Someday: 3 (Sunrise) (27 page)

The humidity was gone. That was the first thing Dayne noticed when he woke up Monday morning, but it took a minute before he remembered where he was. Then with a burst of action, he tore out of bed and stared out the patio door. His heart pounded, and another few seconds passed while he cleared his head.

He wasn’t in Mexico anymore; he was home in Bloomington, at the house on Lake Monroe. Snow covered the ground, and more was predicted for the next few days. Dayne slid open the door and breathed in deep. The rush of cold air felt wonderful, as if it alone had the power to bring his tired heart and soul back to life.

It’s so beautiful here
. He slid the door shut again and took hold of the doorframe above him. He stretched and then looked back at the small clock on his nightstand—9 a.m. He’d slept longer than he planned, but that didn’t surprise him. He hadn’t gotten in from the airport until midnight, and then—with details of his Christmas plan consuming him—he hadn’t fallen asleep until sometime around two.

He wasn’t trying to call Katy any longer. She’d left him another message, this time explaining that she would be home on Wednesday, six days before Christmas.

“You’ll still be in LA, but the minute I’m home I’ll call you.” Her tone was unreadable, distant. “You’re right. We need to talk as soon as possible.”

Dayne smiled and headed for his closet. The fact that he was home before her would be her first surprise. But if he was going to pull off the other one, he needed to get moving. He had a lot to do and only a day or so to make it happen. He caught his reflection in the mirror as he passed by their walk-in closet, and he barely recognized himself. Not just the tan he’d picked up after two months in Cabo but something about his eyes.

He was halfway through a bowl of oatmeal and bananas before he realized what it was. He looked happy. The shoot had worn on him, dragged him down. He hated being away from Katy for so long and detested the lies splattered across the headlines. A more somber expression worked for the troubled relationship scenes in the film. But now that he was here, nothing could take the smile from his face.

When he finished breakfast, first on his list of errands was a stop by the Monroe County Building Department. He’d gone online when he was in Mexico, so he knew exactly where he was headed. The Monroe County Courthouse that stood tall and proud at the center of the town square in downtown Bloomington. Room 310.

Dayne hummed the refrains from a hymn he’d heard during the weeks of services at Bloomington Community Church. “Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father, there is no shadow of turning with Thee. . . . All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!”

The tune played again and again as he drove into town, careful to take the corners slowly since he wasn’t used to driving in these conditions. The streets were clear of snow, but there was still ice in spots. He wore old jeans, work boots, and a bulky brown winter jacket. The baseball cap for the day was not the navy one with Baja California embroidered across the front. It was one that read simply Bloomington Hardware. No one knew he was returning early, so he expected to get through the morning without being recognized.

If he was careful, anyway.

Dayne parked at one of the metered spots adjacent to the town square and stepped carefully from the 4Runner. His breath hung in the air in front of him as he navigated to the sidewalk. Only then did he realize how beautiful everything looked around him. He stopped, mesmerized.

Christmas lights hung along both sides of the street. The place looked like a winter wonderland. Katy had told him about Christmas in Bloomington, how each year a designated Santa flipped a switch and ignited something the town called a Canopy of Lights. Now, anchored to the sidewalk, Dayne could see how the display got its name. From the dome of the courthouse, strings of twinkling white lights draped over the town square and across the bordering four streets, forming a canopy. The bare sycamore trees surrounding the courthouse were also covered in lights.

Standing there, with only a few people making their way to and from the old building, Dayne felt like he was on the set of a movie too good to be true. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cool, clean air.
I’m home, God. This is where I want to live.

He remembered what he’d come to do, so he hurried to the front door of the courthouse and went inside. He had so much energy, so much joy bursting inside him, that he jogged up the stairs to the third floor, the song in his heart once again. When he reached room 310, he moved inside soundlessly, the bill of his baseball cap low over his eyes, the collar of the jacket turned up.

Behind a counter decorated on either end with vibrant poinsettias was a pleasant-looking woman with gray hair and a red and green Christmas sweater. She was filing paperwork, but when he walked in, she looked up and smiled. Dayne hesitated, but she showed no signs of recognizing him, none of the usual gasps or fluttering hands. Just a warm Bloomington, Indiana, smile.

Dayne relaxed and adjusted his baseball cap. “Hi. I had a few questions about one of the buildings in downtown Bloomington.”

“Okay.” She set down her files and came up to the counter. As she moved closer, Dayne noticed the stencils on her office window. Right across the center it read, “Merry Christmas” and “Christ Is Born.” Dayne could hardly believe the atmosphere in the public building. Apparently through most of Bloomington, people celebrated Christmas as Christ’s birthday.

The woman reached the spot opposite him and set her hands on the counter. “Do you have an address?”

“I do.” Dayne liked the sparkle in her eyes. She looked like someone who would sit in the front row at Bloomington Community Church, embracing the message and the moment, singing louder than anyone else and maybe a little off-key. He pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans and handed it to her.

She barely glanced at it before a look of recognition appeared in her eyes. “The old theater. Your questions might not matter. Let me check something.”

Dayne had driven by the community theater late last night. Before they left to film their separate movies, Katy had kept him informed about the delays on the building project intended for the theater’s site. The developers had dealt with far more red tape than usual because the theater was so old. A state senator had filed papers proposing that the theater be listed as a historical landmark. That battle went on for months before the decision was made. The theater was a few years too young. It didn’t qualify. At that point, the developers’ plans were finally put through at the Monroe County planning office.

He hadn’t heard that the building had been torn down, but he wanted to make sure. As of midnight, it was still standing, still surrounded by yellow caution tape. Now, though, panic grabbed hold of him. He swallowed, waiting while the woman took her time moving back to the filing cabinet.

She checked the fronts of the drawers, then pulled open the third one down. A few more seconds of sorting and she lifted a file. Again she moved slowly back to the counter, staring at the contents while she walked. “Mmm-hmm.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “That’s what I thought.”

“What?” Dayne wondered if she could hear his pounding heart.

“Today’s the day.” She looked at him. “People don’t appreciate a landmark anymore. New construction and condominiums.” She gestured back at the filing cabinet. “Twice as many applications for building permits in the last six months as in all last year combined.”

“I’m sorry.” Dayne was frantic to understand. “Today’s the day for what?”

“Demolition.” She pushed the thick file across the counter and gave it a single tap. “It’s all right here. This morning the wrecking crews will reduce that old theater to a pile of rubble.”

This wasn’t happening. Dayne couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t made it back to Bloomington early and rushed down to the courthouse only to find out he was too late, right?

Dayne opened the file and saw a simple document on top with only a few lines of text. It was an approval from the Monroe County Building Department, granting permission for Hanson Development to begin demolition of the Bloomington Community Theater, in preparation for a condo project slated to begin in February. At the bottom of the document, the last line read only this:
Demolition to begin Monday, December 17, at 10 a.m.

Dayne looked at the clock on the office wall. It was 9:47. He was already halfway to the door, nodding at the woman as he went. “Thank you. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas and a happy—”

He didn’t wait around long enough for her to finish. He flew down the wooden stairs and out into the cold morning. Again he was careful of ice, but he had no time to waste.
Please, God . . . not yet. Delay them just a few minutes longer. Please.

A sense of urgency came over Dayne like nothing he had ever experienced. He slid into his SUV and drove as fast as he safely could, down College, over to 3rd Street, and down Woodlawn toward Bryan Park. The theater stood across the street.

At least that’s where it had stood last night.

Bailey could hardly believe it had come to this.

She and Tim Reed and two dozen kids from CKT and many of their parents gathered at Bryan Park, across the street from the theater, the one where they had spent countless hours rehearsing and performing and bringing stories to life for the people of Bloomington.

They shivered and tugged their winter coats tighter around themselves, but they were helpless to do anything other than what they were already doing—gathering together to pray for a miracle.

Bailey held Connor’s hand on one side and Tim’s on the other.

One of the girls who had played an ensemble role in CKT’s version of
Narnia
was praying. She had tears on her cheeks, and her nose sounded stuffy as she begged God for intervention. “Don’t let them tear down our theater, Lord. We know You’re here and that You see us.”

When she finished, a middle school boy to her left took over, asking God with a clear, calm voice to save their theater from demolition.

Bailey tilted her head up just a bit, opened her eyes, and stared at the building across the street. Two police officers stood guard on either side of the structure. It was protocol, according to the article in yesterday’s
Bloomington Press
.

Her parents had encouraged the prayer circle. If God didn’t choose to intervene with a change of heart on the part of the developers, then He must have another plan. The same way He’d had another plan for Cody. That’s what her mother said, but here in the freezing wind, her feet stuck in snow, Bailey wasn’t so sure. Cody still wrote to her every week or so, but he was missing home badly. How could that be the plan God wanted for him?

Same thing for the kids of CKT. They needed the theater if they were ever going to start performing again, and the talk among parents was that they would find a way. Even if it meant having parent volunteers act as temporary directors.

There was more yelling across the street, more instructions being shouted through the megaphone. Trucks were moving in closer.

Bailey looked up at the ominous gray steel ball hovering from a solid chain, right next to the theater.
God . . . please. There has to be a way.

She glanced to her left and saw that her mother had her eyes open too. She looked at Bailey and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

At that moment, there was another shout from the man who looked to be in charge, and someone at the controls set the wrecking ball in motion, pulling it back and into the air. It was a matter of minutes now, maybe seconds. When they released the ball, it would tear through the theater and that would be that.

The end of an era.

Bailey couldn’t watch. She hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She could already imagine what it would sound like—the crushing of brittle wood and windows, the collapse of the building. But that wasn’t the sound that filled the air. Instead there was the squealing of tires as a vehicle pulled up across the street, followed by the slam of a door.