“Just go through it,” Lisa said. “If you can. If you don’t feel up to it, that’s fine too. Your grief might be different than mine, and that’s okay.” She drained her glass and patted Willow’s arm. “If you don’t want to take it with you when you leave town, I’ll keep it here since you’re on the road all the time. But he kept a lot of memories of you.” Her lips pursed. “He would have wanted you to have them. To know how much he loved you.”
“I know,” Willow said through a forced smile. “He told me every time he called.”
“Go through the box.” Lisa’s whisper was nearing desperation as car doors slammed outside. “Great,” she groaned. “I thought I had at least twenty more minutes.”
The front door opened and closed, and a white-haired couple let themselves in. The woman looked like Lisa, but she was much older.
“Autumn!” she exclaimed. “Look at you. Prettier every time we see you. Love the hair.” She fluffed the snowy cloud on top of her head. “Do you think I could pull that color off?”
Willow’s expression immediately brightened. “Of course you can."
“Don’t go giving her any ideas, darlin’,” the man wearing a “world’s best granddad” T-shirt said as he gave Willow a one-armed hug. “Congratulations on your last book. You did a super job, kiddo.”
Willow paled. “You didn’t read it, did you?”
“Of course not,” he said with a dry chuckle. “But we bought every copy the store had just so they’d order more."
“Ryan, these are my parents,” Lisa said. “If they feel you’re in need of grandparents, they’ll ceremonially adopt you.”
“We’ve got eighty-six grandbabies,” Lisa’s dad said with a grin.
“And counting!” her mom chimed in.
“I’m an only child who never had kids of her own,” Lisa whispered as loudly as possible. “So they steal other people’s kids.”
“They don’t actually kidnap them,” Willow said.
“Say, Lise,” her mom said. “We stopped at the bookstore to make sure Autumn’s books were displayed with the covers facing out, and I found this little read on grieving.” Sheproduced the paperback and handed it over. “I marked some passages you might want to take a look at.”
Lisa looked at Willow and me and rattled the ice in her empty glass. “I’m going to need another round.”
15
AUTUMN
THE STORYTELLER
“There you are.” Ryan’s footsteps swished through the dry summer grass.
The air hummed with latent energy that was pushed across the breeze by the humidity. Thankfully, the worst of tornado season had passed before Ryan and I showed up in Kansas, but there was always the possibility.
He sat on the patch of grass beside me and rested his elbows on top of bent knees. “I thought I might find you out here.”
The long, graceful branches of the willow tree in Bev’s yard blew in the wind. The leaves whispered their condolences as they rustled in the early evening air. As soon as we had gotten back from Lisa’s, Ryan had to sequester himself to record a podcast episode, so I came out to my favorite spot of all.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
He cocked his head, his dark stubble turning from obsidian to bronze as beams of sunlight cut through the trees. “You’re the storyteller. This is your setting.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “Want to tell me how the story started? Because I think I’ve got the middle and end.”
“You know most of it.”
“You can tell me anyway,” he said gently. “I’d like to hear it if you’re up for it.”
I stared at the box in front of me. I didn’t want to upset Lisa or disrespect her by turning it down, but I didn’t know if I could handle opening it.
“I already told you about the house.”
“Is that why you were upset when Bev said they had to renovate it?”
