"Hello," he nods at me, and it occurs to me that although I remember him, he probably doesn't remember me.
"Owen Miller." I extend a hand. "I'm Faith's oncologist."
He grins at Faith. "Look at you, getting house calls. You must be special." He winks at her and she laughs. It's not her real laugh, but a ghost version of something that used to be full-bodied and alive.
The room gets quiet, and it hits me that the pastor and Faith are waiting for me to leave. "Autumn, isn't there a smoothie out there with my name on it?" I ask her.
She grips the doorframe with one hand and leans around it. "Yes. Mom, I'll put yours in the fridge."
We walk out to the kitchen and Autumn hands me the drink. Even though it's hotter than the surface of the sun outside, we take our drinks out back and sit in the shade.
Despite the heat, Autumn sits beside me, tucked into the crook of my arm. She talks about Livvie's idea of the bookstore, and how Livvie called while she was making our smoothies to tell her it's a go. I’m so damn happy that she’s found something she will love to do with her career here in Sedona. Absentmindedly, I stroke her arm while she talks.
"Can you believe it?" she asks, incredulous. The question doesn't really require an answer. "What if I'd said yes to Jeanne? How would I have talked my way out of that one?"
"Good thing you said no."
"I talked to her just before Livvie called, and I told her in no uncertain terms that I am passing up the opportunity and that’s final." She shakes her head, the straw resting against her lower lip. "I think she was genuinely surprised, even though I'd already told her once." She sighs and shrugs. "I guess I should appreciate the tenacity."
"That's one way to look at it."
Autumn's head turns, her gaze finding Faith's bedroom window. The drapes were open when I went in, but with the screen on the window and our angle across the yard, we can't see in.
"I know you said three months, but…"Autumn draws an invisible pattern on the outside of her cup. "Do you still think that?"
Autumn needs the truth, but I'm reluctant to give it. There is no real way to know, but there are signs … and Faith is showing them. "I can't say precisely, but it won't be much longer."
I hear the intake of her breath, I feel the movement of her shoulders. "God, Owen, this is terrible. Knowing it’s coming, waiting for something horrible to happen… it’s—" Her voice shakes.
I set down my cup on the table in front of us and wrap her in my arms. I'm ready for her tears, but they don't come. Maybe she is cried out, drained on the inside, nearly numb from the grief process that has already begun.
I hold her until Pastor Greg opens the back door. He stops there for a moment and opens his mouth, but something gives him pause. Perhaps it's Autumn with her head on my chest, or both of us with our feet propped up on the table. He steps outside and clears his throat.
“I’m going to get going now, Autumn, but please call me if you need anything.”
Autumn pulls herself away from me and stands, going to him. “I will. Thank you, Pastor.”
They gaze at each other for a few moments and I wonder how close they are. I know Faith has been taking Autumn to church but this seems like more … like they share something deeper. Maybe it’s just a mutual respect and love for Faith.
“See you at church on Sunday?” He gives an encouraging grin. Without her mother going, Autumn hasn’t been going either.
She laughs nervously. “Sure … see you Sunday.”
She watches him go and there’s a look on her face, like she’s trying to figure something out. I stand and wrap my arms around her.
"The nurse will be here soon. We can run out. Grab something to make for dinner." I brush a hand through her hair as I talk.
"That sounds good." Autumn pushes up, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. "I'm going to check on my mom, then get changed. I'm sweaty." She makes a face and I pinch my nose, pretending she smells. It works. She laughs, just a small chuckle, and playfully shoves my arm.
When the nurse arrives, we step out to the grocery store. Autumn picks out what's needed to make baked ziti and gets started in on the recipe. Cooking and cleaning have been her go-to methods of dealing with stress. I’m not complaining, but I have gained a few pounds.
"My mom's favorite," she explains, and I don't remind her that I already know. Faith has ordered it dozens of times or made it for me on our Monday night dinners.
I came back to Sedona after med school, still a lost and broken boy. Broken by her daughter, by our choice. My father doesn’t have an emotional bone in his body, so Faith took me in. She loved me, listened to all my worries, and made me family.
She saved me.
And I couldn’t save her. It will haunt me for the rest of my life.
