Catch a Falling Star

by Beth K. Vogt

  “Let me go get Ian.”

  He slipped past her, exiting the office and looking to the right and left before spotting Ian standing near a workstation of some sort.

  “Come on, Ian. Let’s not waste any more of the doctor’s time.”

  “Forget it. Let’s just go home.”

  “Look. You were the one who decided to eat something you were allergic to.” Griffin lowered his voice, aware that the young woman seated at the computer—was she a nurse? a technician of some sort?—could hear everything he and Ian said. “The ER doc insisted you have a follow-up appointment and recommended this doctor. Stop arguing with me and come on.”

  He waited while Ian walked past him and reentered the exam room. A row of framed diplomas lined the wall across from him. A University of North Carolina–Chapel Hill medical school diploma stating Dr. Kendall Haynes graduated with the highest honors. Another diploma announcing her graduation from a family medicine residency program at Loma Linda University. The final certificate declared her completion of a two-year fellowship in allergy and immunology at the prestigious National Jewish Health respiratory hospital in Denver. The woman had impressive credentials.

  Ian stuck his head back out of the room. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes.”

  Time to stop reading about Dr. Haynes and get this appointment over with.

  As he walked into the room, Dr. Haynes offered her hand to his brother. “I’m Dr. Haynes, Ian. You look like you’re feeling a lot better than you did last night.”

  Griffin watched as Ian stood straighter, tugged at his T-shirt, and then shook the doctor’s hand. So, the kid had manners. Who knew? Score one for Mom.

  “I’m doing okay.”

  “Breathing all right?”

  “Yes. They gave me some sort of treatment at the ER last night.”

  “Mmm-hmmmm. Not surprised.” She motioned for Ian to sit on the exam table. “Mind if I check you out?”

  Ian’s ears turned bright pink. “Well . . . um . . .”

  “Just a standard exam, Ian. Lungs. Heart. That kind of thing. If you want your—” She turned to Griffin. “—brother, right?”

  Griffin found himself standing taller, parodying his brother’s action. Was he invisible? He needed every advantage he had with this woman, and being a good foot taller than her was most definitely an advantage.

  “I’m Ian’s brother—and his legal guardian.”

  An awkward silence filled the exam room. Ian sat on the exam table. He and the doctor watched each other.

  Dr. Haynes tilted her head. “I was going to ask if Ian wanted you to stay in the room during his examination. And your name is . . . ?”

  Right. At this point, his sixteen-year-old brother had more manners than he did.

  “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Griffin Walker.”

  Griffin couldn’t tell if a small smile curved her lips because she picked up the clipboard and flipped through the papers. Probably mentioning his rank was a bit over the top, but he kept feeling as if he was scrabbling for equal footing with the woman. “This information is fairly sketchy. I’d like to request that Ian’s medical records be transferred to our office.”

  Dr. Haynes assumed a bit much.

  “I didn’t say Ian was going to be your patient.”

  She closed the chart. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”

  “After his allergic reaction, the EMTs took Ian to the ER and the doc recommended that he have a follow-up with a primary care physician. He recommended Dr. Haynes. You.” Griffin paused, not sure if he should admit his mistake. “To be frank, I thought you were a guy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That came out wrong. I mean, I know you’re not a guy—”

  “Thank you for the compliment.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Griffin saw Ian’s shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. “Look, I know you’re a woman. I just didn’t know your name—and that you were Dr. Haynes. So I assumed you were a guy—”

  The quirk of her eyebrow alerted Griffin to the fact that he’d insulted her. Again.

  The she-doctor surprised him by coming to his rescue. “You’re saying this is a onetime follow-up appointment.”

  Griffin nodded. Better to keep his mouth shut at this point.

  Dr. Haynes eased the conversation back on course, her soft-spoken words precise. “Let me clarify something for you, Colonel Walker. Your brother didn’t just have an allergic reaction last night. Anaphylaxis is a life-threatening allergic reaction. If I hadn’t been there, Ian could have died.”

  And thank you, Dr. Haynes, for pointing that out. Griffin had tossed and turned most of the night, replaying the image of Ian’s blotchy face, blue lips, his frantic efforts to breathe.

  “I’m concerned why you, as his legal guardian, didn’t know about Ian’s allergy. Why didn’t you know that he needs to carry an EpiPen at all times?”

  The woman hadn’t moved, but he felt as if she’d backed him up against the wall. He didn’t need this woman pointing out his failures.

  “I’m new at this, Dr. Haynes.” He held up his hand, warding off her interruption. “It’s no excuse, I know. Our parents died four months ago—and that’s when Ian moved from Florida to come live with me. I had no idea he was allergic to anything.”

  He heard his brother clear his throat. “That’s my fault.”

  Dr. Haynes leaned against the counter. “You didn’t tell your brother you were allergic to anything?”

  “I forgot.”

  “I see.” She settled the stethoscope so that it was positioned to fit in her ears and moved closer to Ian. “I suppose there’s been a lot on your mind since you moved here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “New school.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Making new friends.”

  “Yeah.”

  Griffin watched Dr. Haynes chat with his brother, at the same time performing a basic exam—lungs, heart, eyes, nose, throat. Her hands were slender, the nails trimmed short, but her touch seemed to exude both confidence and gentleness. The walls held a few medical implements and a photograph of a high mountain meadow filled with brilliant red, yellow, and purple wildflowers. After the exam, she sat at a small desk that held a laptop and small printer and typed, the soft click of her fingers on the keyboard the only sound in the room. A few moments later she turned back to face them.

  “I understand that you may or may not decide to have me be Ian’s physician. If nothing else, I’d like to prescribe several EpiPens for him. And I’d like him to watch a brief video about how to use them—you, too, Colonel Walker.”

  She stood, crossing the room and opening the door, forestalling any comment from Griffin.

  “Ian, if you go down the hall to the medical assistants’ station, you can ask for Renee. Tell her that I’d like her to set up the instructional video on EpiPens. Your brother will be with you in just a moment.”

  Dr. Haynes certainly knew how to control a situation.

  After Ian left, she faced him again.

  “Colonel Walker, we got off to a bad start, I’m afraid.” She tucked her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Besides your thinking I’m a man, I mean.”

  “I wanted to apologize for that but figured it was wiser to be quiet.”

  “Probably.”

  Did the woman have to agree with him?

  “For some reason, Ian didn’t tell you that he was allergic to avocados. I doubt he forgot. It’s important he be seen by a physician who can establish a baseline of care here in Colorado. There’s a possibility that he’s allergic to more than avocados.” She paused before she spoke again. “I can give you the name of another allergy specialist. Ian also needs a good family physician here in town. I happen to be both, but given our rocky start, I realize you may want to choose another family doctor.”

  Dr. Haynes was only stating the truth, but her words amplified the guilt that lurked at the edges of his mind every hour of th
e day. He was Ian’s guardian. His parents would expect him to take care of Ian—not kill him. But how was he supposed to do that when his brother barely talked to him?

  “I’ll take any recommendations.”

  Was that a small flicker of disappointment in Dr. Haynes’s eyes?

  “Ask Evie, my receptionist, for the contact information on your way out. Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Well then, an exciting movie awaits you, Colonel Walker.”

  “Lead the way, Dr. Haynes.”

  For once, Evie would walk through the back door without carrying a gift of some sort.

  Presents did not solve anything. She’d been the mom bearing gifts for weeks now and all she got from Javan was a six-year-old version of a mini iceberg. She thought Javan would be thrilled when he found out they wanted to adopt him. Instead, he’d withdrawn from her.

  She’d heeded the advice of her counselor—and the virtual red warning light in the online bank account—and resisted a quick stop at Target for something, anything, to entice a smile out of Javan. Tonight it would be her and Javan. And Logan, of course. Javan’s favorite person in the whole wide world—her husband, Logan.

  Her phone played the opening notes of “Hay Otro En Mi Vida.” Nice timing, Logan.

  “You pulled into the carport ten minutes ago. Did you get lost?” Logan’s deep baritone used to be enough to lure Evie into the house each evening—and into his arms. “Javan’s excited to see you.”

  No he wasn’t. Evie knew that. Logan knew that. Did her husband have to resort to a lie to make her come home at night? Had it come to that?

  She pushed open the van door and stepped out into the darkness, finally noticing Logan standing at the back door, warm light from inside the kitchen illuminating him. No little boy in sight.

  “Liar.”

  “He was at the door a minute ago . . .”

  “On my way. Hold the door open. I picked up dinner.” Evie snagged her purse and the large extra-cheese pizza off the passenger seat. She only snitched one piece on the ride home from work. No need to feel guilty stopping to pick up Papa John’s pizza. This was dinner, not a gift, even if it was Javan’s favorite food.

  As she stepped inside, Logan wrapped one arm around her, taking the pizza from her with his other hand. “Honey, I told you I started dinner . . .”

  She did a quick survey of the kitchen. No Javan, though his Legos littered the linoleum floor around the table in the breakfast nook. Peace offerings from days past.

  “You did?” The scent of Parmesan chicken filled the kitchen. “I forgot.”

  Now who was lying?

  She shrugged out of her tailored teal coat, draping it across the back of one of the white ladder-back chairs, knowing Logan would follow behind her and hang it in the foyer closet. “Javan, Mamá’s home.”

  Footsteps pounded down the hallway—away from her.

  What had the counselor said? “He’s the child, Evie, you’re the adult. He’s angry with his birth mom for abandoning him, not you. Remember that she’s not here and you are.”

  And so Evie got all the rejection. All the tears. And Logan was Superdad. Well, Super-Almost-Dad. All the man needed was a cape.

  Before she realized what he was doing, Logan stood behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her and pulling her close. He nuzzled her neck, his breath warm against her skin. “Missed you today, babe.”

  She leaned against him, inhaling the scent of peppermint from the gum he chewed nonstop all day as he worked on clients’ websites. “Miss you every day, babe.”

  “How’s the good doctor doing?”

  “It was a busy day—a couple of emergencies.” Evie closed her eyes, acknowledging the ache in the small of her back, the base of her neck. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  Her husband’s whisper sent another tingle of warmth across her neck. “He’s watching you.”

  Evie opened her eyes halfway to see Javan peering at them from the end of the hallway. “Hey, sweetie. Mamá’s home.”

  His head, topped with a mass of black curls, disappeared.

  “I’ve got pizza.”

  Javan’s eyes and nose came into view again.

  “Don’t bribe him, Evie.” Logan followed his whispered words with a soft kiss on her neck. “Let him come to you.”

  “If I wait for him to come to me because he wants to, he’ll never come.”

  “Yes, he will.”

  “No, he won’t.” She pushed away from the security of Logan’s arms. “We go through this every night for—how long? The past six months?”

  “Give it time.”

  “I have.” She pulled her hair out of the rubber band securing it in a low ponytail, running her fingers through the strands. Ah, relief. “I will. I’m just . . . tired. Long day.”

  She watched Javan scoot on his bottom down the wooden floor toward the kitchen, inch by inch. What happened to the days when he used to run to the door when she came home? What was she doing wrong? Maybe the truth was she deserved to be treated like this.

  Evie shoved the thought to the darkest corner of her mind. It couldn’t be the truth. “Come on and get dinner, niñito.”

  “I’m not a baby.” Javan stopped. “I’m six.”

  “Yes, you’re my muchacho grande.” Evie walked to the pantry and searched for paper plates.

  “I’m not your muchacha grandie.”

  She gripped the edge of the shelf. Let it go, girl. Let it go. He wasn’t being mean on purpose. He was just working things out—and she was his target.

  “Okay, you can be Daddy’s big boy tonight. How’s that?”

  She slid open the pizza box, the aroma of basil and oregano simmered in tomato sauce and then slathered with melted cheese urging her to indulge in another piece even before they sat around the table. “How many slices do you want, Javan?”

  “Don’t want any. Daddy made chicken.” He stood behind her, his tone a foreshadowing of future teenage rebellion—if they survived that far into the future.

  Evie pulled out a single slice of pizza, placing it on a plate and carrying it to the table nestled in the breakfast nook. “That’s fine. You and Daddy can have chicken while Mamá has pizza.”

  As Logan cut bits of baked chicken coated with Parmesan and Italian dressing, Evie removed the top layer of cheese from her pizza and nibbled on it. She watched her husband place a kiss on Javan’s cheek as he set his plate in front of him, imagining the softness of his skin. She closed her eyes when Logan snuck in a quick tickle, relishing the giggles that erupted from the little boy. If only she could tuck each one into her heart, save each one as an antidote to the sulky glances he gave her.

  She needed to snap out of it. She was the adult here, not another six-year-old who could stomp off in a huff because Javan didn’t want to play with her. Javan clung to her when they first took him in as a foster child. Surely his negative attitude would change if she loved him enough.

  When Logan began to clear off the table, Evie stood, too. “Why don’t I give Javan his bath tonight?”

  She couldn’t blame her husband for the way his hazel eyes widened in surprise, his eyebrows skyrocketing. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

  Logan set Javan on the floor. “Hear that, buddy? Mom’s gonna give you a bath tonight.”

  “No! You do it, Daddy!” With those words, Javan ran down the hallway, his footsteps pounding up the stairs.

  Let the fun begin.

  By the time she got upstairs, Javan had tossed his tennis shoes, jeans, Elmo shirt, and underwear all over the bathroom, and dumped his plastic toys into the empty tub. She ran the water, testing the temperature.

  “Ready to get in, Javan?”

  “I want Daddy to help me.”

  “But I thought it would be fun to help you with your bath tonight.” She picked up one of the bright-colored m
usical dolphins floating in the water. “Want to play dolphins?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  She tapped the dolphin on its head so that it played a note. Really, Javan was too old for these now, but he loved them.

  “Well, let me get you in the tub.”

  Javan held himself stiff as she picked him up. What happened to the little boy who used to love to cuddle? Would she ever find him again?

  Once in the tub, he found a blue measuring cup and filled it up with water. Dumped it out. Filled it up. Dumped it out.

  All the while ignoring her.

  She picked up his clothes and tossed them in the wicker hamper, keeping an eye on the little boy who seemed oblivious to the fact she was even in the room. Sitting back down, she wet the washcloth and added a liberal dose of body wash.

  “Okay, time to get clean.”

  “I want Daddy to do it!”

  She was beginning to hate those six words.

  “Javan, Mamá is doing the bath tonight. Let’s wash your neck.” She tried to make a game of it. “You know that’s where the dirt likes to hide. Tilt your head back.”

  “I want Daddy!”

  “Javan!” Her voice seemed to bounce off the bathroom tiles. “Let. Me. Do. This. Now.”

  She hadn’t yelled. Not really. But still, Javan’s eyes widened, filling with tears in the same instant. Within seconds, his wail drowned the echo of her harsh words.

  Logan appeared in the doorway. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Evie stood. “Why don’t you finish his bath tonight?”

  “Evie, come on. He needs time with you—”

  “Not when I make him cry, Logan. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

  She knew her husband wouldn’t follow her to their bedroom—he couldn’t, not with Javan in the tub. Evie shut the door, locking it. She walked past the wall that held the framed photo from their wedding day, back when all the promises seemed so ready to come true, and into their small bathroom and sat on the side of the tub. As she twisted the hot-water handle, she ignored the pressure of tears building in her throat, demanding release as a sob.

  What a waste. She’d cried buckets of tears, gallons of tears, in her life and they hadn’t changed a thing. Not her past mistakes, not her present situation.