Page 18 of Unnatural
He met her eyes, seeming surprised that she’d spoken so many words. He ran a hand through his brown hair with gray at his temples and stared at her for a moment, obviously working out why she’d asked. He looked away and scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I stayed current with the paperwork, the inspections…I don’t even know why.” He sighed, looking off out the window. “Maybe because Allie’d wanted it, and to let it lapse felt like…” He pressed his lips together obviously at a loss.
“Letting her down?” Autumn asked quietly.
His eyes widened, and she saw a glint of gratitude in his expression. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. I couldn’t do that. I wasn’tready.”
I wasn’t ready.It’d been two years, and still, he hadn’t been ready to let his dead wife’s dream die along with her. Autumn felt a catch in her heart.
“Truth is,” he said on a small chuckle that was short-lived, “I suppose I didn’t expect anything—anyone—to come of it at all.” His features contorted slightly into a wince, and his eyes moved over her face, maybe wondering if he’d insulted her. But he hadn’t. Autumn found she felt more comfortable in his presence with every honest word. “There’s not much use in the foster care system for a fifty-one-year-old single man who works odd hours.”
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I build furniture.”
Autumn glanced around, looking more closely at all the beautiful furniture she’d noticed on the way in. “Did you—” She used her finger to gesture from one piece to another.
“Most of it,” he said. “I built the things Allie wanted. I’d never really built furniture for my own home before.”
“Why?”
“Oh, you know, the cobbler’s children syndrome, I guess.” When she stared at him blankly, he chuckled. “It’s a proverb that just means people don’t usually benefit from the product of their own trade.” He looked behind her and tipped his chin. “It looks like there’s quite a sunset happening out there. Do you want to check it out?”
She turned around, giving it a brief glance. “Sure,” she said, getting up and walking with him to the front porch. The sky in front of them blazed deep pink and fiery red.
They stood there for a moment before Bill looked away from the sky and turned to her. “I figure we’re both out of our element here, Autumn. And we’re both searching forsolid footing. What I’d like to start with is this: in that search, we tell each other how we feel, because neither of us is a mind reader. At least I’m assuming you’re not.”
Autumn managed a small laugh and felt a loosening inside. “I’m not.” She held out her hand, and he took it. “Deal.”
He smiled as they shook. “Deal.” They both let go, Bill turning back to the sky.
Autumn ran her hand along the rocker next to her, glancing at the one beside it. They were beautiful, just like the things inside. Bill had made these. She knew without even asking. She took a few steps and then sat down in it, moving it back and forth. The sun lowered. The earth felt still and peaceful.
Could this feel like my home too?
Home.A real one.
She pushed the question aside. She didn’t dare answer it. Not yet. Still, she’d enjoy the feel of sitting on this porch with this man who was obviously kind, watching the setting sun. Moments. It was all she’d ever had. If anything good had come from being sick all her life, Autumn knew how to enjoy them.
As she sat there, the picture ofhim, her moonlight monster, flashed in her mind’s eye. She’d lost him too, hadn’t she? She’d lost the opportunity to find out more about what was going on at Mercy Hospital.No, I won’t let it go. I’ll figure something out. Maybe this man will even help me.But that remained to be seen.
Bill took the seat next to her. She looked over at him, and he met her gaze, his eyes moving from her to the rocker he’d built for his wife with his own two hands, giving a small, sad smile and a nod. “Okay then,” he said quietly asthough accepting the fate he’d been handed rather than the one he had planned.
Chapter Eleven
Nine Years Later
Autumn smiled as she stepped from the car, the sun streaming through the trees and hitting her face. The leaves crunched beneath her feet as she headed toward the small blue house, rapping twice on the door.
It was only a minute before it was pulled open, the old woman standing there in a faded red robe, her hair in tight curlers. “Autumn.”
“Hello, Ms. Hastings,” Autumn greeted, stepping forward and giving the dour old woman a quick hug. Ms. Hastings appeared momentarily stunned, and Autumn used the opportunity to breeze past her into the tidy house with the paisley sofa and a fireplace mantel full of framed photographs, none of which were current.
“They didn’t tell me the house calls were going to continue indefinitely,” Ms. Hastings mumbled as she followed Autumn’s lead to the porch at the back of thehouse where the TV was still on, a panel of highly made-up, coiffed women drinking their coffee and solving the world’s problems, or at least the “problems” of those who carried thousand-dollar purses and made weekly visits to the spa. Autumn switched it off. Ms. Hastings took her customary seat in the well-worn velvet recliner, sighing as she sank down into it.
“Not indefinitely,” Autumn said. “Only as long as it’s determined you need them.” Autumn dropped her purse and medical bag, shrugging out of her sweater and grabbing the instruments she needed.
“Determined by whom?” Ms. Hastings grumped.
“Determined by me, your nurse and healthcare professional.”
