From the window above the kitchen sink, I watch her walk to the grill, and after what I think is probably enough time, I follow.
"Do you need help with the fish?" I ask, coming up to stand beside her at the grill. She has set the tray on the small attached workspace and is folding the foil around the salmon so it creates something like a pillow. My guess is that she brought me out here to talk about what happened last night, but I'm not sure how to start the conversation.
"I'm sorry," she says, not looking at me. She sets the foil packet on the heated grill. "I freaked out and took off last night."
Wow. An apology from Autumn Cummings. Never thought those words were capable of leaving her lips. She picks up a pair of tongs and uses them to push the foil to the center of the grill before stepping back. I reach around her and push the lid down over the grill to be helpful.
"I understand," is all I say as I watch her toss the tongs on the now-empty tray. "But I was disappointed." I'd wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her, make her listen to what I have to say. I’ve waited a fucking decade to speak and she still hasn’t let me.
"I didn't know what to say or do after … you know." Pink blooms on her cheeks. "It was just so unexpected. I still can't believe I let it happen like that."
I still can't believe I let it happen like that.My stomach drops in my gut. That sounds like regret. Or embarrassment that we let our passions get the better of us?
I study her profile as she stares out into the yard. Clearly there is still attraction between us, as strong as it ever was, maybe even stronger now. "Don't be embarrassed, Autumn. I … liked it." What a lame way to finish a sentence. I want to tell her that I didn't justlikeit. Ilovedmaking her come apart at the seams, knowing it was me who was taking her on that ride.
She eyes me. "It’s backwards…” she says and I get her meaning. “I don't know what to say or do now either."
"Neither do I." I rub my eyes, the exhaustion of the day creeping in.
"Did you have a bad day?"
My hands run through my hair. "No. Not really a bad day. Just a hard one."
"Why was it hard? Because … it was a kid?"
"Because the patient was a ten-year-old girl."
“Oh.” Not just any kid, a kid the exact age ours would be.
Her lower lip trembles. A few seconds later, tears well up in her eyes. "Is it always like that for you? When it's a child" she asks. She is trying so hard to be brave, to stumble through the anguish that still plagues us both.
"Yes. You?"
"I don't have much interaction with children. But yes, sometimes it happens."
We look into each other's eyes, and the stare is full of everything we've been holding back. We've held it in for years, knowing it lies dormant, resurrected only by one another.
"I'm so sorry," Autumn says, a guttural sob escaping her. Her shoulders slump and her head dips.
I rush in, wrap my arms around her. "I'm sorry too, Autumn. So sorry. I was just a kid. What I said—"
She shakes her head against my chest. "Please don't go there right now, Owen. I can't take it." She sniffles and wipes her eyes, taking a step back. "Maybe we can talk on your next day off? I'm sure we have an audience right now."
I look over and Faith darts away from the window.
I frown. "You're right, we do."
She smiles ruefully. "My mom is dying to know what happened between us."
"Do you think you'll ever tell her?"
Autumn sighs. "Maybe one day."
"She might take it better than you think."
"You think you know my mom pretty well, don't you?" A defensive tone creeps into her voice. It's the same tone she uses every time she thinks I'm insinuating I know her mom better than she does.
"I know her well enough to know she has lightened up a lot over the years,” I tell her.
