FIFTY
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
My only regret is that more people didn’t die.
—Benjamin Havel
This is what he said.
When an FBI detective named Morris Wilson took Havel into custody and a reporter captured the incident on camera, these were Havel’s heartless words.
His only regret is that more people didn’t die.
What is there to say in light of that?
Autumn buzzed Seth inside and paced her kitchen while Trent and Claire watched television in the living room.
The tribute was finished. And Vivian wasn’t in it.
Autumn wasn’t sure what to do about that, so she blocked it out and focused on other things. Like how her ex-fiancé, Seth Ryker, had condensed all that raw footage into sixty minutes of remembrance. She vacillated between worry and triumph. Sixty minutes was a long time. Would attention spans last that long? But then she would remember how talented Seth was with video and the stories people had shared, and her heart would start pounding in anticipation.
Perhaps sixty minutes wasn’t enough.
Thanks to Benjamin Havel and his cruel words, the whole thing had been shoved into the limelight. Tragedy on the Tracks was back on the news. Not just in Chicago, but all over the nation. And along with it, the tribute. Reporters were calling. The mayor wanted to say a few words at the reception. Mitch had expressed concern that Redeemer might not be big enough for all the attendees, an issue Autumn never would have imagined when she first booked the sanctuary in April. Penny—the big-boned woman who loved canary yellow—suggested they set up a live video feed so they could stream the event online. Her son was tech savvy and would take care of the details, so he got together with the commission board, who said they would gladly host the feed on the memorial website.
In all the fuss and all the rush, Autumn hadn’t seen Paul.
According to Mitch, he was busy helping his mother pick out an assisted living home for his grandfather.
“I like you. Quite a lot.”
How many times had she replayed those words over the last few days?
She needed to talk to someone about her confusing emotions, but Jeannie True wasn’t available after hours, and Autumn had too much going on at work to slip away. There was Claire, but Autumn was already nervous about how much her sister knew. She made a habit of telling Claire, at least three times a day, not to breathe a word. Claire got so fed up with the reminders, the two of them had erupted into an argument. It was such a loud one that Roland knocked on their door, shirtless as usual, to make sure everything was okay.
What Autumn needed was a friend.
She used to have them before. She and one of her coworkers—Kendall—used to go out for happy hour after work on Thursdays. Maybe she would give Kendall a call once the tribute was over.
Seth knocked on her door.
Autumn flung it open.
He stood on the other side, brandishing a flash drive.
Her stomach turned a somersault.
Five minutes later, they had settled on the couch with Autumn’s computer opened on her lap. Claire and Trent stood behind them, ready and waiting. With a deep, nerve-riddled breath, Autumn clicked the touch pad and watched what Seth had done.
It was breathtakingly beautiful.
She sat there, straight backed, hand pressed against her chest, taking in every word, every captured moment. The best of their lives.
Until the one came that shouldn’t have been there.
Couldn’t have been there.
She reeled back against the cushion.
Reese was on the screen.
Talking about her mother.
The footage she’d assured Paul wouldn’t be there was somehow very much there.
“How did you get this?”
“What do you mean?” Seth asked, his attention still on the screen.
Her fingers turned to ice. This couldn’t be happening. She was dreaming. Or this was a joke. Claire had told Seth Paul’s secret, and they were playing a very nasty, cruel joke. “How did you get this footage of Reese?”
“She sent it to me.”
“Who did?”
“Reese.”
“How did Reese send you this?”
“I don’t know. I thought you gave her my e-mail address.”
The room began to spin.
Claire caught Autumn’s eye.
“I never gave Reese your e-mail address,” Autumn said.
“Then she must have gotten it off my website.” Seth pushed Pause, freezing Reese’s face on the screen. “Is something wrong?”
Autumn opened her mouth, but no words came. What was she supposed to say? How could she explain to Seth that they needed to remove it right away?
“I think Paul was worried about it,” Claire said.
Autumn whipped her head around and glared at her sister.
“Why?” Seth and Trent asked the question at the same time.
“It’s nothing,” Autumn blurted. “It’s fine. It’s just…”
“You don’t like how it turned out?”
“No, I love how it turned out.” But even to her own ears, her tone came out wrong. Pitchy and high. Like an out-of-tune warbler. “I just don’t think Paul wants Reese in the video.”
“Why not? It’s a really great interview.”
“It doesn’t really matter why not. He’s the father, and he doesn’t want it in there.”
Seth wasn’t buying it.
“Then why did you do the interview to begin with?” he asked.
She wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“Autumn, I spent a lot of time on this.”
“I know. And I’m grateful.”
Seth shook his head. He was visibly frustrated. Autumn couldn’t blame him. He had spent a lot of time on this. And he wasn’t being compensated. Given the circumstances, you could say he was being the opposite of compensated. “Look, if Paul doesn’t want Reese in the tribute, then you can have Paul call me, and I’ll take it out.”
Autumn started to panic.
But what was there to do? She couldn’t explain the situation to Seth.
That was not an option.
She would have to get ahold of Paul. And so, as soon as Seth stormed away, fed up with the whole thing, she excused herself from the apartment and found somewhere private to call him.
“Pick up. Please, please pick up.”
But her call went to voice mail.
Autumn hung up, then called him again.
And again.
And again.