Stephen took a large manila envelope from the assistant, then turned and walked toward them. By the time he approached, Katy didn’t have to ask if there was a problem. The answer was heavy in Stephen’s eyes. He put his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Walters, I need to talk to Katy for a minute.”
Katy’s heart skipped a beat. What could’ve happened? The scenes were going along well; they’d had to reshoot only a couple, and that was mostly because of lighting issues. For a moment she wondered if someone was accusing her of having an affair with Ian. It was something she’d talked about with the director because she needed all the help she could get. “I can’t have the press thinking Ian and I have a thing,” she’d told him. “So help me out, okay?”
Stephen had been mildly amused by her concern. After all, only a few photographers from the U.S. were working the shoot. “You aren’t the story,” he told her. “No one cares about you and Ian Walters unless you give them a reason to care.”
He was right of course. The story was Dayne and Randi, and so far Dayne had taken great pains to keep things as platonic as possible with his costar. But maybe it was something with the reality show. For Real was still taking stabs at them, showing the world how poorly she and Dayne got along and how precarious their marriage really was. If somehow the photographers had caught Katy in what seemed like a cozy moment with Ian, they’d be thrilled to run the pictures.
Ian collected his plate, winked at Katy, and sauntered off toward the food line again. A few members of the cast were gathered near the coffee table, including one young starlet who was making her debut in the film. Katy had a suspicion that Ian was interested in her too.
Katy turned her attention fully to her director. “Stephen?”
He was one of the warmest men she knew, but now his face was so serious he looked almost gaunt. “Step over here for a minute, will you?”
She stood and followed him to a patch of land just behind one of the trailers. It was a spot where they were out of sight from any of the other cast or crew. “What is it?” Katy felt her face grow hot, and her hands began to tremble. Something terrible must’ve happened for Stephen to look the way he did.
“You haven’t seen yesterday’s tabloids yet?”
Katy’s heart sank. “Don’t tell me. . . .” She clenched her fists and stared at the ground. “I’ve done everything I could to keep away from him. The idea of Ian Walters and me having anything but a working—”
“It isn’t you and Ian.” Stephen lowered his brow and put one hand on her shoulder. “I can’t believe no one’s said anything. Probably because we’ve been so focused on the shoot.”
The ground beneath Katy’s feet felt soft and unsteady. She braced herself against the back of the trailer and waited.
Stephen reached into the envelope and pulled out three color images. He held up the first one. “I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t have to see this.”
Katy stared at the image, and her mind went into a self-defense mode. It took several seconds for the photo to make sense, for her to understand what she was seeing. And even then it took seconds more for the damage to start detonating deep in her soul. The picture was of Dayne and Randi Wells, the two of them locked in each other’s arms, kissing as if . . . as if they were madly and passionately in love.
“No . . .” Katy felt herself start to drop, but Stephen caught her.
He put his arm beneath hers and steadied her. “You can’t fall apart. I’ve seen this too many times in this industry.” He spoke to her like her father might’ve. “You and Dayne need to talk. But you’ll get through this.”
Get through it? Katy stared at the picture again. The words across the top yelled, “Dayne Matthews Caught Red-Handed!” She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. Black spots danced before her eyes, and she could no longer hear what Stephen was saying. Something about affairs being commonplace and temptations often too great to resist. How it was possible to move on and that she couldn’t put a lot of stock in a location affair because those things happened.
Katy closed her eyes and tried to keep from passing out. No, she wanted to shout at him. They don’t happen to me. She wasn’t like that. She believed in truth and faith, loyalty and fidelity, and that a person didn’t get married without at least intending for those things to happen. All of which was what Dayne believed too. At least that’s what . . .
She felt the blood leaving her face. “Stephen . . . help me.” Something was happening to her, and she couldn’t figure out what. She was falling, spinning, and someone was catching her, and a loud rushing sound filled her ears, and a searing pain cut through her heart. Dayne . . . you didn’t. . . . You couldn’t have. . . . Her thoughts scrambled and began to fade.
Then there was nothing but cool, damp darkness. In the depths of inky blackness, Katy still had the wherewithal to ask herself the only question that mattered.
How could it happen? . . . How could it . . . ?
And then she could no longer ask the question, no longer form the words. The spinning and the dizziness stopped, and there was only the pain and a terrible empty feeling, worse than anything Katy had ever known.
As if her entire world had come to an end in one single, devastating moment.
Stephen was standing over Katy when she came to. That much she understood. But where was she? And why was she here with the director when . . . ?
In a rush, it all came back. Stephen walking toward her, the concern on his face. And the picture. The photograph that told the whole story, even if every important detail was missing.
“You passed out.” Stephen carried a wet washcloth to the sink, rinsed it, wrung it out, and brought it back to her. He set it gently across her forehead.
“How . . . how long was I down?” Katy tried to sit up, but nausea hit her like a wall.
“Not long. A few minutes, maybe.”
Katy looked around and understood. Stephen had helped her into the trailer they’d been standing by. Now he and the assistant director were watching her, clearly worried.
“You’re getting some of your color back.” Stephen stayed at her side. “How do you feel?”
She looked deep into the older man’s eyes, and then she crooked her arm and placed it over her face. How did she feel? Her husband was having an affair with Randi Wells. She felt shocked and terrified and humiliated and furious at the same time. But with every passing minute, she felt something else too.
Clarity.
She lowered her arm back to her side and took a long breath. If Dayne was abandoning her, she would have to find a way to survive. Not because affairs were commonplace, as Stephen suggested, or because this sort of thing was bound to happen in their business. But because she had her faith. And with Christ she could do all things.
Even survive this.
Katy propped herself up on her elbow. God, be with me. I can’t do this alone.
My daughter, I am with you . . . even to the end of the age.
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 we
re 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!”
&nbs
p; 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.