Stars Fall From the Sky (Reigning Hearts Book 2) Page 3

  When he turned his attention back to Ginger, he offered her an empathetic smile while he shoved the paper and pen back into his pocket and pulled the stethoscope off his neck. When he placed his hands on his hips and towered above her, the dolls and pink and white striped wallpaper behind him were a comical contrast to his business clothing and demeanor.

  “Moist heat with a warm, wet compress before you nurse will help. I suggest a ton of rest, hydration, loose clothing and soaking in warm baths too.” His smile grew broader and revealed dimples in his cheeks. “Once you’re on the medicine, you’ll start to feel better, Mrs. McCormick, I promise.”

  Ginger found it hard to breathe as she looked up at the man who resembled her late husband. In her fevered state, her heart and mind couldn’t quite compute that he wasn’t Rusty—he was Dr. Walden. Did he know her story? Did he know she was a widow? Could he possibly understand the out-of-control spiral her life was in since the love of her life perished? The inexplainable urge to bury her face in his chest and feel his arms around her as he consoled her threw her for a loop.

  Her voice graveled as she responded, the weariness and fever pulling her back into the softness of the bedding. “Thank you for coming.”

  His eyes seemed to twinkle behind his glasses as he stared down at her. “My pleasure.”

  Chapter Four

  The dog days of late summer were in full force and kept Ginger and her baby inside their air-conditioned cocoon. Having fully healed from her infection with antibiotics and Dr. Walden’s suggestions, she spent most days laying on the floor staring at her daughter or busying herself with light household chores when her baby napped. Once she started to feel better, she insisted her mama go back to Dixie and take care of her daddy as she took her time adjusting to her new normal. There were numerous thank-you notes to write, bills to sort through, and her bleak, lonely future to ponder.

  Before her daddy left, he had seen to it that her financial papers and the lease agreement on her home were in order. He also helped with the arduous task of formally transferring things into her name. Come to find out, the lease on her rental home was up for renewal in a few months, and she needed to decide if she wanted to renew or relocate. Should she stay in the tiny house she and Rusty had turned into a home? Or should she start over in a new place not haunted with painful memories of her former life? Her parents reminded her over and over that they could always come back to Dixie and live with them until she figured things out. Even though their words comforted her, and it would be so easy to escape the pain she felt in Sandersville Beach, she knew she owed it to her daughter to make the best decision for both of them and let her parents know she’d think about it.

  As the days dragged on into early fall, her only joy and escape were the countless hours with her daughter, sweet Daisy. Ginger couldn’t get over how fast she was growing and the milestones she accomplished—milestones Rusty would never get to share. Her first intentional smile. The way she focused on her hands in front of her face with a look of perplexity on her tiny features. How she held her head and chest up with control during tummy time. The sweet babble of vowel noises she started to make was the hardest, her little personality becoming more evident, although painful in the absence of her father.

  Emeline checked in on her every other day either by phone or would stop by on her way home from the diner. Their last conversation was particularly emotional.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come and help you clean things out?” Emeline sniffled across the phone line.

  “No.” Ginger was adamant as she sat on the floor with her back leaned against the sofa. Daisy was in between her legs focused on a teething ring, drool running down her chin. Stroking her daughter’s fair hair, she spoke calmly. “You’ve already done too much with organizing meals, yard work, and the memorial service. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not ready. If, and when I decide to do it, I need to do it alone. It’s just too personal.”

  “I understand. You need to take all the time you need. But I really think you should get back to your own bedroom soon. Are you getting any sleep in that tiny daybed?”

  “I close my eyes when Daisy sleeps. It’s enough.” Ginger wished her friend wouldn’t worry so much, the thought of sleeping alone in her double bed without Rusty making her cringe.

  “As long as you’re getting some sleep. You need the energy to take care of that precious baby girl.” Emeline paused before changing the subject. “I took your potted flowers over to the gallery as you insisted. You were right. They’re really pretty on either side of the new front doors. I appreciate you lending them to us for the upcoming re-opening.”

  Ginger swallowed hard and couldn’t help the memory that came flooding back of her late husband, surprising her with the antique cast iron garden urns. He found the rusted treasures at the local flea market and insisted he could save them. With a little elbow grease and a few coats of black rust primer paint, the urns looked brand new and stood out nicely against the white sideboards of their tiny rental home. Ginger looked forward to planting an assortment of colorful annuals every spring that lasted through the summer under her watchful eye. She was sure the bright pink geraniums, purple vincas and fuchsia zinnias were overflowing in front of Capshaw Galleries now that someone was taking care of them because she, obviously, could not. The gallery was still in the middle of construction, the interior near completion. The grand re-opening was getting closer and closer, much to the excitement of the entire town, and Emeline and Thomas had mentioned having their wedding reception in the new space which seemed fitting after all they’d been through.

  “Don’t forget to water them and dead-head the tips after they’ve bloomed,” she reminded, her voice high-pitched as she thwarted off impending tears.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  There was silence on the line for a few seconds before Emeline cleared her throat. “You know, we can find someone else to make the wedding cake—”

  “No,” Ginger brusquely interrupted. “Please, Emmy. I know the wedding will be here soon. I can do it. I promised y’all I’d do it, and I will.”

  She could hear Emeline sigh on the other end. “I don’t want to overwhelm you with this. You can’t even water your own flowers anymore, let alone make a huge cake! You just got back on your feet from being sick too, and your mama went back to Dixie…it’s too much, Ginger. I don’t know how you’re doing it.”

  Daisy squirmed against Ginger’s tummy and looked up at her with big brown eyes and smiled, her gurgles against the teething ring music to her ears. She knew how she did it. She was a mother now, and Daisy depended on her. So did Emmy.

  “Emeline Fischer, I’ll hear no more of this nonsense, ya hear? I’m making you and Cappy’s wedding cake, and that’s the end of it.” Daisy squealed at the exaggerated Southern tone Ginger used to get her point across. “Just tell me what flavor you agreed on and we’re good to go.”

  “Geez! You don’t have to be all bossy about it. This heat wave has gone to your head, hasn’t it?” Emeline joked.

  “Probably,” Ginger laughed, which surprised her. She hadn’t laughed in ages. Shifting Daisy into a sturdier position, she kept her steady between her thighs. “Seriously, have you two figured out what flavor? Traditional white cake with the raspberry filling and white chocolate icing? Or the Southern Hazelnut Praline Cake with dark chocolate ganache?” She could hear Emmy moan with pleasure over the phone.

  “We could go either way, but we decided on the Southern Hazelnut Praline Cake as our final choice.”

  Ginger smiled and nodded. “Good choice and I promise, I’ll make it with an extra dose of love.”

  “We know you will. You have no idea how glad we are that you’re doing this for us. Our beach wedding is going to be the best.”

  Ginger bit her lower lip, the thought of her dear friends’ beachside wedding ceremony being so close to the pier almost unbearable. Even a glimpse of the ocean caused her heart to seize in her chest, the flood o
f emotions burying her in a depressed state for days. If she could get through Emeline and Cappy’s wedding, she knew she could get through anything.

  “I can’t wait,” she whispered unconvincingly.

  After her late afternoon feeding, Ginger lazily rocked Daisy and couldn’t help the motherly smile that crossed her lips as she stared down at her angel face. Her tiny daughter drifted off to sleep, and her innocent features were compelling. Ginger found it easy to piddle the day away just by staring at her sleeping daughter for hours. But there was so much to do, and she had a small pocket of uninterrupted time in which to do it.

  Gently, she lay Daisy in her crib, adorned with pink sheets and eyelet bumper pads fit for a princess. As she tucked a soft blanket around her chubby bare thighs sticking out of her heart-covered onesie, her motherly gaze landed on her splayed hand against the fabric, the sight of her wedding ring causing her breath to catch in her throat. The simple gold band had only been off her finger during the last few weeks of her pregnancy in the thirteen years married to Rusty, and even then, she felt incomplete without it. It was a part of her—an outward symbol of the love she felt in her heart for Rusty.

  Holding her hand up to her face, she twisted the ring and reflected on the moment he slipped it on her finger. It was right after they said their vows in the Dixie Baptist Church chapel in their hometown. She could almost smell the faint traces of gardenia that lingered in the air from her bouquet and recalled her husband’s loving voice filled with emotion as he repeated the phrases of their vows. Ginger closed her eyes and allowed herself to reminisce—to remember how she felt when she married the love of her life at that moment.

  Rusty McCormick stood tall and clutched her small hands in his own, his dapper black tux fitting him like a glove on his conditioned body. His hazel eyes were flirty as he stared down at her, and his full lips tugged at the corners into a slight smile. When the preacher allowed him to kiss her in front of God and both of their families, she remembered the faint taste of beer on his tongue, his naughty groomsmen insisting he sip a cold one before the ceremony to calm his nerves.

  Before officially presented as Mr. and Mrs. McCormick, Rusty raised her bejeweled hand to his lips and sealed the ring with a kiss, the heat in his gaze full of longing, hope, and their future. They danced down the aisle to the hoots and hollers of close friends and family, and when he had her alone in the vestibule by the lobby, he held her face in his hands and kissed her before swinging her around in a cloud of white crinoline.

  “I love you, Mrs. McCormick.”

  Ginger giggled with delight. “Ooh, I like the sound of that. I love you too, Mr. McCormick.”

  Pressing his mouth against hers again, he hugged her tightly against his chest. “You’re officially mine, baby. You’ve made me the happiest man on the earth.” She could almost feel the air move from his breath as he whispered into the shell of her ear.

  Daisy stirred, causing Ginger to inhale quickly and come back from the memory. The recollections often hit her out of the blue when she least expected it, triggered by the smallest of things. Just the other day, when she was rummaging in the kitchen junk drawer for nail clippers, she came across a random tube of lip balm. Rusty was notorious for strategically placing them in various rooms and pockets of clothing. His lips were often chapped from working in the coastline elements, and she was humored by his hoarding of the small tubes, often teasing him during those times he would go into a tizzy if he couldn’t find one. Ginger held the lip balm in her hands that day as if it was a treasured heirloom and sat on the kitchen floor and cried.

  Shaking her head with yet another memory, she quietly tiptoed out of the nursery and softly shut the door. Bringing her left hand up to her mouth, she pressed her lips against the gold band of her wedding ring and tightly closed her eyes to keep from crying again, the memories of the best day of her life threatening to shut her down. But she refused to feel tragic.

  “I miss you,” she whispered simply into the ring. The silence in the hallway was deafening.

  The absolute love she felt for her late husband and her daughter overwhelmed her at times, and she knew she had to keep her emotions in check when she started to realize the magnitude of their loss. It wasn’t healthy to stay isolated, and she knew the time had come for them to venture out and reconnect with the tiny beach town—and eventually, the ocean.

  But every single time images of the Atlantic crept into her thoughts, she couldn’t help but be transported back to that fateful day—the day that forever changed the course of her life…

  The surf was rough from the morning storm that blew through, and red flags billowed across the popular beaches for the rest of the day, warning tourists to stay clear of the raging water full of rip tides. Rusty was a veteran and knew the coastline like the back of his hand. When a call came in that a swimmer was in distress near the pier, Rusty was one of three Ocean Team Rescuers on a lifeguard boat dispatched to the call.

  When the boat neared the barnacle-covered thick pilings of the man-made structure, Rusty was the first one to jump off near the struggling swimmer. Several minutes later, with the swimmer successfully pulled onboard, the crew went into high alert when they realized Rusty had disappeared beneath the sea. Three hours later, his team recovered his broken body. It wasn’t until recently that Ginger learned his death was ruled an “accidental drowning.” It happened a few days shy of his thirty-second birthday.

  Rusty McCormick died in the line of duty. Something had gone terribly wrong for a man of his size and strength to end up dying that day. The not knowing why or how this could happen seemed like a cruel twist of fate. Would Ginger ever have an answer?

  Hundreds of people showed up for a paddle-out memorial by the pier decorated with American flags billowing in the wind. Ginger sat stoically on a beach chair, clutching her mother-in-law’s hand, and watched as his loyal team lay flowered wreaths in the water. Her late husband was subsequently honored for his heroics with a posthumous Medal of Valor award on his behalf, given to his family by the Florida Lifesaving Association.

  The write-up in The Sandersville Crier was touching, Fire Chief Rutland telling the reporter in an exclusive interview what a great man Rusty was, how he was always smiling and always passionate about the ocean. Station 4 set up a scholarship in Rusty’s name for up and coming firefighters in training, and the local paper was overwhelmed with applicants wanting more information after its release.

  Stunned by the outpouring of love from her community in those terrible dark days after his death, Ginger clung to the hope that Rusty’s memory would keep her going. No one could ever prepare for the sorrow and heartbreak that threatened her very existence, and she ached for more than grief and unyielding pain. After the first few months, life went on in the world around her. Life needed to go on in her little world too. But she needed a reason to believe in hope—to believe that the love of her life mattered and that he would never be forgotten.

  That hope shone brightly in the innocent eyes of their daughter. When Ginger finally came to the realization that Daisy was living proof that Rusty’s life was significant, and that a part of him was left behind and thriving in their baby girl, she finally found the courage to carry on. Somehow, through divine intervention, Rusty would be there with them for all their days, no matter how hard some of them were. Her forever with him ended against her will. But that same stubborn will coaxed her to venture out and dare to allow herself to feel happiness in the land of the living once again.

  Chapter Five

  Dr. Jonathon Walden ran the last few minutes on his treadmill in a full sprint, pushing his body to the limit. Sweat poured down his face and chest as he took in deep gulps of air and pumped his arms at his sides. When the time indicated he had hit his goal, he mashed a button to slow the machine down and grabbed the small towel hanging off the rails, raking it over his face and neck. He liked to mix things up and run on the beach for some days and on the treadmill others.

  Working ou
t was his escape after the long deliberate hours he kept at the only medical clinic in the small beach town. He finally had the place organized and was in sync with the former administrative assistant, Mrs. Tanya Dermott. She was in her early seventies and knew everyone that came in by first and last name, which impressed him. The woman was invaluable and had become a sort of surrogate mother to him since he first came into town several months ago, often bringing him leftovers for lunch or homemade cookies to snack on.

  As the summer months came to an end, and the tourist season wrapped up, the pace in the clinic started to slow down. The last influx of kids needing booster shots and sports forms before the new school year started ended in the past week. Jonathon still had his regulars who came in for allergy shots and quarterly evaluations for prescription drug refills but other than that, things had started to peter out, giving him unexpected free time. Working out seemed to fill some of the voids.

  Tossing the wet towel into the corner hamper, Jonathon made his way into the small galley kitchen and started a pot of coffee before he hit the shower. There was nothing on the appointment schedule, and he had given Mrs. Dermott the day off. If anyone came in off the streets or there happened to be an emergency house call to make, he assured her he could handle it on his own. That was the thing he liked most about living in the small beach town—some days were lighter than others and inconsequently forced him to slow down.

  Unlike the cut-throat pace of Atlanta, where he finished his residency at Grady Memorial Hospital and lived in an over-priced apartment in the downtown area congested day and night with horrific traffic, Sandersville Beach was the total opposite. Granted, it took him a hot minute to adjust to the slower pace and over-friendly folks who welcomed him with open arms.

  When he first arrived, he was more of a loner, not used to the frequent hugs and enthusiastic chit-chat the town folk offered. After coming to terms with where he was in his career and the unfortunate fork in the road he had to take in his personal life, Jonathon finally submitted to the small-town charm and started to feel like himself again. Living in the quaint town had done wonders for his health, and his heart.