Page 1 of Beneath Southern Stars

Prologue

One year ago

Never in mylife have I loathed the phrase, “I’m sorry.” Perhaps it’s the hundred times it has been uttered today that has my skin crawling with number one hundred one. Hugs from people I recognize but don’t really know feels invasive. Uncomfortable. Katie would have loved this... party? It’s not really a celebration as much as a gathering of people in a sea of black. Among the sniffles and bursts of laughter is a hum of energy I can’t quite name.

“Do you think Violet will be up for a playdate this week?” The mention of my daughter pulls my attention from the seam of the wallpaper I hated and Katie loved. It really is ugly.

“Ryan?” My gaze falls to the hand resting on my forearm. I don’t think there’s any underlying meaning, but it seems forward for a woman I’ve only ever acknowledged with a slight wave at school pickup. Shana, I think is her name. I should know this. Ineedto know this. Maybe it’s in the book.

Clearing my throat, I shake my head and reply, “Probably not this week.”

“Of course. Well, I’m just across the street if you need anything. The girls love playing together.”

“Thanks. Speaking of, I should find my mom. If you’ll excuse me.”

My steps are quick as I abandon the forced conversation. Is this how it’ll be? People I don’t know inserting themselves in my life with a familiarity they don’t possess. She doesn’t know my daughter. That much is true by her failure to use her nickname. Plus, I know my daughter better than she expects. That’s the reason I know Pepper hates spending any time with her kid. There will be no playdate this week or the weeks after unless my daughter shows an interest.

For as long as it is taking me to make it out of the den and to the kitchen, you’d think this was some sort of event center and not a house. Handshakes meant to offer support with words intended to give me comfort do neither. All it does is solidify that people want to be seen. To have me see them and remember they were here. For me? For Pepper? For Katie? Not a chance. They are all here for them. Well, most are anyway. Our families and close friends are here for us. Or at least they’re trying to be.

When I finally make it to the kitchen, my lips lift to a grin as I watch my daughter, who is perched on the edge of the large center island, the stuffed bunny she’s been dragging around for weeks tucked under her arm as she licks frosting off a spoon. I wish I had stood up to both her grandmothers this morning and insisted they let her wear her favorite dress. Nobody cares if Pepper is wearing a yellow sundress instead of a drab gray sack they told me was “more appropriate” for the occasion.

Occasion. It’s a fucking funeral. A funeral for hermother.

I walk up to the scene and quirk a brow at my mom. She shrugs and Pepper smiles. It’s the best thing I’ve seen all day. The dimples she inherited from Katie pop, and I can almost ignore the smudges of chocolate all over her face.

“What’s going on here? Are you having dessert before dinner?”

Pep giggles and nods her head before returning her attention back to the spoon.

“Oh leave her be, Ryan. We’re having a bonding moment,” my mom says with a hip check and taking a bite off a spoon of her own.

“Yeah well, I’m the one who is going to have to fight her at bedtime because she’s hopped up on sugar. Did you at least give her some crackers? Maybe a little protein?”

“Your daddy is so uptight, Pepper. How do you tolerate him? She’s eaten and had some milk. In case you’ve forgotten, son, I raised you and your brothers, so I actually have a little experience with children.”

My hand runs across the beard that’s a little longer than I like, a reminder I need to get a trim. I can hear Katie groaning about the facial hair and the familiar tug in my chest resurfaces at the thought of my best friend. Her illness was unexpected and fast progressing. Like most of our relationship, nothing went as expected. Young and healthy, she should have won the battle. She was winning. Until she wasn’t. Until the doctor said the treatment was hurting her more than helping.

I’m lost in my thoughts until I hear the whisper of my favorite title. It isn’t “award winning songwriter” or “country music artist” I love to be called. No, that distinction is for the best and most rewarding position I’ll ever have.Daddy.

Mom’s intake of breath at the sound of my daughter’s voice isn’t surprising. We’ve not heard it much the last several weeks. The more ill her mother became, the less Pepper spoke. I’m the lucky one who gets an occasional “I love you” when I tuck her into bed, but otherwise, she’s withdrawn into herself. I’m reading as much as I can on how best to help her, and for now the recommendation is to let her maneuver through this at herown pace. I’m wrecked at thirty years old after losing Katie, I cannot imagine what my sweet girl is feeling.

“Sorry, Pep. What do you say you and I take off? Head back to the house and get out of these itchy clothes. Maybe watch a movie?”

Her pigtails flip around as she nods in agreement. I scoop her up, my mom stealing the messy spoon and using a wet towel to do a little cleanup. When she’s finished, I dip down, letting her give Pepper a big kiss and hug before doing the same to me.

With the most important thing in my world safe in my arms, we escape through the mudroom and down the drive. Valet seemed excessive at the time but I’m grateful there’s some sort of organization for the parking. A young kid, not much older than I was when Katie and I got married, sees me headed his way and takes off in a jog, presumably to get my truck. I slow my steps so I’m not stuck making small talk with the other attendants.

My stomach grumbles, reminding me I’ve not eaten much today. A little giggle at my ear makes me smile. “Daddy is hungry, baby. Grammy didn’t feed me any frosting.”

Her hold tightens around my neck, and I adjust her a little so I can reach for my wallet. I have no idea the domination of the bill I pass to the kid as he hops down from the driver’s seat. By the look on his face, I’d venture to guess it’s definitely more than five bucks.

Quickly, I settle my girl in her seat and slide behind the wheel. When Katie and I split, it was important to both of us that we live close to one another. Our romance may have fizzled out but our commitment to our daughter and the foundation our relationship was built on remained. We were best friends and each other’s biggest supporters. It’s only a short drive to my house and whether it’s the exhaustion from the day or the warmth of the heater, my sweet girl is asleep before I’m pulling through the gate of my property.

I choose to skip our usual bedtime routine and tuck my girl into bed, her bunny clutched to her chest. The hunger I had only a short while ago is gone and the overwhelming need for a shower and my bed directs the rest of my night. Once I’m settled in my bed, the television volume low, I slide on my reading glasses and open the first page of the binder Katie made. She joked it was everything I would need to care for our daughter from now through the dreaded teenage years.

“She’s four, Katie. I don’t think we need to be thinking about her driver’s license photo.”

Rolling her eyes and shifting, a grimace on her face as she does, I’m rewarded with a huff. “Ryan, if you let our daughter take her driver’s license photo without these guidelines, I will never forgive you. I showed you my picture. It was horrifying. I cannot do that to my child. Promise me.”

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