Forgiven

  “You mean he was sitting in the sanctuary for two whole rehearsals and you never introduced us?” She was half-furious, half-crushed. “Then you have to take me to the location shoot, Katy.”

  She talked it over with Jenny, and the two of them decided it couldn’t hurt. They would stand on the perimeter and watch the happenings. If Dayne wasn’t too busy, they’d say a quick hello and Katy could introduce Rhonda.

  But that wasn’t how it turned out at all.

  Of course they’d shown up just when Dayne and Kelly were trying to film a love scene. Katy knew that part of the script well. It was a turning point, the time when the female lead realizes that she can’t win. She wants to stay in her small town, but she wants the male lead more.

  The kiss was supposed to show her passion for him, her struggle about what the future held. But as soon as Dayne spotted Katy, she had the feeling things weren’t going to work out.

  “He saw you,” Rhonda had whispered.

  “I know.” Katy had turned around. “Let’s go. This is awkward.”

  “It’s not awkward; it’s amazing.” Rhonda took a step closer and motioned to Jenny. “Come on, we’re too far back.”

  The next few minutes told Katy she was right. Dayne was making mistakes she could only blame on herself . . . and why not? They had left things without any real solution, no closure. Of course her presence would distract him.

  She turned into the Flanigans’ driveway, parked, and climbed the stairs to her apartment without being noticed. Before another night went by she was determined to research Kabbalah on her computer. It was something she’d told Dayne she would do, and she wasn’t going to fail him. Not on this. He would leave Bloomington soon. But his faith, his salvation weren’t anything to mess with.

  She had a feeling neither was Kabbalah.

  Now she had to find the reasons why, the proof that would help him find his way to God—the God of his adoptive parents.

  She tossed her bag on the bed and pulled a letter from her pocket. Tim Reed had handed it to her as practice was ending, and she hadn’t had a chance to read it until now. She opened it and smiled at the boyish printing.

  Katy,

  Just wanted to thank you for making the Bible study a weekly thing. I think we all need it.

  Tim

  Her heart hurt in a good way when she thought about how the CKT kids were coming together. That first night, after she’d told them Jeremy Fisher’s story, they had read about the Prodigal Son. It wasn’t fair, a few of the kids pointed out, and Katy had to agree.

  Why would a father throw a party for the bad son, the one who had made all the wrong choices? the one who had come home empty-handed? Especially when the father had never thrown a party for the good son? But that wasn’t the point of the story, and by the end of that evening the kids seemed to understand.

  The point was, the father loved his kids. Both his kids. Every day was a party for the good kid, because he had a pure uninterrupted relationship with his father. Not so for the bad son. Every day of his absence was another day of darkness. In that sense, of course the father would celebrate when he looked at the horizon and saw his lost son finally returning.

  “What right did the good son have for being angry?” Katy had asked them. “Maybe his father wanted him to celebrate the bad son’s return also. Think about that.”

  The kids had done what she asked, because several of them mentioned it over the next few rehearsals. One day when they met for Bible study before practice, they’d looked at verses on love. By the end of the hour it was clear what was happening. God was working in their hearts. They might not be ready to forgive Jeremy Fisher just yet, but it was coming. She could feel it with absolute certainty. God was working a miracle in their group, and in time it was going to be clear to all of them.

  Katy sat down at her computer, signed on, and waited for the search line to come up. She typed in Kabbalah and hit Enter. Thousands of possibilities came up, the first of which were official Web sites for the organization. She clicked the top one and waited.

  A mystic blue page filled the screen, and at the top it read: The wisdom of Kabbalah teaches its students how to attain the upper world and the source of existence. By finding purpose, all men can achieve perfection and learn to enjoy the limitations of time and space.

  Katy read it again and one more time after that. Still, she was confused. Dayne had talked about an upper world, but it wasn’t something she’d heard before. And what was the idea that all men could find perfection? Only Jesus was perfect, and people couldn’t find that righteousness without dying to self and living for Him. The Bible’s teaching on perfection smacked in the face of the teachings of Kabbalah.

  She scrolled farther. One summary of the teachings said that Kabbalah was the ultimate source of fulfillment in this world. Kabbalists live a life governed by one law, the general law of the universe, one teacher had written. This law has one single objective—to make us equal to God.

  A chill ran down her arms. She checked two more sites and found statements about how Kabbalah could teach a student to become his or her own god. She read about the six hundred and thirteen impure desires and the one hundred and twenty-five spiritual steps.

  After thirty minutes of research, Katy was sick to her stomach. The teachings felt more like a cult than anything, and she tried that as another search.

  Kabbalah and cult, she typed in.

  Another long list of possibilities appeared, and she tried the first. It read: Media alert—Kabbalah is part of the pop culture, but it is also a destructive cult!

  Her heartbeat quickened. No matter if she ever saw Dayne again, she had to get this information to him. She scanned the page, and the sick feeling in her stomach grew worse. Leading cult experts likened Kabbalah to cults that were sinister, deceptive, and destructive.

  Leaders at the centers will make outrageous claims, one expert said. Then they try to take huge sums of money from new recruits, convincing these people that only by giving can they make their way through the myriad of spiritual steps required to reach fulfillment.

  It’s hogwash, another wrote. The centers use control tactics and other tricks typical of cults. If someone you know or love is caught up in Kabbalah, get them out. The expert went on to say that the answer was to have a high level of personal responsibility.

  Katy wanted to throw something at the computer. Personal responsibility wasn’t the answer to spiritual lies. The truth would only be found in Scripture. That’s when the idea hit her. She would copy the information on Kabbalah, print it out, and buy Dayne a Bible. Then she’d put the two items together and get them to him before he left. Her personal feelings were nothing compared to the seriousness of what he was about to be involved with.

  As she turned off her computer, she remembered the words that had blown across her soul when she prayed for Dayne the week before: Make the most of every opportunity. Maybe that’s the reason he’d been brought into her life. She felt silly for letting her feelings get involved, childish for kissing him. She was there for one obvious reason—to stop him from doing something he would regret forever.

  Otherwise he might never know the truth.

  John and Elaine walked the last aisle of the farmers’ market, enjoying the comfortable banter they’d found together. They had a standing date now to spend Saturday mornings together, and John had done everything he could to calm the fears of his kids. They all knew now, even his two youngest adult children, Luke and Erin. He’d told them all the same thing.

  Elaine was his friend, and having a friend in this season of his life was important.

  If he’d thought Elaine was looking for anything other than friendship, he would’ve ended things with her immediately. But now that his life had a new purpose—to find his firstborn son—he needed a friend more than ever. Especially since no one but Elaine knew about his plans.

  He carried a bag of fresh-picked apples. She held a small paper sack with more blueberries, her favori
te. They’d been talking about the letters, how John had sorted through them and decided that if Elizabeth wanted to find their oldest son, then he would fulfill her wish or die trying.

  Elaine pointed across the park. “Hey, what’s happening over there?”

  John peered over a family setting up a picnic. The days were still warm, still sunny enough to spend outdoors. But the leaves were picking up color, and the sun set earlier every day. Fall was setting in and winter wasn’t far behind it. When he saw the white panel vans and trucks and a film crew, he remembered. “That’s where they’re filming that Dayne Matthews movie.”

  “Right.” Elaine tried to get a glimpse, but she was too short to see much. “I read about it in the paper.”

  “Ashley came by the other day. She loves this kind of stuff.”

  Elaine raised her shoulders a few times. “If you’ve got the time, let’s take a look.”

  “Sure.” John swung the bag of apples over his left shoulder and turned onto a sidewalk that would take them closer. “I don’t remember the details, do you? I think it’s a love story.”

  “It is.” She smiled. “Dream On, I think. Stars Dayne Matthews and Kelly Parker. The gossip magazines say they’re living together. I guess the interest is up because of what they have offscreen.”

  “Hmmm—” he smiled at her—“I didn’t know you read those.”

  “I don’t. Just the covers when I’m in line buying groceries. You can get most of it without turning a single page.”

  John laughed. They were closer now, and he led her to a spot near one corner where they had a front-row view of the happenings. Dayne Matthews was standing next to a man with a bullhorn. Across the street, Kelly Parker and an older man were talking in front of a row of small businesses. People stationed around the edge of the cordoned area had their hands up, warning the spectators that filming was going on.

  After a few minutes, the man with the bullhorn yelled, “Cut, got it! Perfect! You people amaze me.”

  The crowd of onlookers clapped, and someone a few feet from John and Elaine called Dayne’s name. He turned around and smiled, and for the briefest instant, John sucked in a quick breath. “My goodness.”

  “What?” Elaine shifted her blueberries to her other arm and tried to follow his gaze. “That’s Dayne Matthews.”

  “I know.” He shook his head. “Dayne’s a client for one of the attorneys at the firm where Luke works. More than a year ago, Luke told me that everyone at the law firm thought they looked alike.” He stared at the movie star. “They were right.”

  Elaine squinted, studying Dayne. “Sort of.” She gave a slight nod. “I can see the resemblance.”

  The man with the bullhorn was asking everyone to quiet down again, and John motioned toward the parking lot. “Let’s get going.” He whispered, “I’m not much of a star gazer.”

  She laughed, and they were quiet as they walked to his car. The whole way, John thought about the letters and the fact that he had the rest of the day to finish going through them. Clouds were gathering overhead, and more rain was expected. It would be the perfect afternoon to light the fireplace and sort through the box. He’d know about Elizabeth’s thoughts, and at the same time he could select the best letters to copy for Ashley and the other girls.

  The conversation with Elaine was pleasant on the way home, but it felt good to drop her off and have the silence. Even though the silence could be lonely, it was sometimes the best sound of all. Because in that silence, he could always find his way back to yesterday.

  At home, he put on the kettle and went to his room to retrieve Elizabeth’s letters. A new setting would be better to sort through the letters this time. He grabbed the box of letters and the manila envelope with the three letters inside. He glanced inside the manila envelope, but something wasn’t right.

  It contained only two envelopes.

  Suddenly his heart began to thud hard against the wall of his chest. Where had it gone? He saw the ones for himself and the kids. But the one for their firstborn son was gone.

  It had to be here. He set the manila envelope on the bed and checked the floor. It had been here the other day, and no one had touched the area since. Of course, the cleaning lady had come yesterday. Maybe that was it—maybe she’d set it somewhere to keep it from being sucked in by the vacuum.

  He moved the box of letters off the bed and looked underneath it. Then he dropped to his knees and lifted the bed skirt. It had to be here. Other than the housekeeper, no one had been in his room, and he hadn’t moved it.

  Or had he?

  He stood and stared at the box. Was he so caught up in the memories and emotions the other day that he’d buried the letter marked Firstborn in the box with the others? He clutched the manila envelope and lifted the box onto his hip. That had to be it. He must’ve slid it down somewhere near the bottom so no one would find it.

  For the next hour he sorted through the contents of the box, placing letters in piles on the kitchen table according to who wrote them and when they were sent. By the end of that time John was certain of one thing:

  The letter was missing.

  Ashley had been over, but she wouldn’t have taken it, would she? But if not her, then who? The thought made him sick. But even worse was the idea that the secret he and Elizabeth had kept for so many years was about to become public knowledge. And after that, nothing between him and his kids would ever be the same again.

  It was too much for John to take in, and as he ate dinner alone and tried to pass the time all evening, he finally convinced himself that the housekeeper must have moved it. She would’ve been cleaning and not known if the envelope belonged with the box or somewhere else. In her doubt, she would’ve set it somewhere safe, somewhere he might find it. Yes, that had to be it.

  If Ashley had seen it or taken it, she would’ve called him by now. She wasn’t one to sit on something so life altering. The thought brought him comfort. He’d talk to the cleaning lady as soon as he could. He would ask her where she’d put the envelope, and all would be well. By the time he turned in, he was sure that was the answer.

  In fact, he had no doubts whatsoever.

  The chemistry between Kelsy Bouchey and the rest of the Annie crew was beyond what Katy had hoped for. Kelsy was the perfect Annie, singing with a soulful earnestness that made her not only believable but unforgettable. The girl’s skill and professionalism reminded Katy of Sarah Jo Stryker, and at times she’d done a double take, looking over her shoulder to see Kelsy where—for a moment—she had expected to see Sarah Jo. Little Kelsy could take a person’s breath away with a single song. And since she had a number of solos, the show was already off to a great start.

  Katy stood near the front of the sanctuary and raised her hands toward the kids onstage. “Let’s do that again. The street-people scene needs work.”

  Rhonda hopped into the center of the action and helped position kids where they needed to be. Katy took a seat, her notepad balanced on her lap. It was Saturday morning, and more than a week had passed since she’d seen Dayne or allowed anyone to bring up his name.

  All her focus was on the play. In the orphanage scenes, she’d worked in some special blocking to highlight Kyle Lanham. He was onstage now looking adorable as always, playing the role of one of the orphans, since they didn’t have a little girl his size who could pull off the vocals. They’d renamed him Wally, and the other orphans were constantly fawning over him. The boy had complained about his role at first. If he was the only boy people might think he was a girl, he said. Because of that, Katy shifted a few other boys into those scenes.

  Kyle’s mother had pulled Katy aside at the last practice. “No matter what Kyle tells you, he loves the attention.” She patted Katy on the back. “Thanks for trusting him with the part.”

  “He’s playing it perfectly.” She hadn’t had as much time to get to know the new parents with this show, but she liked Kyle’s mother. “Whatever you’re doing at home, keep it up.”

  N
ow they were putting the final touches on the blocking for the street scene. Kelsy was supposed to come in stage right with her newfound dog and ask the group of shabby street people whether anyone was looking for a dog, and for that matter, whether any of them had given away a little redheaded girl nine years earlier.

  Katy had debated a long time about whether to use a real dog. That had always been the plan, but with the tragedy of the accident and the lost rehearsal time, it seemed like more than they could pull off. Still, the rest of her creative team had wanted a real dog, and a brief audition was held at the end of the first rehearsal. They picked a dog named Mister, a golden retriever with a slightly earnest expression. In auditions, the dog was able to come and sit on command. With the other dogs generally wandering around the room and sniffing each other, Mister was the obvious dog for the part.

  The next hurdle was whether to call him Mister or Sandy, the way the script called for. Katy’s creative team agreed that somehow the dog would have to learn to come to the name Sandy. Everyone who knew the story of Annie knew that her dog’s name was Sandy. Period.

  They’d kept the dog out of rehearsals until today, and so far they’d run into one problem after another. The first and most obvious was the fact that Kelsy Bouchey, for all the talent she brought to the role, was deathly afraid of dogs. It had taken half an hour for Nancy Helmes to get the child to sit still long enough for the dog to come up and lick her hand.

  Now Kelsy was willing to let the dog walk by her side, but she was still jumpy around him. The cast members were all in their places, and Kelsy stood off in the wings, with Mister on a leash at her side.

  “Okay, let’s take it from the end of the song.”

  One of the older girls in the middle pretended to dole out soup to the cold, shabbily dressed street people lined up on either side of her. Katy surveyed the line of faces. “You don’t look cold, guys. Come on.”