“I don’t know,” I answer. “But I knew Autumn wasn’t.” I take a deep breath. “Maybe we’re on our way to being okay. When I saw Autumn, I could tell she wasn’t on her way. I should have said something to Angelina or her mom.”
I hear Sylvie breathing. I’m still watching the leaves in the wind. All the trees are starting to turn color.
“Why does it bother me so much?” Sylvie asks. “That she did that? Sure, I’m not a monster like Taylor thought, but why do I care so fucking much about whether Autumn Davis lives or dies?”
“Because Finn would want her to live.”
“Yeah,” Sylvie whispers. And then, “What if she tries it again? Statistically, there’s a good chance of that.”
“I’ll tell her not to,” I say, as if it’s as simple as that, but hey, maybe it is? “I’ll tell Autumn that Finn would want her to live.” Something relaxes in my shoulders as I hear the words aloud. “I was just there, but I can go home again this weekend. Besides, my brothers and I have a bet about whether I can get my dad to go to the art museum.”
“That’s weird,” Sylvie says. “But thank you. I’ll be honest. If you didn’t offer, I was going to guilt you into it. I don’t think she’d want to see me.”
“If I didn’t offer, then I should have been guilted,” I say. “I’m telling you, Sylv, I really should have said something after I saw her last weekend.”
Sylvie pauses and then says carefully, “There’re always things that we could have done differently. What matters is what we do now.”
It was the rain’s fault.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re right.”
eighteen
I thought a mental hospital would be a stately building at the end of a long driveway with a big green lawn, like in movies, but it’s simply another wing at the hospital. It has its own front desk, waiting room with vinyl seats, and watercooler.
When I approach the desk and ask about Autumn, the nurse looks doubtful, like maybe he should send me away, but he says visiting hours start in forty minutes. The staff will give my name to Autumn.
“I’ll let you know if she doesn’t want to see you.”
The nurse pauses to gauge my reaction. When I shrug, he seems satisfied and goes out a door behind the desk.
I sit down in one of the chairs to wait. Its possible Autumn won’t want to see me. I suppose if I’d thrown a fit about it, it would be a sign I wasn’t someone who should see a patient.
When the nurse returns, he says, “You’re on her approved visitors list now, but you still have to wait another half hour.” He eyes the bag in my hand. “Is that for her?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to have to go through it. And she can’t have a plastic bag. I’ll give you a paper one.”
I pass him the bag and am grateful that I took out the condoms before coming. He roots around, looking for drugs or a knife, I guess. I think about the plastic bag being a danger to Autumn.
The nurse dumps the bag’s contents into a paper sack and hands it to me. I smile and say thanks. This must be a tense place to work.
The half hour goes by quickly, because I’m trying to figure out what to say to Autumn. The waiting room fills with other visitors, but the room stays silent. Before I’m ready, the nurse tells us that we can follow him, and we’re led to what looks like a school cafeteria.
The other visitors seem to know the drill, and everyone sits down at their own table. I pick one and look around the room. It even smells like a school cafeteria. There’s a beep and a dull thud. A different set of doors opens.
Autumn emerges from the group of strangers. I watch her scan the tables before she sees me. Her blank expression doesn’t change as she starts toward me.
“Hi.” She slips into the chair across from me.
“Hey,” I say. “Um, how are you?”
She looks like a store mannequin modeling baggy clothes.
“Even on a regular day, I’ve never known how to answer that question.”
She doesn’t look at me but up and over my shoulder, as if the answer is in the air.
“I think most people lie,” I tell her.
Autumn doesn’t smile, but her shoulders relax a bit, and she starts to look more like herself, so I continue.
“Everyone always says they’re fine. Everyone can’t be fine all the time. We all just pretend it’s true.”
“I guess I’m not good at pretending,” she says.
“Maybe you used to be too good at pretending.”
Autumn cocks her head to the side.
I try to untangle my thoughts. “Finn talked about you being depressed, and I could never see it. No one at school could. I thought he was—or you were—”
Am I seriously about to tell her that up until Finn died, I thought she was a fake?
“I’m pregnant,” Autumn blurts out.
We stare at each other.
What?
“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. It’s hard to think about anything else.”
“And Finn—”
“Of course.”
I burst out laughing, which is probably better than calling her fake, but still. She looks confused and perhaps even alarmed, so I try to explain.
“I cleaned out Finn’s car for Angelina, and this was under the seat. He bought this stuff right before—” I clear my throat and push the bag across the table toward her. “I thought you should have this. I probably should have given this to you then. Sorry.” I pause. “It’s more proof that he was coming back to you.”
Autumn reaches out and touches the bag but doesn’t open it.
“I laughed because, well, if you look at the receipt, he bought some—” I give up.
She opens the bag and touches the candy in a way that makes me think of his mother. She glances at me and takes out the receipt. She scans it and laughs too.
Then she blushes, and I look away. When I glance back, she’s stroking the candy packets tenderly.
“That’s a lot of candy,” I say.
“There’s only one place that sells these. Finny never liked that gas station. He only went there to get these for me. Maybe he was trying to avoid it for a while.”
“Why didn’t he like it?”
“I don’t know.” Autumn pauses, then picks up a packet and opens it.
“Maybe he thought it was unsafe for some reason?” I venture. “You know how safety conscious he was.”
Autumn pauses with the candy dipstick in her hand. “I never thought of Finny that way, but I suppose you’re right.” I’m honestly stunned until she says, “I always thought of him as protective.”
It makes sense, the way we’re seeing the same trait through our different lenses.
“Have you told his mom yet?” I ask.
Autumn shakes her head. “You’re the first person I told. I found out a week ago. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” She’s finally dipping the stick in her candy powder and stirring it slowly.
“But you’re going to make a go of it and all that?”
“Yeah, I want to have it. I don’t know what I’d do if Finny were alive though.” She puts the candy stick in her mouth and gazes at the table. She sort of laughs and shrugs.
She’s pregnant. Autumn’s going to have Finn’s baby.
Finn’s baby.
“Well, if you are going to be around St. Louis still, when I’m home, maybe I can help or visit. Finn’s baby.”
Autumn smiles. The mannequin look is gone. “You were important to Finny. I’m going to need—”
She looks away.
I try to anticipate her answer. Diapers? Rides?
“I’m going to need people to tell stories about Finn, and I’m going to need a copy of every picture you have.”
I’m thinking about all the people crying at Finn’s funeral. Of his mom saying that it was proof of the mark he’d made.
“Yeah.” In my mind, I start to make a list of people to ask about pictures. Everyone I’d seen at the wake, at Alexis’s party. The time to ask people for stories is now. While the details are fresh. While the grief is still fresh. “There’re some people I can call too,” I say. “And down the line, if you need diapers or…”
“I don’t know what I’ll need,” Autumn says. “Parents always seem to need…everything…”
She’s gazing over my shoulder again, like a list of baby items is floating in the air behind me.