“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.
I wait for her to finish her thought. When she doesn’t, I say, “What do you think your moms—I mean, your mom and Angelina will think?”
Autumn shakes her head, and she looks down at the table between us. “They’re going to be happy. But they’re going to be worried about me.”
“I can see that,” I say.
“Ten minutes!” The nurse shouts from across the room, making us both jump.
We both laugh and fall into silence. She’s looking more alive than at the start of my visit.
“So, uh—” I’m not sure if I should say this, but something is telling me that Finn would want her to know. “Sylvie wanted me to tell you something.”
Autumn looks uncomfortable. She bites her lip, and I hurry my words so she doesn’t think I came here to yell at her for Sylvie.
“She’s glad you’re okay. Or going to be okay.”
Autumn’s face turns from uneasy to skeptical.
“She wanted me to come see you,” I insist. “She wants you to get better.”
Autumn gives me a withering look. If I were lying or exaggerating, I would squirm under her glare. But I’m not.
“I don’t think you get it.” I’m angry, because she should get it. “Just like you need my memories of Finn? The part of him that loved you is still alive as long as you are, Autumn. You almost took another part of Finn away from all of us. So yeah, Sylvie gives enough of a shit to ask me to make sure you’re not determined to take yourself and all your memories of Finn to an early grave. And now that you’re pregnant—” I stop. I’m practically yelling at a pregnant suicidal woman.