Forever

  Ashley and Landon and the boys had arrived an hour early—so Cole could look for frogs near the pond, Ashley said. But they caught John off guard because Elaine was still at the house. She had helped him bake an apple crisp for the evening, and she was still cleaning up the kitchen when Ashley walked in.

  He felt the awkwardness of the moment again. Ashley had stopped cold, her eyes drilling holes into Elaine’s back.

  His friend must’ve heard the door open, because she said, “John, when did you say the others would be—?”

  “Now.” Ashley moved slowly toward the table and set her things down. She found a stale smile. “We’re here now.” She put the baby carrier on the table and looked in on a sleeping Devin.

  “Hi, Ashley.” Elaine smiled. “I helped your dad fix dessert.”

  “I didn’t . . . didn’t know you were coming for dinner.”

  “I’m not.” Her smile faded. “I’m almost finished here.”

  Landon came up beside Ashley, kissed her cheek, and gave her a look. John knew what the look meant. It was a warning, a plea. John wanted to add his vote. The moment was strange enough without Ashley’s attitude.

  John almost left the kitchen with Landon and Cole, but he couldn’t do that to Elaine. Instead he crossed the room and took the spot next to her. He grabbed a dish towel. “I’ll dry.”

  Finally, after what felt like half an hour, Ashley took Devin from his carrier and went into the next room.

  When they were alone, John leaned his forehead on Elaine’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He lifted his head and saw the pain in her eyes. A pain she was trying to hide. “Ashley hasn’t acted like that since she came home from France.”

  “It’s okay.” Elaine still had soapsuds halfway to her elbows. She looked down at the sink and ran the scrubber around the inside of the mixing bowl. “She loves her mother; that’s all. And I’m not her.”

  “That doesn’t excuse her for being rude.” Defeat rang in his tone. He and Elaine were spending more time together. Taking walks and fixing an occasional meal at his house or hers. “I’m allowed to have friends.”

  What happened next was the reason he was still lying awake.

  At his mention of their being friends, Elaine slowly found his eyes again. Sadness shone in her expression. “Friends, John?”

  “Of course.” His answer was quick. “You’re my friend. Ashley and every one of my kids will have to figure that out.”

  She nodded, and after a moment she turned her attention back to the sink. “You’re right. And she will. She’ll figure it out.”

  A few minutes later they’d finished the dishes and Elaine had left. But John couldn’t shake the feeling in his heart. Not then or for the rest of the evening. Elaine’s entire attitude had changed when he called her his friend. At first he’d been sure about what she meant. “Friends, John?” As if she wanted to make sure he saw her that way—as a friend and not merely an acquaintance.

  But even before she left, he hadn’t been so sure. And now the meaning of her words seemed even clearer. “Friends, John?” As if to say, “Is that all?” After a year of talking about their families and finding joy in their hours together, was that all he saw her as? A friend?

  Even that wasn’t so surprising. Of course she would wonder. She’d been widowed for many more years than he had. But the hardest part was this: the conversation at the sink had made him wonder too. He was always quick to call her his friend, but was the reason so he wouldn’t let his heart wander beyond the line of friendship?

  Or was it too late for that?

  John closed his eyes, and the quiet words came from the broken pieces of his heart. “Elizabeth . . . where are you?” He stretched his hand across the empty place in his bed. “How can you be gone?”

  His feelings for Elaine, the tension he felt from Ashley the rest of the night—he never asked for any of it. This wasn’t how these years were supposed to unfold. Elizabeth was supposed to be sitting next to him at the table, where tonight she would’ve held his hand and shared an occasional look that only the two of them could understand. Her eyes would’ve sparkled as she watched her family, amazed that finally . . . finally their oldest son had found his way home.

  She was supposed to be here to marvel over Devin’s birth, Cole’s fascination with tadpoles, Jessie’s bravery on the kneeboard this summer, and Hayley’s miraculous progress since her near drowning. He spread his fingers over the sheet. Elizabeth was supposed to be here. Beside him.

  As he fell asleep, he couldn’t worry about Ashley or the doubts on her face whenever she looked at him tonight. He couldn’t worry about Elaine or the meaning of her statement at the kitchen sink or where his actions were taking him in his friendship with her. His heart was completely and totally filled with the love of his life, the one he still missed with every breath.

  His precious Elizabeth.

  Luke Baxter wasn’t sure which was higher—the heat or the humidity. But it didn’t matter. Whatever the combination, he and his wife, Reagan, had picked a lousy afternoon for a stroll through Central Park with their kids. They had a double stroller these days—a place for Malin, less than a year old, and a spot at the back for three-year-old Tommy, who usually tired of walking after ten minutes or so.

  It was four o’clock on the last Saturday in July, and Tommy had fallen asleep half an hour ago. They’d taken their usual route, south through the park toward the pond and the zoo, past the horse-drawn carriages and the sketch artists and hot dog vendors and back again. They were on the return leg of the walk, their pace slower than usual. The walkway was crowded with tourists, creating a frustrating obstacle course for the occasional jogger or speed walker who dared attempt the park on a summer weekend.

  Five minutes had passed since either Luke or Reagan had said anything to each other. Luke had the stroller, pushing it forward the same way he wanted to push everything about their life forward. The results of his bar exam, his first official position as an attorney in his law firm, a place for him and Reagan and the kids outside her mother’s uptown Manhattan apartment. All of it.

  He glanced at his wife, but she didn’t notice. Reagan looked tired, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, dark circles under her eyes. Kids did that to you. Luke was tired too.

  Reagan grabbed her water bottle from a holder near the handle of the stroller and took a long drink. She broke the silence first. “You sure nothing’s wrong?”

  Luke narrowed his eyes and kept walking. “Yep.” He stretched his neck, first to the right, then the left. Why did she have to ask that? Every time they were together lately Reagan asked the same thing. He picked up his pace. Maybe it wasn’t the heat and humidity. Maybe the dense, suffocating cloud was only the tension between them. What felt like tension, anyway. It reminded him that he wanted to be closer to Bloomington. At least he had wanted that before he found out Dayne was moving there.

  He looked through the trees and caught a glimpse of a residential tower. One of dozens that lined the park, much like the one where he and Reagan and the kids still shared an apartment with Reagan’s mother. Maybe that was the problem. Living with her mother. She was a soft-spoken woman, and she meant well. But what sort of husband was he, unable to provide a home for his wife and kids after more than two years of marriage?

  Reagan’s mother had hinted about it the other day. “How did the bar exam go, Luke?” She was setting the table, and she raised her eyebrows just enough. That subtle raise that suggested weariness and doubt at the same time.

  “It went well.” He felt Reagan looking at him from across the room. Now that he’d finished law school and taken the test, both women seemed to hold their collective breath, as if his entire worth would be proved by the passing or failing of this single test. “I think I passed it. I’ll know in November.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  The conversation faded from his mind. He massaged the muscles at the base of his neck. So much tension. Wasn’t he
supposed to feel better now that the bar was behind him? Malin stirred and her pacifier fell from the stroller. He stopped, and Reagan pulled up beside him. Luke picked up the pacifier, checked it, and dusted it off on his shorts. Then he gave it back to his daughter. With two kids consuming all their free time, the days of washing off a dirty pacifier were long over.

  Luke remembered his conversation with Ashley Thursday night. He’d been sitting in the living room of the Manhattan apartment. “Thanks for getting back to me. I didn’t think you’d find the time.”

  Ashley had hesitated, and when she spoke confusion rang in every word. “Is something wrong, Luke? Something I don’t know about?” She let loose a single, sad-sounding laugh. “It seems like every time we talk lately you’re mad. Angry at Dad or angry at the time you spent studying for the bar. Even grouchy at me.”

  “I’m fine.” He didn’t want to talk about his anger. He wanted to talk about Dayne Matthews. The wonder guy. Oldest Baxter sibling. Firstborn son. His brother. And how it was that overnight Luke had been relegated to a name on a list. Brooke, Kari, Ashley, Erin, and Luke. The other Baxter siblings. The not-so-famous kids of John and Elizabeth.

  Ashley had sounded excited about her meeting with Katy Hart and Dayne. “The house is going to be unbelievable—nicest place on the lake for sure.”

  “Yeah. Great. I’m sure he won’t have trouble affording it.”

  She didn’t hide her shock. “Luke Baxter! What’s gotten into you?”

  He had tried to explain it to her. Dayne hadn’t called since the trial, hadn’t even formally acknowledged that they were brothers, that the news was true. Rather, all communication from him came through his dad or Ashley. Dayne was busy filming, and Luke was busy cramming for the bar exam. Maybe that was the problem. The two of them hadn’t connected. Or maybe the turmoil inside Luke had nothing to do with Dayne.

  Out along Fifth Avenue a car passed, blaring heavy rap. The bass notes rumbled through his body, reminding him that at least some areas of his heart were empty.

  Reagan tried again. “Everything still on for Thanksgiving?”

  He shrugged. “If I can get the time off.”

  “You work at a law firm.” Reagan sounded impatient. “There won’t be a lawyer in New York City working over Thanksgiving weekend. Of course you can get the time.”

  “Maybe.”

  She stopped, exhaled hard, and faced him. “We’re married, right?”

  Luke planted his feet a yard from her. If she wanted to fight it out here in Central Park, fine. That’s where they’d fight it out. “Yeah, so?”

  “So that means I depend on you.” She raised her voice, not enough to be yelling but louder than before. A few people stared at them as they passed. She pointed at the stroller. “Tommy and Malin depend on you.” She took a step closer. “And all you’ve given us in the past few weeks are one- or two-word answers.” She seemed to notice where they were and the scene she was making. She lowered her voice to a hiss. “Why won’t you let me inside, Luke?” She spread her fingers over her heart. “I love you, remember?”

  Luke shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts and stared at the ground. “Let’s sit down.”

  Reagan waited a beat, probably gathering her emotions. “Fine.”

  He pushed the stroller off the walkway to an empty bench a few feet away. Luke checked, but Tommy and Malin were sleeping. He parked the stroller and sat down. Reagan took the spot beside him. For a long time he only looked at her, studied her face, her weary eyes. She’d never looked that way before—back when they lived in Bloomington and life looked like it would roll out like a beautiful tapestry. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She stared at her hands. “Harder than I thought.”

  Luke lifted his eyes to the trees and squinted, trying to see back to those long-ago days. Back before Reagan’s father was killed in the World Trade Center collapse. Before Reagan got pregnant and moved to New York City. Before his life became consumed with studying minute facets of the law and taking turns staying up all night with a colicky Malin. Back before diapers and bottles and burp rags and feeding schedules.

  Before Dayne Matthews.

  He turned to Reagan. “My parents always made it look so easy. Love and laughter, fun times and family dinners, one season after the next. Year after year after year.”

  “Hmm.” She kept her distance. “Mine too. And they didn’t have their housing handed to them.”

  Anger rose to the choppy surface of his soul. “See? There it is.” He waved his hand, dismissing further talk. “Forget it, Reagan.” He started to stand up. “You’re always undermining me. Making me feel like a freeloader.”

  “Wait.” Instantly her expression changed to one of remorse. She applied a gentle bit of pressure on his knee. “Stay, Luke. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it that way.”

  He gritted his teeth and settled back down. “It doesn’t matter how you mean it. You bring it up all the time. You’re tired of living with your mom, you’re ready to branch out, and you’re anxious for me to get a real job.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He leaned hard against the wooden bench. “It’s implied every time we talk.” Defeat replaced the anger. “I know you. I can hear it in your tone.”

  Ten or so kids in red T-shirts on bicycles were approaching, laughing and chanting something unintelligible about soccer.

  Reagan waited until they passed. “I know you too, Luke. This isn’t only about me or your job. It’s about Dayne Matthews.” She hesitated. “Right?”

  He wanted to shout at her, wanted to tell her no, this wasn’t about Dayne. It was about them and how they’d managed to slip into a rut in just two and a half years of marriage. He opened his mouth to say so, but the words wouldn’t come. Slowly he slumped forward and rested his forearms on his knees. He stared at the ground and exhaled long and hard. “Maybe it is.”

  Around them the sound of conversations and people walking and traffic on the boulevard faded.

  “Luke—” Reagan’s tone softened—“talk to me.”

  “It’s wrong; that’s all.” He lifted his chin just enough so she could hear him. “All my life I’m the only son, and then in a single phone call everything changes.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes.” He met her eyes. “Everyone’s talking about Dayne, and now . . .” Emotions welled up in his throat, and he struggled to talk. He looked at the space between his feet and coughed. When he had more control he finished his thought. “Now Dayne’s moving to Bloomington and I can picture it.” He sat up, gripped the edge of the bench, and turned toward Reagan. “Dayne and my dad getting close, making up for lost time while I’m busy making a life for us here in New York.”

  She covered his hand with hers.

  “This—” he motioned toward the busy walkway and the towering residential buildings and even toward her—“this wasn’t how I pictured life, Reagan.” He spoke through a clenched jaw, struggling to keep his feelings in check. “I was going to get some city experience and then find a wife and settle down in Bloomington. After that I was going to have kids.” His eyes filled as he looked at her. “And my mom was going to be there to love my kids and be the best grandma ever.”

  The sudden hurt in her face was so strong it took his breath. “Is that what you think? That this isn’t how you pictured your life?” She stood and put her hands on her hips. “Well, guess what? This wasn’t how I pictured mine either.” She did an exaggerated laugh and spun so that her back was to him. Then just as fast she turned and stared at him. “I was an athlete once upon a time, remember? I was supposed to play sports through college and earn a degree. I wanted to work in marketing or publicity or broadcast journalism.” She wasn’t loud, but her tone shouted at him. “After that I was supposed to get married to a guy who had his life figured out.” She paused and gave him a pointed look. “Then somewhere down the road we’d have a family, and I could stay home.”
r />   He hung his head. She’d made her point. He earned so little as a legal clerk that she was forced to work part-time as a secretary so they’d have enough money to pay their share of the utilities and groceries. Her mother was still covering rent or they never could’ve afforded to live in Manhattan. They needed to live in Manhattan because that’s where Luke’s firm was located. And it was a good firm. It had paid Luke’s way through law school and was a member of Meritas—the most respected legal network in the world.

  Reagan wasn’t finished with him. “Go on and hang your head. But don’t you dare sing me your sad song about how life was supposed to turn out.” She leaned a little closer. “You’re getting your dream. Big-shot lawyer and all.” She’d never sounded so angry. “But what about me, huh? Do you ever step outside your pity party long enough to ask that question?” She jerked back and took hold of the stroller. “I’ll see you at home.” She set off down the path without looking back.

  Luke thought about chasing her down, but he didn’t have the energy. Besides, it was too hot and muggy. He closed his eyes and leaned back. Everything was wrong. They’d made one mistake; they’d given in to temptation on September 10, 2001. The day before the terrorist attacks. And now they were paying for it with everything they had. He’d lost and she’d lost, and even now there was no shining light at the end of the tunnel. He had to wait four months to hear about the bar, and then if he passed, it would still take another month before he had a significant paycheck from the firm. He was easily a year away from having the sort of steady income that would allow them to branch out on their own. A year of seeing Reagan’s mother raise her eyebrows and wonder when her son-in-law was going to figure out how to support her daughter and grandchildren.

  Meanwhile, Dayne Matthews drew what, ten million a film? Fifteen maybe? Three films a year. The figures were mind-boggling. No wonder Dad was proud of him, anxious to make a connection with him. Not that Dad would’ve been impressed by income, but Dayne was beyond successful. He’d already made such a presence in their family that the girls had practically forgotten Luke existed. Even Ashley, the sister he’d always been closest to. Well, almost always. There were those awkward years after she returned from Paris pregnant with Cole. But since the terrorist attacks, they’d been closer than ever.