The "What If" Guy (25 page)

I smiled despite myself. “It just feels like the bottom is going to fall out from under me. I mean, Henry loves me again.”

“He doesn’t love you
again
,” she said. “It seems he never stopped.”

I quit pretending to dust and wrapped my arms around myself. “So it seems.”

Holly’s eyebrows went up. “Does this mean you’re staying in Fairfield?”

I scrunched my face. I’d known that question was coming. It was the elephant-in-the-corner the whole time I’d been with Henry. “I don’t really know.”

“You don’t know?”

My stomach twisted. “I don’t know what will happen. I only planned on staying as long as—”

Holly’s expression turned serious. “Your dad lives.”

“There’s no telling how long that will be.” I swallowed. “He’s doing okay, but he isn’t recovering. We’ve just slowed down the death process for now.”

Holly shuddered. “Okay. So what happens after the
process
is finished?”

“I planned on going back to Seattle, finding a job there.” I feigned indifference.

“But you’re with Henry now.”

“Yes.”

“So…”

“So, I don’t know. I want to wait and see what happens.” I sprayed the glass countertop with Windex. “I’m going to live in the moment. And I can’t wait to hear from him again.”

“Here you go, Holly.” Helen stepped over and handed Holly her prescription. “Don’t let your prescription run out next time. Call me, and I’ll drop it off for you.”

“Thanks, Helen.” Holly hoisted herself off of the stool. “Bye, Autumn. You look great. Keep up the good work.” She winked at me and headed for the door, waving at Doris as she went.”

After waving—and blushing—I put away the Windex and stomped to the back for the mop.

“Autumn Cole.”

I turned to see a familiar face. “Mayor Driscoll, hello.” Surprised, I stuck out my hand to the six-foot-four mayor, who grinned at me. “How are you?”

Mayor Driscoll shook my hand. “Doin’ just fine. How’s your dad?”

“He’s doing well. He takes all of his medications when I tell him to, and even uses his oxygen without being nagged.”

His laughter boomed through the shop. “That’s good news.”

Doris slinked around the end of an aisle, pretending to restock the toilet paper.

“Say, Auto, I saw that mural you painted in Layla’s house. It’s wonderful. The wife can’t stop talking about it.”

“Really?” I asked, astonished. “Thank you.”

“Several members of the Flag Day committee have been up to Layla’s house to see it. They all love it.” He scratched his beefy hand across his neck, rumpling the collar of his plaid shirt. “We’ve been discussing it at length during the meetings. This Flag Day will be our
one hundredth celebration. It’s going to be very exciting. We’re having an Air Force flyover before the parade, and more dances and shows and booths than ever.”

I wasn’t sure how that pertained to me. “That sounds great.”

“We’ve been looking for a way to permanently commemorate the occasion. The committee considered a statue of some sort, but there weren’t any local artists or sculptors that we could commission. We wanted to stay local. When my wife saw your mural at Layla’s house, she suggested something.”

“What’s that?” I thought I could hazard a guess, of course, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself.

“The outside wall on the east side of the post office is an eyesore,” he said. “The city intended to paint it this spring, but since it’s so visible right there in the center of town, we figured maybe you could paint it.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from squealing.

“We know it’s a big job.” He stopped me before I could shout
yes
. “The committee has a budget of four thousand dollars set aside for this commemoration, plus the cost of supplies. Would that be an amount you’d be willing to work for?”

Be cool, Autumn. Act like a hip artist, not like a hysterical geek.

“I think I could manage something. What subject matter were you thinking of?” My voice came out an octave lower than usual.

“We’re not really sure. Obviously something patriotic. Something that commemorates our heritage, the farming community, the families. You get the drift.”

I thought for a moment. “Maybe something with wheat fields in the background. And we’d want to show the camaraderie between families here, right?”

The mayor looked pleased. “That’s exactly right. We have a meeting early next month. Could you have a few sketches to show us by then?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. I’ll bring them, and we can pick one, or pick a mixture of a few. When can I get started?”

“We’ll unveil the mural at the Flag Day celebration. I imagine we’ll need you to start immediately after the next meeting. That gonna work for you, Doris?” He called over his shoulder to Doris, who beamed at me from behind the mayor’s back.

She didn’t seem to care that she’d been busted eavesdropping. “I think we can manage to spare her for a few hours here and there, on accounta it’s for Flag Day.”

The mayor stuck out his beefy hand and shook mine so hard that my arm popped. “We are so proud you’re doing this for Fairfield.”

“Well, thank you right back.” My heart thudded happily.

He moved to the door. “I can’t wait to tell my wife. We’ll be in touch.”

“Sounds good.”

As soon as the door swung closed behind him, I turned to Helen and Doris, and whooped. I’d just been hired to paint a mural on the side of the post office. Everybody who came and went through town would see my work. They’d been searching for an artist, and they’d hired me.

“Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe it.” I danced around. “My second job as a paid artist.”

“Well, believe it.” Helen laughed. “They wouldn’t hire just anybody to paint the post office, you know.”

“That’s right.” Doris pushed up her glasses on her nose. “There was that one artist based in Rockford that they turned down. Said he was too questionable.”

Helen leaned toward me. “Some of his paintings had
penises
in them,” she mock whispered.

“I see. Well, we can’t have penises in the Flag Day mural, can we?” My chest swelled while I did the math in my head. A few more jobs like this, and I would have plenty of money to move back to Seattle.

Eventually.

After all, Elliott was doing well in school and had plenty of friends, thanks to his big heroics in the lunchroom. And I didn’t want to leave my dad. Not before…well, not yet, anyway. Plus, Holly would have her baby soon, and she’d need help with the kids.

And there was Henry.

My heart skipped. He’d wormed his way back into my heart. Scratch that. Henry had never left my heart. And now I had him again. Or at least I thought I did.

The bell above the door rang, and Doris and Helen gasped. I snapped my head up in time to be presented with an ornate vase, dripping with color, filled with a grand arrangement of at least three dozen purple and white calla lilies. My stomach whirled.

I looked down, saw two black Converse sneakers, then peered around the edge of the arrangement. “Elliott?” I giggled, taking the arrangement from him.

The sight of my son’s messy hair and glasses warmed my heart. “Mr. T came to the house and asked me to help him deliver these.”

“I see.” I kissed El’s head. “Is he still outside?”

“Naw. He said he would be by tonight. Said he was making us dinner. Chili and biscuits.”

The whirling in my stomach turned into a full-fledged tornado. “He did?”

Elliott gazed at the arrangement with wide eyes. “Are you dating my teacher?”

Helen and Doris clapped their hands over their mouths to stifle their giggles.

“Uh, you see, I—”

Elliott scrunched his face. “It’s a yes or no question.”

I nodded. “Yes. I am dating Mr. Tobler.”

He thought about it for a moment, fingering a stem of one of the lilies. “Do I have to call him Mr. Tobler when he comes over?”

“No. You may call him Henry. But at school, he’s Mr. T.”

El shrugged. “Well, it beats you dating a guy in prison.”

“What?”

“Luke Englebright’s mom met a dude who was in prison,” Elliott explained. “She wrote to him for two years. When he got out, he stole their couch.”

“It’s true,” Helen jumped in. “He robbed her blind. They found the couch shredded on the side of highway five.”

“Gracious.” I closed my eyes. “Alright, El. Does this mean you’re okay with me dating Mr., uh, Henry?”

Elliott shrugged. “Sure, why not? He’s cool. And it’s good to see you not alone.”

I smiled at my son, his approval soaking into my heart and warming it like a fuzzy sweater. He left to play in the park until my shift was over. I opened the card attached to the flowers and turned away from Doris and Helen.

Autumn,

Thanks for the wonderful date last night. I look forward to spending much more time with you and your family. And no, I don’t regret one second of it. Come home hungry tonight. I’m cooking dinner.

All my love,

H.

“He’s a keeper,” Doris said, reading over my shoulder.

I was too in love to care that she’d read my card. I sighed happily. “I know.”

Chapter Nineteen

By May, Henry had become a fixture in our little home.

Every evening after I got off work at the pharmacy, he met me at home for dinner with my father and Elliott. We sat around the beat-up Formica table, talking while we ate. It was strange for Elliott to have his history teacher at the dinner table with us, but by the time May flowers bloomed all over town, he’d adapted to Henry’s presence. My father accepted Henry in his typical brash way—throwing insults, occasionally swearing at him, and often answering most of his questions with grunts.

Henry had become part of the family.

As for the two of us? We were working out just fine, as if thirteen years had never passed. Henry always excused himself politely around eight or nine at night, offered Elliott a high five and a handshake to my father, then went back to his house. We didn’t want to make Elliott uncomfortable, so we kept our displays of affection to a minimum, unless we were alone. I snuck out of the house, occasionally, after everyone was asleep, walked to Henry’s house to spend the night, then walked back home and crawled into bed before my dad and Elliott woke up.

Those nights were pure bliss.

§

“Oh, come on.” Elliott scooped a third helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “You don’t think that’s hokey?”

“No, I do not think it’s hokey.” I ignored Henry and my father’s snickers coming from across the table. “The Flag Day committee chose the design for the mural because it embodied community and citizenship.”

Elliott shifted his eyes to his grandpa. “Sounds like a cheese fest, huh?”

My dad choked on his food. “Pretty weenie, Auto.”

“Argh.” I rolled my eyes. “You boys are impossible. Pass me the mashed potatoes.”

Henry handed me the bowl with a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t matter how cheesy it is, your work will be exquisite.”

“Thanks.” I tasted the potatoes. “You weren’t kidding. These are tasty.”

“Told you.”

“Well, Elliott’s on his third helping, and that says a lot. He’s been talking about Holly’s mashed potatoes since November.”

My dad nudged El. “Maybe we’ll get some meat on those bones.”

Elliott blushed. “You’re one to talk.”

The two of them swatted at each other’s arms a few times, and Henry covered my hand with his on the tabletop.

“So when will you start painting?” Henry asked, squeezing my fingers. “We’re already halfway into May, and Flag Day is June fourteenth. You’re running out of time.”

“I’ll go into Spokane tomorrow to pick up the supplies and paints. Then, I’ll be at the post office every day, working on the mural as soon as the sun hits the wall and dries the dew.”

Elliott squared his shoulders. “Everyone at school is talking about it. Miss Price wants me to take pictures on my cell phone to sneak a peek for her.”

“Miss Price needs to wait like the rest of us.” My dad pushed away his plate of barely-eaten food. “Auto’s gonna make this town proud.”

“I hope so. It’s not going to be easy, and I’ll be at the post office until dark every night until it’s done.” I looked at my dad’s yellowed hands, and took a deep breath. “You’ve been getting pretty disoriented in the evenings. I’m worried about not being here.”

“I’ll be here.” Elliott said. “I can help him.”

Henry adjusted in his chair. “And I will, too.”

My dad looked at him in surprise. “You don’t gotta do that. I’m just tired these days.”

The look on his face said otherwise. My father was well aware of his deteriorating health. We’d talked about the measures he wanted me to take to sustain his life if he took a turn for the worse—none. The only thing he’d expressed emphatically was that he didn’t want to die alone in a hospital room.

I thought I could grant him that one wish.

“Of course not.” Henry spoke quickly. “But I don’t have cable at my house, so I miss all the good games. If I come here after work, I can teach Elliott how to make mashed potatoes and watch the games with you.”

My dad knew what he meant. He stared at Henry for a beat, frowning, then snapped, “Mooch.”

Henry grinned. “You got me.”

“What makes you think I want to learn how to make mashed potatoes?” Elliott licked his fork.

I raised an eyebrow at my son. “You just had four helpings, El. You’d better learn to make them for yourself, if you want to keep up that potato habit.”

“I was thinking that we could work on your cello during the afternoons, too,” Henry said, stabbing a bite of salad with his fork. “I don’t get to spend much one-on-one time with you at strings after school. I’m thinking the Spokane Junior Symphony might be in your future. Tryouts are in September. If we start working now, we can get a selection down pat. You have to play from memory at the auditions. I think you can do it, Elliott. I really do.”

El’s cheeks became pink. “I don’t practice here as much as I did in Seattle. I would have to practice a lot. And I would have to come up with a cool piece to play. I mean, a
really
cool piece.”