Bring Down the Stars

After dinner, I settled myself in my room that still had posters of Moulin Rouge and Keira Knightley’s Pride and Prejudice hung over the bluebell wallpaper. I still had some clothes stashed in the old dresser. I took a shower and changed out of the dress I’d been wearing, into an old set of men’s style pajamas. I bundled myself up in one of Mom’s afghans, and sat on the porch swing to watch the stars come out.

Around nine o’clock, I opened my phone and reread the last text exchange with Connor. Smiling, I pushed the call button. He answered in three rings.

“Hey you,” he said in his deep voice.

“Hi,” I said. “Are you busy?”

“No, I’m just hanging around here at home. How’s your dad?”

“He’s okay. He made it through the surgery and he opened his eyes.” The tears were already coming. “Thank you so much.”

“It was nothing.”

“It’s everything,” I said, my voice breaking.

“Don’t cry. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” I said, wiping my eyes with the cuff of my PJs. “It’s a very big deal.”

A short silence fell.

“Okay, well…” I pressed my lips together. “I guess that’s all I wanted to tell you.”

I heard a shuffling and muffled voices, then Connor said, “Autumn, can you hold on for a second? Just give me a second.”

“Uh, sure.”

More shuffling and I thought I heard someone swear. Then Connor came back on the line, his voice whispery and rough.

“Hi. Sorry about that. I was just…getting my thoughts together. Long day.”

“Are you getting a cold?” I asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your voice sounds a little hoarse.”

“Yeah, I got this little tickle going on.” He cleared his throat. “Driving me crazy. And I have to keep it down. Wes is trying to sleep.”

“Oh, I forgot he had a meet this morning,” I said. “How’d it go?”

“Not good. He crashed bad on the hurdles.”

I sat up on the porch swing. “He did? Is he okay?”

“Some bruises and road rash, but he’ll be all right. I think his pride took the brunt of it.”

I laughed a little and sank back down.

“So your father is okay?” he asked.

“They’re taking the breathing tube out tomorrow, which is good. It means he’s on track. God, he looks so weak, though. Frail.”

“You’re there,” he said. “I’m sure that means everything to him. He’ll be up in no time.”

“You think so?”

“You’re worth getting out of bed for, Autumn.”