Samuel walked toward me as little Jessie Ann Wood peddled away. I double checked to make sure I’d gotten the light and pulled the door closed, sliding the key into the lock.

“That’s your bike isn’t it?” Samuel halted beside me, nodding his head towards my old-fashioned bike leaning up against the side of the church. I felt goose bumps dance up my arms. He didn’t invade my space or reach out and touch me, and I wondered if the kisses last night had been a fluke - an impulse brought on by too much moonlight and sweet remember whens.

“Yes. I rode this morning. It was easier than walking. My legs are shot from this morning - I’m not used to running that fast. You’ve pushed me hard twice this week, and my legs are like jello.” I smiled up at him wryly.

“In that case, I know just what you need.”

Samuel picked up my bike and began walking towards his borrowed black pick-up, lifting it up and setting it in the bed of the truck.

“What do I need?”

“You’ll see. Are you hungry?”

“Always,” I admitted honestly, and Samuel looked at me and chuckled. “Well let’s go put a little meat on those bones.”

He opened the door, and I stepped up into the passenger side, smoothing my violet skirt around my legs as I sat. Samuel reached out and fingered the crinkly material gently. “You wear skirts alot - I like that. You don’t see a lot of women who enjoy being feminine. It’s nice.” His hand dropped from my skirt and shut the door before I could respond with more than a smile.

Samuel climbed in and turned the key. Immediately the sounds of Tchaikovsky’s Octobre - Chant D’Autumne slid into the space around us. I forced myself to relax into the leather seat, hearing the music and letting it in. We drove for a few minutes, listening, before Samuel spoke.

“In Iraq it’s hot more often than not, and the sand is this constant presence. I used to dream of Autumn - the cool mornings with my grandmother herding sheep away from home, waking before the sun rose and actually being chilled - sitting by the campfire and eating jerky and cornmeal cakes and Navajo tea.”

“Is that why you’re listening to The Autumn Song?” I smiled.

“Exactly.”

“Tchaikovsky was paid to create a short piece for each month of the year. He named the entire work The Seasons. He had to have an assistant remind him when it was time to write another ‘month.’ He joked that there are two kinds of inspiration, one that comes from the heart, and one that comes from necessity and several hundred rubles.”

“She’s ba-ack,” Samuel said under his breath in a sing song voice, and I giggled like a little kid.

“I used to play Octobre,” I sighed dreamily. “It always made me think of fall, too.” I shifted my attention back to Samuel, “I could feel it in the air this morning when we ran.”

“Is that why your face lit up, and you smiled that great big smile? You looked like you were about ready to take flight. I thought I was going to have to hold on to you to keep you with me.” Samuel teased, his eyes touching mine briefly.

“I’m always pretty eager for autumn to get here.” I tried to be matter-of-fact as I confessed the reason why. “Both Kasey and my Mom died when summer was just beginning - and I guess summer brings back bad memories. I’m always glad when it’s over.” I twiddled my thumbs uncomfortably in my lap. “Fall has always felt like a chance to start over. I know nature hasn’t designed it that way - it’s actually the opposite. The leaves fall off the trees, the flowers die, and winter rolls in… but I love it all the same.”

“What happened to Kasey?” Samuel was very still, his eyes moving from me to the road and back again.

“You don’t mince words, do you?” I murmured, tucking a stray curl behind my ear.

“My Grandma Yazzie says it’s the Navajo way not to hurry. We have all the time in the world. We move deliberately, take our time, and do things precisely. Life is all about harmony and balance. It’s probably the reason I’m a good sniper. I can outwait anybody. But I don’t feel like I have all the time in the world anymore, not now. I don’t want to waste any of the time I have with you.” Samuel’s expression was unflinching, and I flushed at his bluntness.

“He rolled his car not too far from here,” I pointed out my window, at the long narrow highway we were driving on, “He had just dropped me off. It was the morning after we graduated from high school.”

Samuel remained silent, waiting for me to continue.

“I used to marvel at the irony that I had wanted him to spend an extra 20 minutes with me that morning, taking me home, instead of remaining in Nephi like he’d planned. I had another ride, you know… he never would have been driving back into Nephi at all if it weren’t for me. I traded an extra twenty minutes with him for a lifetime. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Have you ever thought that he might have rolled the car there in Nephi just as easily, and if he hadn’t taken you home you wouldn’t have had even those last twenty minutes? There are many ways to die, Josie. You didn’t necessarily place him in death’s only path.” Samuel’s voice and face were blank, like he was discussing the height of the wheat in the fields we drove past, or the way the mountains in front of us looked purple beneath the sky.

“There was a guy I served with in Iraq. His mom didn’t want him to go; she was scared to death of him going. Of course, he went anyway. He’d signed up for it, and he went. His younger brother, who still lived at home, was killed in a car accident while he was gone. My friend came home from Iraq without a scratch. That’s irony.”