THIRTY

“Who was that guy?” Claire asked as soon as Autumn walked in the door.

It was late. Trent was gone. Except for the flickering light of the television, the apartment was dark. And Claire was unfolding herself from the couch, wearing pink-striped pajama pants and fuzzy slippers. “Was it who I think it was?”

“Who do you think it was?”

“The Marriage Doctor.”

Autumn’s clothes had mostly dried, but her hair was still damp. And probably a frightening mess. “His name is Paul Elliott.”

“What was he doing here?”

“We were supposed to do his interview for the tribute today. Things got messed up, and he wanted to apologize.” Autumn slipped off her shoes and set them neatly under the entryway table. She needed a hot shower, and her pillow. And time to herself.

But Claire followed her down the hallway. “And then what?”

“Then nothing.” Autumn stepped into the bathroom and got to work unraveling the hairband from her hair. It had gotten all tangled.

“So what have you been doing this whole time? It was pouring outside.”

Autumn yanked the hairband free. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

Claire crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Please tell me you weren’t visiting cemeteries again.”

This came as a shock.

Partly because Autumn didn’t know Claire was aware of her cemetery visits. Mostly because it was the middle of May, and she hadn’t gone yet. The monthly ritual had slipped right by—a realization that felt profound. Significant somehow. Only Claire didn’t give her a chance to process any of it.

“Were you?”

“No, I was…” Playing basketball in the rain and eating ice cream with Paul. Autumn couldn’t say those words. Not out loud. They were too ludicrous. And yet this was exactly what she’d done.

After the bout of intense seriousness, wherein she told him about gymnastics and her mother, their conversation turned to light things. Safe things. Inconsequential, amicable things. Like books and hobbies, their mutual unwavering affection for the White Sox, random pet peeves.

Apparently, Paul couldn’t stand the smell of mustard.

He had visceral reactions anytime he was around it. So much so that he refused to buy any at the grocery store, even though it was his son’s condiment of choice. Autumn told him that she lost her mind anytime someone started to smack their gum. It was like every other sound in the world stopped but that one. Once, when she was studying for an intense college final, a girl next to her in the library was smacking so loudly and for so long that she ended up yelling, “Spit it out! For the love of God, just spit it out!”

Paul found that story particularly amusing.

For a couple of glorious hours, she forgot who she was and who he was. They had talked for so long that the baby-faced employee started mopping the floor around their feet. They took the hint, and Paul walked her home.

“You were what?” Claire asked, an exasperated edge to her words.

“We were hanging out.”

Her eyes widened. “With Paul?”

“Yes.”

“That was a long apology.”

Autumn sat on the toilet seat lid and got to work peeling off her socks, trying to ignore her sister’s prodding stare.

“Are you two…?”

The innuendo in Claire’s voice had Autumn adamantly objecting.

“Hey, stranger things have happened. And I wouldn’t blame you. He definitely has that whole sexy brooding thing going for him.”

“He lost his wife.”

“Over a year ago.”

“So what—the timetable for grief is up? He should just forget her?”

“Come on, Autumn. A man like that isn’t going to stay single forever. I’m sure his wife wouldn’t have even wanted him to.”

Autumn glared at her sister. How could she presume to speak for Vivian Elliott? Claire didn’t know Vivian. She didn’t know the first thing about her. “I’m helping him and his daughter pay tribute to his late wife. That’s all.” Her words came out low and clear. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a shower.”

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Dear Autumn,

Have you ever heard of scotomaphobia? It’s a fear of being blind. I think I have it because today at school, I had a panic attack.

Mrs. Hayes told us to partner up, and then she handed each partner pair a scarf. I don’t know if she owns all those scarves herself or if she borrowed some from other teachers or what. But she had enough for everyone and even some extra left over.

One person was supposed to wear the scarf like a blindfold while the other person led them around the school without touching. Mrs. Hayes was very adamant that we couldn’t physically direct our partner. We had to tell each other what to do, and we weren’t allowed to stand around. We had to move. Everyone was pretty excited because we got to leave the classroom.

Mia and I were partners, and she went first. I tied this bluish-green scarf around her eyes and waved my hands around to make sure she couldn’t see, and then I made her walk around doing the funniest things. I kept telling her to step over objects or walk around things that weren’t really there. I had her walk up and down the same hallway three times.

When her time was up, I made her guess where we were before she took the blindfold off. She thought we were by the cafeteria, but really, we were in the stairwell next to our classroom. It made us laugh.

Then it was my turn.

Mia tied the scarf around my head, and as soon as she told me to take three giant steps forward, my heart started beating so fast, I thought I was going to pass out. I got so sweaty and shaky I had to sit down on the stairs.

I couldn’t handle not seeing anything. I had to take the blindfold off, and Mia had to go get Mrs. Hayes, and she sent me to the nurse, who took my temperature and wanted to know if I was diabetic, but I’m not. I think I’m scotomaphobic.

Has anything like that ever happened to you?

From,

Reese Rosamund Elliott

P.S. My mom got Tate a piñata for his sixth birthday party. She stuffed it full of Fun Dip, which is one of Tate’s favorites. I wonder if I would have freaked out at his party if Mom would have blindfolded me.