Page 40 of The Baxters
Another smile, another photo. Another repositioning of the ten of them. In the process, Elizabeth noticed Ashley, the way she looked holding Cole. The two of them seemed more comfortable together. As if Ashley was suddenly more aware of her little son.
Good for you, Ashley.Elizabeth smiled at her middle daughter and then back at the photographer. No matter what terrible events had led to Ashley coming home pregnant with Cole, at least she came home. Elizabeth and John had opened their door and hearts to her, and they had welcomed little Cole.
Something Elizabeth’s parents had never dreamed of doing all those years ago.
Ashley would never have to wonder what happened to her firstborn. She would never have to cry alone at night, longing for even the slightest detail or imagining where he might be. No, Ashley had her firstborn son.
Something Elizabeth could never say. And on a day like this, the questions burned deeper than usual. Questions that would never get answered, short of a miracle. If only Elizabeth could find him, talk to him. Explain what happened. How she hadn’t been given a choice about keeping him.
Elizabeth faced the photographer and remembered to smile. And like she’d done thousands of times before, she asked God for one thing in particular. That before she drew her last breath she might not only learn the whereabouts of her son.
But that she might actually meet him, face-to-face.Take him into her arms and tell him the truth. That no matter what had happened the week after he was born, Elizabeth and John loved him.
They loved him more than their own lives.
THE CAST ANDcrew of Dayne Matthews’ latest film were in Casablanca, Morocco, this time, taking up residence in the heart of the city for a movie shoot that would last another month. At least.
Dayne shrugged into the motorcycle jacket and slipped on the helmet. Every inch of his six-foot-three frame was dripping in sweat. He stared at his director, Kent Barrett. “Why did we film this in the summer?”
Standing just in front of him, Barrett adjusted Dayne’s helmet and studied his look. “Sweat makes you glisten. The girls love it, Matthews. Don’t knock what works.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dayne tried to take a full breath. Inside the helmet the air was suffocating. “And how come I agreed to do my own stunts again?”
Barrett laughed. “Because you love it.”
True.Dayne grinned. “You got me.” He took a few steps to the motorcycle parked nearby. “Let’s do this.”
The movie was an action film, one in a series that had made Dayne Matthews the most popular, most recognized actor of all time. He would turn twenty-eight next week and already he had been at the top of his game for three years.
His life before becoming Hollywood’s most-loved heartthrob? That… well, that was something he tried not to think about.
A quick glance at the sidewalk across the street and the proof was there for anyone to see. Paparazzi from Morocco and the United States and ten other countries fought for position on the heated curb. Security men tried to keep them at bay.
It was like this everywhere Dayne went. Paparazzi, security, people screaming his name. Anything for a picture or an autograph. Dayne could block them out. He was used to navigating his life around them.
“Get on the bike, Matthews.” Barrett moved off to his spot behind the camera. “Let’s get it this time. Everyone’s on board.”
Dayne didn’t care how many takes it took. He loved racing the motorcycle down the busy city street, dodging cars and trucks while the cameras rolled.
He climbed on the machine and grabbed the handlebars.Deep breath, Matthews,he told himself.Give it your best.
“Camera speed.” The director of photography yelled above the noise of the busy street. “And… action.”
The motorcycle shot out with Dayne hunkered over the handlebars.Stay low. One with the machine. Let’s do this.Leaning one way and then the other, Dayne ripped down the avenue and around every car and truck in his way. At the end of the block he skidded his back tire to the left and veered the bike to the right. Just before hewould hit the curb, he threw the machine into park, hopped off and tore his helmet from his head.
“Jaynie!” He screamed her name.
At the same time his costar Margaret Ellen came running from the nearest building. She ran into his arms and the two clung to each other, desperate, clearly aware that their minutes were numbered. And then they kissed.
A kiss that would be watched and replayed for all of time.
Seconds later, when the kiss ended, Dayne stared into Margaret’s eyes. “That was fun,” he whispered. “Glad we practiced last night.”
“Gotta get the shot.” She looked like she might kiss him again but she took a step back.
At the same time they heard the director. “Cut. Got it! Matthews, Ellen, that was fantastic.” He was jogging their way, yelling through a megaphone. “Everyone take ten, then let’s move on. We’re burning daylight, folks.”
Dayne slipped his arm around Margaret’s shoulders. “Best kiss yet.” He grinned at her. “Let’s hit the craft table.”
