happen now or on this trip. Not with the media about to descend on Bloomington because of his location shoot.

  The one thing he hadn’t considered was that Katy might have a connection to one of his sisters. But even if he had the chance to meet Ashley Baxter Blake, he would say nothing. He had his life, and they had theirs. It was better for all of them if things stayed that way.

  Katy pulled away from the tree and peered up through the branches. “Looks like rain.”

  “It does.” Dayne found his place beside her, and they picked up their pace. “This trail is great. It’s perfect for talking.”

  “I think so.” She smiled at him. “I’ve walked it with Rhonda a few times.”

  “Rhonda?” He was glad the talk of his adoption was past.

  “You’ve seen her.” Her voice held a subtle teasing. “Remember, Dayne? When you dropped in on us the last night of Charlie Brown?” She gave him a knowing look. “Rhonda’s my choreographer. She’s the one who spotted you that night.” Katy laughed. “She came running up and told me Dayne Matthews had stopped in to see a few minutes of the show. I thought she was crazy.”

  He chuckled. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”

  “I still don’t know why you were there that night.”

  Panic knocked at the windows of Dayne’s soul, but he didn’t flinch. “Research.”

  Katy looked doubtful, but she stared straight ahead and kept walking. A light rain began to fall, and she glanced up. “I think we’re in trouble.”

  “Nah.” Dayne said. “Probably just a passing cloud.”

  But before he finished his sentence, the rain got harder.

  “Dayne . . .” Katy grinned at him. The rain was plastering her hair against her head now. “You haven’t been in an Indiana downpour, have you?”

  “Not lately.” He took her hand and ran with her to a tree a few feet ahead. The branches above them were thick, but not thick enough to keep the rain from drenching them. “How long would it take to get back if we ran for it?” Dayne raised his voice so she could hear him over the sound of the storm.

  “Too long.” She laughed and wiped a layer of water off her face with her free hand. “Either way the trees aren’t much help. We might as well start back.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Dayne looked up. “Maybe you’re right.”

  He turned back the way they’d come and led her down the path. They moved quickly, half-running. Along the way they joked about the storm and how wet they were getting. The only thing they didn’t talk about was the obvious.

  He was still holding her hand.

  Katy let go of Dayne’s hand when they reached her car. Inside, they looked at each other and laughed even harder. Her hair hung in a wet sheet around her shoulders and the sides of her face, and she rested her forehead on the steering wheel. “Well . . .” She was out of breath, exhilarated from the cool rain and the half run back to the parking lot. “Next time I’ll check the forecast before suggesting a hike around the lake.”

  “You know what?” Dayne turned sideways and leaned against the passenger door.

  “What?” Her sides were still heaving, her heart rate returning to normal. She looked at him, at the way his eyes appeared bluer than before.

  “If the forecast says rain . . . call me.” He shook his head and sprayed water on his lap. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

  She could breathe normally now, and the laughter from a moment ago faded. She smiled at him. “It was, huh?”

  “Yes.” He looked at his watch. “Wanna get lunch?”

  Katy thought about it. The reason the day had been so much fun was because nothing about it had been real. The real Dayne Matthews would always have a photographer or two trailing him. Maybe even some demented fan. But here, on the shores of Lake Monroe, they’d stolen a day from everyone who wanted a piece of him. Going to lunch in a public place might change everything.

  He must’ve guessed what she was thinking. “How about the university? A couple of drenched people should be able to get a salad at the cafeteria without anyone getting starstruck, right?”

  “Hmmm.” He had a point. She’d been on campus a few times as a guest at one drama class or another. The place was busy and hectic. They could grab lunch, find a table out of the way, and probably stay unnoticed. “All right.” She gave him another smile as she turned the key and started the engine. “Let’s try.”

  The afternoon turned out to be perfect. Sunshine broke through the clouds even before they reached the campus. They ate without anyone looking twice at Dayne, and when they were done, they walked from the cafeteria toward the football stadium.

  “We needed this.” Dayne held his arms out in front of him. “I was beginning to think I’d never get dry.”

  “I still can’t believe it.” She looked over her shoulder. “No one figuring out who you are.”

  He laughed and glanced down at himself. “I look like a drowned rat.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. Katy stopped herself from gazing at him longer than necessary. He looked wonderful, his muscles more clearly defined beneath his damp T-shirt.

  The conversation between them continued, but Katy could barely keep up. She kept asking herself the same questions. Why was he here? What were they doing? And what could possibly come from allowing themselves a day like this? Was it simply a means to an end, a chance to follow their feelings regardless of the fact that very soon the moment would pass and they might never have this again?

  Katy hugged herself as they walked. She wanted to hold his hand, wanted to feel the way she had as they hurried around the lake in the pouring rain. If he would’ve stopped halfway back and kissed her, she wouldn’t have told him no. And what did that say about her?

  She had no answers for herself, so she shut the questions from her mind. They were almost to the football stadium, the sun warm on their bodies and faces.

  He slowed and stared up at the structure. “It’s huge.”

  “Football’s huge here.” She shaded her eyes so she could see it better. “In Bloomington the quarterback and coach are more famous than anyone from Hollywood.”

  He nodded. “I like that.” A gate was open in front of them. “Can we go in?”

  “Probably.” She took the lead, heading for the stadium entrance. “They’re getting it ready for tomorrow’s home game.”

  From somewhere inside the gates, a band broke into song, and Dayne felt his eyes light up. “Band practice!”

  “Yep.” She giggled at him. Was he that removed from life’s ordinary pleasures? “Happens just about every day.”

  They went inside and climbed a long flight of stairs. Workers were painting lines on the grassy field below, and in one end zone the Indiana marching band was in fo
rmation, belting out the school’s fight song.

  “This is great!” He took her hand and headed up another set of stairs. When they were near the top, he sat down and she took the spot beside him.

  With no one around, it felt perfectly normal to be holding his hand. They listened, and when the song was done, he turned to her. “Do you know how lucky you are?”

  A gentle breeze blew over them, and Katy ran her free hand through her hair. “Lucky?”

  “Yes.” He lifted her fingers to his lips, gently kissed the back of her hand, and then lowered it to the narrow place between them. His eyes never left hers the whole time. “Your life is so . . . so normal, Katy. You have the lake and the parks and the university. People living and working and raising families, with none of the strangeness I deal with every day.”

  Her stomach still had butterflies from the way he’d kissed her hand, but she tried to focus on what he’d said. He was right. The idea that privacy and open spaces and breathing the fresh Bloomington air were, in themselves, privileges. “I never thought of it that way.”

  He searched her face, and she knew. She knew long before he moved closer that he was going to kiss her. They were in a world of their own, one that wouldn’t last much longer. But the feelings were there for both of them. Then, in the sweetest instant, his lips touched hers. The kiss wasn’t forced or overly passionate. It was less than the kiss they’d shared in her Hollywood audition. But it melted her heart, and without thinking she slipped her arm around his waist and kept it there, even when he drew back slightly.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was low, soothing. Meant for her alone.

  “Yeah.” She pressed her cheek against his and felt his arm come around her. “I’m okay.”

  He brought his hand up alongside her face and turned her so she faced him again. “How do I find myself here for good, Katy?” He kissed her again, tentative and slow. “How do I do it?”

  She shook her head. “That’s just it . . .” From the fountains of joy that welled in her heart, she felt a piercing pain, a sorrow that would last long after he had returned to California. “You can’t, Dayne. The world will keep you right where you are.”