On the drive home Katy said little. Jenny was right, of course. The movie and TV deals facing them were only happening because they’d allowed them. Katy gazed out the window at the night sky over Bloomington. Dayne’s movie had been set for a year, since way before their wedding. So what was she supposed to do? Sit home and count the days until he finished filming? When their director could hardly wait to see her in another movie?
Katy closed her eyes. They’d be gone at the same time, right? Keeping busy was the best way to get her mind off the fact that Dayne’s costar for his upcoming film would be Randi Wells, who—despite Dayne’s lack of interest—had already made her feelings for Dayne very clear. So what would it hurt if Katy was in London at the same time filming her own movie?
“You’re not saying much.” For an instant, Dayne took his attention off the road and glanced at her.
“Hmmm.” She smiled, but she could feel it stop short of her eyes. “Thinking about what’s next, how crazy it’ll be.”
For a few seconds Dayne didn’t respond, but then he flexed his jaw muscles and nodded slowly. “More than we can imagine.”
Once they were home, Dayne took a call from his director, and Katy went to their bedroom. She opened the patio door and was met by a sweet, cool breeze from the lake below.
Dayne was still on the phone when she climbed into bed and turned on her side, facing the lake. It was too dark to see the water or even the outline of the distant trees. But the fresh air against her face reminded her that they were really here at the lake house and not in Hollywood with cameramen waiting outside for them to step onto their balcony.
She couldn’t shake what Jenny said, especially now with Dayne deep in conversation about his next film. Every hairpin turn in the journey ahead was one they’d invited, one they’d not only allowed but welcomed. Was this really how they’d planned it when they stood on that Mexican beach and promised each other forever?
In the other room, Dayne raised his voice a notch. “The answer’s no. Tell her we’ll see each other soon enough.” He sounded beyond frustrated. “I don’t need a week to run lines with Randi. We’ve done this enough times. We’ll be fine.”
Katy pressed her face deeper into the pillow and closed her eyes. She wasn’t worried about Dayne’s feelings for Randi. They’d talked the situation through a number of times. Dayne wasn’t interested—no matter what the tabloids said. But Randi was smooth. And she’d told Katy that she was interested in Dayne. Or maybe she was interested in the peace he’d found because of his faith. Whatever it was, Randi wouldn’t miss an opportunity. Not with the two of them together in Mexico.
The place where not six months ago Dayne and Katy had experienced a wedding that was perfect. Hidden from the press and with only family and friends around, they’d had a few days singled out from the others. A time Katy would never forget.
She breathed in deep, and gradually she was there again. Standing in the bride’s room at the beach resort, surrounded by her beautiful bridesmaids—Ashley, her matron of honor, Brooke, Kari, Erin, Reagan, and Rhonda. Katy could hear the excitement in their voices, see their stunning ankle-length dresses made of the palest pink satin and their elegant updos, compliments of a stylist brought in by the wedding coordinator.
Throughout the preparations, Katy remembered thinking how dreamlike every detail seemed. The love surrounding her, the beauty of her new family, even the fact that her parents had been well enough to come and add to the boundless joy of the event.
She could see again the way her bridesmaids gathered near the door, peeking through the crack and waiting for the signal. Their bouquets had been flown in, each of them a cascade of pink baby roses except for Katy’s. Hers held white roses with several trails of baby’s breath and baby white roses.
The guys looked beyond sharp in their black tuxes, white shirts, and pale pink vests and bow ties. Dayne wore tails, his vest and bow tie a crisp white against the black. But if she lived a hundred years, when she looked back on their wedding day, she wouldn’t see his clothes. She’d see his eyes. The way he’d watched her as she came down the aisle at sunrise.
Katy pulled the covers up close to her chin and felt herself relax, felt sleep coming over her the way it did when she turned her anxious late-night thoughts away and focused on their happy times instead of the uncertainty ahead.
The wedding photos were breathtaking because they reminded her of the family she’d married into and how, if she and Dayne could only break free from Hollywood, maybe they would raise that same sort of family. In Katy’s favorite group picture, the one with the entire wedding party, she and Dayne were at the center, with Ashley and Luke on either side. Luke had been Dayne’s best man. Ever since Luke took over as Dayne’s attorney, the two talked often. The others—Peter, Landon, Ryan, and Sam—were clearly proud to stand up for Dayne too.
Before the ceremony, John Baxter had pulled Katy aside. “We are the most blessed of all. Our family hasn’t only gained a son in recent years. We’ve gained a daughter.”
The images from her wedding stayed, but the sounds around her—the breeze from the lake, Dayne’s movie conversation in the other room—faded. She wasn’t lying in bed waiting for her husband, lost in a magical moment from their past. She was actually taking her first steps from the bride’s room and Ashley was saying, “Okay, let’s make this happen.”
She was walking into the lobby, her white gown swishing along behind her, and she was whispering in her father’s ear, “Remember, Daddy, all those times you told me I could be anything I wanted, have anything I wanted?”
Her dad was blinking back his tears. “Yes, baby. . . . I meant every word.”
All the Baxter cousins were squealing and bouncing about in the lobby near the final door that separated them from the outdoor wedding. Then the wedding coordinator was opening the doors, and the sound of violins was filling Katy’s senses. The coordinator was dismissing the bridesmaids and finally the children, saying, “Okay, now . . . don’t walk too fast.”
And the music was changing, and Katy was looking up at the frail man beside her. “Daddy—” she reached up and wiped the tear on his cheek with her fingertip—“I’m so glad you were well enough to come.”
The notes began to form a song, and Katy recognized it and suddenly . . . a door opened a few feet away and a light pierced the darkness. Katy gasped and her eyes flew open.
“Sorry.” Dayne came around the bed to her side and touched her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay.” She settled back into her pillow. “I was awake. Sort of.”
He gave her a tender kiss and ran his knuckles lightly over her cheek. “I couldn’t get off the phone.”
Katy muttered something about how it didn’t matter, and Dayne headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed. Only then did her mind clear enough to realize what had happened. In her desire to find a way back to the magic of their wedding, she’d fallen asleep. No wonder every detail had been so crisp and clear, so much like she was there again. The picture hadn’t been a memory at all but a dream.
Suddenly she wanted to call Dayne back to her side, beg him to pray with her about the distance and temptation and glaring scrutiny their marriage was bound to get in the coming months. She leaned up on her elbow and stared after him. “Dayne?”
The sound of her voice died in the dark room, long before it might reach him. From deep within the bathroom she heard a faucet turn on. He hadn’t heard her, and even if he had, praying together shouldn’t have to be her idea, right? Dayne had taken the lead during their early months of marriage, so why not now?
Katy settled back onto the pillow and felt frustration throw itself into the mix of emotions smothering her. The dream had been so real, so vivid. And as she pictured herself again, the way she’d felt walking up the aisle toward her one true love, a horrifying thought hit her. With everything they would face in the coming season, maybe that’s all their life together ever really was. A dream.
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A fleeting, magical dream, from which it was inevitable that one day they would wake up.
Long after the CKT kids were gone and after Jim and the boys and Bailey were in bed, Jenny Flanigan stayed up cleaning. Change was in the air, and Jenny wanted to mull it over, acknowledge it. The end of August always had this effect on her. Back when the kids were younger, each fall she would buy a calendar that covered sixteen months, because the year never began in January but when summer ended. Like her friends with kids, Jenny talked about the beginning and end of the year as it applied to her kids’ school schedule.
This fall was no different. She and Jim had discussed homeschooling—something they had done before. But the boys wanted more time with their school friends, and Jim and Jenny agreed that it was important for their sons to keep those relationships. In another few years, maybe they’d come back home for their schooling.
The decision was the right one, but it still meant a quiet house during the day, a tight schedule in the afternoon when they would need to fit in homework and soccer practice. Connor had just decided to play freshman football at Clear Creek High, where he would be a part of Ryan and Jim’s program. And Justin and Shawn had decided to take on flag football at their middle school.
Ricky, their youngest, said it best. “Mom,” he’d told her earlier that day, “if I could freeze time, it would always be the last day of summer, and I would always be eight.”
Jenny smiled as she dumped into the trash the remnants of barbecue potato chips from two large plastic bowls. She took the containers to the sink, turned on the hot water, and splashed in a few drops of soap. If only they could all freeze time. Because these days of busy schedules and homework and hurried dinners were the times they would remember, the moments that were weaving the tapestry of their lives.
Yes, the fall would be busy. But that wasn’t the only change in the air this late-summer night. Jenny reached for a dish towel, and she caught sight of a framed photo on the kitchen counter of Bailey and Connor and a roomful of CKT kids after their final performance of Godspell. She leaned closer and looked at her two kids and then the others, at the light in their eyes and the invincibility in their expressions. They had believed then that somehow CKT would continue, that they would find a new theater and there would be a fall show—the way there had been a fall show every year since Katy moved to Bloomington.
Jenny’s heart felt heavy as she grabbed one of the wet bowls from the sink. CKT was the greatest change facing all of them as September drew near. The kids who had delighted in singing and dancing and winning roles in one show after another would have an enormous void in their lives. Some kids would simply deal with their sorrow and move on to new activities. That’s why Connor had decided to play football and Bailey renewed her commitment to take dance lessons after school.
But what about the kids who hadn’t been blessed with social skills? CKT had provided a place for kids who were too big or small, too short or tall to fit in at school, kids who otherwise might not have found a peer group who accepted them. After one of the CKT shows, a girl admitted to the cast that she had been considering suicide before finding CKT. Others had been shy or awkward, but through CKT they’d found a confidence they would’ve missed out on.
Jenny studied the photo again. She had thought about asking the administration at Clear Creek High if they would allow CKT to operate out of their auditorium or maybe contacting one of the larger churches. But CKT’s area coordinator, Bethany Allen, had already tried every possible venue twice. The old Bloomington Community Theater was about to be replaced with condominiums, and quite clearly they were out of options.
She dried the two bowls, but still she wasn’t tired. Certainly she and Jim could continue their weekly Bible study with the CKT kids, but the numbers would likely dwindle without the theater to give them their common bond. Jenny looped the towel over the oven handle and was about to check her e-mail when she heard someone coming down the stairs.
“Mom . . .” It was Bailey’s voice.
Jenny looked over her shoulder in time to see her daughter reach the last stair and stop. She was barefoot, and in her oversize Indianapolis Colts nightshirt, she looked younger than her seventeen years. Her face was pale, and her cheeks were tearstained. Maybe she was thinking about the same things Jenny was—how their lives would be so different without CKT.
Jenny went to her. “What is it?”
Bailey opened her mouth to talk, but instead she moved into Jenny’s arms and buried her face. Jenny ran her hand along Bailey’s back, and she could feel the slow, slight jerking of a series of quiet sobs. Suddenly it occurred to Jenny that maybe this wasn’t about CKT. Alarm shot through her. “Sweetheart, did something happen?”
Bailey sniffed and wiped her eyes with the edge of her index finger. After a few seconds of struggle, she pulled back and looked at Jenny. Shame and hurt and shock colored her expression, and finally she seemed to find the strength to respond. “It’s Marissa Young. I just found out.”
Jenny’s heart pounded against the walls of her chest, but she did her best to remain calm. “What happened to her?”
“I thought . . .” Bailey closed her eyes tight and let her forehead fall against Jenny’s shoulder. Again she struggled to find the words. “I thought she was keeping her baby, that she’d talked to her mom about it. Remember?” Her eyes were pained as she looked up. “That’s what Marissa told me. How she and her mom were going to work everything out and all that.”
A sinking feeling hit Jenny. “I remember.” She didn’t want to ask. “She didn’t talk to her mom?”
“That’s not it.” Bailey sniffed again. “She had an abortion. She called and told me because she didn’t want to lie to me. And she didn’t want me to hear it from someone else.”
“Oh, honey . . .” Jenny’s knees felt weak. “I can’t believe this.”
She led Bailey to the barstools, and with the news still ripping through Jenny’s mind, they each took a seat. Marissa was one of Bailey’s friends, a girl she’d met at church when the two were in grade school. Several months back, when Marissa found out she was pregnant, Bailey and Jenny met with her at the Flanigan home. Marissa had reluctantly come, and Jenny had listened with a heart overflowing with sadness. That day she and Bailey prayed for Marissa, and they told her about the Bloomington Crisis Pregnancy Center. But in recent months the center had closed, and Jenny hadn’t taken the next step.
She never spoke with Marissa’s mother. Every time she made the call to Dotty Young, the woman was too busy to talk or unavailable. Jenny’s messages were never returned and time passed.
Now Jenny felt like a truck had parked on her shoulders. She anchored her elbow on the countertop and propped up her forehead with her clenched fist. “It’s my fault.” Weariness came over her, and she met Bailey’s eyes. “I should’ve tried harder to reach her mother.”
“No.” Bailey shook her head fast and hard. “Her mother was avoiding you. That’s what Marissa said.” She hesitated. “Her mother drove her to the clinic.”
Jenny couldn’t have been more surprised if Bailey had said that Marissa’s mother had kicked her out onto the streets. “Dotty drove her daughter to an abortion clinic?”
“Yes.” Bailey’s expression darkened. “Mrs. Young told Marissa an abortion would make it like it never happened.”
Jenny moaned. “Was she really avoiding my calls?”
“I asked Marissa. She said her mom didn’t want to talk to you.”
Of course not, Jenny thought. Dotty Young knew exactly how Jenny felt about abortion. But until lately, Jenny had assumed that Dotty felt the same way. Now, though, when her daughter’s future was on the line, she told Marissa to do something that went against their beliefs. Jenny put her hand over Bailey’s. “Nothing will ever make it like it never happened. You know that, right?”
“Yes.” Bailey gulped back another sob. “Marissa said she’s been . . . she’s been cutting herself.”
“What
?” Jenny forced herself to lower her voice. Kids were cutting, self-mutilating; that’s what she’d heard from her friends. But Jenny figured kids acting out that way were the teens who were deeply troubled, kids who drank and did drugs and ditched school. Not kids like Marissa Young. Jenny controlled her racing heart. “Did she tell you why?”
Bailey exhaled long and slow, and the effect made her look defeated. “She said she deserves it after what she did to her baby.” She bit her lip.
There were so many issues at hand that Jenny didn’t know what to deal with first. “Marissa needs counseling right away. She should meet with someone at church.”
“That’s what I told her.” Fresh tears filled Bailey’s eyes. “She said she can’t let anyone know. About the cutting. She’s wearing long sleeves so her mom won’t find out.”
“She has to find out.” Jenny kept her tone gentle. She gave Bailey’s hand a light squeeze. “I have to call her. Even if she won’t talk to me.”
Bailey nodded, understanding. “Marissa’ll be mad, but she needs help. Even if she won’t talk to me again for telling you.”
Amid the darkness of fear and guilt and deep futility, a ray of hope shone over the moment. Bailey was growing up. It wasn’t enough anymore to tell Jenny what her friends were doing and then commit her to silence. Now Bailey understood that the safety of her friends was far more important than whatever that friend might think of Bailey for telling her mother secret information.
Jenny let her gaze linger on her daughter for a moment. Then she stood, went to the kitchen phone, and picked up the receiver. As it rang, she prayed Dotty would pick up. Seconds later she filled with relief as Marissa’s mother answered. “I’m sorry for calling so late.” Jenny leaned against the kitchen counter and closed her eyes. What would it be like to get a call like this about Bailey? She couldn’t imagine.
“It’s the weekend.” Dotty sounded surprised by the call. “You know us; we’re always up late.”