Catch a Falling Star

by Beth K. Vogt

  “No. No. I have to go look for my son—”

  “We’ll find him. If you’re up front, we can bring him to you.”

  “I’ve got to find him.”

  Ignoring the employee’s repeated request, Evie sprinted down the main aisle. She couldn’t wait for someone else to find her son. As she passed each new aisle to her right, she paused, looked, hoping to see a little boy looking for his mamá. Looking for her.

  “Help me, help me, help me . . .” Her words came out in short, whispered gasps.

  Who was she talking to?

  For the first time in her life, Evie wished she believed in God. Wished she could pray. Ask for help. Ask God to protect Javan. To find him. But she didn’t believe in God. She had to do this herself.

  “Javan!” She came to the end of the store aisles.

  Nothing.

  What to do now?

  A man’s voice sounded over the store intercom: “We have a Code Adam. A lost six-year-old boy with curly black hair wearing an Iron Man T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes.”

  Had someone taken her son? Grabbed him, dragged him from the store . . . she covered her face with trembling hands. She had to call Logan. He would know what to do. Panic roiled inside her, tumbling her thoughts around so fast she didn’t know what to do. Find Javan. That’s what mamás do—they keep looking until they find their little boys.

  She turned left, running down the first aisle, not caring that she knocked into carts and caused other customers to step out of the way.

  “Javan!”

  The next aisle. Turn right. Run.

  The next aisle. Turn right.

  And there . . . there was Javan, his arms filled with three boxes of Kix, talking to an employee.

  Evie didn’t stop running until she dropped to her knees in front of Javan, the floor hard and cold. With a sob, she wrapped her arms around the little boy, crushing him to her, cereal boxes and all. Her tears wet his curls, her laughter and sobs mingled together in a melody of fear and relief.

  “Where were you, niñito?”

  “I wanted to get the cereal all by myself.” Javan’s voice quivered. “But I couldn’t remember where the cart was. I couldn’t find you.”

  Evie rocked him back and forth. “I found you, Javan. I found you.”

  “I’m glad. These boxes were heavy, Mamá.”

  Evie’s breath stilled. Had he . . . ? Yes, Javan called her “Mamá.”

  Somehow, when she almost lost Javan, he found his way to her.

  “You going to watch him sleep all night?” Logan’s husky whisper caused Evie to turn her head so she could see him silhouetted against the hallway light.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’d like some time with you, too, you know. What’s a guy gotta do to get his wife’s attention these days?”

  “Just ask.” Even as she answered her husband’s question, her gaze returned to Javan. His Iron Man pajama bottoms were bunched up around his legs, the top twisted around his tummy. The scent of baby shampoo lured Evie close enough to plant a kiss on the soft curve of the little boy’s cheek. With every inhale and exhale, Javan gave a soft, six-year-old snore.

  “Come to bed with me, Mrs. Gardner?”

  Evie rose to her feet, tiptoeing over to her husband and wrapping her arms around his waist. “You don’t have to ask twice, Mr. Gardner.”

  Together, they walked down the hallway to their bedroom, switching off the hall light as they entered their room. Evie bit back a smile when Logan locked the bedroom door behind them. They learned the hard way that Javan thought nothing of opening a door without knocking.

  She slipped underneath the soft cream-colored sheets, a sigh escaping her lips as she rested her head on Logan’s broad chest. If she stayed still—quiet—she could hear the sound of her husband’s strong heartbeat.

  “You all right after today?” Logan’s arm curled around her shoulders.

  “Yes.”

  “After Javan got lost, I thought you’d be wired for sound—all strung out.” His voice rumbled low in his chest as his fingers trailed through her hair.

  “Believe me, I’m still on adrenaline overload. But I’m happy, too.”

  “Happy? You want to explain that to me?”

  “Javan called me ‘Mamá.’ When I found him . . . he called me ‘Mamá.’ ” She rolled onto her side, leaning on her elbow so she could look at her husband. “I can’t say losing Javan was worth it . . . but Logan, the minute Javan said that, I could breathe again.”

  Logan tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “Why is the word so important?”

  “You know my past . . . what happened when I was fifteen. Getting pregnant. Losing the baby—” The hot sting of unshed tears burned the back of Evie’s throat.

  “I told you, that doesn’t matter to me, Evie.”

  “But it matters to me.” Evie swallowed the salty taste of regret. “All these years staring at negative pregnancy tests. I started thinking maybe I’m not meant to be a mom.”

  “That’s not how things work.”

  “It certainly seems as though Fate is trying to tell me something.”

  “So, Javan calling you ‘Mamá’ changes everything?”

  “That and a conversation I had with one of Dr. Kendall’s patients. I didn’t tell you about that.”

  “You talk to all of Dr. Kendall’s patients—” As if realizing this conversation was going on for longer than he anticipated, Logan repositioned his pillow and sat up, pulling her over so she rested against him again.

  For a moment, Evie allowed herself to relax in the shelter of her husband’s arms—the one place she felt safe.

  “So who was this patient and what did you talk about?”

  “His name is Ian. He’s sixteen and he was adopted. He told me how he gave his adopted mom a lot of trouble at first and how she told him that she could love him longer than he could hate her.” Evie clasped Logan’s hand, weaving their fingers together. “He told me not to give up on Javan because he’s already had one mom abandon him.”

  “Smart kid.”

  “I know.”

  “So does this mean you still want to adopt Javan?”

  “Yes. I know it’ll still be hard. And I may get discouraged again. But with you helping me, I know we can do this.” Evie paused. “Dr. Kendall says she’s praying for us, too. She knows I don’t believe in God, but she still prays for me. I don’t know why, but the thought of her praying for us . . .”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  “I know. And sometimes it feels like it helps.”

  Kendall expected an email. A phone call.

  But she hadn’t expected her sister, Bekah, to show up on her doorstep, unannounced.

  “What are you doing here?” Kendall stood in her doorway, trying not to compare herself with her sister. Again.

  But how could she not? Bekah wore her casual chic outfit as if she’d trademarked it. Skinny jeans paired with a fashionable pair of leather gladiator sandals, a sleek white top peeking out from underneath her pink jean jacket, with a fringed scarf decorated with rainbow-colored tiles flung around her neck as an afterthought. Her long black hair cascaded around her face, made up to accentuate her fawn-shaped eyes.

  “Did I get you out of the shower or something? It is after ten.” Bekah scanned Kendall’s towel-wrapped body, wrinkling her nose at her sister’s wet hair.

  “No. I just finished swimming. Glad you knocked when you did. I was heading for the shower. Wouldn’t have heard you.”

  Too bad she’d been perusing the news on her computer, hoping against hope that she no longer made the local news. At last, Heath Parker’s name was getting more press than she was.

  Sully scuffled around Kendall’s bare feet, trying to see who was at the door.

  “So . . . you probably want to come in. Let me get Sully settled.” She grabbed the dog’s collar and backed up, pulling the door open with her other hand. “Come on in.”

  Leaving her sister stan
ding just inside the door, Kendall dragged Sully to her bedroom. While there, she took the time to slip out of her wet suit, towel off, and change into dry clothes. Jeans. A fuchsia-banded wrap top. A pair of white sandals. Nothing as fashionable as Bekah. Then she finger-combed her hair. Sully resisted being locked in her bedroom. But she couldn’t handle her disobedient dog and her sister at the same time.

  “Be quiet. I’ll give you three dog treats if you be quiet. And a long walk . . . we’ll both need it.”

  As she advanced down the hall to the living space, she breathed a short prayer. “Give me wisdom, God. Peace. The right words.”

  Kendall wasn’t stupid—she knew what her sister wanted.

  “So, Beks, I don’t recall you mentioning a visit.” Kendall went to the compact but efficient kitchen and began prepping her coffee machine. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Sounds good.” Bekah followed her, leaning against the archway. “Ryan had a business trip and I decided to tag along. See the sights. Drop in on my big sister.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. We’re staying in separate rooms.” Bekah rolled her eyes. “Not. But what Mom doesn’t know . . .”

  Please. She did not need to know the details of her sister’s relationship.

  “So, how are you doing?” Kendall filled the automatic coffeemaker with water and then flipped the switch on the machine before opening the see-through glass cabinet door and removing two pottery mugs.

  “Good. Classes are winding down. I’ll be so glad for the summer break. It’s hard to focus on planning the wedding while I’m taking classes.”

  Kendall set the mugs on the small wooden table, adding a couple of teaspoons and a pair of cloth napkins. “So, has Ryan proposed?”

  “Do you see a ring on my finger, Kendall?” Bekah lifted her left hand, waggling her slender fingers.

  Kendall looked over her shoulder. No. No ring.

  “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to see if you’d come to your senses about giving me Mina’s ring.”

  Well, there was nothing like getting right to the point. No need to wait for coffee. Or to pretend she wanted to spend time with Kendall.

  “Ryan and I want to have a November wedding. But he can’t propose without a ring—Mina’s ring.”

  Kendall faced her sister, leaning her hip against the counter. “We’ve talked about this before, Beks. You want Mina’s ring. You don’t need it. Surely Ryan can afford to buy you a ring.”

  “Doesn’t tradition mean anything to you, Kendall? Mina would never have left the ring to you except that you were always her favorite—always Dad’s favorite.”

  “What do you know about my relationship with Mina? Or my relationship with Dad—”

  “At least you had a relationship with them.” Bekah flung the words across the room. “I don’t even remember Mina. And Dad died when I was eight. You had ten more years with him than I did, Kendall. Ten. And he was always watching out for you, being so careful of you because of your asthma. Sometimes I lay awake in bed at night and wondered why you had asthma, and I didn’t. I mean, how was I supposed to get Dad’s attention?”

  Kendall could only hope her mouth wasn’t hanging open. Bekah envied her because she grew up struggling with asthma? As if days spent in the hospital were trips to Disneyland? As if not being able to go out for soccer or softball or even sing in the choir made for wonderful school memories? As if Kendall would have chosen to spend all those weekends in the garage with her dad instead of going out on dates?

  Well . . . she would never give up those hours with her father. Back then there had been times when she wished the phone would ring. Wished she could erase the memory of the homecoming dance fiasco. But she tucked the memories of conversations with her dad, his laugh, his approving “Good job, Ken-girl” in her heart.

  The sound of Bekah’s shoes tapping against the cement floor jerked Kendall back to the present. Her sister grabbed a mug from the table and went to pour herself a cup of coffee. Apparently any heart-to-heart conversation was over.

  “Kendall, stop being so stubborn. That ring is just sitting in the box somewhere—probably among your socks or underwear. Do you remember how old you are? That you’ve been all about your career for years?”

  “Just because I’m not married now doesn’t mean I won’t get married—”

  “We’re not kids anymore, Kendall. Wishing doesn’t make things so.” Bekah found the sugar bowl and dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “The reality is, I’m getting married. You’re not. And that’s the way it will probably stay. Me married. You single.”

  It didn’t help that Kendall had stared down the reality for the last few days. It hadn’t budged. She was single. And probably would stay single. Heath had played her. And Griffin . . . well, Griffin didn’t love her. He liked her enough to confide in her. To kiss her senseless. But he didn’t want to risk his heart with her. The two men’s actions pummeled her heart. Would she curl up in a ball and die? No. But she didn’t know when she would be ready to trust a man again.

  If ever.

  Kendall straightened her shoulders. “You’re right, Bekah.”

  “I told Ryan that you’re being—I . . . I am?” Her sister, who was ready to continue fighting for Mina’s ring, stumbled into stunned silence.

  “Yes. You are.” Kendall flexed her hands. Open. Shut. Open. “Wait here.”

  As she exited the kitchen, she willed herself to stay focused. She wasn’t doing this for real, was she? No, she wasn’t.

  Any minute now, she’d turn around. Go back to the kitchen. Tell Bekah she was happy for her, really she was, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, give her Mina’s ring. Kendall counted her steps to her room. She opened the door, ignoring Sully lounging on her bed with an Uh-oh, you caught me look on his furry face. She went to her dresser—not her underwear drawer—and retrieved the jeweler’s box from where it sat among a pile of necklaces and bracelets. Sitting on her bed, she cupped the box in the palm of her hand.

  She didn’t need to flip back the lid. She had memorized the details of the ring. Every swirl and curve of the filigree design. The way the depths of the ruby glowed warm with promise when exposed to sunlight. How the white-gold band was worn, marked by the passage of time, as if carrying the memories of each day it had been on her Mina’s hand.

  She covered the box with her other hand, holding it close to her heart. Giving the ring to Bekah felt like she was breaking a promise . . . a promise she made to herself years and years ago. She’d done her best to be something, be someone valuable. Someone worth marrying.

  And she was.

  The truth stole her breath away.

  Heath used her—but that didn’t mean she didn’t deserve a real relationship.

  Griffin didn’t love her . . . enough—but that didn’t mean she wasn’t worth loving.

  She needed the right perspective on all those fairy tales Mina used to read to her. She needed the truth.

  What if the prince had never shown up to rescue the princess from the castle, to release her from the spell?

  The princess would have still been a princess.

  She would have still been worth rescuing.

  It wasn’t the prince who made the princess valuable.

  It was who she was all along.

  For the first time in years, she remembered what Mina always said when she finished reading a fairy tale.

  “You can live a fairy tale, too.”

  “How, Mina?”

  “Listen to this Bible verse and tell me if it doesn’t sound just like a fairy tale: ‘For he rescued us from the domain of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son.’ ”

  “It does. It does.”

  “The wonderful thing is, Kendall, this story is true. For you. For me.”

  She’d already been chosen—already been worth rescuing. All Kendall had to decide was whom she was going to believe: the writer of a fairy tale? Or her Creator?<
br />
  Kendall pressed a kiss to the faded velvet covering the jeweler’s box.

  Time to let go of trying to write her own life story. Time to embrace the life she’d been given. No, the life she’d made for herself. The life she’d been blessed with.

  Time to let go of Mina’s ring.

  When she walked back out to the living room, Bekah faced away from her, looking out the windows at Pikes Peak.

  “I thought you were crazy to combine your loft with your office.” Bekah spoke over her shoulder.

  “O-kay.” Kendall waited, not sure how to respond.

  “But I have to admit, this view is spectacular. And I love how open everything is.”

  “Thanks.” She came and stood next to her sister. Offered her the box. “Here you go.”

  Bekah gasped. Bounced on her feet so that Kendall reached over and removed the mug from her sister’s hands and replaced it with the jeweler’s box.

  She watched as her sister opened the box and did a happy jig in a circle. “Oh . . . oh . . . oh. It’s as beautiful as I remember.”

  Kendall held the mug up high in the air as Bekah leaned in for a hug. “Hot coffee, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” Bekah giggled, stepped back, and then slipped the ring on her finger.

  That hurt a little.

  “Look. Isn’t it perfect?” Bekah held her hand up for Kendall to admire.

  Kendall swallowed the lump forming in her throat. No tears. Not now. “Yes. It’s perfect for you.”

  “Ryan told me that you’d never give up the ring. But I told him I’d be able to convince you.” Bekah twisted her hand back and forth. “I can’t wait to show him.”

  “Well, why wait? You two should celebrate. Maybe start planning the wedding.”

  Within ten minutes, Bekah was gone. Mission accomplished.

  Kendall walked back to her room, letting Sully out. She walked over to the bookcase, looking at the shelf filled with the fairy tales.

  Maybe it was time to do something with those, too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “It’s not official, but it might as well be.”

  Griffin sat across from Doug, testing the words as he said them out loud. “The flight surgeon who examined me said, and I quote, ‘Don’t plan on flying anytime soon.’ ”