Return To You

by Leia Stone

  She moves around the kitchen, and while her back is turned, I look at the note once more. "Mom, are you dating someone?"

  She whips around and looks at me, her expression confused. "No. What's that?" Her gaze falls to the folded paper in my hand.

  I hold it out. "It’s a note … I found this in the pantry."

  She takes the note and reads it, a smile gracing her lips. Then she refolds it and tucks it into her back pocket. "This is a few years old. I saw someone briefly, but it wasn't important enough to tell you about."

  "Whoa, Mom. You had a lover?" I shake my shoulders and wiggle my eyebrows.

  She sends me a stern look. "That's the last we'll talk about that."

  I laugh at her discomfort. "As you wish. I'm ready if you are," I tell her, stepping out of the pantry and closing the door behind me.

  On our way out of the front door, Mom stops at the hall closet and pulls a heavy coat off a wooden hanger. I take it from her, draping it over my forearm. From my reading last night, I know that the cold cap she has chosen to wear in an effort to keep her hair will make her freezing cold during treatment. It strikes me that she has been here before. She is practiced, she has a routine. She has her iPad and a book in a little bag slung over her shoulder.

  She is traversing a trail blazed twice already.

  My mom is a warrior.

  I haven't driven to Sedona General in years, yet I still know how to get there. Nestled between large scrubby bushes, the three-story hospital is one of the taller structures in town. This is where I came after a particularly nasty bout of the flu when I was eleven and needed fluids. I remember sitting in the waiting room of the emergency room and looking out the windows, thinking how unfortunate it was that the view from the front of the building was of the boring parking lot instead of the famed red rocks.

  "Ready?" I ask, putting the car in park and pausing to look at her across the small space.

  "As I'll ever be." Her forced cheerfulness saddens me.

  I get out of the car and pop the trunk as my mom bends over, moving to grab the coat and bag. Instead I reach over and get to them first.

  "I can hold something, you know," she chastises me.

  "You can close the trunk,” I tell her cheerily.

  "Are you sure? I might break a nail."

  "Mom," I start, but I don't know what else to say. It’s weird for me to be protecting her like this. It’s always been the other way around.

  She sighs, looking up at the sky and closing her eyes. The sun envelops her face and she squints at its harshness. Lowering her head, she looks back down at me. "I might be more nervous than I'm letting on." Her voice is small and it shatters my heart.

  The arm I'm not using to carry her things wraps around her shoulders. "You don't have to be strong. I'm here now. Let me carry some of your load, okay?" I glance at the coat wrapped around my forearm and chuckle. "Literally and figuratively."

  Mom smiles. "I guess I made the right call asking you to come home."

  "Even if I make you drink kale?" I wink.

  One side of her nose scrunches. "Kale?"

  "Spinach," I hurry to correct.

  "Now that I know kale is a possibility, I guess spinach isn't that bad."

  I shake my head but I'm smiling. "You ready?"

  Mom glances at the building in front of us. "Guess so."

  We walk into the front door and my Mom leads the way to the outpatient clinic. She checks in while I take a seat in the waiting room.

  The place has had a facelift since I was last inside of it. Larger windows and a fresh coat of paint make it look less like an institution. I imagine this is nice for the people who are coming here for treatments, like my mother. Less like impending doom.

  “Nice to see you again, Faith,” the receptionist says warmly, then makes a face and tips her head to the side. “Although, I do wish I was just running into you in a coffeeshop instead of seeing your name on today’s schedule.”

  “You and me both,” Mom answers.

  I have an out-of-body moment then.

  My mom is a regular at a chemo treatment center.

  That’s beyond messed up. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why can’t some pedo get cancer and have his dick fall off? Why does my sweet mother have to be in this position? Instead of letting the anger rise up in me, I swallow it down and step away while Mom finishes up with the receptionist.

  I glance at the wall between the rest of the hospital and the cancer treatment facility, noticing it’s made of glass, allowing for full view of the first floor of the hospital. Which, of course, means everyone out there can also see in here. Just as I'm thinking this, a woman passes by with a little girl, holding tightly to the child's hand. Our gazes meet briefly through the glass. Does she feel pity for me, the person on the other side of the wall? Does she assume it's me who needs treatment? Or does she not give me a second thought, too wrapped up in whatever has brought her to the hospital. It strikes me that unless you're coming to visit someone who has just had a baby, a hospital can be a scary place to be. Depressing, even.

  And Owen spends all his time here.

  I push the thought away. The tone of that thought was too softhearted, tinged on the outside in a warm, buttery yellow. Feeling sympathy for Owen does not align with my other thoughts about him.

  Mom steps up beside me and nods at the front desk. "That's Sandra. She has worked in this clinic for as long as I've been coming here. Her first day was also my first day."

  Damn. I don’t know why that saddens me so much, but it does. Does Sandra go home and think about my mom and all of the people who don’t get well and keep coming back here?

  I'm not sure how to respond, so I say, "I don't know if that's cool or really sad."

  Mom smiles. "A little of both, I suppose." She points at the wall across from us. "That artwork is new."

  I follow her gaze. It reminds me of Picasso, bright and geometric. Does color equal an uplift in spirit? If so, I think that's what the interior decorator who chose the paintings was after.

  It annoys me a little. Cancer is the reason everyone is in this room, and that's beyond depressing, and no amount of colorful artwork can cover that up. I know it's better than some drab room, but I'm in a mood to find a problem with everything.

  "Faith Cummings," a deep voice calls.

  A voice that makes my insides quiver.

  I look up to see Owen standing at the door. He's dressed in gray slacks, a white shirt, and a tie. Over all of this, he wears a white lab coat.

  A doctor. My freaking ex just had to go and become a doctor. Next, he’d take on a British accent and just top the cake.

  My mom and I walk over to him and I can’t stop thinking about our little exchange when he came over for dinner. He smiles, but it's directed only at her, which annoys me.

  "Since when do doctors do the job of nurses?" Mom asks, her tone a blithe teasing.

  Busted. I loved that my mom called Owen on his shit. It was one of her best qualities.

  "Melody was on her way to get you but I told her I'd do it." His gaze switches over to me. "Hello, Autumn."

  "Hello, Owen." You handsome asshole. My response is stiff.

  There’s a moment of silence where we should probably ask the other how their day has been going or something fake like that, but we don’t.

  Mom's gaze shifts between us. "You two are beyond words."

  We stare each other down for another moment, until Owen clears his throat. "Back this way," he says, pushing the door open with his hand and stepping back slightly, waiting for us to walk through first. As I pass Owen, my wrist hits his and an electric jolt zaps up my arm and down my spine, making my gut clench. Shoving my hand into my pocket, I ignore the way his accidental touch makes me feel.

  I follow my Mom into the room and look around, trying not to stare at the recliners set up in rows. More specifically, I try not to stare at the people who are in the recliners.

  "Faith!"

 
We all turn to an arm raised in the air. A woman waves and smiles. She's wearing a cap on her head, and a book lies open on her lap. Her other arm has an IV hanging out of it.

  "Linda?" Mom waves.

  "How do you know her?" I ask in a low voice.

  "I met her the last time I went through this. She was on her first round." Mom frowns. "Looks like she's on her second now."

  Fuck. I needed a drink. This was depressing.

  "There's a chair open beside her, Faith," Owen says. "Would you like us to set you up there?"

  Mom looks at Linda, then points at the open chair next to her. Linda sends a thumbs-up.

  Owen gets the attention of a nurse, I'm guessing Melody, the nurse who was supposed to call us back. She's young, probably five years younger than us, with long blond hair and cornflower blue eyes. And those blue eyes are doe-eyed as she listens to Owen. He instructs her on where my mom wants to sit, and what treatment she'll be receiving. The entire time he speaks, Melody, the Beautiful Young Nurse, fidgets with her necklace, holding on to the gold cross pendant and dragging it along the matching gold chain.

  "Got it?" he asks when he's finished.

  "Yes, Dr. Miller," Melody, I want to fuck my boss nurse, says, her voice breathy.

  She'd probably take off her pants and dance in a circle if he told her to right now.

  The urge to cross my arms protectively in front of me is strong, but I resist, keeping them casual at my sides. See, everyone? I'm feeling nothing in response to this girl fawning over my ex. I'm cool. Super cool.

  Melody leads us to the recliner beside Linda while my Mom and I follow. When we reach Linda, Mom grabs her free hand and gives it a squeeze. A look passes between the two women, a look of knowing, of disbelief, of Can you believe we drew the short straw again?

  I suddenly feel like I don’t belong here. It’s my mom’s third time doing this and I’m only just now coming to help. I’m an asshole and I feel like shit for sending money when I should have been there to hold my mom’s hand.

  Melody gets my mother set up, and the irritation I felt toward her for flirting with Owen ebbs as I watch the kindness with which she treats my mom.

  "This is my daughter, Autumn," my mom says, introducing me to Linda. She extends an arm while she speaks, and Melody slips on a blood pressure cuff. "She came here from New York City to be with me."

  My chest swells at the hint of pride in her voice. Maybe I could make up for not being there before; my mom certainly doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge over it. "Nice to meet you," I say to Linda.

  Linda grins. One front tooth is crooked, overlapping the one beside it, and it's endearing. Imperfections are my favorite thing about people. Owen has a scar on his ribcage from hopping over a fence when he was younger; my favorite thing was to trace my fingertips over the rippled, white flesh.

  I shake my head as that thought pops into it.

  "Nice to meet you too. You have a pretty great mom, you know that? She's a hoot. She made sure I knew what to expect after my first treatment. Thank God for her. I tell you what, I'd have been scared shitless last time had it not been for Faith." She smiles again and takes a big breath.

  I like this lady and I really like how much she likes my mom. "I'm glad you had her during a difficult time."

  "We had each other," my mom clarifies.

  "How's it going over here?" Owen's voice comes from behind me. "Are you getting settled in alright, Faith?"

  "Sure am," she responds, tipping her head at Linda and smiling mischievously. "This broad's trying to get me in trouble already."

  "Guilty," Linda says, holding up one palm.

  Owen laughs, and I feel it, deep down in my core, sliding over my skin. I hate how much I still find his laugh attractive. It’s a bit wild and carefree, not the restrained laugh I use with people.

  I look over at my mom in hopes of pushing these thoughts from my mind, and I'm just in time to see Melody slip the IV needle into her arm.

  Shit. I hate needles. My eyes lose focus, my stomach turns over and all of a sudden, I’m falling.

  Strong arms wind around my waist, then I'm pulled into something solid.

  "Still afraid of needles, I take it." Owen's murmur vibrates against the side of my head as I realize he’s caught me from falling and now I’m flush against his body.

  I nod. I can't speak. It might be the needle. Or it might be the fact that I'm being held by the person I've spent years trying to forget. A person who still has this ridiculous, unexplainable ability to make my body react.

  It's probably the needle. It’d better fucking be the needle. I spent way too much in therapy for Owen to still make me feel this way.

  I take a shaky step away from him. One of his arms is still wound around my waist to steady me. Three curious gazes are on me as well.

  Well, two, anyway. My mom knows about my aversion.

  "Needles," I say weakly, and my one-word explanation seems to be enough for Linda and Melody.

  "Happens all the time." Melody waves a hand around like it was no big deal.

  "Autumn, why don't you get out of here for a while?" my mom suggests.

  “No. I’m good.”

  Owen breaks in. "She's right, Autumn. The treatment takes a while. Will you be okay in here for a few hours?"

  I glance back at the IV in my mom’s arm and another wave of dizziness overtakes me. "Okay, maybe I will step out." I lean down and brush a kiss over my mom's cheek. "Call me when you're done. I'll come right back."

  I say goodbye to everyone else and retrace my steps through the room and out into the hall. I'm almost to the door that leads to the waiting room when I hear my name.

  "Autumn, wait."

  I’m still not used to hearing his voice.

  I pause just outside the door and turn around. Owen stops. His eyes are soft with apology. "About the other day … I'm sorry. I really want this”—he motions between our chests— “to be less contentious. I know we didn't end well, but that was a long time ago. We're adults now. We can do better."

  He's right. I hate when he’s right. It’s been a decade since the dark choice I had to make, since his unforgettable words, and it does no good for me to hold resentment in my heart.

  I nod slowly. "So, you want to be … friends?" Never in a million years would I have thought I'd ever be friends with Owen Miller. Not after what happened between us.

  Relief tumbles over his features. "Friends. Friends would be great."

  I simply nod and turn back around, opening the door and stepping through. I'm three feet away when I realize I didn't hear the door close behind me.

  As I look over my shoulder, I find Owen standing there with his hand propped against the open door.

  "What?" I ask, stopping. He has an amused look on his face.

  "Are we the kind of friends who get coffee together?" His eyebrows raise hopefully. "I have some things I'd like to say."

  Am I ready to go there yet with Owen? Maybe after a stiff drink, but not coffee. Not today.

  “Maybe another time.” I give him a sheepish smile and he frowns slightly, nodding.

  I turn around and keep going until I get to my mom's car. As I slide into the driver’s seat and take a deep breath, the tension melts into a puddle at my feet.

  He'd watched me until I walked out of the treatment facility and turned the corner. I didn't have to look back at him to know it. I felt his gaze on me, felt the apology I'm certain lives somewhere inside him. Do I have an apology inside of me for him as well? All those times he called after and I never answered. The deleted emails, returned letters. Changing my number, my dorm room and just about anything so that he could never contact me again…

  Maybe.

  Just maybe I owe him an apology too.

  From the look of it, he's been waiting a long time to ask me for coffee and tell me he's sorry about what he said the last time we saw each other.

  He can wait a little longer.

  Chapter 6

  Aut
umn

  I'm glad I let everyone convince me to leave the hospital during the treatment. I needed the sun and fresh air and general lack of needles and blood. Each time I've been around Owen it feels like I'm gasping for oxygen, and that makes me nervous. I was prepared mentally for the anger I felt around him, but not the other stuff…

  The car window is rolled down; the air rushing through pushes my hair around my face. I don't have a hair-tie, so I wind it into a loose knot and tuck it into the back of my t-shirt. I'm not sure where I'm going, but I'm heading for Main Street. I make a right turn onto the lengthy thoroughfare and my vision explodes with tourists. They wear hats and visors, loose t-shirts and shorts. Some wear fanny packs. I used to think fanny packs were the epitome of nerdy, but now that I'm older I see the utility in them. Although, I'm not sure if appreciating their function would ever convince me to wear one.

  The shops on either side of the street are hard to see because of the sheer volume of people walking around. I pause at a red light, watching pedestrians cross over to the other side of the street. A sullen-looking teenager slouches behind older people I assume are his parents, staring down at the phone he holds inches from his face.

  As the light turns green, I ease off the brake.

  Where am I going? Where can I go to get my mind off of Owen and my mom? It feels like I’m running from something, an emotion I know too well. Up ahead, I spot the pink Jeep parked on the sidewalk. Seeing it brings a smile to my face. If Sedona is known for its red rocks, then just as iconic are the Pink Jeep Tours.

  Trudy's fudge shop sits opposite the pink Jeep, and just seeing it convinces me I need fudge at this moment or I just might die. Running from my ex and right into the arms of chocolate. That should be my life motto.

  I put on my blinker and turn, finding a parking spot. The fudge shop also sells ice cream, and the place is packed. I order a pound of cookies and cream fudge, and a half pound of original chocolate. That should last me until dinner.

  Stepping outside into the sunshine, I look right and left. Left will take me further into the crowd so I go right, away from the crowd, and cross the street. There's a shopping center there, one less populated with tourists. It has real stores, the kind of places residents would need. Main Street shops sell Sedona-themed knick-knacks, t-shirts, crystals and geodes. A psychic will reveal your future. All great for tourists, but not so much for the everyday needs of residents.