Sweet Fall

Then I heard the voice in my head.

But you are not handling it well, are you, Lexington? You are slowly coming back to me. You want to be here too. And I want you back. I miss you…

“Lexi?” my daddy whispered sadly, and I whipped my head up, interrupting him before he could say more. I couldn’t hear any more!

“Was that Austin Carillo you were talking to in there?” I blurted out, attempting to change the subject, pointing to the family room.

Deflection, an anorexic’s greatest tool.

My daddy rocked on his feet and his face reddened. That meant it was.

“Doctor-patient confidentiality, Lexi. You know I can’t tell you why.”

I nodded my head and looked wistfully down the hallway once more.

My daddy cleared his throat. “Do you know Austin Carillo, Lexi? You’ve never mentioned him before,” he asked cautiously. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was because he was a Heighter. But I wasn’t sure Austin was as bad as he seemed. At least, he wasn’t that night in the summerhouse. A part of me kinda thought I saw the real him that night.

“I only know him from cheerleading,” I replied. “He plays for the Tide. He’s a wide receiver. But I don’t know him well, no.”

Daddy exhaled a pent-up breath in—I surmised—relief and rubbed his forehead with his hand. He was stressed. I reached out and tugged on the sleeve of his white coat, flashing him a proud smile. He was such an exceptional doctor because he cared deeply for his patients. He was, simply put, an exceptional human being. Maxwell Hart MD was the chief oncologist for the district of Tuscaloosa because of his compassion and kindness for people—from any walk of life. He volunteered for free clinics just so people without insurance didn’t have to suffer in pain. Goes from hospital to hospital helping out where he can.

My stomach churned in sudden fear. My daddy’s an oncologist. That meant… Oh no! That meant someone in Carillo’s family must have cancer.

“Who is it?” I whispered, deep empathy clogging my throat. I fixed my eyes on my daddy’s.

“Who is what?” he asked in confusion.

“Who in Austin’s family is sick? Who has cancer?” My voice had taken on a panicked tone. For some reason, knowing someone in his family was sick made his behavior, and even his life choices, just that little bit more understandable. Was his brother selling drugs because he was paying for someone’s medical bills? Was that why he threatened me so much to be quiet?

My daddy stared at me in thought. I knew he was wondering why I was so concerned. I brushed off his worry and prompted him to answer with a roll of my hand.

Daddy sighed in defeat. “I’m not his doctor, Lexi. Martin Small, the hospital’s chief neurologist, is his doctor. Martin had to go across town to an emergency and asked me to inform Austin of some… news.” I nodded for him to keep going, but he shook his head and laid a hand on my shoulder. The action made me freeze, and he quickly pulled it away.

“I can’t say any more, sweetheart. Hell, I’ve already stretched the ethical code as it is. Just leave it be.”

I flashed him an appeasing smile and nodded my head. But all I could think of was that Austin was talking to a neurologist. What the hell could be wrong?

“Okay, sweetheart, I gotta go and check on a few more patients before I head home. Long drive. Come for dinner soon, okay. Your momma misses you.”

“Will do, Daddy,” I said and, waving my good-bye, walked casually in the opposite direction, but in the exact direction Carillo fled.

Checking over my shoulder, my daddy was now way out of sight. So ducking my head, I rushed down the hallway and tried to follow Austin’s path. After searching every crevice, exit, and door, the hallway came to an abrupt end, and there was only one door left—the entrance to the garden sanctuary. This garden was created by patients, a private space for patients to reflect, for solitude… for coming to terms with bad news. I should have known. I’d spent many a night here with Daisy in my teens when we’d both been hospitalized.

Pressing my hand on the wood of the door, I bowed my head, my mind a conflict of thoughts as I read the plaque on the wall. One is nearer God’s heart in a garden than anywhere else on Earth—Dorothy G. Gurney.

I probably shouldn’t interrupt him. But Austin seemed to be all alone. And if he was upset, he shouldn’t be alone, should he?

Five minutes later, my stubborn curiosity had me turning the knob of the door to the—thankfully—empty landscaped sanctuary.

A tiny flawless oasis in the hospital’s desert of pain.