Take Four (20 page)

L
UKE
B
AXTER WAS HOME THIS WEEK
, since his clients were all in town filming
Unlocked
, which was a wonderful change from the weeks leading up to the shoot. Dayne had asked him to be on-call, but only in case a legal matter arose on the set.

“Spend the week with your family,” Dayne told him Sunday when they met for dinner at Ashley and Dayne’s house. The Baxter house. “Come by the set for fun, but be with them.”

Now it was Thursday, and Jeremiah Productions was nearing the end of the second week of filming. Luke and Reagan had enjoyed every minute of their time together, letting the kids stay up late and sleeping in each morning. This morning Luke had promised to make breakfast for the family, so while the rest of them slept he found the Bisquick and poured most of the box in a mixing bowl. He hadn’t made pancakes in a while, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t forgotten how.
Sort of like riding a bike
, he told himself.
Once you’ve made a batch, you can pretty much whip up another batch any time.

Luke docked his iPod into a set of kitchen speakers and found his favorite playlist—the one with Matthew West and Mandisa and several other Christian artists he loved. The first song was the one he most wanted to hear this morning. “When God Made You” by Newsong. He and Reagan had danced to it at their wedding, and ever since then—always at key times in their lives—Luke went back to it.

This was one of those times.

He and Reagan were closer than ever, and their children
Tommy and Malin were healthy and happy, but their family was at a crossroads. Luke had to keep reminding himself that God had given him Reagan and the kids, and that He still had good plans for them. Plans, they prayed, that would include more children. But the sad news from the adoption agency last week had hurt more than either of them had imagined.

“Birthmothers change their minds,” their caseworker at the agency had told them. “Don’t feel defeated. There’s a baby out there for you.”

Luke wanted to believe that, and because he was busy with the whirlwind of activity surrounding Dayne and Keith and Jeremiah Productions, he could mentally move on more quickly than Reagan. But when he came home Sunday after another week in Los Angeles, he knew instantly she’d been crying.

“I felt like I knew him. I was already making a place for him in our family,” she told him that night when the kids were in bed. “It’s like…like I lost him.”

Luke understood, and since he’d been home this week he had come to feel the same way. Why did the birthmother change her mind? Was it something about their family or their profile? Was she making the right decision? Luke had never known her name or circumstance, but he had to wonder if she was acting on impulse or if this was really the best choice for the little boy. Since then, he and Reagan had prayed often for the birthmother and the baby…and for any other child God might bring into their lives instead. Tommy wanted twins—so maybe that was the reason. Somewhere God had twins for them. But even that idea didn’t sit right. He still wanted the baby boy they had planned for—same as Reagan.

He sang along quietly to the song on his iPod. “When God made you…He must’ve been thinking about me…” He looked at the back of the Bisquick box. The words were smeared—someone had gotten butter or syrup on the box and tried to wipe it
off. Whatever happened, the recipe was unreadable. He frowned for a few seconds, still trying to make out the words. Then he shrugged and put the box back in the pantry. Water and eggs, milk and oil. Something like that, right? He stared at the mostly full mixing bowl of powdered Bisquick.
Hmmm. A half a cup of water?
Yes, that sounded good.

He pulled the measuring cups from the baking drawer, and then…just in case, he grabbed the spoons too. What else did he need? He rummaged through the contents of the drawer until he found a wire whisk and a sturdy mixing spoon.
Pancakes coming up
.

“He made the stars, He made the moon…to harmonize in perfect tune…” His voice cracked and Luke chuckled. Good thing he was a lawyer. He definitely couldn’t make a living singing.

Over the next couple minutes he added half a cup of water, a cup of oil, and six eggs to the mound of powder. For good measure, he poured in a quarter cup of milk too, so they’d be light and moist. But as he tried to work the whisk through the ingredients, the batter felt stiffer than he remembered.
A little more stirring, more muscle
, he told himself.
Or maybe more oil
. He added another cup. Then he switched to the mixing spoon and worked the batter, round and around. The longer he mixed, the more the feel and texture started to look right. Slippery, but familiar.

He found the skillet, buttered the bottom, and brought the batter closer to the stove. His memory told him pancakes needed to be poured into the pan, but his batter wasn’t about to pour. It had formed a nice solid ball—smooth and soft-looking. Maybe he was supposed to shape the pancakes in his hands like hamburger patties? Yes, that had to be it.

The song changed and became Matthew West’s “The Moment of Truth.” Luke loved the words because it reminded him to look at mile-markers along the journey of life—moments of truth that needed to be remembered so that when trouble came
he would remember that God was still in control, He still worked miracles, and He loved His people too much to comprehend.

“Go back…go back…to the moment of truth.” Luke used the spatula as a microphone. This was another great one to sing along with, as long as the rest of his family didn’t wake up. Tommy liked to tease him about his singing, not that Luke minded. Musically speaking, the two of them were strictly a no-talent father-son outfit, whether they sang together or separately. Reagan and Malin would give them pained sorts of smiles and nod along, as if to say,
Please, can you hurry and be done?

Luke laughed to himself. He formed two pancakes, nice and round, and set them in the sizzling butter. He stared at the two patties and paused for a moment. Something didn’t seem right. He turned down the heat. He couldn’t cook them on high, otherwise they’d burn on the outside and be raw on the inside. Again he stared at the white round circles. Wasn’t he supposed to see little bubbles forming? Maybe the heat was too low now. He turned the flame back up again.

Ten minutes later Tommy burst down the hallway and into the kitchen, a toy fire-truck in his hands, one his uncle Landon had given him for his fifth birthday. He made shrieking siren sounds as he raced into the kitchen, and his footie pajamas slid, causing him to wipe out against the kitchen cupboards. “Where’s the fire, Daddy? I’m ready to put it out, so where is it?”

Luke raised an eyebrow at his son. “There’s no fire.”

“Ah-huh,” he scrambled to his feet and looked around, his eyes big as he tried to peer up at the stove. “I smelt it in my room.”

“It’s just the butter. Butter smells like smoke sometimes.” Luke smiled patiently at his son and flipped the pancakes. Only then did he see maybe he’d been a little overzealous on the heat. The cooked side wasn’t black, but it was a very deep shade of brown. He winced and cast a quick side look at Tommy. “These are well-done.”

Tommy hurried to the pantry, found a step stool, and placed it next to Luke. As he did, he giggled. “Those are burnt, Daddy. That’s why it smelt like smoke.”

“No, no.” Luke pressed his spatula against the two pancakes in the skillet. “They’re well done. There’s a difference.”

Reagan walked into the kitchen just as Luke was stacking his first two finished pancakes on a plate and starting to shape the next two. She wore a pink silk robe and she looked young and beautiful, her long blonde hair hanging in tousled ringlets. But as she walked into the kitchen, her eyes began to dance with unreleased laughter. “What’s burning?”

“The chef gets no respect.” He stretched out his arm and gave her a side hug as he settled the next two pancakes onto the skillet. “A little too much butter in the pan. No big deal.”

She squinted at the contents of the skillet, and a ripple of laughter came from her. “Luke…what
are
those?”

“Lemme see, Mommy!” Malin reached her hands up, dancing around the three of them.

Tommy was still on the step stool, and now he looked at Reagan and shook his head, as he’d tried to tell Luke there was a problem. “Daddy says they’re pancakes. But they don’t look right, and plus I smelt a fire.”

“Yes.” Reagan pulled the bowl of batter closer. “Honey…this isn’t pancake mix. It’s…it’s oily cement.” She looked at him, still laughing. “How much oil did you use?”

“Two cups…two or so.” He cleared his throat. “Which is healthy, because it’s olive oil.”

“Two or so cups?” She was giggling harder.

“That’s a lot of oil, Daddy.” Tommy nodded, his expression serious. “Just a little oil for pancakes, right, Mommy?”

“Now…” Luke still wanted to redeem himself. He turned the heat down and picked up the plate of well-done pancakes from
his first batch. “These are just how we like ’em. Cooked all the way through, and light and airy.”

“Light and…” Reagan laughed again. She picked up one of the pancakes and made an exaggerated motion as if she could barely hold it. “Honey, this is a paper weight. You could tile the floor with these.”

Luke was about to explain how in the olden days people liked their pancakes to have a little substance, when the phone rang. He looked at the time on the microwave and saw it was already after nine in the morning. Hopefully nothing was going wrong on the set. He held up his pointer finger to Reagan and Tommy, indicating for them to wait for the rest of his explanation about the pancakes. Then he answered the phone. “Hello?”

Tommy jumped off the stool, slid a little, and grabbed a dishtowel. “I’ll clear away the smoke, Mommy…I’ll do it!”

On the other end, the woman must’ve heard Tommy because she uttered a quick laugh. “uh…is this Luke Baxter?”

“Yes, it is.” He gave a shush sign to Tommy, while Reagan took the bowl of batter and began spooning it into the trash.

Malin stayed by her side, her thumb in her mouth, and Tommy waved the towel around the room. “There…” he was making an effort to talk more quietly, but Tommy was loud even in a whisper. “See, Daddy? Now I’m a fireman like uncle Landon! A quiet fireman!”

Reagan took one of the first pancakes and hit it hard against the sink. Only a few crumbs chipped off, but otherwise it stayed steadfastly intact.

The woman was saying something, but Luke missed it. The entire scene was suddenly too funny for him to keep his composure. Luke began to laugh, and he had to turn his back on his family to find his composure. “I’m sorry…I missed that. We’re having a wild sort of morning here.”

Again the woman’s laughter filled the line. “That’s okay.
Sounds like fun.” She took a breath and tried again. “I’m calling from the adoption agency. I have good news, Mr. Baxter. The birthmother we told you about?”

Luke pressed the phone closer to his face and covered his other ear. He closed his eyes, so he could focus on every word. Something about the birthmother. “Go ahead…”

“The birthmother has thought about her decision, and she’s changed her mind again. She says God convinced her this week that the baby doesn’t belong to her.” Tempered emotion filled the woman’s voice. “He belongs to you. She’d like to start the paperwork as soon as possible.”

Luke spun around and looked at Reagan, but she was working what looked like a gallon of milk into a fresh bowl of pancake mix. Tommy was still bounding about in his footie pajamas, swinging the towel, clearing the kitchen of smoke. And now Malin was following him, giggling and waving her hands in the air as if the two of them were performing some kind of tribal dance.

Joy surged through Luke, and he thanked the woman for calling—assuring her he and Reagan would come in as soon as possible for their part in the process. Then he hung up and, for a long moment, he took in the scene playing out before him. The birthmother could change her mind again, of course, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t, that this was the answer they’d been praying for all week. An answer that had come far sooner than they dared hope. The little boy would be theirs, and as long as Luke lived—he had a feeling—he would look back on this morning the way he looked back on other pivotal times in his life. Moments of truth. The day he learned he had a son with Reagan. Their reunion after a year apart. Their wedding day. And the day they brought home Malin. And now this very special morning of burnt pancakes and oily cement and children dancing in the kitchen.

The morning they learned God was going to give them a new baby boy.

C
ODY MOVED ALONG THE SIDELINE
of the Clear Creek High football field with the other coaches and half the team. Connor Flanigan had the ball and he was running it, evading one tackler, then another and heading for the open field. “Run…keep running!” Cody waved his arm, and the other coaches did the same thing. “Keep running,!”

Connor never slowed down, and seconds later he scored with just a minute left to play. The touchdown put the game out of reach and Cody high-fived the other coaches, cheering and celebrating a win in what was their toughest game of the season. As Connor ran off the field, Cody grabbed him and hugged him. “Thata boy, Connor! This is your team!”

Connor thanked him and joined his teammates in a huddle of cheers and congratulations. Cody watched the clock run out, grateful that at least this part of his life was going well. He almost didn’t come today, because he wouldn’t put this team in danger any more than he’d risk Bailey’s life. But police in Columbus had spotted Benny, and they were about to move in for an arrest. At least that’s what the detective told him earlier that afternoon.

As the buzzer sounded, and after the players had walked the line with the other team, the guys gathered around Cody and the other coaches. “Who are we?” Coach Taylor bellowed.

“Clear Creek!” The guys answered with a deep guttural sound, more like a battle cry than a response. They had formed a tight group, their arms around each other’s shoulders, and now they began jumping, the intensity building.

“Who are we?” Again Coach shouted the question.

“Clear Creek!” From there the guys took over the chant, asking the question and answering it half a dozen times, jumping higher, pounding each other on the shoulder pads and getting fired up for the biggest game of the season.

“Five more games to playoffs, men. Five games.” With that Coach Taylor took off his hat. “Let’s thank God.”

Cody loved this—that Coach Taylor prayed before and after games. The guys wanted him to pray, the parents, too. So he never missed an opportunity. The guys—all of them sweaty and breathing hard—dropped to one knee and prayed with faith and honesty. Cody hung on every word. This was a different team than it had been when he was a player. All because the guys in charge—guys like Connor—were good kids. Kids who lived out their faith.

When the prayer ended, Coach Taylor leaned in close to Cody and patted his back. “We wouldn’t be here without you.” He had to shout to be heard. “You’re a tremendous asset to this team, Coleman.”

“Thanks.” Cody felt the compliment to the core of his being. Between his weekend visits to the women’s prison and his distant relationship with Bailey, nothing seemed to be quite right lately. Nothing except this. “I love it,” Cody yelled over the growing noise. “I really love it.”

“Well, then…let’s keep this train going!” Coach looked from Cody to the rest of his staff. “On to state, men!”

The team jogged back to the locker room, and Cody gazed up at the still packed stands. Even fans from neighboring areas were starting to take notice of something special happening at Clear Creek. It seemed like every week the stands were a little more full. Bailey was here with her parents and Ricky and BJ, sitting with the extended Baxter family, like always. Cody shaded his eyes and looked up at the section of bleachers where Bailey
and her family usually sat. Sure enough, there they were. He needed to tell her about his mother still, and now he needed to tell her about the dinner at Art’s house. Tara had apparently given his number to Cheyenne, because over the last week they’d texted a few times. Nothing flirty, but they shared common ground in the way they’d been forever affected by the war. So Cody hadn’t minded the few times they’d chatted.

The thing was, options or not, Cody wasn’t interested. He still thought about Bailey constantly, wondering how she was doing every day last week while she was on the movie set. They had talked less this week, and the buzz from the Flanigan boys was that Brandon had a crush on Bailey. He looked up at her again, and squinted. A commotion seemed to have broken out around her. Cody shaded his eyes and immediately realized what had happened. Brandon Paul had arrived, and he was sitting next to Bailey. He’d missed the game, but he was here. From the high corners of the stadium, Cody watched a couple cameramen inch their way closer, snapping a constant stream of flash photos. Only then did he realize that in addition to Dayne and Katy, Keith Ellison and his wife were there. And maybe a few other people from the cast and crew. Maybe they’d been there all along.

As Cody watched, Brandon slung his arm over Bailey’s shoulders and hugged her. Even from where he stood on the sidelines, Cody could see they were both laughing, both caught up in the moment. Brandon hugged Bailey’s mom and dad next, and then he turned and began talking to Dayne Matthews. Cody looked away, colder than he’d been all night. Everything in him wanted to race up the stadium steps and take her hand, lead her to a quiet place outside the football arena and tell her once and for all that he loved her. He would explain about his mother’s arrest and the danger of Benny Dirk. And he would assure her that all he wanted was her, the two of them together the way things were over the summer.

But he could hardly do that. He held a clipboard and he flipped a page, checking Connor Flanigan’s stats. He needed to get back to the locker room with the rest of the team. The last glimpse he caught was of her and Brandon, their heads turned toward each other, smiling and talking—completely absorbed in each other. A pain cut through Cody’s heart as he lowered his gaze to the tunnel ahead. No, they certainly wouldn’t be talking tonight. But then, maybe he and Bailey didn’t need to talk anyway. Maybe Bailey was moving on without an explanation from him. He certainly didn’t need to ask her how things were going with Brandon Paul.

The answer was as clear as the smile on her face.

B
AILEY NOTICED EVERY TIME
C
ODY
looked her way, but she didn’t want him to catch her looking at him. It was no longer enough to hear that he was busy, or to spend an hour each night on the phone. Not since last Monday. Bailey watched Cody jog across the field, toward the locker room, and the memory came back again—the way it had a hundred times since Monday. She’d been about to film a scene with Brandon, when she heard her phone vibrate.

Like always, Brandon was interested. But Bailey kept the phone away from him as she checked the message. A few seconds passed before she realized what she was seeing.

Nice meeting you too, Cheyenne…I had a great night. I’m sure we’ll talk sometime soon.

Bailey had felt the blood leave her face, felt the room begin to spin. Was this the reason Cody couldn’t meet with her, the reason she hadn’t seen him hanging out at their house? Because he’d met some girl named Cheyenne? She had refused to show what she was feeling inside. Brandon was still staring her down, dodging around her, teasing her, trying to see her phone. She absolutely
couldn’t let him know what had just happened. He didn’t have a right to see into the part of her heart that belonged to Cody Coleman. But since then, she’d barely talked to Cody. Brandon had even teased her that her relationship with Cody was only a figment of her imagination. Seeing Cody tonight, realizing how much he’d kept his distance from her, she was beginning to think Brandon was right. Brandon had told her he might come with Dayne and Katy to the game, and she’d told him to be careful. The paparazzi were camped in town, following both of them pretty closely.

“That’s right,” he’d teased her as they finished up on the set. “We wouldn’t want anyone to get a picture of us. They might think we were making a movie together.” He grinned, but it was his new grin—the one he’d taken on since they started working together. Not the over-the-top flirty smile from the audition a month ago, but a grin that made him look like a smitten school boy.

Bailey had laughed the way she’d been doing more often lately—because how crazy was it that Brandon Paul might really have a crush on her? The idea was crazy from a hundred different angles, but mostly because she knew his background. They had nothing in common. Even if Cody had found someone else, Bailey would never be interested in Brandon. For that reason she kept things light, laughing easily, and not taking him too seriously—on the set and here at the game when he showed up just as the contest ended.

From the moment he arrived, Bailey could see the photographers snapping a constant stream of flash photos from a far corner in the stadium. “Don’t worry about the paparazzi,” he whispered to her. “I told them this was a family football game. I’m just here showing my support.”

“Is that right?” She looked amused. “The game is over. That’s not very supportive.”

He gave her an apologetic goofy smile. “I thought they lasted longer.”

“Hey,” Brandon still sat beside her, like he was unaware that the coaches and team were no longer on the field, or that the stadium was emptying. “Guess what Katy bought me?”

On the other side of Brandon, Dayne patted his wife’s knee. “The perfect gift.” He smiled at Brandon. “Isn’t that right?”

“It is.” Brandon’s eyes still sparkled with mischief, but in this moment he wasn’t teasing. “She bought me a Bible.” He tapped Bailey’s waist with his elbow a few times. “Wild, huh? Me getting a Bible?” In a hurry he turned back to Katy. “Not that I don’t like it. I do.” He nodded at Dayne and then back at Bailey. “It’s nice brown leather, and it smells good. The pages are new.”

“We’re going to read it every morning.” Katy raised her eyebrow at him. “Right, Brandon?”

“Right.” He made a terrified face at Bailey. “If you weren’t praying for me before, you better start now. Me and the Bible haven’t been best friends. Not for a long time anyway.”

Bailey doubted they’d ever even been mild acquaintances, but she was proud of Katy. This was a start, a piece of the puzzle that had to fall into place if God were going to reach Brandon while he was there. And the change in him since the shoot started was something everyone had noticed. He seemed more like a kid, as if the character of Holden Harris had rubbed off on his soul. Bailey knew it was more than that, of course. It was God softening Brandon’s heart, because before he left Bloomington she truly believed he would be a different person.

Brandon was still going on about the Bible. “And,” he put his arm around her again, “I have something else.” He flashed a grin at Katy. “Not as good as the Bible, mind you, but pretty fun all the same.” He pulled what looked like half a dozen tickets from his back pocket. “Third row seats to
Wicked
in New York City tomorrow night.”

“What?” Bailey gasped. “You can’t be serious?”

She jumped to her feet and looked at Dayne and Katy and then back to Brandon. He took her hand and eased her back to the bench beside him. “Wanna go?” He elbowed her playfully. “Your ex is in the ensemble from what I read.” His smile was intended to melt her heart. “Of course, you can’t believe everything you read in the tabs.”

Brandon explained he’d already arranged for his private jet to pick them up in the morning at Indianapolis Airport. They would fly to La Guardia before noon, get a ride into the city, have dinner at Sardi’s in Times Square, and then catch the show at the Gershwin. The plane would bring them back that night, and—though they wouldn’t return to Bloomington until almost sun-up—they would have all day Sunday to catch up on sleep before Monday’s filming.

“Keith and Lisa, Dayne and Katy, you and me…” his grin was as boyish as Bailey’s youngest brother. “Is it a plan?”

Bailey spun halfway around and grabbed her mother’s hands. “Please…it’d be so fun. I’d love to see Tim…” she released a slight scream and looked back at Katy. “My goodness, I can’t believe this is even happening. Seriously.” She turned to her mom once more. “What do you think?”

Her mom and dad were sitting together, and they both chuckled at Bailey’s exuberance. “It’s fine.” Her mom touched Bailey’s arm and they shared a knowing look. Bailey had told her about the strange text from Cody, and her mother had suggested she allow some distance between her and Cody. God would make everything clear in time, when the movie was finished and school was out for the term. Her mom smiled. “It’ll be good for you, honey.”

“Go have fun.” Her dad leaned closer and put his hand against her cheek. “You deserve it, sweetheart.”

And like that they had a plan—the craziest plan Bailey had
ever been part of. As they made arrangements for their departure and how the details would come together—and as Bailey texted Tim to tell him they were coming with Brandon Paul—she wondered just for a minute if this was what Cody wanted: for her to move on without him. If it were possible, this would’ve been the time to feel herself breaking away. But, instead, as everyone headed for the Flanigan house, and as Bailey spent the next hour talking to her parents and to the producers and to Brandon, as they dreamed about their time in New York City, all she could do was ask herself a series of painful, pressing questions. Where was Cody and what was he doing and how come he was texting some other girl? And most of all, the obvious question.

How had she and Cody lost again?