The voicemail ends, and goosebumps break out onto my arms.
I slide the phone back into my purse as Jeanne’s voice goes round and round my head.
Go back to New York?
Double my pay?
FUCKING VP before thirty! It’s everything I’ve wanted as far as career goals go.
"Everything okay?" Owen asks.
I look at Owen, at his honest, open face. I know what he would say if I told him what Jeanne said. Which is why I can't.
"She was just checking in to see how things are going out here." The fib slides out smoothly.
Owen nods. I can't tell if he believes me, or if he just wants to.
"Let's go." I take his hand and pull him into the belly of the beast.
We spend the next few hours in our version of debauchery. Owen teaches me roulette and craps. I win and lose, then win again. We drink too much and stay up too late.
For a few hours, we pretend we're not here for the saddest reason ever.
Chapter 23
Owen
There are a lot of things I never thought I'd do in my life.
Getting back together with Autumn is first on that list. I mean, yeah, I prayed for it until my mouth turned dry, but I never thought it would actually happen. The chasm between us seemed too large to cross.
Second on that list? Writing a prescription for medical marijuana for Autumn's mom.
Check, and check.
It's starting to get painful for Faith, not that she lets it show. Autumn doesn't notice, and for that I'm grateful. Me, on the other hand? It's my job to notice the slightest wince, the longer blinks, the slower movements.
The first two times Faith had cancer, I offered to write her a prescription. She declined my offer, telling me she'd escaped her teenage years without having done it and she didn't plan to start. This time?
Well, she's at the dispensary right now.
I'm sitting in Faith's living room, waiting for her to arrive. I came straight here after work, knowing Autumn was out at dinner with her new friend Livvie. Faith called me earlier in the day, and with a voice that betrayed her exhaustion and embarrassment, she asked me for the last thing I expected.
As I sit on Faith’s couch, my phone dings with a text message from Autumn.
Livvie's running late, I'm waiting at the table. What are you up to?
I stare down at the phone, uncertain how to respond. I don't want to lie, but I want to respect Faith's privacy. If she wants Autumn to know about the prescription, she'll have to be the one to tell her.
I write her back. Relaxing. When do you think you'll be done? Dessert with me?
I could meet her somewhere. Or maybe have her meet me at my place and I'll have her for dessert. She's sweet like sugar, and she tastes divine. Our sex life pretty much picked up where we left it at age eighteen, except this time around both of us have more experience and confidence.
A twinge of guilt sneaks in at my roundabout lie. Sure, I'm relaxing. I just didn't tell her where. If we're keeping track, the score is now one to one. I know Autumn didn't tell me whatever her old boss said on that voicemail. The look on her face could not have come from someone just checking in to see how she's doing. There was surprise in her arched eyebrows, then a curve of a pleased smile. Whatever made her feel that way, Autumn didn't want me to know about it.
I decided to let it go that night. We were in Vegas; it wasn't the time or place to push. A small part of me doesn't want to know. My imagination has supplied the answer already anyhow. Something along the lines of big promotion, corner office, and whatever else could be said to lure Autumn back to Manhattan.
The thought fucking shatters me. I've been pushing it away for an entire week, ever since we came back from Vegas. Without her mother, Autumn doesn't have a reason to stay. What will keep her in Sedona after Faith is gone?
The front door opens wide and Faith steps in. She holds a basic white paper bag, the name of the store she visited nowhere to be found on the sack. The hush-hush, nondescript nature of it makes me smile.
Faith blushes when she catches my gaze. "That was awkward. The girl who helped me called it 'medicating.’ I asked her questions, and she kept saying 'When I medicate…' and then answering me. I felt like telling her to give up the charade, we both know she's recreational." Faith laughs. "What a fucking ordeal."
Her words leave me dumbfounded. Or, more accurately, her use of one word in particular is what has momentarily stunned my brain. I don't think I've ever heard Faith swear. Cancer has changed her; being terminal has changed her; she’s much more carefree.
I stand, reaching into my pocket for my car keys. Faith is so embarrassed I imagine she'll want to be alone for the next part. I just wanted to be here in case she wanted me to go with her to the shop, but she didn’t want someone to see me with a patient and get in trouble. I’m not sure that I would, but it was a good call, I guess. "Well, I'm glad you got what you needed. I'll head out now."
Her arm shoots out. "Wait. Please don't go." She looks down at the bag, her fingers tightening around it. "I don't know what I'm doing. Could you help me?"
I wish I could swipe off the cherry red color in her cheeks as if it were washable marker. Teach my girlfriend’s mom how to smoke weed? Sure … no big deal, and not awkward for either of us.
"Of course, Faith. No worries." I hold out my hand and Faith gives me the bag. It crinkles in my grip as I lead her through the house and out the back door.
"You'll want to be outside," I inform her, holding open the door to allow her to step out. "It's pungent."
"Right," she nods. "I smelled it in college."
She gets settled into her favorite seat underneath the canopy, and I reach into the bag. Pre-rolls. Good. She got something easy. I had my fair share of experience in college, before I got super serious the last two years of undergrad and beyond, but I was terrible at packing the bowl. Ace always did it for me, and teased me mercilessly.
“Didn’t want any gummies or brownies? A vape perhaps?” I grin at her.
She shoos me off with a hand. “The girl tried to give me the gummy bears. I told her I wasn’t a child.”
I grin. “Smoking is good. It helps a lot of my patients with pain and appetite. But the gummies are good too, I hear. Eating it feels different than smoking it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is that right, Dr. Miller? You seem to know a lot about this.”
Now it’s my turn for my cheeks to flame red.
"Lighter?" I ask, holding out my palm like I'm in surgery.
Faith mouths the word oops and I chuckle, running inside to the junk drawer in the kitchen and grab a lighter.
"Okay," I tell her when I've returned, "you're going to hold it between your lips, and when I light it, you're going to take a drag. A lot like a cigarette."
Faith eyes me appreciatively. "Is it safe to bet you haven't done this with many of your patients?"
I pinch the pre-rolled joint between two fingers and hold it out to her. "You are definitely the first. And you don't need to feel embarrassed. You're in pain and you don't need to be. There are no prizes for enduring pain, Faith."