The "What If" Guy (16 page)

I sat on a bench in the waiting room, closed my eyes, and put my head in my hands. How could this have happened? I remembered my father looking up at me from the bathroom floor, sick and confused, his crystal blue eyes the same shade as mine. He’d known about his diagnoses for a year and had faced his dark descent alone.

Unbearable pressure rose in my chest. I’d spent so much time away from home and lost so much time with my dad. I was finally making a connection with him, as was Elliott, only to watch him die? It was almost too much to take. My shoulders shook as I cried, alone in the hospital waiting room.

§

My dad stayed in the hospital for five days—long enough to drive the nurses crazy. They practically pushed him out the door when I arrived to take him home. He knew his fate. He’d been counseled by the doctors and informed that I knew the details of his condition. We both knew that the only thing we could do was wait for him to die, but we didn’t discuss that. I’d explained the situation to Elliott, as delicately as possible.

The snow kept falling. After living so many years on the western side of the state and getting one or two inches per year, the forty-eight inches we’d had in Fairfield had become completely maddening. It made driving treacherous, walking to work a nightmare, and kept us closed in the house all the time. I was already sick of the snow, and it was only January.

“Hey, Auto?” Dad called from the living room.

I brought his breakfast from the kitchen and set it on a TV tray next to his recliner. His skin still looked yellowed and sallow, and he’d lost at least another five pounds since he’d left the hospital last week. But he’d remained coherent since coming home, and for that, I was grateful. I still had nightmares about those last few minutes before the ambulance had arrived, when my father hadn’t known who I was.

“Thanks, kid.” He took the glass of orange juice off of the tray and gave me a wan smile.

“You’re welcome.” I glanced at Elliott. He stared at his computer screen. His Saturday morning plans to hang out with Garrett and Marshall had been foiled because everyone was freshly snowed in—again. His mood was less than chipper.

“I’m bored.” El rested his chin on his hand.

I picked up my dad’s empty coffee cup and headed back to the kitchen. “I know. Why don’t you turn off the computer and do something else?”

“There’s nothing to do,” he whined.

“Read a book,” I said. “Or go outside and play in the snow.”

He frowned. “It’s cold. And wet. And sucks.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was probably Holly, who’d brought treats every single day since my father’s return, I said, “Don’t move a muscle, boys.”

Of course, they didn’t.

I brushed off the front of my long sweater, then wound my hair into a loose bun before swinging open the front door. Henry stood on the porch in ski pants and a thick, red jacket.

“Hello.” His deep voice rumbled.

All of the air escaped my lungs. He looked edible. “Hi.”

“I heard about your father.” He nodded sympathetically. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s okay, all things considered. Would you like to come in?” I stepped aside to let him pass.

“Sure,” he replied. “Hi, Elliott.”

Elliott looked over his shoulder. “What’s up, Mr. T?”

“Not much.” Henry’s eyes crinkled at the sides. “Hey there, Billy. How are you feeling?”

My dad looked away from the TV. “I’ve been better. Won’t lie. You?”

“I can’t complain.” Henry didn’t move past the small throw rug next to the door. “I don’t want to track snow all over your floors. I just came to see how old Billy was doing, and to ask you and Elliott something.”

“Who you callin’ old?” my dad carped.

Henry laughed, and it made me shiver. “There’s the Billy I know.”

“He never goes away for long.” I gave my dad a wistful smile.

“Whatcha want to ask us?” Elliott whirled around in his chair.

“I ran into Holly at the store. She said you guys were feeling a little bit stir crazy.” He pulled off his ski hat and scratched his head. “Plus, I thought maybe Billy could use an afternoon of quiet.”

My dad nodded firmly. “Auto’s been breathin’ down my neck.”

Henry chuckled. “That’s what I thought.” He turned to me. “Holly said she’d look in on your dad if you and El want to go sledding with me.”

My heart skipped. “With you?”

Henry’s eyes twinkled. “Yeah. I thought it might be fun.”

“I’m in.” Elliott jumped out of his chair and bounded past us in search of his gloves.

Henry leaned toward me and touched my arm. “It’s okay. Holly said she didn’t mind coming by. Take a break.”

“Yeah, Mom, take a break.” El pulled his hat onto his head.

“Okay. But just for a little while.” I grabbed my coat.

“Yes.” Elliott pumped his fist.

“We’ll have fun.” Henry handed me my scarf, my fingers tingling when our hands touched.

Henry took us to the “pit,” a valley toward the edge of town that had once been pea fields, but now served as the Fairfield Little League’s baseball diamond. I’d grown up sledding in the pit every winter, and cheering on games in the diamond every summer. The pit was steep and ice-covered. It would have been safer—not to mention smarter—to sled elsewhere, but it was considered a rite of passage to get a bloody nose in the pit at least once.

We sledded for an hour—just the three of us against the pit. There were other, scattered sledders, but the temperatures were so low, few had dared to hit the hill that day. Henry had brought along two sleds, citing that my old wooden-runner sled was archaic. We took turns riding down the hill. Sometimes Elliott and I went together, chased by Henry. Other times, Elliott took the hill by himself, and Henry and I sped after him. When Henry and I shared a sled, he clutched my waist tightly. Being so close to him made my insides buzz with excitement.

After a while, other kids arrived for sledding. At first, Elliott acted shy, sticking close to me and Henry, casting nervous glances at the other kids. But after a few runs down the hill, he began talking and laughing with the others. He wound up sledding with a boy from his class while Henry and I drank hot chocolate from a thermos he had brought along.

“Elliott’s doing really well at school,” Henry said, as we watched El fly down the hill. “Some of the guys who were bugging him in October are his friends now. The kid he’s sledding with was one of them.”

I narrowed my eyes at the boy, prompting Henry to put his arm around my shoulder. “Whoa there, mama bear. He’s making friends. Relax.”

“Sorry. I’m sort of defensive,” I confessed. “I guess I’m tense.”

He kept his arm around me. “That’s understandable. How have things been going with Billy since he came home?”

I drew in a long, jagged breath, then let it out slowly. “It’s busy. He isn’t working yet, and won’t be until he builds up his strength. Even then, I’m not sure how long he’ll be able to keep his job. He’s on so many medications. I feel responsible for making sure he takes them on time and in the right dosage.”

My throat tightened. “I wake up over and over at night and check on him, to make sure he’s still breathing, that he’s not disoriented again. Then he drinks, and I want to scream. Because it’s killing him. And yet, I wonder if quitting would kill him, too.”

“I’m so sorry.” Henry’s tone was soft and sympathetic.

“No.” My voice quavered. “Don’t do that. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“Autumn, I—”

I wriggled from beneath Henry’s arm. “I’ve spent my whole life being pitied. And I hate it. People have looked at me like an abandoned puppy for years. That’s the reason I left Fairfield in the first place. The person everyone should feel sorry for is my dad, not me.” My voice cracked, and I looked away.

Henry didn’t say anything. He just held his hand out to me. “Come on.”

He led me away from the crowd. We went over to the tree line, about a hundred yards away, brushed the snow from a fallen log, and sat. Unable to fight my tears, I choked and buried my face in my hands. Henry remained quiet while I sobbed, my body shaking, eyes swelling. He sat close, occasionally brushing my hair behind my ear, or wiping away a tear that escaped my cocoon. I hadn’t been aware how badly I’d needed to let it all out. Holly had always said I needed to have a good cry, but I’d never taken her seriously.

I was grateful for Henry’s silent companionship. He couldn’t fix my situation, and didn’t pretend that he could.“I’m sorry.” I sniffled. “I’m usually more put together than this.”

Henry laughed gently. “You haven’t appeared to be put together once since you moved to town.”

I smiled. “I don’t know whether to kick your butt, or agree with you.”

“You have every right to fall apart,” he said. “Your dad is dying. It’s going to be an emotional time.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.” In the distance, Elliott horsed around with his friends. My eyes welled again. “I’ve spent fourteen years ignoring my father. Now I’m back just in time to watch him die.”

“You can’t beat yourself up.” Sadness filled his eyes. “You grew up and went off to have a life. That’s what kids are supposed to do.”

“Yeah, but they’re supposed to visit once in a while. They’re not supposed to turn their backs on their parents.”

“Your father is an alcoholic. I understand why you left. I can’t imagine what it was like for you, growing up.”

I shook my head and snow fell from my hat. “I should have come back more often, spent more Christmases with him. I should’ve brought Elliott here. Hell, I only called once a year. I was a terrible daughter. I’ve lost so much time with him.”

Henry pulled off his gloves, then tenderly grasped my wrist. He peeled off one of my gloves, slowly and methodically. In an instant, I was completely stupefied. Heat rose in my cheeks.

He laced his fingers with mine and squeezed. “You’re a good daughter. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” His eyes locked on mine. “You’re doing a wonderful thing by being here with him. You need to make this time count.”

I couldn’t look away, couldn’t blink. Henry’s gaze held mine, and any effort to break that connection would have been futile. “Henry?” I whispered, sensing the space between us closing.

Henry’s lips parted, but he said nothing. He swept a tear off of my cheek with his thumb. His warm fingertip grazed my skin, and my breath caught. We moved closer. Our noses brushed and my eyelids sank lazily. Henry’s mouth met mine—soft, and warmer than I’d expected in the frigid weather. Our kiss built slowly, from light and delicate, to heavy with anticipation.

We slid backwards into the snow behind the log, out of view of the sledders. Henry cradled my head in the crook of his arm. He kissed along my jaw line to my ear, leaving a trail of electrical sparks.

He wound his arm around my waist and pulled me against his long body, making it easier for his lips to brush my earlobe. My heart surged, and I released a long, shuddering sigh. I pulled him close, bringing his mouth to mine with a pitiful moan.

I wanted to forget everything happening to my father, to feel something besides scared and despondent. I wanted to feel Henry next to me, his weight pressing me into the snow, frazzling my mind until everything my father was going through dissipated, along with all of my guilt.

Henry’s mouth opened against mine, and he deepened our kiss. He moved his hand to my hip, swept over my backside, grazed my thigh, then settled at the back of my knee.

Do it. Do it.
Henry’s whiskers tickled my neck. With one swift motion, he hitched my knee up near his waist, and grasped it tightly.
He did it. He did it.
My eyes rolled back in my head and fireworks exploded in my brain. Henry’s touch made me dizzy, made every single nerve ending in my body spark at once.

“Mom. Where are you?”

I opened my eyes. Henry gazed at me, wide-eyed.

“No, don’t look at me like that.” I tugged at his neck to bring his mouth back to mine. “Don’t stop.”

He cupped my face with his hand. “I’m sorry, Autumn. I didn’t mean to.”

“No.” I said, clinging to his collar. “Mean to,
mean to—
”

“Mom?”

This time Elliott’s voice sounded closer.

Henry looked torn. “El’s looking for you.”

I wanted to be invisible. I wanted the entire world to disappear, so that Henry and I could melt the snow together.

Henry released my leg and sat up. He looked around shamefully, then took my hand. “Come on.”

He helped me up. A frown tugged at his lips and the wrinkle between his eyebrows was back. Why was Henry ashamed of kissing me? Granted, we’d been making out at a kids’ sledding hole, with my son just yards away, but what about the other times we’d kissed? Why was he always so mortified?

“What the heck are you guys doing back there?” Elliott peered at us between the trees.

I faced my son. “Henry lost a glove.” I bent and scooped his gloves out of the dent we’d left in the snow. “Here you go.”

Henry took the glove and blushed. “Thanks.”

“We should check on Grandpa,” El said.

And there it was. Reality came rushing back like one of the sleds speeding into the pit. I needed to get home to look after my sick father. We hiked back to Henry’s truck, both boys chattering about which sled went faster. I cast a longing glance back at the log Henry and I had made out behind.

Why did he keep pulling me closer, then pushing me away?

Chapter Eleven

“You look so cute.” I bit into a muffin and settled back in my chair.

I wasn’t exaggerating. Holly had pulled her hair into low pigtails and wore an oversized men’s dress shirt. The bottom of her shirt stuck out the tiniest bit, highlighting her tiny, protruding belly.

February had come, yet the snow no longer fell in copious amounts. Even so, drifts of dirty snow remained in people’s yards, mountains of it piled between buildings. My dad had gone back to work part-time, but was moved to a desk job, which he constantly complained about. His condition remained debilitating, but now that I was in charge of his medications, his deterioration had slowed. I was thankful for that. Every minute with my dad suddenly counted.