Catch a Falling Star (13 page)

Within a few minutes, Billy was out the door and seated behind the wheel of his pickup truck. He saw Justine’s dark blue sedan zip from the parking lot. She’d certainly gained confidence in driving. But then, she wasn’t on 190, either.

Even though it was nearly 9 p.m., streaks of dusky color lit the western sky as Billy followed Justine. She drove up toward the western hills of Starlight, through quiet neighborhoods. Was she trying to lose him?

At last, she drove onto Starry Night Drive, to the lookout point where the entire valley and all of Starlight spread east below them. By the time Billy parked next to Justine’s car, she’d left the vehicle and stood at the edge of the overlook.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said when she saw him.

“You looked upset when you left.”

Justine shrugged and turned her back on him to face the valley. “I got a healthy dose of reality tonight.”

“From May Swanson, according to Aunt Zalea?”

Justine nodded. “She said some pretty hateful things. I’m not the monster that some people think I am. But I’ve lost almost everything. And I don’t know who I am anymore.” She sighed, a desolate sound. “Azalea told me once that I’m not the same since the accident, that I shouldn’t expect to be. I’d like to think I’m less selfish. But after listening to that woman tonight, I realize that I've been preoccupied with my own troubles and what people think about me.”

Billy nodded. “It happens. We don’t want people to think badly of us. There were some people who told me that God must have really been trying to get my attention by having that Humvee get attacked and blown up. I mean, what does that say about what they think of me?”

“Do you think it’s true? Because I know He got my attention with this accident. I could have died. But I didn’t. So there’s got to be a good reason for me, and for you, to still be here.”

“Of course there is. I believe God's put us all here for some very good reasons.” He stepped closer to her. “And even if you think you’ve lost everything, you still have a lot. You have people who care about you. God specializes in second chances in life.”

“That’s what Azalea told me, too.” She faced him. “And you found your purpose. Making boots as a craftsman, and helping families heal after deployment. I just don’t know what my purpose is.”

“Maybe you’ll get another role.”

“Maybe not. At this point, it’s dried up. And Neil, he’s gone. My lawyer is drawing up papers and trying to save what assets I do have at this point, even though it’s too late for the California house.” She frowned.

“I’ll pray that you find your way, then.”

Justine nodded. Then he took her in his arms. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. He wanted a repeat of the kiss at the parade field, during the welcome home ceremony. And that wasn’t fair to either of them.

“I just don’t know what to do,” she murmured into his shirt.

“Stay here. Stay in Starlight.”

“I don’t know if I can. It’s not that simple. I don’t know what I can do to support myself here. There’s not much call for acting.”

“What about college, or job training?”

“The very idea of being in a classroom again makes me almost break out in hives.”

He wouldn’t beg her to stay, or ask her again after this. He couldn’t ask her to stay for him. Not when she shone like one of the stars that would soon be twinkling over the valley tonight.

Billy released her. The valley lights sparkled below them, and a haze in the distance glowed with the bright lights from Fort Hood.

“This is the place where Starlight got its name, you know,” he finally said.

Justine laughed. “Aren’t you the local history buff, giving me history lessons on hilltops.”

“I can’t help it. I love history. When the first settlers came here in the 1860s, they pitched camp in the valley below, then topped this hill so they could see the view and the land they'd just crossed to get here. The sky looked so big and bright with stars, well, they named the town Starlight.”

You’re funny, Billy Tucker.” She didn’t laugh this time. "That's why I like you—you're a storyteller."

“You going to be okay?” He didn’t want to leave her, feeling blue like this. “I can stay for a while, in case someone comes by and bothers you. I mean, what if a photographer comes? I can wait and then make sure you get home all right.”

“Don't worry about me.” She squeezed his arm. “Go on. I'll let you know when I get home.”

He’d never seen her this downcast before. “Okay, if you're sure. And hey, I’ll call you at some point. We need to get busy and finish those boots.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” She smiled, but even in the dwindling twilight her eyes looked sad.

Justine watched as Billy's truck disappeared into the last few moments of twilight. She didn’t start praying until shades of indigo swallowed up the last of the glow on the western horizon and gave her some cover as she looked out at the twinkling city.

“Lord, here I am. I get it. I get that my life isn’t all about me. How much time I wasted, wrapped up in myself. No wonder my so-called friends weren’t there when I needed them. They're as full of themselves as I am. Or was. I already know that You don’t approve of lots of the things I’ve done. Even my profession isn’t much good to anyone except feeding my ego. Look how well that’s turned out.”

For the first time in a long time, a tear slipped down her cheek. “Forgive me, Lord. Show me the way. Because I’m not sure what that is. I don’t want to be a cashier, or a secretary. I don’t do sales. But I want to do something to help people. People who deserve help. I’m not saying I’ll always get it right, but I want to do the right thing now. Please, help me live for You.”

The people at church talked about God being a Heavenly Father. She had barely known her father’s love while growing up, save for a few presents at Christmas and on her birthday.

Even though he'd let her sleep on his couch her first two years in California, that had ended with his car accident. She envied the Tucker boys, having a mother and a father who loved them, even from a long distance.

“If you’re the God that Aunt Azalea loves, and Billy Tucker loves, I want to love you too. The God that May Swanson serves would never give me a chance, but always be throwing my past back in my face. You’re not that way, are You?” she said into the wind. “Azalea gave me a Bible, You know. I don’t know much about it other than the beautiful Psalms and the stories from Sunday School, but I’m willing to learn. Just, give me a chance. Please. From tonight on.”

A star winked at her.              

Stars helped sailors navigate. They brought wise men to the baby Jesus. Maybe somehow, God could use Starlight and its people to guide her. She hoped so. Because right now, she wasn’t sure where she belonged, only that she wanted to discover whatever path God had for her.

Justine checked her cell phone once she reached home again. She hadn’t checked it at all during the pageant and then afterward, she hadn’t bothered to check.

A voice mail, from a number she didn’t recognize.

Maureen Baker. “Justine, I hope you remember me. We worked on the film
Mending Fences
two years ago. Anyway, I’ve since branched out on my own and started a production company. We're developing pilot episodes for a new show called
Second Chances
. Let me know if you’d like to talk about it with me. One of the big four networks and a cable network are in a bidding war at the moment, and I want to show them an episode that’ll blow them away. But I need to work fast, and I know you’re looking for a break.”

Maybe this was a sign. She looked at the clock. It was nearly seven-thirty in California, not too late to call on a Saturday. She’d rejected the idea of a TV show when Neil mentioned it before, but now. . . She had to do something.

“Maureen, it’s Justine Campbell. I got your message. Tell me more. I’m looking for work, or will be very soon.”

“Thanks for returning my call. I’m actually not calling about a role, per se. I’m wondering if we could profile you in one of our episodes. I saw that picture a couple of weeks ago, of you with the soldier in Texas.”

“Oh, yes, the picture.” This would be a chance to show her side of the story. Maureen was smart and a good businesswoman, but she was also a Christian. In a good way, like Azalea, now that Justine remembered. Maureen had never flung venom at her the way that May Swanson had after the pageant, but then she also wanted to work in the entertainment business, so she knew the importance of not burning bridges.

“You’re planning to make a comeback, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’d like that a lot.”

“Well, my show called
Second Chances
will tell stories of people who’ve been in dire, rock-bottom circumstances, and how they’re on their way back. I think as a celebrity, you’d make a great lead story.”

“How flattering. You thought of me as your dire, rock-bottom first episode.” Justine laughed. “That’s truer than you know.”

She thought for a moment. May Swanson’s words rang in her ears.

Our young people don’t need your sinful preoccupation with image and appearances to poison them. Life is more than raiment and hairstyle.

She’d show May, and others like her, that she wasn’t shallow. She’d learned something: that
it
wasn’t all about her. In fact, she'd turn this situation into something that would benefit someone else. Someone who deserved a hand far, far more than she did.

“Maureen, what if I told you there was someone else you can profile? I know someone with a story that’s much, much better than mine. That man in the pictures with me? I might be able to get him to share his story with you.”

“I don’t know. . . . We were hoping to get someone high profile.”

“Well, maybe for another episode. But this man’s story is a real comeback. I’m honored to know him.”
And love him.
The thought smacked her, harder than the collision with an embankment months and months ago. “How soon did you want to start? I know Billy will have to agree to this.”

“That's true. Let's set up a phone interview with him tomorrow and we'll check him out. If all goes well, I can be there next week to scout out locations for filming.”

“He’s an inspiration, truly he is. I can hardly wait for you to meet him.” Justine felt like she was floating. She needed to call Billy, and fast.

#             

“Okay, Mr. Tucker, just relax when the camera’s on. After a few minutes, you won’t remember it’s there,” said Clyde, the cameraman.

“Right.” The July heat pounded on Billy and the film crew as they stood outside his boot shop. He didn’t know how, but Justine had gotten Maureen Baker and a whole entourage out to the Tucker ranch for a day of filming. They also planned to interview the Tremontes and other people familiar with Billy and his story, plus the work he was doing at Hopeful Acres.

“Talk to us, Billy, about how you started in leather working,” Maureen said, off camera.

“Well, uh. I used to do leather working as a hobby. After I got hurt, I was recovering and starting physical therapy down at BAMC—That’s Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio—and they suggested that I give leather working, a try, to. . .to. . .” He glimpsed Justine, sitting on the back porch with Maddie. They had iced tea, and shade, and she looked so beautiful. . . .

“Cut.” Maureen wiped her brow.

This was supposed to help him, how? All those hundreds of hours, spent working in the quiet shop, with just him and cutout bits of leather, and hand tools. No one to bother him as he worked through his thoughts and prayers and coaxed life and form into sheets of leather. How could he explain how it made him feel?

They’d already filmed interiors of the cottage, and he explained the idea of the weekend retreats. But the leather work. That was the most personal of all. His sanctuary. He’d only let Justine in because she kept asking, and he found it hard to say no to her.

“Hang on,” Justine called as she walked from the porch. “I have an idea, Maureen. Do you have an extra wireless microphone?”

“Sure do.” Maureen looked at her technician. “Tom, get a mic for Ms. Campbell.”

He trotted off to their rented van and returned with a small clip-on unit with a wireless pack. “Here ya go.”

“Do you mind if I go on-camera with Billy? Maybe if we talk like we did the first day he showed me his workshop, it’ll go more smoothly.” Justine clipped the microphone to the front of her cotton blouse. “How am I for on-camera, Maureen?”

“You’re fine, just fine.” Maureen nodded. “Good idea. Clyde, start filming, and we can do the edits later.”

Justine stood close to Billy. “Let’s get started. Pretend we just met and you’re showing me your shop.”

He could do this. “So we’re acting, then?”
Pretend we just met
.

“Go ahead, you’re on,” said Maureen.

How could he concentrate with everyone watching him, Maureen yakking in the background, and Maddie up at the house probably texting her friends a play-by-play of the whole production?

His mother used to say to Dad, “Honey, don’t make a whole production out of the thing.” He never understood what she meant. Until now.

Justine’s firm yet gentle grip on his arm snapped him to attention. “Billy, show me where you make your boots.”

“Right inside here. This is one of the original limestone buildings on the property. Dad didn’t have the heart to tear it town. So when my leather working starting taking over the house after I moved back home, the building was a natural choice for me to work.” He pushed open the door and went inside, then waited for Justine and the camera man to follow.

“Cut.” Maureen called from outside.

“Did I do something wrong?” Billy thought he’d done better. Having Justine next to him helped. A lot.

“No.” Maureen entered the workshop. “We’re going to set up and start filming again. The light is sketchy in here at best.”

Once they resumed filming, it seemed like the camera vanished, like Maureen had said it would. He and Justine talked about his first pair of boots and the custom guitar straps he made.

They laughed over her first attempts at leather working before starting the painful process of crafting the uppers for her own boots.

“Billy, it’s definitely not as easy as it looks. The word painstaking doesn’t begin to describe the process. What has it meant for you, learning this lost art?” She smiled her trademark smile at him.

“When I first moved home again, after returning from the hospital in Germany, I didn’t know what else I could do with my life. I had such severe tendon and nerve damage to my hands and forearms, I could barely feed myself with a fork and knife.” The memory still hurt. “That’s when the occupational therapist suggested a hobby using my hands. So I got a leather working kit, and I started carving and tooling the leather. Mom said it saved my life. That, and realizing God still had a reason for me to be here.”

“When did you realize that people wanted to buy your boots, that it became more than physical therapy or a hobby?”

“I’d be in a store or out around town or at a doctor appointment, and someone would notice my boots and ask about them. Next thing, I had to order business cards and set up a website. People started ordering boots or small gifts for friends. I get a lot of work requests from veterans.” The words started flowing with the help of Justine’s questions.

Justine, of course, was the natural on camera. Funny, witty, and always asking questions that required more than a yes-or-no answer. If he got stuck, she’d fill in for him and then ask another question.

By the time filming was done for the day, he was exhausted. Maureen and the film crew drove off for the evening, headed for dinner at The Pit.

“We filmed for ten hours today. How do you do that day after day after day?” he asked Justine, as they stood at the grill, where Jake kept an eye on the burgers.

“I don’t know. Guess I’m used to it. Although I’m tired, myself.” Justine sipped her iced tea. “I've been out of the game for a long time. Haven't worked this hard in ages.”

They sat on the porch and waited for the breeze at dusk. Jake drifted off to watch a baseball game, and Maddie went to a friend’s to spend the night.

Instead of watching the Rangers game, Billy watched the setting sun turn Justine's hair different shades of gold. A hint of red winked at him now and then among the strands. He'd never noticed that before.

“Listen,” Justine said as they reclined in a pair of chairs after supper.

He strained to listen, but all he heard was the branches of the larger live oak trees, swaying in the breeze. One of the horses snorted out in the near pasture. “I don't hear anything.”

“Exactly.” She smiled at him, and he wished he had a camera to capture the expression and the light on her face. “What is it? Do I have broccoli in my teeth? Because I haven't eaten any broccoli. Lately.”

“You are so beautiful, Justine,” was all he could say. “I know you've heard that a million times in your life. I don't write poetry or know the right words to say. But never forget how beautiful you are, inside and out.”

Her face turned a rose-petal shade of light pink. “Thank you. I, um, thought I would tell you something.”

“What's that?”

“The night of the pageant, I had a long talk with God. The old Justine, well, she's gone. I'm ready to live my life for Him now.”

“Really?” No wonder it seemed as if there was something different about her.

She nodded and looked out toward the trees.

As the night slid down around them, they talked about their childhoods, their dreams, their fears.

“Horses?” He looked at her face, pale in the light from the yard. “You’re afraid of horses?”

“Yup,” Justine said. “One of my memories with my dad, one of the few before he and mom split up when I was six. He insisted I learn how to ride. I was petrified, and he made me sit on the horse, even after I fell off. Twice.”