Catch a Falling Star (3 page)

The red-haired hostess pushed open the restaurant's wooden front doors, stepping aside to let the EMTs pass through, trundling a metal gurney across the black tile floors. Griffin could almost feel everyone in the building exhale. The manager followed the medical team over to their table. One of the EMTs nodded to the woman kneeling beside Ian.

“Hey, Doc!”

“Hey, Andrew.” After a quick nod at the EMT, the woman refocused on Ian. “Good to see you again.”

“You've got everything under control, I see.” The man snapped on a pair of purple vinyl gloves. “Mind if I take it from here?”

“Be my guest.” The woman stood. Leaned over and whispered something to Ian before patting him on the shoulder. “I'll get back to my dinner.”

“Sorry for the interruption, Doc.”

She winked at the EMT. “It happens.”

As she bent to pick up her shoes, Griffin stepped forward. “I want to thank you for helping my brother.”

Shoes dangling from her fingertips, the woman stepped back, tilting her head so she could make eye contact with him. “Ian's your brother?” She looked at Griffin, then at Ian. “You don't know him very well, do you?”

“Let's just say I haven't been my brother's keeper.”

“Too bad for him.” She waved aside Griffin's attempt to interrupt. “You're risking Ian's life by not knowing about his allergies. By not carrying an EpiPen
all the time.
Forget the thanks. Just be the guy Ian needs you to be.”

And with that verbal slap in his face, she walked back to where her friends waited.

Not that he didn't deserve it.

Griffin positioned a chair next to his brother, watching the young man check Ian's vitals and jot notes on a clipboard. The manager talked with another EMT.

“We're recommending that Ian go to the hospital, sir.” Andrew began putting the medical equipment away.

“Is that really necessary?” Griffin watched his brother, thankful he didn't have to turn his head to the left and deal with the ongoing threat of dizziness.

“Your . . . brother, is it? He had an anaphylactic reaction to eating avocado—guacamole, right? His throat started to close up on him, cutting off his airway. It's best to get him checked out more thoroughly. They might decide to keep him overnight. Or they might send him home with you. Depends.”

Great. Why couldn't they just grab a quick dinner, go home, deal with homework and the pile of dirty laundry that mocked him every time he walked through the door? Nope. Nothing came easy lately. And tonight was going to be topped off with a run to the ER. If Ian was allergic to avocado, why'd he agree to Griffin ordering the chips and guac? How was Griffin supposed to know details like that? Had their mother ever mentioned allergies?

“Whatever needs to be done is fine.” He watched the medical personnel settle Ian onto the gurney and then walked over to the manager. “I've already paid for my dinner. Do me a favor—the woman who helped my brother? Add her dinner to my bill.”

“She's with a group, sir. It's her birthday.”

“Well, since we managed to interrupt her celebration, go ahead and charge the whole thing. But don't tell her I paid for it, okay?”

After the night she had, Kendall was not up to Sully's attitude.

And since she'd abandoned him all evening, he would most definitely have an attitude.

Her satchel handbag slung over her shoulders, hanging on to the bunch of birthday balloons in one hand, Kendall clomped up the stairs to her loft. She inserted a key in the door's lock and pushed. The door moved an inch—and no farther.

Sully.

“This is no way to act.” Kendall rested her forehead against the door. “Get out of the way of the door and let me come in.”

She pushed on the door again. Nothing.

“Come on, Sully. I'm tired.” She stomped her foot, balloons dancing around her face. “I'm the one paying the mortgage on this place. Let me in already!”

Another shove. Another inch.

“Let me in and I'll give you a treat . . .”

At the word
treat,
Kendall heard the welcome sound of four big paws scraping on the floors. She'd forgive the big hairy goldendoodle for scratching her custom cement floor if he'd stop stretching out in front of the door, blocking the entrance. As she stepped inside, she braced herself for Sully's frontal attack. A basso profundo “Woof!” and then two large paws landed on her shoulders.

“Off, you stupid dog. Off!” Kendall staggered back, trying to keep the balloons out of Sully's way. “Don't you even remember going to obedience school?”

Apparently not.

Sully's furry chocolate-brown face came nose-to-nose with hers, his mouth parted in a welcoming doggy grin.

“Thank you. I missed you, too. Yes, I had a nice birthday.
Somebody even paid for dinner. The girls all say hi.” She shoved him down to the ground. “Now sit. Stay.”

As she headed toward the kitchen, Sully bounded in front of her. “Fine. Lead.”

She tossed her purse on top of the red granite countertop stretching across the front of the kitchen, separating it from her dining room/living room area. Sully nudged at her elbow until she opened a silver tin of doggie snacks and tossed him two. After tying the balloons to the back of a chair and leaving Sully lounging on the floor, she went off in search of more comfortable clothes.

Her phone went into its waiting charger. Her shoes went in the ever-growing shoe pile at the bottom of her closet. She tugged off her wide-leg black slacks and plum-colored cashmere sweater and slipped into a pair of checked pajama bottoms and a waffle-weave long-sleeved top. Rubbing her eyes, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed. But she was a stickler for hygiene, and her bedtime routine awaited. And before that, Sully needed a quick walk outside.

Half an hour later, Kendall sat on her bed, a faded, black-velvet jeweler's box cradled in her hands. She probably should keep this in a bank box of some sort rather than in a fire safe in the back of her closet. But she liked keeping her most treasured possession nearby.

Flicking back the lid, she traced the outline of Mina's ring.

How many times had she stared at the ring as a little girl, watching its delicate white-gold filigree glint in the sunlight as her Mina embroidered or made bread or stirred a pot of soup on the stove? How many times had she asked to wear the ring? She would slip it on her finger as she lay in bed, waiting for the tightness to ease in her lungs, while Mina read her fairy tales of princesses hidden away in towers waiting to be rescued. How
many times had Mina patted her hand, whispering that one day the ring would be
hers
?

She'd lost count.

But she never lost sight of the dream hidden in the jewel's red depth. One day, she'd have it all: Romance. Love. Marriage. A husband. A family. And yes, a career, too. Because she was going to be a doctor. With all the time she spent in the hospital during her elementary and middle school years, she had at least part of a medical education just by osmosis. She would put all those hours, days, weeks, months spent in a hospital room or a doctor's office to good use and grow up and help kids like her whose lives were affected by asthma and allergies.

And she had.

She was living her dreams.

Almost.

She closed the box, the soft click a whisper of a rebuke. But it took two to make happily ever after come true—and lately no one pursued her. Well, not anyone who she wanted to be “caught” by. Kendall shook her head, catching her reflection in the mirror, the corner of her mouth twisting in the parody of a smile. Her last few dates hadn't been worth a let's-try-again to see if things would go anywhere. Both guys were hoping to get her one place: in bed. Her sister might laugh at her old-fashioned ideals, but Kendall had managed to resist temptation this far. More like fight it off.

Of course, at this rate, she might die a virgin and an old maid, clutching Mina's ring in her gnarled hands.

If that was God's will, then she was content with that.

Right?

Yes, yes, she was.

She had to be.

N
o matter how you tricked it out, Griffin considered a doctor's waiting room a little corner of hell.

Dr. Haynes's office wasn't bad—especially compared with the military, one-size-fits-all medical offices he tried to avoid. Maybe the civilian doc hired a professional interior designer to put everything together. Muted, earth-tone walls. Comfortable chairs that weren't so close together you needed to hold your breath to prevent inhaling your neighbor's germs. Several watercolor paintings with words woven through them. Were those Scripture verses? Since the events of the last eighteen months had stopped him from stiff-arming God, the thought intrigued him. But Griffin wasn't wandering around a doctor's office. Stroll through enemy territory? No, thank you.

Griffin shut his eyes to block out the view of his surroundings, but it only served to increase the volume of the mental soundtrack he'd tried to ignore for months.

“We'll review your health again in May, Colonel Walker, and decide then if you can return to active flying status.”

These months in limbo were a tortuous wait-and-see marathon. Never fly again? That was his whole life—the only thing he cared about.

Ian shifted in the seat next to him, pulling Griffin back to reality. He needed to focus. Compartmentalize. Today's medical visit was about Ian—not him.

“Does any doctor ever see you on time?”

Griffin's thoughts exactly. “What? You're so eager to get back to school?”

“I'm missing a math test.” His brother's long fingers drummed on his jeans-clad thigh. “Gonna be a hassle to make up.”

“Well, I'm missing work—”

“Sorry I'm always a pain in your butt.” Ian picked up a magazine, flipped it open, and began reading.

Griffin wanted to laugh out loud. Would his mom let Ian get away with that kind of talk? If he'd said that to their mom when he was sixteen, she'd have given him a liberal dose of liquid soap accompanied with a lecture. His mother wasn't . . .
hadn't been
a prude, but she demanded Griffin keep his mouth clean. If he didn't, she did it for him. He assumed she raised Ian the same way. But he left home long before his parents adopted Ian, so how could he know?

Laughter threatened again when he realized Ian was reading
Good Housekeeping.
Since when did Ian care about menu planning and coordinating his spring wardrobe? Anything to shut Griffin out. And what was his problem? Ian could complain all he wanted about being inconvenienced by the appointment, but Griffin couldn't? His brother twisted everything Griffin did into some sort of personal insult.

The muffled wail of a young child threaded through the
tension and tiredness pervading the waiting room. Or maybe Griffin was the tense and tired one. Across from Griffin, a young girl snuggled in her mom's lap, eyes large, lower lip trembling. “I don't wanna go see Dr. Kendall, Mommy . . .”

The mother brushed back the girl's curls. “Honey, you know Dr. Kendall is just going to listen to your lungs today . . .”

Another toddler bolted for the front door but his mother snagged the back of his jeans, halting his escape.

Yeah, Griffin knew just how the little kiddos felt. This Dr. Kendall must be worse than Dr. Haynes.

He looked up when a receptionist wearing purple scrubs adorned with some sort of multicolored flowers called his brother's name. He lagged behind when Ian approached the counter.

“I'm sorry for the delay.” The slender Latina woman offered a smile that asked for patience. “Dr. Haynes had several emergencies this morning and is behind. Renee, one of the medical assistants, can take you back to an exam room now.”

And they'd probably sit there for another twenty minutes. Griffin wiped his hands down the sides of his blue uniform pants.
Relax, Walker.
This was Ian's appointment, not his. And if he was the one with a cold stethoscope planted on his chest, he'd tell the doc he was fine. No dizziness. Well, none worth mentioning.