Catch a Falling Star (2 page)

Kendall dropped the tube of gloss she'd pulled from the makeup bag. “B-but Mina bequeathed the ring to me—”

“Because she assumed you'd get married first, since you're ten years older than Bekah. You know the ring traditionally goes to the first daughter who gets married. If she'd left the ring to your father, I wouldn't be put in this awkward position of having to explain all this.” Her mother's sigh echoed over the phone. “The reality is, Bekah is the one getting married. Not you.”

“Yet.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said ‘yet.' I'm not getting married
yet.
” Kendall reached for the necklace she'd slung over her rearview mirror—a strand of silver ovals that matched her earrings—and transferred it to her neck.

“You're thirty-six years old, dear. A professional woman. And in today's world, it's perfectly fine to focus on your career and stay single. No one's blaming you. But—” With a slight pause,
her mother lunged with her closing argument. “—Bekah will be married in the next year. Your sister loves that ruby ring as much as you do. You know how much fun she has mixing vintage clothes with modern styles.”

Had her sister coached her mother on what to say?
Make sure you remind Kendall I'm all about mixing vintage and modern, Mom. That will get her to say yes.

Her mother's next words broke into Kendall's thoughts. “You don't want the ring to go to waste, do you?”

Of course she didn't want the ring to go to waste. But it wasn't
going to waste
 . . . She was waiting to use it, that's all.

“Mom, I've gotta go. I saw Rachel walk into the restaurant, which officially makes me the last one to arrive. Again.”

True statement, even if Rachel had waved at her ten minutes ago.

“But we haven't finished talking about this—”

“I'll think about it, 'k? And thanks for the birthday call.”

Disconnecting, Kendall slid her feet into her four-inch platforms. Good thing tonight was all about sitting or her feet would ache within an hour. But every once in a while she enjoyed being eye-to-eye with other people. Well, almost eye-to-eye.

The warmth of the Mexican restaurant shoved away the cool night air and tucked the remnants of the phone conversation into the corner of Kendall's mind. Voices swirled around her, the scent of fresh tortillas teasing her nose and causing her stomach to rumble. The Greek yogurt she'd wolfed down midmorning in between patients had worn off hours ago.

Thanks to a bouquet of brilliant Mylar balloons, Kendall spotted her three friends in a back corner booth. She nodded at the hostess and wove her way past tables crowded with families, couples, and several groups of college-aged kids. The
steady hum of voices muted all the should-have-said-this-to-Mom responses scrolling across her mind. Words like
possession is nine-tenths of the law
shouldn't be used between a mother and daughter.

She slid into the booth next to Rachel, who gave her a quick hug and then motioned toward a black stone bowl of guacamole and a paper-lined bowl of chips. “Catch up with us. Drinks are on the way. We ordered you an iced tea. Are you on allergy call for the ER tonight?”

Kendall dipped a chip through the chunky mix of avocado, chilies, and spices. “No. Just a quick chat with my mom. You know, the required birthday call.” Ignoring the rectangular envelope stamped with the name of a local salon and her name scrawled across the middle, Kendall tapped a pile of papers on the table. “What's this?”

Sonia fanned the printouts, an eager smile lighting her face. “I know it's your birthday celebration—happy birthday, by the way—but we also need to finalize our decision for this summer's trip. I've been watching the airfares and the vacation spots and narrowed it down to a couple of places.”

“You don't think we should wait until we get closer to our departure date—maybe snag a last-minute deal?” Kendall squeezed lemon into her tea and then savored a long sip.

“That was easy to do when we were all single.” Sonia rested her elbows on the table, soft blond curls framing her face as she seemed to hesitate for half a second. “But now that Melissa and I are both married, it's better to plan things out. Kevin still wants to find time for some sort of vacation for the two of us.”

Melissa nodded, her long brown hair tucked underneath a stylish black beret. “And I need to make sure that I've got the twins covered for that week. I can't leave that until the last minute.”

Made sense.

Rachel shifted in the seat next to her, twisting her hands in her lap. Her cornflower-blue eyes darted from friend to friend and she chewed on her bottom lip.

Melissa leaned forward. “Something on your mind, Rach? You're not backing out, are you?”

“No . . . I wouldn't think of missing this trip. Especially now.”

“Especially now?” Kendall turned to stare at her friend. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I'm engaged!”

Kendall reared back as Rachel flung her left arm out across the table, nearly tipping over her margarita.

Melissa and Sonia erupted in a cacophony of “What?” and “When?” causing other people in the restaurant to turn toward them. How had Kendall missed the diamond on Rachel's hand? Of course, her friend had kept her hands in her lap—not even indulging in the chips and guacamole, and taking almost-timid sips of her margarita.

“Tony proposed this past weekend. Can you believe it?” Rachel paused to admire her engagement ring, which she'd set off by indulging in a French manicure. “We've only been dating three months!”

Three months—and the man proposed? No, Kendall most definitely couldn't believe it. Their foursome had started out as a group of single female physicians, focused on establishing themselves in Colorado Springs. Now married, Melissa stayed home with her twins full-time, and Sonia worked part-time. Now Rachel was headed for “I do” while Kendall remained an “I haven't”—a status she probably wouldn't change anytime soon.

She forced herself to look at her friend's dazzling pear-shaped diamond ring. She was happy for Rachel—truly. Tony seemed
like a good guy, someone who didn't mind Rachel's long hours as an ER doctor.

“Tony thinks a December wedding is perfect, so I don't see any problem with still having our girls' vacation in June.” Rachel bounced on the blue vinyl-covered seat, threatening to unseat Kendall in her excitement. “Maybe we can make it a weeklong bachelorette party! I want you all to be in my wedding, you know that, right?”

Perfect. Another wear-it-once dress to add to her closet. It seemed as though she'd never break the tradition she started way back in high school. Of course, she didn't even get to wear her homecoming dress for the entire evening.

Whoa. Rachel was engaged and she was wandering the wrong way down memory lane. Where was the waiter? She needed a refill.

“Melissa, I was hoping you'd be my matron of honor.” Rachel reached across the table and clasped Melissa's hand even as her smile encompassed each friend. “And I want Kendall and Sonia to be my bridesmaids.”

Oh.

Kendall hoped her face didn't reveal any surprise or disappointment. Of course, Rachel could arrange her bridal party any way she wanted. Kendall shouldn't assume she'd be the maid of honor.

A lanky teen boy wearing a faded T-shirt and baggy jeans crossed her line of vision. What was wrong with him? Exiting the restroom area to a table in the center of the room, he seemed unsteady on his feet, almost disoriented. Was he . . . high? He slumped into a wooden chair, a series of raspy coughs shaking his shoulders. Maybe he was coming down with the flu. A broad-shouldered man with short-cropped hair sprinkled with gray—probably his father—leaned toward him, as if asking a
question. Kendall watched as the coughing grew worse and the boy tugged on the collar of his maroon T-shirt. Maybe he was choking . . . But why wasn't the kid's father doing anything?

“Kendall. Kendall.” Sonia waved a hand in front of her face. “Hey, the party's in this booth!”

“Excuse me for a minute.” Kendall slid out of her seat, tossing the words over her shoulder. “Something's wrong with that kid.”

By the time she crossed the floor to the table where the man and his son sat, she sensed the other customers' surveillance as she watched the teen cough. And cough. She knelt beside him. Touched his arm.

“Are you choking?” Even as she asked, she knew he wasn't. His lips were swollen, his face blotchy with hives. The boy's eyes flamed with panic as they darted between her and his father. “What are you allergic to?”

“He's not allergic—” The man stood and towered over her.

“A-avocado.”

“Your son is allergic to avocado and
you didn't even know it
?” Some parents had no right to have kids. Kendall got to her feet, the swift movement causing her to rock back on her platforms. “Where is your EpiPen?”

“He doesn't have an EpiPen—”

“With this severe an allergy, your son needs to carry an EpiPen at all times.”

“He's not my son—”

Kendall turned to the teen. “Do you have an EpiPen?” When he shook his head no, she shouted for Rachel to bring her purse. “Somebody call nine-one-one.”

The man pulled an iPhone from the pocket of his wool jacket hanging on the back of the chair. “I'll call nine-one-one.”

“Fine. Do something.” She didn't mean to sound so abrupt,
but she didn't have time to apologize. The teen was her concern—not whether she'd offended his dad. His son needed help—fast.

Rachel appeared beside her, already digging in Kendall's purse for the EpiPen. “What can I do?”

“Call nine-one-one.”

“I'm already dialing—” The man waved his phone in her face.

“Okay, then. I'm stepping back.” Rachel retrieved Kendall's purse from where she'd dropped it on the floor. “But remember, I'm right over there.”

“Right.” Kendall focused on the teen, talking to him as she popped the cap off the plastic device. “You know how this works. It doesn't hurt that bad. Here goes. One, two, three . . .”

Griffin wanted to turn away—maybe even walk out the door and escape what was happening. But he hadn't done that, not once in the last four months, no matter how many times the thought crossed his mind. Standing here, watching his brother gasp for breath, only confirmed once again that Griffin was the last person who should take responsibility for Ian.

“Have you reached nine-one-one?” His brother's rescuer barely glanced at him.

Her question jerked him back to reality. He punched the numbers before answering her and then stayed on the line with the dispatcher and watched the woman work with his brother. Ian's teeth clenched, lips tinted a pale blue, as silent tears streamed down his face. Ian hadn't shed a single tear during their parents' funeral. Did he even realize he sat in the middle of a restaurant, crying? Probably not. He was too busy struggling
to breathe, despite the woman kneeling next to him and attempting to keep him calm.

While the dispatcher talked with the ambulance driver, Griffin paced closer, tilting the phone away from his mouth. “Who are you?”

She flicked her eyes up at him for the briefest of moments, a look of irritation storming across their gray depths before she focused on Ian again. “I'm a physician. I'll take care of your son until the EMTs get here.”

“Ian's my brother, not my son.”

“Look, I can't really have a conversation with you and concentrate.” The woman brushed the long strands of Ian's dark hair away from his eyes, her tone softening. “Feeling any better? Y'know, if you were gonna do something like this, you picked a good place. All my friends over there? They're doctors, too.”

The hint of a smile crossed Ian's face, despite the fact his breath still wheezed in and out as if his lungs were a pair of worn-out accordions.

“Sir, can you hear the sirens yet?” The dispatcher's dispassionate voice broke in on his thoughts. “They should be almost there by now.”

With everyone in the restaurant silently watching the drama at their table, Griffin could easily hear the strident wail of the approaching medical truck. “Yes, I hear them.”

“How's he doing now, sir? You said he's your brother, right?”

“He's better.” Griffin watched for flickers of emergency lights outside the restaurant's front window. “There's a doctor here. She had an EpiPen.”

“Good. If he was having a severe allergic reaction, she did the right thing.”

Griffin scanned Ian's face, noticing that, while he was still pale, the blotchiness was fading. The doctor had gotten Ian
to sit up straight rather than slump forward in his chair. She'd kicked off a ridiculous pair of shoes and looked barely more than a teenager herself—a female Doogie Howser. Had he risked Ian's life letting this unknown woman take over?