“You took the bus?” Chad’s voice registered surprise. He’d been standing outside Portillo’s and saw Autumn step off with several other passengers.
“Is that weird?”
“I didn’t think you used public transportation anymore.”
She hitched her purse strap over her shoulder and shrugged him off. Funny how indiscreet her oddities had become. Especially when she thought she’d done a good job hiding them. But if Chad knew she’d been avoiding the transit system, then she definitely hadn’t hidden anything.
“Claire’s already inside,” Chad said, opening the front door. “What are the odds this thing she wants to talk to us about isn’t really a thing?”
“It’d better be a thing.”
Because at the moment, Autumn had a million other things she could be doing. She stepped inside to the hustle and bustle of Portillo’s at lunch hour. It smelled like a ballpark, which reminded her of the Elliotts.
Inside, Claire was wearing flip-flops, running shorts, and a black graphic tank that said “Beach Hair Don’t Care.” Appropriately, her hair—the roots needing dyed if she wanted them to match the rest of her brown locks—was pulled up into a very short, windblown ponytail. This was Summertime Claire, who didn’t bother with makeup and didn’t have to teach a passel of kids every day.
They stood in line and ordered their food and found a table by the window upstairs. Autumn unwrapped her italian beef. It was too much for a quick midweek lunch, but she found it impossible to go to Portillo’s and not get the italian beef.
“You had something you wanted to talk about?” Autumn prompted.
“Not really,” Claire said, dumping fries onto her tray. “I just wanted to have lunch with my sibs.”
“Claire!”
“What? We never get together anymore.”
Autumn caught Chad’s eye.
He looked more amused than disgruntled.
“Why did you tell us you had something you needed to talk to us about?” She’d made it sound so important. So classified. For a minute, Autumn had wondered if Claire was pregnant. Or terminally ill. Or second-guessing the wedding.
“Because I knew it was the only way I could get the three of us together.”
Autumn closed her eyes.
She was insanely busy right now. She had no idea how Redeemer had survived for one day without a communications consultant, let alone several weeks. Keeping tabs on the marriage campaign itself was a full-time job. The conference in July was nearly sold out. Pastor Mitch had met with his fellowship of pastors and decided to invite people to participate via satellite. Many churches across the area were picking up Paul’s book and using it as a study for their small groups.
On top of that, there was the tribute, already just a week and a half away.
The memorial commission board had jumped in to offer their assistance. A few women had volunteered to take over the lobby, hanging various displays. The board director’s son was the owner of a local catering company and would gladly provide the food for free. And Autumn had only two interviews left: Ina May Huett on Friday, and Paul Elliott, which still wasn’t scheduled. She hadn’t seen Paul or Reese since the White Sox game. When she reached out to him via e-mail, he forwarded her to his assistant, Margo. She wasn’t sure if he was really that busy or if he was purposefully avoiding her. Vivian’s mother, Regina, seemed willing to participate. She even sent some footage via e-mail, but when Autumn tried opening it, she received an error message.
All of it tied her stomach into a knot.
The whole reason for the tribute was Vivian. They couldn’t leave her out of it.
“Claire, we see each other every single day,” Autumn said.
“I know. But you’re always on the run.” She dunked a fry into mustard and popped it into her mouth. Autumn caught herself wondering what Paul would say about Claire’s condiment of choice when it came to french fries. “You’ve turned into a workaholic.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“What?”
“A couple months ago, you were on my back because I wasn’t doing anything. Now you’re complaining because I’m doing too much?”
“I wasn’t on your back because you weren’t doing anything. I was on your back because you were obsessing. You’ve gone from obsessing to avoiding.”
Autumn could feel her cheeks turning warm.
Sometimes her sister got something right on the nose, and she did it in such a casual way, like she didn’t know she’d gotten anything right at all.
“I’m busy with work and the tribute. That doesn’t make me a workaholic.”
Chad swallowed a bite of his chili dog. “How are things going with Seth?”
Guilt came at the mention of Seth’s name. It was phantom guilt, like pain in a limb that had been severed. She’d told Claire all about the box and their confrontation. Apparently, after Autumn’s psychotic dinnertime monologue, Claire filled the rest of the family in.
“It’s been fine,” Autumn said.
Chad looked at her skeptically. “He’s still helping with the tribute?”
“Yes.” And she refused to feel bad about it. The way she saw it, Seth owed her. “Can we please change the subject?”
“Yes,” Claire said. “Let’s talk about Father’s Day, and what we’re gonna do for Dad.”
“We’re having a cookout at the house.” Like they did every year.
“That’s not very special. We should do something special.”
Autumn’s mind wandered to Reese and Tate. Were they planning something special for Paul? Were they out for summer break yet? The schools around Chicago got out at different times, some quite late in the month. What did he do when his kids were out of school?
Chad took a drink of his Coke. “Jane’s having the kids make some sort of handprint art project for him.”
“That’s not fair,” Claire protested.
“What’s not fair?”
“You have cute kids. They make your gift-giving easy.”
“That’s all they make easy.” It was true. Chad looked like a president after his first four-year term, with more gray stubble than red. Little mewling Ike had pushed him over the edge. “Jane’s started acupuncture. It’s supposed to help her milk production.”
Claire caught Autumn’s eye.
They both tried really hard not to laugh.
“Make fun all you want, but if it helps my wife, I’m all for it. This transition from two to three is no joke.”
“Trent’s sister says it’s like going from man-to-man defense to zone.”
“Man-to-man defense is a lot more tiring than zone,” Autumn said. “So that’s not really a good analogy.”
Claire rolled her eyes.
Autumn thought about basketball in the rain.
“At least Ike can’t move yet,” Claire said.
“It’d be nice if he slept,” Chad said.
Sleep.
It was something Autumn had been getting more of lately. More and more often, she was sleeping through the 3:00 a.m. hour. The first time it happened—after she conquered her fear and got back on the train—she’d been shocked. So much so, she was positive Claire had messed with her bedside clock.
“He’ll sleep after a few more rounds of acupuncture,” Claire said.
Chad threw a fry at her.
Autumn took a bite of her italian beef, struck by the scene unfolding in front of her. This father of three living in the city, deep in the trenches of newborn baby-dom, having lunch with his two sisters. Chad was so normal. It so easily could have been him on the train. He could have died in the explosion, leaving Cal and Lulu without a father. Hungry baby Ike wouldn’t even exist, and Jane Manning wouldn’t be doing acupuncture. At least not for milk production. She’d be a physically fit widowed mother of two, making Father’s Day projects for their grandfather.
Autumn looked at her sister.
It could have been Claire. Instead of planning her wedding, she’d be dead, and Trent would remember with sad fondness the girlfriend who might have been more. They hadn’t been very serious when the train explosion happened. He would have moved on by now.
She looked around the second story of Portillo’s. All the people eating their food, conversing. Going about their day. It could have been any one of them.
They finished their meal.
Chad ate the other half of Autumn’s italian beef.
They dumped the garbage from their trays, and Autumn took a Tootsie Pop from her purse. One of the Tootsie Pops from the bag Paul had tossed at her the day of her second interview.
“Those make me think of Mom.”
The words belonged to Claire.
And they came as a surprise.
Sometimes Autumn wondered if Claire remembered Mom at all.
Chad smiled. “Me too.”
The three of them looked at one another and said almost simultaneously, “Shots.”
A warm feeling stole through Autumn’s body.
They remembered.
Every time her siblings saw Tootsie Pops, they would remember.
She quickly dug inside her purse as they walked down the stairs and pulled out the final two. She gave the brown one to Claire. The blue one to Chad.
He pulled off the wrapper and searched for the American Indian and the star. “You used to freak out so badly that an extra nurse had to come in to hold you down.”
“I did not,” Autumn said.
“Yes, you did.”
“Mom always explained on the car ride why I needed to get a shot. ‘It’s medicine. Very important medicine.’ Like an explanation was going to make it hurt less.” Claire twirled her Tootsie Pop by its white stem. “Funny. It never worked that way.”
The three of them stepped outside, to the traffic and noise.
Claire was right.
Mom did try to explain. Every time. But it never helped. A shot was a shot, and it hurt no matter which way you spun it.
What helped was crawling into Mom’s lap afterward, a Tootsie Pop tucked in hand. What helped was laying her head against Mom’s chest, listening to the soothing, soft rumble of her voice as she spoke with the doctor.