The What If Guy

by Moss, Brooke

  “Of course,” Elliott crowed with a grin on his face. “You hit the big time.”

  I pulled my son in for a kiss. “The big time, eh? Then where’s the paparazzi?”

  “Right here,” he snorted, holding up his camera. “Look, there’s Tabitha.”

  He dove into the crowd and made a beeline for her.

  I’d seen Holly numerous times since baby Trista was born, usually to pick up her kids, or to bring dinner so she could take a nap. Most of my visits brought postpartum tears from Holly, and complaints about obstructed milk ducts, so I hadn’t gotten to talk to her for longer than ten minutes since Trista’s birth.

  “Do you see Holly?” I asked Henry, as Mayor Driscoll approached the podium.

  He scanned the small sea of faces. “I haven’t seen her yet, no.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe she stayed home.”

  “Today?” Henry frowned. “It’s a holiday.”

  “You’re really into this, aren’t you?” I leaned into him, and noticed the pleased smiles on the faces of people watching us.

  “This…” He gestured to the jubilant crowd. “This is why I moved to a small town. You were just an added bonus.” He nuzzled my neck.

  Mayor Driscoll tapped the microphone, then welcomed the crowd. “The committee decided to commission a local artist. An artist whose life took her to the big city for a few years, but brought her back to us this year.” Mayor Driscoll’s voice boomed. “Her talent is impressive, her eye for detail, impeccable. Which is why she was the perfect artist to commemorate our fair city. Autumn Cole is considered a daughter of the Fairfield community, and her love for our town shows clearly in this mural entitled, My Hometown, My Family.”

  The Mayor pulled open the red curtain, and the crowd cheered. I looked up at the wall, my chest swelling with pride. At the top of the mural, the bright cerulean sky evolved into rolling fields of flourishing wheat, where a family was silhouetted beneath a wind-rustled flag. The lyrics of “America the Beautiful” scrolled around the edge of the wall, along with the names of every Fairfield veteran since World War II—Americana at its best.

  Henry put his arm around my waist and pressed his mouth to my ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, my face warming. His crooked smile made my knees shake.

  “Auto, I can’t thank you enough.” Mayor Driscoll grabbed my hand and shook it fiercely. “The mural is exquisite. The committee is flabbergasted by how wonderful it turned out.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  His wife came to his side and extended her hand to me. “I’m so impressed, dear. You’ve grown into a wonderfully talented woman.” She looked at Henry. “You’re a very lucky man to have snagged our Autumn.”

  Henry squeezed my hip. “Nobody’s more aware of that than I.”

  “Thank you so much for your compliments,” I said. “I was honored to be selected.”

  “You made Fairfield proud.” Mayor Driscoll said loudly over the crowd’s noise.

  “Thank you again,” I said as Cody approached. Holly wasn’t by his side, but instead, a brunette around our age walked with him.

  Elliott charged toward us. “Everyone’s talking about how great the mural is.”

  I pinched his cheek. “Thanks, babe. Where’s Tabitha?”

  “She’s heading to the park to eat. Can I go get a milkshake with her?”

  I pulled a couple of dollars out of my pocket. “Sure.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hi , Cody.” I smiled brightly as he approached and shook hands with Henry.

  “Hey. Just the person I wanted to see. There’s someone I want you to meet.” Cody rested his hand on the brunette’s shoulder.

  The woman’s eyes connected with mine, curious and assessing. I suddenly felt self-conscious. She couldn’t be a relative—she looked nothing like Cody’s blond-haired clan. She had lovely, tanned skin, and a well-maintained curtain of dark hair. The woman was neither Momsen nor Judd. That much was clear.

  Henry nodded at the two of them. “How’s it going? Where’s Holly?”

  Cody scratched his head in his typical “aw, shucks” way. “She had to find a place to change the baby. I don’t do so well with messy diapers.” Cody pointed to the post office. “The mural is fantastic. You did an extraordinary job.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced at the brunette.

  “I want you to meet my friend,” Cody said. “This is Colleen Delgado, the editor of Inland Northwest Living magazine. She wants to speak to you about your murals.”

  “There you are,” Holly’s voice rang out.

  She walked through the crowd toward us, her troop of blond boys in a wagon, little Trista in a Baby Bjorn on her chest. She smiled, brushing a lock of hair back from her pink face. “Whew. It’s hotter out here than I expected.” She squeezed my arm. “Hi. Did you catch the parade?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You?”

  She shook her head. “Partly. I had to ask Linda Clayton if I could use her bathroom. Trista and Ty both filled their britches. It took almost a whole box of wipes to clean up that mess.” She winked at the brunette. “Hi, Colleen. I see you’ve met everyone.”

  “You know Colleen?” I asked.

  “Of course.” She adjusted the baby on her chest. “Then I guess it’s not a secret anymore.”

  “I’m confused.”

  Cody chuckled. “Auto, Colleen is interested in your art.”

  Henry and I spoke at the same time. “What?”

  “I got a call from the mayor asking me to come and do an article on Flag Day.” Colleen’s accented voice sounded exotic. “When I arrived this morning, I interviewed Cody at the Fun Run. He said he was an avid reader of our magazine.”

  “It’s got some good articles.” Cody’s cheeks went pink, as if being caught reading a magazine about a topic other than hunting or fishing were something to be ashamed of.

  “Cody mentioned the biannual article we write on local artists,” Colleen continued. “And said his wife’s best friend was an artist. I asked if you had any work on display that I could see, and he mentioned the mural you’d painted at…” She snapped her fingers a few times and looked quizzically at Cody.

  “Layla Deberaux’s house,” Cody said. “I found Layla at the Service Club booth and asked if we could take Colleen up to her house.”

  “Layla?” I repeated. “She hates me.”

  “I think that’s true, sometimes,” Holly admitted with a chuckle. “But she also really cares about you. She invited Colleen to her house for breakfast.”

  Emotion swelled in my throat. Layla had invited Colleen to her house for breakfast because of me? I focused on Colleen. “You saw the mural?”

  “I did. And I loved it.” She nodded her head emphatically. “Both of them are exquisite. Did you know that murals are incredibly popular these days?”

  “No, I didn’t.” I looked at Henry, his gaze filled with pride.

  “I’d love to run an article about you in the magazine, Autumn,” Colleen said. “Your work is amazing. I think you could really make a name for yourself.”

  My knees went weak. “Thank you.”

  Holly’s eyes were moist. “You see? I told you that you’d be a full-fledged artist someday.”

  “You did. I just can’t believe it.” Something caught my eye, and I turned to see that my dad had wandered up the street and stood nearby. He shuffled toward me slowly, Doris at his side, then stopped. He gazed at me with a joyful expression, apparently having heard the conversation. He smiled at me. My father didn’t smile often. Seeing him so happy made my heart leap. My gaze met his.

  He winked at me and grunted, “Way to go, kid.”

  Colleen handed me her business card. “When the festivities are over, give me a call.”

  “I will, for sure. Thanks.” I took the card, numb with shock.

  “All of this talk has made me hungry,” Cody said. “How about we take Colleen down to the park for some burgers and show her ho
w Flag Day is done?”

  Henry took my hand to lead the way. “We’ve definitely got lots to celebrate.”

  Colleen walked with us. “Sounds quaint. I’d love to.”

  I fingered the lettering on Colleen’s card. “Is this for real?”

  “It’s a trip.” Holly grinned, putting her arm around my shoulders. “She believes in you. And she’s been jump-starting the careers of local artists for years.”

  I drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Wow. I mean, wow. I can’t believe I might get the chance to make a living with art.”

  “As soon as Cody heard that Colleen was from Inland Northwest Living, he started pulling for you.”

  I linked my arm through Holly’s. “You two are incredible. I don’t deserve you.”

  “Of course you deserve us. Because you’re incredible, too.”

  “How can I thank you both for this? For everything?” We strolled past the mural. A group of people took pictures next to their relatives’ names.

  Holly smiled, her tiny features bright. “You can come dancing with us tonight.”

  My stomach turned. “Dancing?” I croaked.

  My entire time in Fairfield had been spent trying to be a better mother, daughter, and artist. Now, I needed to improve my dancing skills?

  Right. Piece of cake.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I don’t dance.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I look like an idiot in this outfit.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I opened the bathroom door and glared at my skinny-even-though-she-just-had-a-baby best friend. “Stop it.”

  “Ha. You came out.” Holly smiled proudly. “You look fantastic.”

  I looked down at my outfit for the dance—a fitted plaid shirt with pearl buttons and a denim mini skirt that I’d borrowed from the much shorter Holly. The outfit was way sexier than my usual attire. To top off the look, I’d pulled on an old pair of cowboy boots leftover from high school. I felt like a kid playing dress up.

  I didn’t dance. Especially to country western bands. On the rare occasion that I’d gone to a club in Seattle, I always sat around with friends, mingling and chatting. I’d never been a dance-until-I’m-sweaty kind of girl. According to what Holly had told me, the Flag Day dances were those kinds of dances.

  “I look like a prostitute going to a rodeo.” I tugged at my skirt a few times.

  Holly raised an eyebrow. “You do not.”

  “Whatever.” I went into the living room where Elliott watched a movie with my dad and Doris. “You still hungry, Dad?”

  My dad waved me off. “Nope.”

  Earlier, he’d eaten every last bite of the sausage dog I’d brought back from the park. He’d been napping off and on since.

  I touched his shoulder. “Do you want me to stay home?”

  “Get outta here.” His voice sounded weak. “We’re watchin’ a movie.”

  Doris stood and patted my hand. “Don’t worry about your boys. I’m going to stay until the movie is over, then make sure they get to bed safely before I go home.”

  “You’re blocking the screen,” Elliott called from the couch. “Why can’t I come, anyway?”

  I scooted to the side. “Sorry, kiddo. Adults only this time. Now remember, I’ve got my cell phone in my pocket and I can be reached at any time. We’re just down at the—”

  “Firehouse. I know.” El rolled his eyes. “Come on, Ma. I’m not a kid.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not.” He smiled.

  I planted a kiss on top of his messy hair. “Are too.”

  I mouthed “thank you” to Doris, waved good-bye to my father, then Holly and I went out the front door.

  “Wow. You girls look fantastic.” Cody said when we stepped outside. Holly and Cody were exceptionally chipper because his sister had agreed to stay home with their kids. Their enthusiasm was contagious. This would be my first Flag Day dance since I was seventeen, and the only one I’d ever gone to with a date. A handsome one, at that.

  Even in the darkness, Henry looked like the kind of date a woman fantasized about. His hair was slightly shaggy. The end of the school year was nigh, and he’d relaxed his professional persona. The style reminded me of when we’d been in college, which was ironic, because Henry was forever telling me that my red waves, now long enough to reach my lower back, reminded him of younger days as well.

  Henry’s clothes made my attempt at western attire look amateurish. He wore a fitted black T-shirt with tattered, worn Levi’s and a beat up pair of boots that looked like they’d seen a few miles. He scooped me into a warm hug, lifting me a few inches off the ground. “You look hot.”

  “Whoa,” I said. He smelled like soap from his recent shower, but his whiskers scraped against my neck, a tell-tale sign that he hadn’t shaved.

  Good.

  “I don’t have a plaid shirt,” he said, as he set me back on the ground.

  “I don’t think it’s a requirement.” I laced my fingers in his.

  “Let’s get going.” Cody opened the door to his truck.

  “Forget it, Judd.” Holly waved a finger at him. “This is a double date, like the good ol’ days. We’re hoofin’ it.”

  He laughed. “We’re already late.”

  “The dance is only at the firehouse.” I could see the lights down the hill. “And it’s eighty degrees out. Too nice to drive. It’s a short walk.”

  Holly smirked at me. “Someone’s been walking to the little house next to the firehouse often?”

  “It’s Fairfield,” I said quickly. “You can get anywhere on foot within minutes.”

  “Especially home after a date, huh?” Cody teased. Holly hopped onto his back like a spider monkey.

  “Oh, shut up.” I tried to frown, but couldn’t contain my smile.

  Henry turned around and motioned for me to hop on.

  “No way,” I said. “You’ll wind up in traction.”

  His mouth tugged up in the corner. “I’ve carried you a time or two before. Hop on.”

  “No. Have you seen how short this skirt is? It’ll be obscene.”

  He eyeballed my legs. “Yes, I’ve noticed how short that skirt is. Now hop on.”

  “No.”

  “Chicken.”

  Holly screamed. Cody broke into a sprint.

  “They’re just jacked up because they’ve got a babysitter,” I said.

  Henry stooped down. “They’re beating us. Hop on, let’s go.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake,” I huffed then put my hands on his shoulders, and heaved myself up. “Ready for spinal surgery?”

  Henry charged off at full speed, passing Holly and Cody. I yelped and grabbed his neck. The sounds of Holly’s laughter and Cody’s feet hitting the pavement swirled behind us. It felt good to act young and silly, speeding through the nearly abandoned streets of Fairfield, confetti littering the sidewalks from the day’s celebration.

  Fairfield’s two fire trucks had been pulled out of the station and the inside decorated to the rafters with streamers and balloons. At one end of the building, a plywood stage had been set up for the band. They played a classic Willie Nelson song—of course. It was odd to see people like Ray and Ramona Fisk, and Helen and her husband, Dirk, be-bopping to the music. But by the time we’d been there half an hour, we’d all joined them. Though I’d never been a fan of the house music in Seattle clubs, there was something about the relaxed nature of line dancing between Henry and Holly that set my anxiety at ease.

  We learned to do the Applejack, the Waffle Step, and collectively struggled with the Catfish, laughing and singing along with the songs. It became clear fairly early that the punch was spiked, so Holly and I avoided it after a half-cup. Others became more and more boisterous as the hours passed, their dancing sloppier and sloppier.

  I couldn’t remember having this much fun in years. Big-
city clubs had nothing on a Fairfield Flag Day dance. Henry and I were sweaty and exhausted. Our faces hurt from smiling and laughing.

  During a slow song, sometime around midnight, he pulled me close and kissed my ear, raising goose bumps on my arms. “I want to do this every year.”

  I laughed. “Line dance and sweat excessively?”

  “Yes.” He looked into my eyes. “Every year. You and me. We’ll dance our butts off to Willie Nelson. Is this a Willie song now?”

  I listened for a moment. “I have no idea.”

  “Regardless, we’ll get a sitter for the kids, and you’ll wear…” He glanced down at my skirt and whistled. “That again.”

  “A sitter for the kids? Elliott is getting to be old enough to stay home alone.”

  Henry’s gaze intensified. “Well, by then we’ll have a few more.”

  My stomach twisted. “Oh? More kids? How many?”

  “At least two.” Henry spun me around. Ramona Fisk watched us with pointed interest. “Maybe three?”

  “Four kids? Are you nuts? You’re not trying to turn me into a baby machine like Holly, are you?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Just talking about having a family with the woman I love.”

  “I love you, too.” I stood on my toes and planted a long kiss on his lips. I was sure that the people around us had stopped to stare at us in their glassy-eyed state, but I didn’t care. I was so happy. I had Henry. Elliott and my dad were home in bed, safe and sound. And there was a possibility that I’d have a career painting murals. Nothing could bring me down.

  “Your pocket is vibrating,” Henry said.

  “Hmmm?” I opened my eyes lazily. I yanked my phone out of my pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”

  I couldn’t hear anything over the music, so I stepped off of the dance floor and headed toward the door. “El? Is that you? You okay?”

  As soon as I stepped into the cool night air, I heard Elliott sobbing on the line. “Mom?”

  My heart leapt into my throat. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

  Again, he choked on a sob. “Grandpa won’t wake up.”

  §

  My father’s funeral was held at the Lutheran Church.