Immediately a small album fell onto his lap. What was this? He opened the cover, and the first photo was one of John and Elizabeth Baxter. Just like the one that had been on Luke’s desk in his New York office when Dayne realized they were related.
He turned the page as it hit him what he was holding. John—or someone else—had put together a collection of photographs of the Baxter family, a way of showing him who they were—the people he was related to. He looked at the photos quickly, because he wanted to get back to the envelope. There had to be a card or a letter, some sort of explanation.
He set the album on the seat beside him, then slipped his fingers into the package. The letter was at the bottom, and Dayne pulled it out. No doubt at all, this package wasn’t sent by Luke. It was sent by John Baxter, his biological father. Dayne couldn’t imagine how the man had found him, but it didn’t matter. He needed to read the letter before he could ask another question.
He unfolded the paper and let his eyes find the beginning. It was dated the same day as the premiere.
Dear Dayne,
This is my final attempt.
He stopped there and reread the sentence. The letter was John Baxter’s final attempt? What could he possibly mean by that? When had he ever tried to make contact? Dayne’s fingers shook as he found his place again.
The last thing I want to do is cause you grief and frustration—especially now, when so many years have passed since we gave you up for adoption. I guess you’ve talked to your agent, and you know that I hired a private investigator. I found out who you were, and I was taken aback. Not that you were a celebrity but that you’d been right here in Bloomington twice.
The details were coming at him like a battery of flying arrows. What was John Baxter talking about? Dayne’s agent? Chris Kane? Had Chris known something about John hiring a private investigator, and if so, how come Chris hadn’t said anything? Dayne blinked and remembered to breathe. Once more he returned to the letter.
My PI told me you know who we are, that you’d come to our town and perhaps even made contact with my wife—your birth mother—before she died. But your agent told me no, that didn’t happen. He said you changed your mind after you arrived in town and that you wanted nothing to do with us.
Anger had begun to build in Dayne, but it became a hot, raging fury in as many seconds as it took him to read that last part again. Chris Kane had talked to John Baxter? told his biological father that he had no interest in meeting the Baxter family? He felt dizzy with rage, and he took hold of the door to steady himself.
John must think he was awful, a pompous celebrity who considered himself too good for regular people like the Baxters. He felt nauseous, but he kept reading.
Dayne, I want you to know I respect that. But I can’t let you go that easily. Thirty-six years ago I had no choice but to let you go. Now, though, I feel a loss for every year you weren’t a part of our life.
The words tore at Dayne’s heart. He stopped and held the letter to his chest, his emotions coming at him like a series of battering waves. Anger gave way to an aching loss. His birth father cared about him, just like Elizabeth Baxter had told him. Dayne had avoided them only to protect them, but in the process they’d all lost. His eyes stung, but he refused his tears. Slowly he lowered the letter and found his place once more.
Only one of your siblings knows about you—your sister Ashley. And she doesn’t know your name or what you do for a living. I’ve kept you anonymous. The way your agent asked me to do.
I guess I’m writing so you’ll know we have no ulterior motive. Your agent said a lot of people want things from you—money or connections or fame. I can tell you sincerely that the only thing we want with you, Dayne, is to give you a hug and tell you we love you.
The sobs welled up within him, floods of them, but still he held them back. His agent had no right to make this decision for him, no right to tell John Baxter that Dayne couldn’t be bothered with their family because they might want something—money or fame. The idea was appalling. Only by God’s divine intervention had this final attempt from John Baxter even made it to him. Dayne was reaching the end of the letter, and despite the hurt inside him, he finished it.
Every day since I found out about you, I’ve wondered and thought of you. No matter if you want to keep your distance from us, I’ll still think of you, my oldest son, and long for a relationship with you. I know that your adoptive parents were killed on the mission field. I’m sorry, Dayne. So sorry. You smile well for the cameras, but there’s a lot more they don’t catch. I can see it in your eyes—because they are the eyes of our younger son, Luke. The eyes I see when I look in the mirror.
I’m sending a small collection of photographs. The names and ages of your siblings and nieces and nephews are on the back of each picture. As you read this and as you look at the pictures, please consider meeting us. Or at least meeting me—even just once.
If I don’t hear from you, I’ll know this is a closed door and that you don’t want contact with us. That’s what your agent has already told me, and I will respect that. But I’m hoping to change your mind, Dayne. I’m praying about it.
Having never met you, I love you. Please consider my letter.
In His light,
John Baxter
At the bottom of the page were several phone numbers.
Dayne stared at them, stared at the words his birth father had written.
And the tears came then.
Alone in the empty parking lot, Dayne hung his head against the wheel of his SUV and wept for all that he’d lost, for all his fame had cost him. They weren’t hopeless tears; rather they were tears drenched in rage. John Baxter had hired his own private investigator, and the only real contact information he’d been given besides Dayne’s identity was the name of his agent.
Chris Kane.
Dayne thought about John Baxter, grieving the loss of his wife, hearing from his PI that maybe Dayne had met her, only to have Chris tell him he hadn’t. That Dayne had changed his mind. That he wanted nothing to do with them. Was that what his life had amounted to? Some sort of puppet show controlled by his agent?
He gritted his teeth, and in a rough single motion he dragged his hands over his wet cheeks. Enough crying. Before he could look carefully at the photos or read the letter again or try to contact John Baxter, he needed to make a phone call. He whipped out his cell phone and pushed a few buttons.
Chris Kane answered on the first ring. “Hey, Dayne . . . what’s up?”
Dayne clenched his jaw. “John Baxter . . . ring a bell?”
His agent missed a beat but then forced a laugh. “I was going to tell you about that.”
“Sure you were.” Dayne kept his tone even, kept the anger to himself. “When did you talk to him, Chris? How long ago?”
“Well, let’s see.” His agent exhaled hard, as if he were working his brain for the detail. “A month, maybe two.” Another laugh. “I meant to tell you back then, Dayne. I mean, I figured you didn’t want anything to do with the guy. You were in Bloomington after all, so you could’ve met him if you wanted to, right?”
“That wasn’t your decision.” Dayne closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and massaged his brow. How could this be happening? How could his agent have told John Baxter those things? He never should’ve involved his agent in the search for his birth family; then none of this would’ve happened. He took a slow breath. “I’ll contact John Baxter if I want to.”
“Contact him?” Worry crept into Chris’s tone. “You’re not serious, are you? Who knows what the guy wants from you. You’re a celebrity. You don’t just call up people like John Baxter and make contact.”
Dayne was glad the conversation was happening over the phone. Otherwise he would’ve punched the guy, and overall that wouldn’t be the best proof of his newfound faith. “Look, I’m busy, Chris. I have a call to make.”
The agent sighed again, heavier this time. “Really think about this, Dayne. You’re n
ot like everyone else . . . you don’t just look up your birth parents and go knocking on their door.” He sounded nervous. “You’re not mad, are you?” Chris tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like a cough. “I’m just looking out for you. If I don’t look out for your image, who will? I mean, if I don’t—”
“Chris.” Dayne’s voice stopped the agent midsentence.
“Yeah?”
“You’re fired.” He waited, but Chris remained silent. “My attorney will send you a letter later today. My agent has to be someone I can trust.”
Chris hung up without saying another word, and instantly Dayne felt relief. There were other agents, people who wouldn’t try to control his actions, shape his image. He was who he was. One of Hollywood’s top leading men, whose personal life had done an about-face.
Whoever his next agent might be, that was all the personal information he needed to know.
Dayne wanted to sort through the pictures, take them from the album, and read the names and ages the way John Baxter had suggested in his letter. But he had more to do first.
He contacted the airlines. It was Friday, and the next available flight into Indianapolis didn’t leave until early in the morning. He would go, and he would make sure the paparazzi didn’t follow him. Even if he only met John Baxter and not the others, he had to go—if nothing else, so he could look him in the eyes and apologize for the things Chris Kane had told him.
Once his reservation was booked, he decided his next call would be to John’s cell. No telling who would answer at his office. He dialed the numbers, and after four rings a voice came on the line—the voice of his father.
Though it was just a recording, a few simple sentences asking him to leave a message, Dayne was mesmerized by the sound. The tone of his voice, the timbre of it were the same as his own. He swallowed hard and hesitated at the beep. “Uh . . . this is Dayne. I received your letter today from Mitch Henry.”
His words weren’t coming easily. They were bottled up in his heart and throat. “Chris Kane, my agent, gave you some bad information, John. I’d like very much to meet you. I’ll be on a plane first thing in the morning.” He looked at his notes. “Arriving in Indianapolis around one o’clock. I’ll rent a car and drive to Bloomington.”
His mind raced. “I’ll be at the . . . at the park. The one by the downtown theater. You can call me on my cell, but I’ll be there. I’ll try you again tomorrow afternoon.” What else? How should he end it? He stared out at the ocean. “Thanks for the letter. It meant . . . more than you know.”
He snapped his phone shut and looked at the other numbers. John lived alone now, right? All Dayne’s siblings were married and raising families, and with Elizabeth gone, John would probably be the only one home. Late on a Friday morning, he might still be home getting ready for work. It was worth a try. He opened his cell and tapped in the numbers.
On the third ring, a girl answered. Or maybe a woman. “Hello, Baxter residence.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but then he changed his mind. It was probably Ashley, stopping by with her little boy. His cell phone number had a feature that blocked the caller ID, so he wasn’t worried about that. “Hi. John Baxter, please?”
The girl sounded puzzled. “He’s not here. Can I take a message?”
“No.” His answer was quick. “That’s okay. I’ll try him again later.” He hung up before she had time to ask another question. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his throat. He needed to be careful. Just because John knew about him didn’t mean it was time to put the rest of the family at risk, to make it public knowledge that he was their older brother.
Dayne picked up the photo album and returned to the first page. It was still impossible to believe what Chris Kane had done, that he’d been so callous to John Baxter. If John hadn’t taken time to write this letter, to try and find a way around his agent, they might never have connected at all.
God . . . this was Your doing, wasn’t it?
I know the plans I have for you, My son.
The quiet whisper no longer caught him off guard. If he listened, if he focused on the very real presence of God Almighty, he could almost always sense His response being breathed into his soul. Yes, God had plans for him. Some days that was all that kept him from hopping on a plane and showing up at Katy’s front door. He missed her so much, missed everything about her.
But with her and with the Baxters, he had promised to wait on God’s leading. He stared at the photo again. Now that’s exactly what God was doing. Leading him to make a connection he’d wanted as long as he could remember.
It was hard to believe. Tomorrow—if God allowed it—Dayne would meet his birth father, a man he had thought about and imagined for half his life. If his letter was any indication, John Baxter was a kind man, warm and loving. By the sounds of it, the act of giving him up had been as hard on him as it had been on Elizabeth.
A car pulled into the parking lot, and Dayne watched it, watched the driver move slowly toward him. Paparazzi, no question. A few of them knew he liked this spot, and since his Escalade was easy to identify, they probably had Pepperdine on a list of places where they regularly looked for him.
He turned the key in the ignition, backed out, and sped away. The car followed him, staying close behind until he pulled into his garage. Dayne waved out the window at whoever was chasing him, then closed his garage door behind him.
That’s fine. They could sit out there all day.
Just as long as they didn’t follow him to Bloomington come morning.
It was time to say good-bye.
Ashley had been released from the hospital a couple days ago, and now she rested on her parents’ living room sofa. Bags were packed, and the vans loaded with suitcases and strollers and car seats. Brooke would drive her van and her dad would drive Ashley’s. Kari was staying with Ashley to help care for the baby and to watch the other kids.
Everyone was gathered in the living room, more somber than they’d been all week.
John had Malin cradled in one arm and Tommy on his knee. “Well, I don’t think any of us imagined a reunion like this one.”
“Definitely not.” Luke was standing nearby. He put his hand on their father’s shoulder. “I think we’ll be talking about it forever.”
Reagan looked at Ashley. “I’m so glad everything worked out.”
“We were worried about you, Ash.” Erin had a baby on her hip and another one playing near her feet. Her two older girls were at the kitchen table playing cards with the big kids. “I don’t think I’ve ever prayed that hard.”
“I’m amazed at how the town looks after only a few days.” Brooke shook her head. “You can already see the cleanup efforts of all those working around town. Only that one trailer park and Autumn Trace were really leveled.”
Landon was at work—his first shift since the baby had been born. He had said the same thing. His buddies at the fire department were amazed at how fast road crews had come through and cleared away trees and building parts. Across town, churches and work groups and families were pitching in and beginning to repair and rebuild the homes that were lost.
Ashley cuddled Devin closer to her and looked at him. “It could’ve been so much worse.”
“Okay . . .” Luke glanced at his sisters. “So when are we doing this again? I think we waited too long for this one.”
“Christmas, maybe?” It was Sam’s suggestion. He stooped down, grabbed a pacifier from the floor, dusted it off, and put it back in the mouth of the baby in Erin’s arm. “Most of us have time then, right?”
“My mom’s having her college girlfriends out to New York.” Reagan frowned. “Sort of a reunion she’s been planning.”
“Us too. Peter’s family in California wants us to fly there for Christmas.” Brooke shrugged. “I know it sounds like a long time, but next spring might work best for everyone.”
“Maybe so.” Erin’s eyes grew watery. “It just seems like such a long time away.”
&n
bsp; “We’ll keep in touch.” John kissed Malin on the cheek. His voice told them he was struggling with good-bye, but he was trying to stay upbeat, happier than he felt. “We can have the conference calls over dinner, like we’ve done this past year.”
“Right.” Luke messed his fingers through Tommy’s light brown hair. “And I’ll keep everyone posted about the big Los Angeles trial coming up in May.”
“Yeah, do that, Luke,” Erin said. “I wanna know every detail before I see it in the magazines.”
They shared smiles and a few easy laughs.
John looked at his watch and drew a long breath. “Well . . . it’s about that time.”
Ashley felt herself grow sad. She didn’t like having Erin and Luke so far away, not being a part of their daily lives, not having the chance to know their kids better. The mood changed, the sorrow there for everyone.
Erin came to her first. She leaned down, and they hugged for a long time. “Take good care of Devin.” Erin pulled back, her eyes shining. Then she kissed the baby on the cheek and did the same to Ashley. “I’ll call you.”
Ashley’s throat was tight. She hated saying good-bye, not knowing when they might all be together again.
Sam brought the other kids into the room, and Ashley gave kisses to all four of their girls. Erin did the same with Kari and Brooke, and then she and Sam led the girls outside toward the vans.
Reagan came to her next, and the two hugged. “One of these days, we’ll have to find a way back to Bloomington.” She tickled Devin under the chin. “Tommy can’t stop talking about Cole and his little brother.”
Ashley laughed, but it was tinged with tears. “That would be amazing.”
“Yeah.” Reagan took a step back. “Maybe after Luke finishes law school.” She ushered Tommy close and instructed him to say good-bye.
Cole was waiting off to the side, his eyes red and swollen.
After a few more kisses and hugs, Reagan took both her kids outside.
Only Luke remained. Ashley had known from the beginning that his good-bye would be the hardest of all. They shared a special bond, one that had been there since they were little kids. No matter how much distance or time separated her from Luke, when he came around she would always feel like a little girl again.