Confess(97)

He laughs a little. “The nurse told me about that. Said you tackled him in the hall when he was trying to stop Auburn from telling me good-bye again.”

I smile. Auburn, I think to myself. I’ve been wondering for three weeks what her name is. Of course it would be Auburn. I’ve never heard of anyone else with that name; it suits her perfectly.

“Thank you for that,” Adam says. His words come out in a pained whisper. I hate that I’m forcing him to talk so much when I know it hurts him.

I hold up the painting a little higher and look down at it.

“Last night, after she left,” I say, “I guess you could say I was inspired to paint this for you. Or maybe it’s for her. Both of you, I guess.” I immediately look up at him. “I hope that’s not weird.”

He shrugs. “Depends on what it is.”

I stand and walk the painting to him, turning it around so that he can see it.

He doesn’t have any type of reaction to it at first. He just stares at it. I let him hold it, and I back away, a little embarrassed that I thought he would want something like this. “It’s my first attempt at painting,” I say, excusing the fact that he probably thinks it’s horrendous.

His eyes immediately meet mine and the expression on his face is anything but indifference. He points to it. “This is your first attempt?” he says in disbelief. “Seriously?”

I nod. “Yeah. Probably my last, too.”

He immediately shakes his head. “I hope not,” he says. “This is incredible.” He reaches to the remote and presses the button to lift the head of the bed a few more inches. He points to a table next to the chair. “Grab that pen.”

I don’t question him. I hand him the pen and watch as he flips the painting over and writes something on the back of the canvas. He reaches to the nightstand beside his bed and tears off a sheet of paper from a notepad. He writes something down on the notepad and hands me both the painting and the piece of paper.

“Do me a favor,” he says as I take both of them out of his hands. “Will you mail this to her? From me?” He points to the slip of paper in my hands. “Her address is at the top and the return address is at the bottom.”

I look down at the slip of paper in my hands, and I read her full name.

“Auburn Mason Reed,” I say out loud.

What are the chances?

I smile and run my thumb over the letters in her middle name. “We have the same middle name.”

I look back up at Adam, and he’s lowering his bed again with a faint smile on his face. “That could be fate, you know.”

I shake my head, dismissing his comment. “I’m pretty sure she’s your fate. Not mine.”

His voice is strained, and it takes a tremendous amount of effort for him to roll onto his side. He closes his eyes and says, “Hopefully she has more than one fate, Owen.”

He doesn’t open his eyes again. He falls asleep, or maybe just needs a break from speaking. I look down at her name again and think about the words he just spoke.

Hopefully she has more than one fate.

It makes me feel good to know that as much as he loves her, he also knows she’ll move on after his death, and he accepts that. It even seems like he wants that for her. Unfortunately, if this really were fate, we would have been placed together under different circumstances and with way better timing.

I look up at him again, and his eyes are still closed. He pulls the covers over his arms, so I quietly back out of the room, painting in hand.

I’ll mail this painting to her, because he asked me to. And then I’m going to throw away her address. I’ll try to forget her name, even though I know I never will.

Who knows? If we’re meant to be together and fate really does exist, maybe one of these days she’ll wind up at my door. Maybe Adam will, in some way, be the one to make that happen.

Until that day comes, though, I’m pretty sure I have something to keep me occupied. I think with the inadvertent help of her and Adam, I may have just discovered my calling.

I look down at the painting in my hands, and I flip it over. I read the last words Adam will ever write to her.

I’ll love you forever. Even when I can’t.

When I turn the painting around to face me again, I run my fingers over it. I touch the space between the two hands, and I think about everything between the two of them that is pulling them apart.



And I hope, for her sake, that Adam is right. I hope she does have a second fate.