“Because I liked the way our family was.” The anger was back, though not as strong as before. “Back before I had to be chased down the street by a photographer shouting questions at me.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Back before I had to assure the women at the office that no, I couldn’t get them a date with Dayne Matthews. Before I had to imagine every family gathering centered around a celebrity.”
Luke’s bitterness shocked Ashley. She leaned against the nearest wall. “That’s how you see it? What happened to you, Luke? You and Reagan are in trouble, and now this? I mean, come on!” She didn’t pause long enough for him to interrupt. “You spent a week with Dayne in LA, remember? And you told the rest of us Dayne was a nice guy, genuine.” Ashley raked her fingers through her hair. Passion filled her tone. “You said he wasn’t at all the way you’d picture a movie star. Remember that?”
“Look, what happens between Reagan and me is our business.” His words were clipped. “I have to go. Malin’s crying.”
Ashley wondered. She strained to hear, but the line was quiet other than Luke. “Okay, but we have to talk this out.” Her eyes caught another picture, a small framed snapshot of Dayne, Kari, Brooke, and her at the lake on the Fourth of July. “You can’t change the facts. Dayne’s our brother, and he’ll be a part of our family whether you like it or not.”
“Yeah.” He sounded colder than before. “And maybe I won’t be.”
Luke said good-bye and hung up before Ashley could question him, before she could express her outrage at his attitude. How come everyone else in the family was okay with the curve they’d been thrown? All of them had reason to struggle with it, and at times all of them had. Mostly they’d struggled with their parents and how they could’ve kept such a colossal secret for so many, many years.
But how did any of them have a right to struggle with Dayne? None of this had been his fault. He had been adopted by missionaries and given a lonely childhood in an Indonesian boarding school, and before he graduated his parents had been killed in a small-plane crash. Yes, he’d gone on to take drama classes at UCLA and made a string of hit movies, but he had no control over what happened after that—being placed at the center of America’s fascination with celebrities.
Ashley closed her eyes and turned her back on the small snapshot. She could understand Luke’s having concerns about the change in their family if he hadn’t met Dayne. But he’d spent a week with him. How could he lash out about having Dayne as a brother after knowing Dayne? She covered her face with her hands. God . . . our lives are a ball of knots. I can’t even begin to unravel it by myself.
She heard a key in the front door and the sound of footsteps. Ashley peered through her fingers. She could smell smoke long before her husband reached her.
“Rough night?” Landon had dark smudges on his face and his uniform. He grinned, but his eyes were warm with sympathy. “I’d kiss you, but then you’d smell like me.”
“You fought a fire?” There was no reason to sound surprised. Her husband was a firefighter. Still, she always felt a ripple of alarm when she knew he’d been face-to-face with a wall of flames. Especially since he’d nearly lost his life in a burning building twice before.
“We put it out.” He set his helmet on the counter, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. “No victims, no injuries. Just a blazing warehouse.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “It got a little crazy. Nothing serious.”
Ashley lowered her chin. “Landon . . . you’re telling me the whole story, right?”
“Yes.” He angled his head, the way Cole did when he laid on the charm. “It was perfectly safe.”
She pictured him walking through a building full of flames and falling beams. “Never mind. You’re home. Thank God.”
He winked at her. “I have.” He guzzled the glass of water in four swallows and filled it again. “Unless you were playing hide-and-seek, I’d say your night might’ve been a little rougher than mine.”
She laughed out loud. She must’ve been a sight, standing in the kitchen with her hands over her face when he walked in. The laughter felt good, but it didn’t last. Her smile faded. “It was pretty bad. I talked to Luke.”
“About the tabloids?” Landon had been home when Ashley came back with the stack of magazines. He hadn’t had time to read them, but he saw the pictures and he knew the news wasn’t great.
“Yes.” She motioned toward the tabloids on the kitchen chair. “He said Dayne wasn’t his brother.” For the first time since she’d opened the first magazine, her eyes grew damp. “But he is our brother. And now the whole thing could split our family down the middle.” She moved closer and slid her arms around his jacket. “I don’t care about the smoke. I need you.”
Landon cradled her close and rubbed her back. “Honey, nothing could split your family. Not time or distance or even death.” He kissed the top of her head. “Definitely not this.”
The smell only reminded her how blessed she was. Landon had survived another fire, and God had brought him safely home. One more time. “Thanks.” She snuggled against him.
“For what?”
“For always knowing what to say.” She took a step back. “Go shower. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
He reached for his helmet. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you ought to take the afternoon tomorrow and paint.”
“Hmm.” She smiled. Weeks had passed since she’d pulled out her brushes and sat in front of an easel and an empty canvas. “Sounds wonderful.” She wrinkled her nose. “But Kari and I are taking the babies to the park midmorning, and then I’ve got a CKT meeting after lunch.” She felt most tired about what came next. “Then there’s Katy and Dayne’s house.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’m not sure I even know where to begin.”
Landon’s eyes shone with love and understanding and strength. “Start where we always start, Ash.” He pointed up. Then he smiled and headed into the hall and up the stairs toward their room.
Ashley watched him leave, amazed at the way he loved her, the way he always loved her. He was her rock in times like this, and here was why. “Start where we always start, Ash. . . .”
And, of course, that’s exactly what she would do. It was what she had been doing. Only most of the time throughout the day praying hadn’t felt like enough. But it was. It always would be. Peace stilled the rough waters in her soul, and she lifted her voice to God then and later with Landon after he showered and came back down.
They prayed that God would remove the bitterness and anger in Luke and replace it with compassion, and they prayed as they’d done each day that Dayne would wake up and that he’d have a full recovery. This time they prayed that Ashley wouldn’t gain one brother only to lose another.
Three minutes after they finished praying, the phone rang. Landon jumped up and jogged to the kitchen. He answered it, and after a minute, he headed toward Ashley. He looked like he was trying to hide a smile. “It’s for you. It’s your dad.”
“Thanks.” Ashley stood and reached for the phone. Somehow everything would work out. God was always faithful, whether a person was in a season of blessing or a season of growing, whether in triumphs or trials. It was like her mother had always said: In the journey of life, it was a better ride if a person took the passenger seat and let God do the driving. Because along the way there were bound to be unexpected turns.
And some turns only God could maneuver.
She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Ashley . . .” Her father sounded funny, like he’d been crying.
Ashley frowned. Why would he be upset? An idea hit her. This better not be about Elaine. Apparently her dad and his friend had gone through some kind of falling-out. She wondered once in a while if their trouble had anything to do with the way she had treated Elaine that night when Elaine was helping in the Baxter kitchen. The woman had no right to access their family. The trouble between her dad and Elaine was just as
well. Her father had mentioned the other day that he hadn’t talked to his friend in weeks. Ashley was glad. Her father needed time with his memories.
She pressed the phone to the side of her face. “Dad, is everything okay?” She glanced up. Landon was grinning bigger than he had at any time tonight.
“I . . . can’t believe it.” Her dad cleared his throat.
“What?” This wasn’t about Elaine. It was something bigger. Much bigger.
It took a while for him to speak, but when he did the words came in a hurry. “It’s Dayne. He’s awake.”
Reagan sat on the floor across from Tommy and Malin. They were building a tower with oversize plastic LEGO blocks, and it was all she could do to stay awake. But then, the exhaustion was becoming part of life.
“Tommy need a green one.” Tommy was talking very well lately. With his light brown hair and big blue eyes, he looked more like Luke all the time.
Reagan reached across the carpet and found a green block. “Here you go.”
Tommy concentrated on the masterpiece in front of him. He placed the block and clapped. “Big castle.”
Neither of them spotted Malin until it was too late. She wasn’t quite walking yet, but she could crawl faster than any baby Reagan had ever seen. She reached Tommy’s building and tried to stand up against it. Reagan barely had time to catch her, but it was too late for the tower. It tumbled to the floor and broke in five sections.
Tommy screamed and then froze. He turned and shouted, “No, Mali, no! Bad!”
Malin didn’t know what to make of her brother’s anger, and combined with her near fall, her expression changed. She opened her mouth, and after a buildup that seemed to take a minute, she began to cry. The problem was, when Malin cried it was more like a scream. A temper tantrum even.
“Tommy, please . . .” Reagan stood and lifted Malin onto her hip. Her daughter’s screams were so loud that she doubted Tommy could even hear her. “Your sister didn’t mean to hurt your tower. Mommy can help you build it back.”
Tommy started crying too. Then he glared at Malin, pointed his finger at her, and made a firing sound. “Tommy shoot her!”
“Wonderful,” Reagan mumbled. She shifted Malin to her other hip and stooped down to Tommy’s level. “We do not shoot people, Tommy. I’ve told you that.”
She left Tommy sobbing in the middle of a pile of LEGOs, his gun finger still cocked and ready to fire. She carried Malin to the kitchen. A pacifier would lighten the mood, if only she could find it. Reagan looked beside the sink and between the canisters and in a basket near the fridge where she usually kept a spare. But there was no sign of it.
The phone rang, and she answered it on the run. “Hello?” she shouted above the crying and screaming.
“Hi.” It was Luke. He paused. “What’s happening?”
“Just another—” she bounced Malin back onto her hip—“happy afternoon.”
“Oh. Well . . .” His voice was too faint to hear above the noise.
“What?” She moved a fruit bowl to the side. Where was the pacifier? “I can’t hear you.”
“Never mind.” He was shouting now. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Fine.” She hung up without saying good-bye.
Malin’s crying rose a notch. She held out her hand for her pacifier. “Poppy . . . poppy, Mama.” Then she dropped her head back and shook her shoulders. The full-blown temper tantrum was right around the corner. Part of the reason was the pain in her ears. Yesterday she’d been diagnosed with another ear infection. Her third in the past six weeks. The doctor was talking about surgery and putting tubes in her ears.
Reagan had her hands full between Malin’s ears and Tommy’s recent fascination with guns. Yesterday Tommy had gotten a checkup at the same time. When the nurse was taking his blood pressure, he slowly looked up at her and scowled. In the corner bouncing a moaning Malin, Reagan knew what was about to happen. She could only hope she was wrong.
As the cuff tightened on Tommy’s little arm, his scowl got deeper. He made a gun with his finger, aimed it at the nurse, and uttered a firing noise. Immediately the doctor—a guy—burst out laughing.
But the nurse made a face and sent Reagan a disapproving look. “That’s not funny.”
At least he hadn’t finished off the job with the announcement he’d been making more often lately: “Tommy shoot her.” Luke thought the whole thing was funny. In fact, Tommy was the only one who could make him laugh these days.
Reagan tried her best to convince their son that he should shoot only the errant dinosaur or tiger that had managed to get into the house, and once in a while she succeeded. Earlier that week he’d come running out of his room, carefully aimed his finger at nothing, and fired loudly. He proceeded to clear the apartment of approximately seventeen dinosaurs, six snakes, four bears, two tigers, and a swarm of bees.
But an hour later Tommy ran from her, and before she could catch him, he turned around and fired straight at her. Reagan’s mother had warned her that the terrible twos didn’t necessarily stop at two. Indeed.
Reagan glanced in the other room. Tommy had moved to the couch. He was lying on his stomach crying into a pillow. I’m a terrible mother, she thought. I can’t even get through a normal hour with these two.
Malin lifted her head, held out her hand again, and let out a long wail. “Poppy!” She held out the middle of the word at a piercing decibel for a record amount of time.
“I know, sweetie.” Reagan picked up her pace, frantically searching the kitchen. The pacifier had to be here. Every time anyone in the family saw it on the floor it was washed and set aside right here so they could find it in a moment like this. She blew at her bangs and kept looking. The silverware drawer, the glass cupboard, the bread box. Nothing.
The problem was, sometimes Tommy found it on the counter where it was supposed to be, or in the basket, and he’d hide it. “Tommy hide Mali’s poppy!” he would exclaim joyfully.
The Tupperware cupboard, the plastic-wrap drawer, the space where her mother kept the pot holders. Still nothing. Please, God . . . help me. Reagan bounced Malin as she moved. “It’s okay, honey. Shhh. Mommy’s looking for the poppy.”
She moved down the counter a ways and opened the place-mat drawer and the utensil drawer. Finally, in the last possible place, she opened the junk drawer and there it was. Hidden treasure. She grabbed the pacifier and placed it in Malin’s mouth.
Malin sucked on it as if her life depended on the action. Then she rested her head on Reagan’s shoulder and made much quieter whimpers.
Reagan braced herself against the counter with her free hand and caught her breath. As she did, her eyes fell on the contents of the drawer. Rubber bands and receipts and batteries and a pair of broken sunglasses, but on the left side, right on top, was a pile of what looked like unopened mail. Tommy hadn’t announced that he was hiding mail in addition to Malin’s pacifiers, but Reagan was suddenly suspicious.
With Malin settling down a little more and Tommy’s cries reduced to a low moan in the next room, she picked up the stack and spread the envelopes on the counter. Sure enough, nothing had been opened. She sighed and sorted through it. A cell phone bill, advertising for a credit card, their Visa bill, and . . . Reagan made a face. Strange. The last envelope was addressed by hand to Luke and her. She turned it over, and on the back flap was Luke’s father’s address. Once Malin was down, she’d read it.
John had called a few times since the night he’d caught her crying on the phone. At first Reagan expected the conversations with his father to make a change in Luke. But there had been none. Whatever was going on inside him, he wasn’t giving her or anyone else a window.
Malin was asleep now. Reagan carried her to her crib and laid her down. She looked at her little girl for a moment longer. She was so precious when she was sleeping. The social worker who handled her adoption had told them the adjustment could take time. Reagan wasn’t sure if the difficulties they were having with her were due to adjustmen
t or ear infections or her own inability to handle two children. Either way she was grateful for what she hoped would be at least an hour of peace.
She shuffled back to the kitchen, weary and lonely and frustrated with Luke. He didn’t understand what she went through every day. Yesterday Malin had fought against her noon dose of ear drops. Reagan had been late to work again, and her boss wrote her up. They paid her so little that she wasn’t sure if it was worth being upset over.
When she reached the kitchen, she remembered the letter. A quick look at the living room told her that Tommy was okay. He’d rolled onto his side, his hair sticking out every which way. Both kids napping at the same time! She picked up the envelope, clicked a few buttons on the in-wall stereo, and waited until soft instrumental music filled the apartment. Then she moved to the recliner in the front sitting room and opened the envelope.
Inside were two pieces of paper. On the first was a handwritten letter from Luke’s father dated more than a week ago. She gritted her teeth. They’d have to talk to Tommy about hiding the mail. She found the first line and began to read.
Dear Luke and Reagan,
I found one of your mother’s old letters, and inside was something she’d written and copies for each of you kids. I wanted you to have it as soon as possible. Read this and ask God if there’s anything either of you could do to come more in line with this sort of love.
Reagan’s heart melted. He had sorted through Elizabeth’s letters and found something that could help them survive? She touched her fingers to her lips. No one took time for this kind of thing anymore. She thought about Luke, probably at his desk, face downcast, less than enthusiastic about coming home to her and the kids. If only he were more like his father. She kept reading.
Anyway, Luke, I think your mother really has something here. The whole world would do well to read it. But I think it would make her smile just to know that in this tough time, God brought it to the surface for you. I wish she were here to send it to you. Let’s talk soon.