He looked toward his closet. The letters were still there, the ones that had caused such strife between Ashley and him. Elizabeth would be gone two years next month and still he hadn’t gone through them, read each one, and made copies of the letters his kids might want. He moved in that direction and avoided looking at the mirrored closet doors.
When Elizabeth was alive, this was the time of night when sometimes he’d look at the mirrored doors and steal a glance at her, admiring the way she brushed her hair or the funny way she wrinkled her nose when she brushed her teeth. Checking the mirror was as good as checking for her, because she was a part of what made up their bedroom. Without her . . . well, it was only a place to sleep each night and get dressed each morning. So now he avoided the mirrored doors. The emptiness was easier that way.
He slipped into the closet and pulled down the box of letters. So many letters from many different periods of her life. That was just one way she’d been different from Elaine. Elizabeth’s letters were long and beautifully written. Pages of thoughts and prose and illustrations to the people she loved. If Elaine put pen to paper, she’d wind up with a postcard. A priceless, important postcard.
But still . . .
He sifted through them, and the movement stirred up a familiar smell. Partly the smell of old paper, of treasured letters from years gone by. But partly the smell of Elizabeth’s perfume. When she was sent off to have Dayne, she wrote him letters often, and she always did what was common back then—she spritzed the paper with her perfume. Chanel—the same one she wore until the day she died.
The smell fell in around him now like a fine mist, filling his senses and taking him back. As deeply as he could, he inhaled, letting his very being fill with her smell, her words, her memory. God . . . I miss her. Tell her I miss her.
There were no words this time. He exhaled and pulled a letter from the mix, a random letter. Then he set the box on the floor. Careful not to damage the envelope, he lifted the flap and removed the letter. The text was shorter than most, only half a page. Based on the date, she’d written this one when she was suffering with her first bout of breast cancer. John steeled himself.
Elizabeth was gone; there was no point in trying to re-create her presence. But even so, he couldn’t keep his eyes from running down the page.
Dear John,
I’m not feeling well, but I had some things to tell you. Since you’re at work, I thought I’d just write it out. First I want to thank you. I haven’t been much good around the house with this little thing I’m fighting. I want you to know I couldn’t do it without you. Sure, the kids help when they can, but they’re running in and out, off to college and visiting with friends.
The only stability in my life right now is you and God.
And I thank Him for both.
You’re an amazing provider, John. So good with the kids and with me, and you never complain about the extra work all this sick stuff has caused you. I’m blessed beyond anything I could ever imagine because I have you.
John blinked back tears, amazed at his wife’s wisdom. So many young women struggled with a gift that came naturally to Elizabeth, the gift of building up her husband. She was forever complimenting him, telling him why she was grateful for him, how much she appreciated him. Even for the little things. In turn, he wanted to spend his life pleasing her. Many times he’d heard Elizabeth telling their daughters how important it was to encourage their men.
Now, though, it was only one more layer of loss, one more reason to miss her. A tear fell onto John’s cheek, and he steadied his hand. He waited until he could see the words, and then he found his place.
The other thing, John, is thanks for making family such a priority in our lives. If something ever happened to me—and it won’t—I have no doubt in my mind that you’d keep the family together, strong and alive and close, the way they are now. You’d make sure they shared Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving and birthdays—even if the only way to share them was over the phone. You’d keep up our annual Fourth of July and Labor Day traditions, hauling ice chests and folding chairs and blankets and food down to the shore of Lake Monroe.
Family is everything to me. So you see, I couldn’t have married a better man because family is everything to you too. That’s why I’m not afraid, no matter what happens. I’m going to beat this cancer. But none of us know the day or hour, and so thanks for being a family man. You define the term, my love.
With all I am,
Elizabeth
John’s heart beat hard in his chest. The words from Elaine earlier tonight were wonderful, helpful. But this was nothing short of a miracle, a direct answer to the prayer he’d whispered. The one about the battle. He’d asked for wisdom, and here it was as right and true and beautiful as the words Elizabeth had scribbled so long ago.
She was right. He was a family man, and as such there was nothing he could do now but keep pushing until their family was together. Their entire family.
He held the letter to his chest and then to his cheek. There it was again, the faint smell of her. Once more he read the words, and this time he smiled, even through his tears. Thank You, God . . . for letting me pick that letter.
He leaned down and stuck it along one of the sides of the box, so it’d be easier to find if he needed to hear her words of encouragement again sometime. Or if he actually got around to copying a few letters for the kids. Then he lifted the box and put it back on the top shelf. Her memory was as close as this box, as near as the smell of perfume on her letters.
As he brushed his teeth, he made a plan for the next day. He would call Ashley in the morning and hear what she had to say. Maybe she was way off base, and in that case he wouldn’t tell her anything. Not until Dayne was ready. But if she’d figured it out, if somehow she’d found out the truth, then he would let her know that she was right.
Then they’d make a decision about the others and how to tell them. Dayne would have to know, of course. And somehow they would all survive—just like every time before. The Bible verse ran through his mind again as he climbed into bed. “You will not have to fight this battle. . . . Stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you.”
Okay, so his older son was a Hollywood movie star. He was photographed hundreds, sometimes thousands, of times every day. Still there had to be a way to build bridges between him and the rest of the Baxters. In the meantime, John would do as the Bible said. He would stand firm, holding tight to what he knew to be true and right—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. The fruits of living a life connected to God.
And when it came time to battle—whether the media or the mind-sets of his children—God would take care of the rest.
Ashley woke three times during the night, and each time she reached for the phone to call her dad. He had to be home by now, she told herself. Then she would look at the alarm clock by her bed, and common sense would interrupt her half-asleep state. “Not yet,” she’d whisper. “Wait till morning.”
She was restless until dawn, flipping from one side to the other and prompting Landon, sometime around three in the morning, to flip on the light above their bed and study her through tired, squinty eyes. “Everything okay?”
What could she say? She’d already told Landon her suspicion about Dayne Matthews. Clearly the possibility wasn’t keeping him awake. She patted his hand and kissed his cheek. “Sorry, honey. Go back to sleep.”
Morning finally came, and she called her dad’s house. Again it only rang. Maybe he was in the shower. But her frustration hit new levels as she hung up the phone. She needed to call Dayne; there was no other choice. Her father wouldn’t mind. She thought about making the call and what she would say and how he might react all throughout Cole’s breakfast and Devin’s half hour of nursing.
Her question for Dayne was on her mind as she saw Cole off to his friend’s house and laid Devin down for his first nap. Landon was up by then, even though he had an afternoo
n shift at the fire station. They sat down to a breakfast of scrambled eggs and wheat toast.
Suddenly Ashley couldn’t last another minute. “I have to call him.” She planted her elbows on the table and gave Landon her best pleading look. “I called my dad this morning.” She held up her empty hands. “Still no answer.”
“I hope he’s okay.” Landon looked unfazed by her question. “That’s not like your dad.”
Ashley blinked. “He’s a doctor. He’s had whole weeks where I can’t get in touch with him.”
“Still . . . wouldn’t he normally call you back?”
“Yes, but . . .” She huffed. “That’s not the point, honey. I think I should call Dayne.” She evened out her tone, making every attempt to sound rational. “I’ve thought about it all night, and I don’t think my dad would mind.” Without waiting for Landon’s response, she rushed on. “Our brother’s the holdout here, right? I mean, he’s the one hesitant about making a connection. So I call Dayne. I tell him that I heard from Jenny Flanigan that he was adopted, that his birth parents live in Bloomington.” She shrugged. “I ask him if he’s my brother, and that’s it. End of story.”
Landon caught her hand with one of his and lowered it to the table. “Hardly end of story. What if he says yes?”
The thought brought a surge of hope. “Then we catch up on lost time, and we give my dad the best gift of all.”
“And you don’t think your dad would be upset?” He sounded hesitant.
“No.” She was trying to convince herself, and it was working. “He’s obviously at a standstill with the guy, whoever he is. If it’s Dayne, then my calling him will make everything work out.”
Landon ate a few more bites, thoughtful. “Hmm.” The corners of his lips raised just barely. “You know . . . you might be right.”
“I think I am.” Ashley grinned at him, but her smile faded almost as soon as it began. “I think I’ll go for a drive, clear my head before I call him. You don’t work until two, right?”
“Right.” He patted her hand and returned to his breakfast. “Do what you think is best, Ash. I’ll be here for you.”
Twenty minutes later she was in her van. At first she thought maybe she’d make the call from the beach at Lake Monroe, the place where their older brother had missed so many family gatherings. But then, almost as if the van had a mind of its own, she did a U-turn and headed west toward the old two-lane highway, the route that would lead her to the cemetery.
She was making this call in honor of her mother, because of how much having her family together meant to her. She’d wanted to find Dayne with every dying breath, and in the end she’d found him. But she hadn’t lived long enough to see him connect with the rest of the Baxters.
The cemetery was cool this morning, the dew still damp on the grass. Overhead, a layer of high fog hung a curtain of gray over Bloomington. Ashley wore tennis shoes, shorts, and a sweatshirt over her tank top. The sun was supposed to come out later in the day, and the afternoon would likely be hot and humid. But for now, even the air around her seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of whatever the phone call would bring.
For a minute, she stood at the entrance to the grassy field, staring at the sea of tombstones. How could her mother be gone when they all needed her so much? Ashley took a slow breath and moved quietly to the place where her mother was buried. A small bench sat just to the side of the stone, a memorial from the doctors at the hospital, her father’s friends.
Ashley crouched down near the stone and touched it lightly on the side. “Devin’s doing so well, Mom. He’s beautiful.” Her throat hurt, and with her free hand she massaged it with the tips of her fingers. “I needed a quiet place to make this call.”
She hung her head. What was she doing, sitting in a cemetery talking to a stone? Only a few years ago her mother was alive and vibrant. If she were still here she’d know what to do. The situation with their older brother wasn’t her father’s fault. He was busy at work, and he wanted to be careful with how the matter developed.
But Mom . . . Mom would’ve found a way by now.
Ashley traced over the letters on the marker. Elizabeth Baxter . . . devoted wife and mother. There was so much more to say. Ashley ran her knuckles beneath her eyes and straightened. She needed to make the call. The bench was the perfect spot, so she moved to it and sat down. She pulled her cell from her purse and stared at it. Okay, God . . . if this is it, if he’s our brother, let me know.
The cemetery seemed to grow utterly still, and even the trees were motionless. She flipped open her cell, called up his number, and hit the Send button. It would be eight in the morning in LA, not too early. One ring . . . she rubbed her damp palm on her bare knee. Two rings. Please, God, give me the words. Let me know if it’s him.
Just before the third ring, someone answered the phone. There was commotion in the background, but she could make out the voice anyway. “Hello?”
She could feel her heartbeat in her head and neck and hands. Throughout her body. “Hi.” Her throat was dry. She ran her tongue along the inside of her lips. “Dayne?”
“Yes?” He hesitated. “Is this Ashley?”
“It is.” She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He must’ve seen her area code on his phone. She closed her eyes and leaned over her legs. “Hey, Dayne, do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” He sounded a little winded, like maybe he was walking as he talked. “We’re filming, but it’s a break. We started before sunup. Let me get to a quieter place.” After several seconds, the background noise faded. “That’s better. What’s on your mind, Ashley? Everything okay with Katy?”
“She’s fine. I mean, she misses you. . . . She’s trying to figure it out.” Ashley’s nerves were so tight they hurt her stomach. “That’s not why I called.”
“Oh.” It was just one word, but in it she heard something change in his voice. “Okay, so what’s up?”
“I have a question for you.” She gulped. Could he hear her pounding heart over the phone? She opened her mouth to explain, to tell the story of how she went to pick up Katy, but Katy wasn’t ready and how Jenny Flanigan had wondered why Dayne wasn’t at opening night for Narnia and how she’d spilled the truth that Dayne was adopted and how his birth parents lived in Bloomington.
But all that came out was, “Are you my brother?”
His hesitation told her the answer long before he found his words. He cleared his throat, and she heard a low moan come from him. Finally, he exhaled and with it came his response. “Yes. I’m your brother. Did your dad tell you?”
She jumped to her feet, moving in small circles around the grass a few feet from her mother’s tombstone. “You really are? You’re our brother?” Tears choked her voice and blurred her vision. She’d found him; she truly had. And now all the pieces fit into place. “So that’s why . . . that’s why you look like Luke.”
Dayne chuckled. “Actually, he looks like me, right? Since I came first?”
Ashley dropped slowly back onto the bench as the tears spilled from her eyes. He wasn’t mad at her. Whatever came next, he wasn’t mad; he was laughing. And the sound of it sent a shot of joy straight to her heart. “I guess.” She made a sound, but she wasn’t sure if it was more laugh or cry. “Dayne, I can’t believe I found you.” She took a fast breath and launched into the story, how she’d figured it out. Five minutes later she came up for air. “Does that make sense?”
“It does.” He laughed again, and then the sound of it faded. “I wanted to call. Every day I’ve thought about it.” He sounded tired, beat up. “But there’s so much at stake. I’m not sure what to do. It’s draining me.” He hesitated for what felt like a long time. “Last time Katy was here we were nearly killed running from the paparazzi. I don’t want that for you and Brooke, for Kari and Erin and Luke.” His words sounded pinched, like he was speaking them through clenched teeth. “And I’m worried about the calls between me and . . . and your dad.”
Ashley noticed every
word, every nuance. Another wave of elation hit her as she realized something she hadn’t really believed before. He knew all their names! He really did care, and he’d probably made a point of knowing not only their names but as many details about their lives as he could know. That’s what her father had told her, but she’d always wondered. If he knew so much and cared so much—why not make contact? Now, like every other aspect of the situation, even that question was being answered.
But she also heard his frustration in the area that had kept them apart this long—the public’s fascination with and scrutiny of celebrities. And something else, something she couldn’t quite figure out. She crossed her ankles and looked up at the branches of a walnut tree not far away. “I guess that’s partly why I’m calling. To convince you that none of us cares about all that, Dayne.”
His tone lightened. “Your dad says you’re the determined one.”
Ashley smiled. “Sort of.”
“Do the others know I’m their brother? Have you told them?”
“No.” Her answer was quick. “I wanted to talk to you first, to convince you.”
He made a sound that expressed his frustration. “It’s more complicated than you think, Ashley. The paparazzi—some of them—know I’m adopted. I guess they must’ve gotten a tip—maybe from the investigator I hired or from my previous agent. They ran records and figured it out. I got a call from Celebrity Life magazine the other day. I haven’t even told your dad.”
“Celebrity Life?” Ashley felt the blood leave her face. Suddenly she imagined her picture in a national magazine, a story with details about her out-of-wedlock pregnancy and all the other private matters that belonged exclusively to the Baxters. Her voice fell. “So . . . they know about us?”
“They’re looking.” Dayne inhaled sharply. “They asked me to do an interview, talk about my adoption and my search for my birth parents.”
“And you said . . .”