Someday: 3 (Sunrise) (20 page)

The response swayed across her soul like a life rope. Her heart still pounded against her chest, but she could breathe now. She sat up on the edge of the cot and looked at her director. “Let me see the envelope.” Her voice held a calm that hadn’t been there earlier. “Please, Stephen.”

The man swapped a look with his assistant. “I don’t know. . . . I think maybe you need time to—”

“You were right, what you said before.” The ground felt firm beneath her feet now. “I need to face this. So, please . . . let me see it.”

With a look that said he still wasn’t sure this was a good idea, he handed her the envelope. She removed the three pictures inside and set them on her lap. She could tell from the lighting and quality that the first photo was almost certainly not taken during a moment of filming. She held her breath and shifted the top page to the bottom, until she’d looked carefully at each of the pictures.

Same shirt, same hat . . . the story left the reader no doubt whatsoever. In addition to the carefree, happy moments Dayne and Randi were sharing on the set, they were definitely taking part in an offscreen affair.

By the time she reached the top photo again, her shock was wearing off. She stared at the image until her tears blurred it.
Dayne . . . how could you?
Whatever Randi had done to trap him, the decision ultimately was his. He had allowed her to lure him away. He and Katy had been married for less than a year, and already their time together had been marked by rumors and gossip and hints at infidelity. And now . . .

Now in a sudden, sad moment of clarity, she saw her marriage for what it really was—an impulsive act, doomed from the beginning.

Katy wiped her tears with the back of her hand and sniffed once. She would finish her film, return to Bloomington, and find a way to get on with her life. She would lean on God because He alone could help her survive the pain radiating through her. Somehow she would teach again, because this . . . this world of celebrity and failed commitments could never be where she belonged.

The facts were clear now, and she looked up at Stephen. “I’ll need the rest of the afternoon.”

“Fine.” He touched her shoulder. “We’ll work on other scenes. The rest of the cast doesn’t know what happened. They think you’re sick.”

She nodded. It wasn’t a lie. She
was
sick, and in that moment she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be well again.

When the directors were gone, Katy found her phone.
I have to call him. He has to know that I’ve seen the picture.
Her hands shook as she dialed Dayne’s number, but after four rings his recorded voice came on, asking her to leave a message.

For a few seconds she opened her mouth and tried to think of something to tell him. But in the end she hung up just as a series of sobs overtook her. There was nothing to say, really. The picture on the cover of the tabloid had said it all. She wept until her body convulsed with sorrow. She squeezed her eyes shut and begged God for understanding.
How could it happen, God? I believed in him!
The realization grew. The rumors and hints at infidelity, the problems the reality show had picked up on . . . maybe they’d been true all along. If Dayne was capable of this, then how could she believe anything he’d told her?

This time there was no answer, and slowly, as her tears subsided, Katy understood. The knowledge was deep and sure. It tripled her pain and made her feel like she was drowning in an ocean with no surface to swim up to. Because the photograph of Dayne and Randi didn’t mean her brief marriage was on the rocks.

It meant it was over.

Luke saw the fire truck as soon as he turned onto his street. After what happened with his father’s house, panic hit sure and fast, and Luke picked up speed. He saw no smoke, and Reagan hadn’t called, so there couldn’t be anything seriously wrong . . . unless whatever it was had just happened. He was suddenly grateful he’d left work a few hours early today. He screeched to a stop and was turning off his engine when Reagan and a blond fireman came out of the house together.

His relief was short-lived. “What in the . . . ?” Luke sank back into his seat and watched his wife.

Reagan was talking to the firefighter, apparently so caught up in the conversation that she didn’t notice Luke parked across the street. She smiled and gestured toward the roof of the house and then toward the open front door. Whatever she said, both of them laughed, and after a few seconds of conversation, their smiles faded. The fireman nodded, intent on whatever Reagan was saying. Reagan shrugged, dainty and flirtatious. At least it looked that way to Luke.

Anger shot a rush of blood to his face. What was happening here? He grabbed the door handle and was about to burst from his car and demand an explanation when the firefighter stepped closer to Reagan and hugged her.

It wasn’t a long hug or one marked with intimacy. No kiss followed. But still, Luke’s mouth hung open. Was Reagan having an affair? Was that what this was? He watched the guy wave to Reagan and then jog to his fire truck. He climbed inside and drove off, all while Reagan never even looked in Luke’s direction.

He opened his car door before Reagan had the chance to go back in the house. At the sound, she turned toward him. The guilt and surprise on her face were unmistakable. He hurried across the street, his eyes glued to hers, his steps pounding out a rhythm only slightly harder than his beating heart. When he was halfway up the walk, he stopped and stared at her.

“What was that?” Luke waved his hand at the fire truck, now almost to the end of their street.

“Don’t yell.” Reagan shut the front door and took a few steps closer. “You’ll wake Malin.”

Luke huffed at her. “Maybe I don’t care about waking Malin.” Disbelief was working its way through his mind. “I pull up earlier than usual and some firefighter is giving you a hug, and you tell me not to yell?” If there’d been a wall nearby, Luke would’ve punched it. Instead he willed himself not to lose control. “You wanna tell me what’s going on? When a fireman stops by for an afternoon hug?”

She crossed her arms and stared at some spot near her feet. When she looked up, there was a coolness in her eyes that he’d seen only one time before—on September 11, 2001, the day her father was killed in the Twin Towers. “He’s a friend.” She blinked, but still the coolness remained. “He listens to me.”

A ripple of fear shook Luke, but he dismissed it. “You made friends with a firefighter who listens?” His tone mocked her, but his mind was racing. How had this happened, and how long had they been friends?

“He was one of the guys who responded when Tommy got his head stuck.” She sighed long and slow, as if she didn’t have the energy to fight with him. “He’s been back a few times, checking the wiring in the attic, making sure the house is fireproof.”

“Yeah.” Luke uttered an exaggerated laugh. “Somehow I don’t think the wiring in our house is the problem here.” He walked by her, pushing through the front door and hurrying past the living room, where Malin was sleeping on a blanket on the floor. He didn’t stop until he reached their bedroom. Only then did he put his briefcase down, loosen his tie, and move to the window that overlooked their spacious backyard.

Reagan followed him but not quickly. He heard her walk in and quietly shut the door behind her. He turned in time to see her sit on the edge of the bed. She had a magazine in her hands.

“Why’d he hug you?” Luke realized he was shaking—more from anger than hurt. No matter how far his work had taken him, regardless of the situations he’d gotten himself into, he never once considered that his wife might be back at home having an affair.

The walls in her eyes fell a little. “I told him today was the anniversary.”

Luke furrowed his brow, searching his memory for what she was talking about. “Anniversary?”

“The day they found my dad’s remains. It was six years ago today.”

Even with his anger and shock, the truth hit him. A picture flashed in his mind—Reagan and himself on the eighty-ninth floor of the north tower of the World Trade Center, sitting in her father’s office, chatting with him. Making plans to see
Riverdance
in New York City that night. Reagan had been her father’s princess. Clearly she carried the pain of his death with her still.

Luke shifted his weight. What was he supposed to do next? Tell her, oh well, then . . . the fireman’s hug made perfect sense in light of what day it was? A part of him felt sorry for her, but that didn’t change what had happened. He was about to ask exactly how many times the firefighter had been over when Tommy’s screams pierced the silence. Luke made a sound that expressed his frustration. “Can’t that kid get through a day without screaming?”

“He’s probably looking for me.” Reagan stood just as Tommy ran into the room.

He wrapped his arms around her legs. “Malin’s sleeping with my blanket!” His voice wasn’t as loud now, but it was the worst possible whine. “I told her not to, but she is, Mommy! And it’s mine!”

“Listen.” Luke took hold of Tommy’s shoulder. “Go to your room!” He pointed down the hallway. “You’re too old to scream about a blanket!”

Tommy stared as if he couldn’t believe Luke was serious. Then his expression collapsed in a heap of sorrow. He turned and ran from the room, crying as he went. “Nobody loves me! Nobody . . .”

“Oh, brother.” Luke looked at Reagan, but she averted her eyes. “That’s not acceptable. Him talking to us like that.”

“Maybe if you were home more often, you could help me figure out a way to teach him.” Her answer was quick and sharp. Anger flashed in her eyes, then faded just as quickly. “Never mind.” She held out the magazine in her hand. “Looks like we’re not the only ones having trouble, huh?”

He looked down at the cover, at the photo and headline. It took a few seconds, but the reality of the picture hit him square in the chest like a runaway locomotive. His lips parted, but no words came out. His mouth went dry, but before he could look at his wife, before he could dare consider the most horrible possibility, she shoved the magazine at him and walked away.

Before she left, she looked back once. “I guess finding girlfriends on the road runs in the family.” She held his gaze a few seconds, then spun around and marched down the hall toward Tommy’s room.

Luke stood there frozen. His pulse slammed into overdrive, and a layer of sweat broke out across his forehead. Reagan knew. That had to be the reason she’d shown him the magazine. She knew and now she felt free to do whatever she wanted.

He looked at the picture and at the headline above it. Slowly, a realization began to dawn in his mind. Maybe she didn’t know. She might’ve meant exactly what she said. Finding girlfriends on the road ran in the family. In other words, like anyone else who looked at the photo on the cover of the tabloid, Reagan might actually believe that Dayne was having an affair with Randi Wells.

Suddenly he remembered the text messages. He pulled his phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and clicked a series of buttons until he had emptied his phone’s in-box and out-box. There. That would help. He ran his tongue along his lower lip and looked at the magazine cover again. If Reagan believed what the world believed, then he was in the clear . . . at least for now.

The phone in Luke’s pocket rang, and he jumped. He pulled it out and stared at the caller ID, his heart skipping a beat. It was Dayne. He gulped and flipped the phone open. “Hey.” He kept his tone appropriately somber. By now Dayne would expect he’d seen the picture.

“Listen, I don’t have long.” Dayne sounded mad, his words like a series of rapid-fire bullets. “Tell me what happened that night with you and Randi on the beach.”

“Me and Randi?” Luke searched for something to say, anything to make Dayne believe he wasn’t having an affair with Randi. He managed a weak laugh. “Don’t tell me you think I’m the guy in the picture?”

“Well, it isn’t me. That’s all I know.” Dayne’s voice was laced with anger, but it was obvious he was working to keep it from being heard. “My life’s falling apart over here. Tell me the truth.”

“I am.” The laughter in Luke’s voice was replaced with a solid confidence, a convincing assurance. “I promise you, that isn’t me in the picture. You’re asking the wrong guy.”

There was a pause. “Okay.” Dayne seemed at a loss for words. “Thanks. I had to ask.”

When the call was over, Luke looked at his hands. He was shaking hard, his heart thumping erratically against his ribs. He put the phone back in his pocket and stared out the window. Dayne would find a way out of this mess; he always did. But then what would happen? Someone was bound to figure out the truth.

Luke studied the photo, the way Randi looked lost in the moment. The guy . . . the guy was someone he no longer even recognized.

Dear God . . . what have I done? Who am I?

There was no response, no comforting answer. Guilt came down around him like the claustrophobic bars of a prison cell, guilt like Luke had never felt before—not even back when he left home and cut ties with his family. This was guilt strong enough to destroy him. Luke could feel it like poison in his blood. Because no matter what story the picture told and no matter what lies Luke was willing to tell . . . even if the whole world believed otherwise, Dayne wasn’t having an affair with Randi Wells.

Luke was.

John stared at the magazines spread across his office desk. Ashley had called yesterday and told him about the tabloids, right after she learned the news. Now the door was firmly locked, and John had half an hour before his next appointment.

Funny how it was, raising a family, being a father. Babies came and parents did the mental math: twenty years and the house would be sadly quiet again, the children out on their own, making their way in life. John leaned closer to the magazines and studied the picture of Dayne and Randi, and a deep sadness pierced his soul. The truth was, parenting never really ended. Here was his oldest son—a young man he hadn’t even met until a few years ago—caught publicly making the worst mistake of his life.

But all John could think was,
Hey, that’s my son!
He would’ve flown to Mexico that afternoon if he thought Dayne needed him. He’d called him, of course, but their conversation was brief. Dayne denied kissing Randi and explained that the photo had to be of someone else.

“What about Randi? What’s she saying?”

“She isn’t talking. I told her it wasn’t me in the picture, and she only said that it should’ve been.” Dayne sounded exhausted. “I talked to Katy but only for a few minutes. She had to run—something about her film. But I could hear it in her voice. She doesn’t believe me.”

John frowned. To be honest, Dayne’s denial sounded pretty flimsy. Still, Dayne was his son, his firstborn. Whatever his trouble, John wanted to be there for him. Even if in the end Dayne came clean and admitted the whole thing. This wasn’t the time to abandon him.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Son. This is terrible.” He tried to think of how he could offer encouragement, but no words came to mind. Dayne ran in a different world, and John knew little about how to navigate it. In the end, he offered the only help he could. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“There is.” Dayne’s voice was thick with emotion. “Pray, will you? Just pray for us.”

Now, in the quiet of his office, John was grateful to have some tangible way to help, a way he could keep being a dad for his fully grown son—even at a time like this.

John’s thoughts shifted to Luke, and his heart ached with a heaviness he hadn’t known in years. Ashley had spoken to Reagan a few times in recent weeks, and finally Ashley had talked to him about their conversations.