Ashley knew the trick. Kari had taught it to her when she was pregnant with Jessie. Don’t count back nine months; count ahead three.
Ashley closed her eyes.
July…August…September.
Which meant…
Her eyes flew open and she found Landon looking at her. “Is Luke the…?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. It would be too awful, too horrible to know that her brother had pined over Reagan all those months, to know that he’d left life as he knew it to move in with Lori, whoever she was, all because he was dying of a broken heart.
And then to find out that—
“Landon.” She slid closer to him. It would kill her brother to learn he had a son he never knew about. And what about their parents? “Tell me the truth. Please.”
He took her hands in his. “Reagan doesn’t want him to know.” A sad smile lifted the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were flat. “I can’t keep anything from you, Ashley. Maybe you were supposed to find out.”
Ashley could swear she was being sucked into a churning riptide, tossed about beneath the water with no way to swim back to shore.
Luke was a father?
The baby Reagan had been pushing in the stroller was her brother’s son, her own nephew?
Why hadn’t she thought of that? Of
course
the baby was Luke’s. How could she have believed for a minute that the baby was Landon’s when she’d seen for herself how close Reagan and her brother were before September 11?
She stood and went to a nearby window. Her breath came in short bursts against the glass, and she let her forehead fall against the pane.
“Ashley.” Landon came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Of course.” She looked straight ahead out the window, seeing nothing. She folded her arms and pressed them against her stomach. “It was so obvious. Why didn’t I see it before?”
Question after question, all demanding immediate answers, churned inside her. What would Luke think? How angry would he be that Reagan had cut him out of her life after finding out she was pregnant with his child? What would this do to his current take on life, his current living situation, for that matter?
Most of all, why hadn’t Reagan told him?
Not a few weeks ago, when the baby was born, but the moment she found out she was pregnant? Ashley might’ve been at odds with her brother for years prior to September 11, but afterward, they’d been as close as ever. She was sure he would’ve gone to Reagan, supported her, and stayed with her. Moved to New York, helped her through her pregnancy, and been a wonderful father to their son.
And today he would still be the Luke they all remembered. Humbled and human, yes. But Luke Baxter all the same.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Landon brought his face alongside hers.
She gave a few slow shakes of her head. “My brother’s life is a mess and…” She turned and faced Landon, linking her arms around his waist. “It’s his fault, but everything would’ve been different if she’d told him the truth.”
“I know.” He pursed his lips. “I wanted to call him, but she begged me not to. She knows about Luke…that he’s living with another girl. She doesn’t want anything to do with him, not for her or the baby.”
“That’s not fair.” Ashley heard the strain in her voice. “Luke’s the father.”
They fell silent, lost in the sorrow of all that had happened. Then, slowly, a light dawned in Landon’s eyes. “How long are you here?”
“I leave tomorrow morning.” Sadness pierced her at the thought. She’d wanted to spend the weekend celebrating with Landon.
His mouth showed the hint of a smile. “What if you called her? You could say you were in town, that you saw her with me and asked and, well…now you know.”
“So tell her the truth, basically.”
“Basically.” Landon flashed his teeth, his eyebrows raised in a hesitant smile.
Ashley grinned. Though this was the single greatest day in her career as an artist, she hadn’t smiled for real until now. The combination—having Landon here, knowing he hadn’t done something crazy with Reagan; receiving the high praise from the art gallery—all of it made for the most wonderful feeling.
But the problem with Luke remained. And it was a big one, one that would rock the Baxter world yet again. Because they were bound to find out. “Won’t she be mad at you?”
“How can she be? You saw us together.”
“True.”
Landon pulled his cell phone from his jeans and flipped it open. “Her number’s in my phone book.” He punched a series of buttons and hesitated. “Here it is.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Okay…call it.”
He pushed the Send button and handed the phone to her.
Ashley held it to her ear and gripped it tight. Reagan would probably hang up on her, but so what? Ashley had less than twenty-four hours left in New York, and she wanted to meet her nephew. Now it was merely a matter of convincing Reagan to let her come.
She waited.
On the second ring, a woman answered. “Hello?”
“Hello, Reagan?” Ashley needed a drink of water. Her mouth was so dry she could barely talk.
“Yes.”
“This is Ashley Baxter, Luke’s sister.” A pause planted itself between them. “I’m here in New York on business and, well, I wondered if I could see you?”
The silence on the other end was one of the loudest Ashley had ever heard.
God, please, don’t let her hang up. I know you want me to see her.
She waited, wanting desperately to believe Reagan would talk to her, hoping she would welcome her over to see the baby. But only one truth made itself known in that moment.
Whatever happened after this would be up to God.
R
EAGAN FINISHED THE CONVERSATION
and hung up the telephone. Her hands were shaking and knots filled her stomach.
“Mom…”
Tommy was asleep in his crib, and she didn’t want to wake him. Still, talking with Luke’s sister had knocked the wind out of her, and she could hardly walk around the apartment looking for her mother. She put the phone down on the kitchen table and sat back in her chair. She kept her voice even and as loud as she dared. “Mom, come here.”
A full minute later her mom pushed open the swinging door and made her way into the kitchen. “You shouldn’t call out like that when the baby’s—” she stopped short and stared at Reagan—“honey, what is it?”
Since September 11, none of the Deckers took life for granted. Reagan realized she probably looked awful. She felt cool and clammy, and she could see that even her arms had grown pale in the last few minutes. Her gaze fell to the table. “The phone call…”
“Who was it?” Her mother sat next to her at the table and gave a tender brush of her fingers over Reagan’s forehead.
Reagan looked up. “Luke’s sister.”
For a moment Reagan watched the emotions make their way across her mom’s face. Shock. Fear. And finally a stunned sort of calm. “She knows?”
“Yes.” Reagan ran her tongue along her lower lip. Her throat felt like it was lined with cotton balls. “Landon told her.”
“He promised you he—”
“No.” She held up her hand. This wasn’t Landon’s fault; she couldn’t have her mother believing it was. Not even for a minute. “She came here on business and saw me with Landon. She figured it out, Mom.”
“Okay.” Her mother drew in a sharp breath through her nose and lifted her chin a few inches. “Does Luke know?”
“Not yet.” Reagan’s head ached, and her heart beat so hard within her she could feel it in her temples. It was her own fault, really. She had stuffed her feelings in brown bags and stored them in the cellar of her soul. Now she needed to sort through them and see what was there—what she could keep and what had to be tossed. And what simply needed repair.
Before she could do any of that, her mother folded her hands on the kitchen table and looked hard at her. “Reagan, I told you it would come to this.” Her voice was kind but unbending. “Luke should’ve known from the beginning.”
“I couldn’t tell him.” Tears filled Reagan’s eyes and the image of her mother blurred. “He thought—” she waved her hands, looking for an answer that dangled just beyond her—“he thought I was a nice girl, Mom. The kind who would wait, and…” She let her hands fall. “After that night, I didn’t want to look at him because—” a sob caught in her throat and she paused until she could find her voice—“because I wasn’t that girl anymore. I wasn’t pure.”
Her mother leaned forward and searched Reagan’s eyes. Her voice was thick, as though she, too, wanted to break down and cry. “Reagan, don’t you see?”
She grabbed three jerky breaths. “What?”
“Neither was he.”
For a long while Reagan stared at her mother. Neither was he? Slowly, like sand slipping through her fingers, her mind let go of everything she’d believed about Luke. And for the first time since they’d said good-bye at the Bloomington bus depot, she could see clearly.
Luke wanted his girlfriend pure, but he’d wanted himself that way, too. Reagan covered her face with her hands and allowed herself to return to that time when she’d been Luke Baxter’s love. He was so strong and intelligent, dedicated to truth and making right choices. But one thing about him had bothered her.
He had been utterly unforgiving.
Whether with Ashley and her bad choices, or with his older sister who had chosen to distance herself from her family’s faith, Luke was always critical, even harsh. So when she and Luke fell that Monday night, she’d been certain he’d think of her the same way—weak, unfaithful, unworthy. What she
hadn’t
considered was that he would feel the same way about himself.
Her mother cleared her throat. “It’s true, Reagan.”
She let her hands fall away from her face. “You think…he’s more upset with himself than with me?”
“Well—” she tilted her head—“probably not.” She bit her lip and was quiet for a moment. “I’ve thought about him a lot, and I’m guessing he’s most mad at God.”
“That much I’m sure you’re right about.” A memory flashed into Reagan’s mind of Luke boarding the airplane next to her the time they flew to New York to visit her family. He had been talking about his sisters and their failings.
“God’s pretty easy to figure out,” he told her. They were making their way through the jetway to the airplane, and he grinned at her. “Live life right, and it all goes your way. Mess it up, and God lets you live with your choices.”
She’d wanted to ask him what he meant by that. Surely he couldn’t have meant that bad things never happened to people who lived their lives for God. But in the rush of getting their seats and storing their carry-on luggage, she’d never asked. Not until after she moved back to Manhattan did she realize that Luke meant
exactly
that.
Yes, he must’ve been angry with God. What else could have spurred him to abandon his beliefs and move in with some girl he’d met at college?
Reagan clasped her hands to stop their shaking. “Every time he called I found a reason not to talk to him.”
“I remember.” A sad smile played on her mother’s lips. “Whenever I asked, you didn’t want to talk about it. Then after we found out about the baby…” She shook her head. “I figured he’d done something you weren’t willing to forgive.”
“No.” Reagan sniffed and ran her fingertips across her cheeks. “It was the other way around. I’d done something I was sure
he
couldn’t forgive.”
“How could you think that?” Her tone was gentle, kind.
Reagan knew the answer as well as she knew her name. She’d thought about it every day since. Sometimes every hour. Luke’s phone calls were his way of dealing with his guilt, but she always knew what would happen if she talked to him. He’d tell her he was sorry, and maybe for a few calls after that he’d make small talk. Then he’d fade out of her life and write her off.
The same way he’d written off his sisters.
“You both made a mistake that night.” Her mother tried again. “But how could it have been more your fault than his?”
“Because—” Reagan leveled her gaze, her eyes dry—“Luke wanted me to take the call.”
Confusion wrote itself over her mom’s face. “What call?”
“Dad’s. He called after the Giants game, and we were…we were on the couch and already, well, already involved.” Reagan’s voice cracked. “I think Luke wanted the phone call to be our way out. He told me to answer it.”
“And you didn’t?” Understanding filled her mother’s voice. Understanding, but no condemnation.
Reagan’s eyes fell again. “I said I’d call him back the next day.” She pursed her lips. “And then…”
“Even when Luke called all those times, you figured he’d hold that night against you?”
“Yes.” Her answer was barely audible. She had thought that, but what if she’d been wrong? What if he was more upset with himself, with God? What if he wanted to find a way back to how things used to be with her? “Mom, did I make a mistake?”
Her mother’s exhaled breath fell just short of weariness. “The thing about God, Reagan, is that he already knows the answer.” She leaned closer and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “And no matter what mistakes you make, no matter what promises you’ve broken, God will still make good on his.”
Reagan thought about that. Her mother was talking about her special Bible verse, the one engraved in wood at the bottom of a framed photo of her that hung above her bed. Her parents had given it to her when she was a small girl, back when the photograph inside the frame was that of a towheaded, gap-toothed kindergartner. Every year when she brought home her picture packet from school, her mother took the piece down, opened the frame, and slipped in the new photo. Then she put it back together, held it so Reagan could see it, and together they read the Scripture aloud.
The memory lifted, and she locked eyes with her mother. “I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord…plans to give you a hope and a future…and not to harm you.”
Her mother smiled. “Exactly.”
“Even now? After all I’ve done wrong?” Reagan narrowed her eyes. The pain was still so fresh. Whole months had gone by without her giving a single thought to the idea that God had plans for her, or that somehow the future wouldn’t harm her.
A knock sounded at the door, and they both turned toward the sound. “Yes, Reagan.” Her mom patted her hand and nodded toward the door. “Even now.”