Stars Fall From the Sky (Reigning Hearts Book 2) Read online

  The man smiled, revealing dimples in his cheeks. “Please, call me Jonathon.”

  The revelation of his first named stopped Ginger in her tracks and knocked the wind right out of her. It was as if she had danced backward into him at a party. All she could offer was a slight nod.

  When she couldn’t audibly reply, Jonathon pursed his lips and ran his hand through his dark hair as if sensing something was wrong. “Well, I’ll see you ladies around,” he offered, uncomfortably. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  “Thanks, Jonathon. Have a good one,” Emmy waved. When she turned toward Ginger, she raised her eyebrows as if waiting for an explanation.

  Ginger couldn’t move and waited until Jonathon exited the café with the ding of the door, the taste of apple pie turning sour in her mouth. Quickly, she got up and started to gather her things.

  “I better get home and put Daisy down for her nap. She’s on a great schedule, and I don’t want to blow it and be up with her all night,” she said breathlessly.

  “Really? But you didn’t even try this brownie.”

  “Take it home to Cappy,” she interjected. “He’ll enjoy it. And you’re right. My pie is better.” By this time, Ginger had dug through the diaper bag and found her wayward sunglasses. She leaned down and gave Emmy a quick peck on the cheek, hoping she couldn’t see the onset of tears welling in her eyes behind the dark frames. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  The revelation of the good doctor’s first name had her reeling, and she didn’t want to stick around and come undone in front of her friend. It was easier to blame it on her baby and high tail it out of there. Pushing the stroller down the deserted sidewalk in the blazing afternoon sun, she kept her chin held high, determined to keep it together. What were the chances?

  As she looked both ways to cross the street at the crosswalk, the first trickle of wetness rolled down her cheeks, and she sniffled, shaking her head, the name, “Jonathon” ringing in her ears. Jonathon was Rusty’s middle name.

  Chapter Seven

  A gust of warm salty air messed up Jonathon’s hair as he hopped up the stone stairs of the Baptist Church two at a time. He was running behind, which was very unlike him. It seemed like a lot of things were falling through the cracks lately, which didn’t gel with his Type A personality. He was a man of order and precision and took great care in maintaining his carefully appointed world. But as soon as life dealt him an unlucky hand, he realized the path he was on was full of uncertainty and unrequited pain.

  Yellow cardstock arrow signs pointed him through the quiet church hallways toward the meeting space. Glancing at his wristwatch, he couldn’t help but grit his teeth knowing he would be interrupting the start of the session which he knew by his watch, was already underway. Having no idea what was in store for him, he paused and second-guessed his decision to come. The fact that he was going out of his comfort zone and had entered this building in the first place was solid proof he was finally permitting himself to grieve. It was time for him to find a way to express what he was feeling and not feel the need to have it perfectly together all the time.

  The solid door creaked as it opened into a large room filled with several people sitting in chairs positioned in a circle. A cheerful woman arose and welcomed him.

  “You must be Dr. Walden?” Her brown eyes filled with warmth and ease. “I’m Francesca Barnett. Have a seat. We were just about to go around the room and introduce ourselves.” She motioned to a few open seats to the right of her.

  As he made his way to a chair, he mumbled how sorry he was for interrupting.

  “No worries. We’re glad you made it.” Francesca smiled. She reminded him of one of the nurses while at his residency at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta. She was polite and to the point with what appeared to be a friendly bedside manner.

  Easing himself into an available plastic chair, he looked around the room and did a double-take. Locking eyes directly across the circle, Ginger McCormick stared back at him, her expression conveying surprise. Clearing his throat, he offered her a small smile, not sure what to make of the serendipitous moment. Wasn’t she a married woman? Inadvertently, he glanced at her left hand and noticed the gold band she wore. Perhaps she had lost a sibling or a parent? Hopefully, it wasn’t her sweet mother he had met.

  For whatever reason she was here, he knew he needed to stay focused on himself and his motives for coming. But he couldn’t help it and was suddenly concerned, the doctor side of him wanting to know the reason for her being there. Her earlier behavior at the café made more sense now because she was grieving for someone too.

  Listening intently, Jonathon focused on the small group as they introduced themselves. First up was a retired older man by the name of Charlie who sat next to the counselor. Then there was Sabrina who looked to be in her late fifties or sixties. She was a teacher at the local elementary school. Next came Cameron, a thin African-American woman who worked at one of the art galleries in Pineapple Grove. And last, but not least, Ginger McCormick. Mrs. Ginger McCormick, who claimed she was a part-time baker and full-time mom.

  It was apparent that Francesca had instructed them to introduce themselves and what they did for a living, and not talk about why they were there. Jonathon sat up a little straighter when he realized it was his turn. “Okay, then. I’m Doctor Jonathon Walden, but please, call me Jonathon. I’m the new doc in town who took over Dr. Preston’s practice six months ago.”

  There were several nods of recognition and polite smiles. Ginger looked away and adjusted the light cardigan she wore in the air-conditioned room across her chest. Jonathon had to admit, he was nervous and gave himself an inner pep-talk. In the forms he filled out on-line, he learned there was no pressure to tell anyone what he was going through, and that the environment was “warm and caring” with a top expert in grief recovery.

  Francesca dove in headfirst. “First and foremost, all of you need to know that you are not alone.”

  Her friendly voice echoed in his mind as he looked around at the motley crew and couldn’t help but wonder what everyone’s story was. Charlie dabbed the wrinkled skin around his eyes with a worn handkerchief as Sabrina and Cameron seemed to concentrate on what the counselor was saying. Ginger wrung her hands in her lap with downcast eyes.

  Jonathon sighed. If only he’d known about her loss, he could have offered her sympathy earlier at the coffee shop. Or if it happened before the house-call when she had mastitis, he could have done…what? He recalled being greeted by her mother at the front door that night and led to the baby’s pink and white frilly room where Ginger lay on a daybed. He could not recall a man in the house. The unthinkable crossed his mind. Could she have lost her husband? Could Mrs. McCormick be a widow like he was? But she still wore her wedding band. Looking down at his left hand, he felt a pang of guilt for no longer wearing his and rubbed the bare spot with his thumb.

  “…you’ll have an opportunity to use your workbook for further personal study and help sort out some of your emotions through journaling. This group will spend time discussing questions and comments from the workbook study over the next thirteen weeks during these sessions.” Francesca stood and hoisted a stack of thin books off the vacant seat next to her and started to hand them out. “I encourage you to share as much as you’re comfortable with to start. Studies have found that it can be very healing to tell others what you’re going through, but I’ll never pressure you to do so.”

  The group timidly looked around at one another.

  “I like to start our meetings with sharing time first and get it out of the way, so that you won’t be distracted by the thought of it during the rest of the session. We’ll spend as little or as much time as we need to on the sharing part. If there aren’t any volunteers, we’ll move on and try again next time. Remember, no pressure. Do I have any volunteers on our first night?”

  Cameron immediately raised her hand.

  Francesca seemed surprised. “Cameron! Yes, please share whatever is on your
heart tonight.”

  The young woman licked her lips nervously. “I lost my mother recently. It was unexpected. She died from a heart attack.”

  Audible sighs full of empathy came from the circle of people. Cameron looked around the room and nodded. “She was the cornerstone of our family, and it’s been really tough to go about our daily lives, you know? There…there’s a hole in my heart.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Cameron. I hope you know that this is a safe place where you’ll learn and develop strategies to help you cope with your daily life over the next few weeks.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.” Cameron seemed genuinely happy to be there, her face lighting up when she smiled.

  The group was quiet for a few seconds before Charlie sighed. “I lost my wife of fifty-two years back in August. Even though she had dementia and wasn’t herself the last couple of years, when she finally passed, it felt like I lost her all over again…” The older man brought his hankie up to his nose and started to weep. Francesca patted his shoulder and whispered comfort to him.

  Jonathon scowled and looked over at Ginger. Her big brown eyes were as large as saucers, and her lips were tightly pressed in a thin line as if she were trying to hold it together. Francesca commended Charlie and Cameron for sharing so soon and went on to talk about how pain and peace could co-exist in the lives of the people left behind. The counselor’s voice hummed in an even tone as Jonathon wondered if he had enough guts to ever share with this group.

  A sudden flashback of the last day he spent with his wife crept into his mind. Her image, frail and beautiful, stared back at him from the hospital bed. The veins in her painfully thin arms were visible from beneath her alabaster skin, and an oxygen tube was positioned across her nose. A hand-crocheted beanie given to her by a coworker covered her hairless head– not for vanity purposes but warmth. Cancer had ravaged her body but couldn’t touch her eyes. Those gorgeous baby blues stared back at him full of an all-consuming love that he tightly held on to, willing her silently to stay alive, until her very last breath.

  “Let’s take a short break right now. Y’all are welcome to some refreshments the church has provided over at the table.” Francesca turned toward Charlie, who still dabbed at his eyes and spoke softly to him. Jonathon hadn’t heard a single word she said.

  Ginger stood, clutched her sweater together at her bosom, and turned her back on the group as she headed toward the refreshment table. Cameron pulled her phone out of her purse to look at it, and he could hear Sabrina ask where the restrooms were.

  Jonathon scrubbed his hand across his jawline with regret. He shouldn’t have come here tonight. The painful memories of his late wife’s last days were something he wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on—not anymore. He’d done everything in his power to save her and had no regrets using his clout as a doctor to get her in to see the top specialists in the country. They’d exhausted every avenue, including their finances to try to find a treatment that worked. But nothing could save her. Nothing could keep his beloved Abbie alive.

  The debilitating depression that consumed him in the days after her death was finally behind him—or was it? After all these months, he had turned a corner, hadn’t he? He was a fucking doctor and had dealt with life and death his entire career. What was he thinking coming to a group like this, contemplating baring his soul for all to judge? Couldn’t he do some research on his own and deal with this thing once and for all in the comfort and solitude of his own home?

  With a heavy sigh, he looked over at the refreshment table and noticed Ginger again. She stood quietly alone with her back toward him. Timidly, he decided to approach her to make sure she was okay. He lightly tapped her on the shoulder, and when she turned around, he could tell she had been silently crying. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one regretting their decision.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  “No.” She wouldn’t look at him and ran her pale hand under her nose. “I wish there was a way out of this. I don’t belong here.”

  “I feel the same way,” he admitted. They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment before he boldly decided to grab a Styrofoam cup, filled it with coffee, and held it out to her. “Here. This will keep you busy until it’s over.” Quickly, he glanced at his watch. “We only have another thirty minutes or so, and she said we don’t have to share anything if we don’t want to.” He was sure the look on his face was imploring, begging her to stay and finish out the first session. There was something about having a familiar face in the crowd that calmed him.

  Ginger tentatively took the cup from his hands and finally looked up at him, her eyes glimmering with remnants of tears. Jonathon wanted to ask her who she’d lost but didn’t have the guts at that moment.

  “You could also snag a handful of those cookies and keep popping them into your mouth. Everyone knows you shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” he joked, surprising himself. He was astonished when Ginger laughed out loud. Her entire face lit up, causing him to smile with relief.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” she agreed as she wiped her eyes again with the back of her free hand and seemed to relax.

  Jonathon tilted his head and picked up the small plate of store-bought cookies. “Help yourself.”

  He watched her flawless cheeks blush with color as she picked up a cookie. “Thanks, Dr. Walden.”

  “My pleasure. And please, call me Jonathon,” he insisted.

  Her lips trembled as she forced a smile and sighed. “Okay…Jonathon.”

  The group reconvened, and they watched a short video. Jonathon couldn’t help but glance across the circle now and again to see Ginger calmly looking at the screen. The cookie she had taken off the plate sat next to her, uneaten, on an empty chair. He couldn’t blame her. His stomach was all tied up in knots too. He felt sorry for her, and for some reason, it was vital to him to hear her story, especially knowing she had a baby. Just thinking about that little girl possibly growing up without a father crushed him. He knew right then that if Mrs. McCormick were to keep coming to the weekly meetings, he would too—for her sake.

  As Francesca wrapped up and humored them with how they were all going to end up as a sort of misfit family by the time their thirteen weeks completed, Jonathon was antsy to speak to Ginger again. Neither of them had spoken openly during the first session, and he had so many questions. Who was watching her daughter? Was her mother living with her? Did she have close friends nearby? Who died?

  Jonathon held the door open for the group as they bumbled into the empty hall. “We made it,” he chuckled.

  Ginger glanced over her shoulder at him and smirked. “Free at last.”

  As they headed out the double doors onto the stone steps of the church, the humid air assaulted them with a whoosh. “Hey, Ginger. Wait a second. I have one question for you.”

  Ginger stopped in her tracks as the wind twirled her hair around her face. Her eyes were hooded as she looked up at him. Sabrina, Cameron, and Charlie descended the stone steps, the group politely saying goodnight.

  When he had Ginger’s undivided attention, he asked his question. “Are you coming back next week?” He watched her shuffle her feet and bite her lower lip, as if unsure. “Because if you come back, I’ll come back too. Deal? And who knows, maybe they’ll have some better cookies next time?”

  His last comment seemed to get through to her. She appeared a little more relaxed and tried to hide a small smile as she shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Humph,” Jonathon playfully mumbled. “So, you’re telling me there’s a possibility?”

  Ginger smiled broadly before heading down the steps. She turned and walked in the opposite direction he was going.

  “See you next week, Ginger,” he confidently shouted over the ocean breeze, determined to get her to respond. When she turned back around, she was smiling, full throttle, and nodded.

  Chapter Eight

  The lingering scent of baby shampoo wafted toward Ginger’s nose as she re
laxed in Rusty’s recliner and thumbed through her workbook. Bringing her fingertips up to her nostrils, she inhaled the comforting aroma and sighed. Daisy was tucked away for the night after a longer than usual bath-time and feeding. Typically, she would follow suit and collapse in the daybed next to her daughter’s crib. But tonight, she was amped up, curious about the information in the book and how it might help her. Knowing beforehand this wasn’t some quick-fix program, she was still anxious for immediate results and intently flipped through the pages, the first chapter indicating how there was no set timeline for grieving, that it was all up to the individual.

  Great. She was never going to move past this. Her promise to love Rusty forever was a pretty major glitch in her grieving process. Shutting the book on her lap with a slap, she closed her eyes and stretched her neck. How she wished Rusty was there now, digging his thumbs into her tight muscles…

  “That’s a tight spot, baby. Just relax.”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” she moaned, relishing the exquisite pain that felt so good. She was sitting in front of the recliner on the floor between his tanned hairy legs. When he shifted his whole hand to run up the nape of her neck, she let her head fall forward and sighed. “Oh, god, yes…”

  His laugh rumbled through her body as he kissed the top of her head. “Am I getting all the kinks out, Mama?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  Both of his hands slid down her cheeks, and he gently moved her head back to where she was looking at him upside down, his loving smile paired with the warmth of his skin making her swoon. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you too.”

  Ginger jerked awake as the workbook slid off her lap and landed with a thump on the floor. Her chest was rising and falling in deep breaths, and she looked around the room, half expecting to see her husband.

  “Rusty?” she innocently called out, hoping beyond hope that it was all a bad dream and he was safe and sound in their little house. The only noise in the room was the steady hum of the air conditioner. Closing her eyes, she shook her head, desperate for the recurrent wave of pain to subside. When it didn’t, she curled up into a ball and pressed into the worn leather of her late husband’s chair, his essence comforting her as she allowed it to lull her into a fitful sleep.