If Only I Had Told Her(41)

“I was afraid he would change his mind when he saw her,” Autumn says. I can barely hear her.

“That—no—There’s no way.”

I don’t know how to explain this to her. I don’t know Autumn, not really, and this is such an intimate but vital thing that I need her to understand, for Finn’s sake.

I push past the catch in my throat. “Nope. No way. Autumn, he’s been in love with you for as long as I’ve known him.”

Autumn looks at me with interest but not like she believes me.

I try again. “Like, fairy-tale love? Cartoon character with hearts floating all around him? Or a movie montage with the best song? That’s what you were to him.” I’m sniffling, but I need to finish. “You were the biggest, most impossible dream for him.” I press the tears away with my fingers before they can fall.

“You’re sure?” They sound like the last words she’ll be capable of speaking.

The tears I’d been fighting retreat as quickly as they’d overpowered me, like her mother had told me they would.

“Absolutely,” I say.

Her shoulders relax slightly, and a little bit of tightness leaves her puffy face. I try her mother’s technique.

“Look at me,” I say, trying to sound firm.

She raises her eyes but not her face.

“Finn loved you,” I say, confidently. “He was coming back to you. You can be certain of that.”

“Okay,” she says, but I don’t hear it. Her voice is gone, and I only see it on her lips. Maybe a fraction of a percentage of her devastation has been eased. There’s nothing I can do about the rest of it.

Eventually, I turn on the TV, and we sit in silence.

I wonder how long it takes to formally ID a body and sign papers.

Finn Smith in a morgue. His stupidly long legs and mop of blond hair will never be sweaty from running again. His body is cold.

The body that is Finn and not Finn, because Finn is gone.

I cry for a little bit, discretely brushing away tears and a few sniffles. I’m trying to be quiet, because I’m embarrassed. I stare in the direction of the TV and think I’m doing a pretty good job of hiding my emotion, but right as I’ve caught my breath, Autumn croaks.

“You were a good friend to him.” She was waiting for me to finish. “I’m so glad he had you. You were a better friend than I was for the past few years.” She coughs and strains to speak, then makes a sound like a laugh but maybe not. “The last third of his life,” she finally gets out.

“Are you okay? Are you sick too?” I ask. “Or is that from crying?”

Her eyes get this faraway look, and it scares me somehow.

“I was screaming for a while,” she says. “I was trying to make it not real by not believing it, and screaming worked…for a while.”

I don’t know what to say, but she doesn’t seem to expect an answer. It seems like she’s watching the TV again, but it also looks like she’s been drugged. We’re silent after that.



When their mothers return, I hug Angelina and stay a little while. She looks like she was in a car accident herself, but she’s able to talk to me calmly for a few minutes before I go. Autumn’s mother walks me to the front porch, and she thanks me for staying with Autumn.

“Ms. Davis, uh, is Autumn okay? I mean, none of us are okay, and I’m worried about Angelina too. It’s just—” Suddenly I feel terrible for asking.

“Autumn will be okay, and so will you. We all will be.” She looks at me the way she did when I arrived, but this time, I think she’s trying to convince herself too. “Life can be and often is fiercely cruel,” she continues. “You and Autumn have learned that a little younger than most, but you all, including Finny, would have had to learn it eventually.” Her voice falters. She takes a deep breath and gives me a weak smile. “Angelina and I already knew that about life. She—we’ve—losing a child is the worst, but we’ll survive, because we must. We all will, including Autumn. Including you.”

I nod because she needs me to, not because I agree.

“The arrangements still have to be made, but I’m sure we’ll see you at the wake, Jack,” she says before going inside. “Thanks again.”





two





As I drive to Alexis’s house, a strange thing happens. It’s like I’m watching myself. It’s not an out-of-body experience; I can’t see myself, but I don’t make choices or feel any emotions. Everything I do is automatic and remote.

It isn’t until after I’ve parked that I see that the street is crowded with cars. I’ve parked a few houses down from my normal spot.

I don’t recognize the girl with the tear-streaked face who answers the door and points to the basement before heading to the bathroom. I guess she doesn’t recognize me either.

In the basement there is, indeed, a strange, sad party of sorts going on, with so many more people than I would have thought. There is crying, and there is alcohol and weed mixed in with the crying, even though it’s only noon, even though Alexis’s parents could theoretically come home from work early and catch us all.

I wish I could tell Finn how seeing the foosball table makes me want to fall to my knees and sob, because he would think it was funny and make a joke about the times he kicked my ass on it. But if I could tell Finn anything at all, then it would be a meaningless foosball table. We’d never think of that table again after next year. Now I want to both kiss that foosball table and set it on fire so no one else can touch it since Finn’s gone.