In Autumn's Wake

by Maguire, Megan

  “Dylan, he’s speculating. He has no proof.”

  “He’s wrong!”

  She rubs my arm. “I believe you. It’s okay.”

  “Damn him.” I pound the window and gesture to Sean to get my coat and come outside. He picks up our things and heads out, putting on his trapper hat before handing me my coat.

  “What’s up? The game’s on,” he says.

  “We’re going to the Andersons’ to get that note. Don’t say a word, just give me your gun.”

  18

  Autumn shouldn’t be next to me in my truck as I drive to the Andersons’ house, but she wanted to tag along. No, not wanted, she insisted. And of course, I caved.

  I tell her not to feel sorry for me. She says she won’t. I tell her this is the worst of me. But she says it might be the most genuine. Then she tells me not to feel guilty for having loved. She means what she says.

  I’ve fallen hard for her, but it’s impossible to know if my feelings are real or if I’m experiencing lust. Can I be utterly lost in a girl who I haven’t slept with? Heather was the only one who made me punch-drunk, and I don’t see how anyone else can compare. I shouldn’t be thinking about Autumn anyway. Not now. Not when we’re in Heather’s neighborhood. It’s downright odd. Odd to bring my new girlfriend to my deceased girlfriend’s parents’ house. Sean thinks so, too. He’s said it twice. “This is totally weird, Dylan.” But Autumn disagrees. She tells Sean we’re adults and that it’s immature to hide from the past. To that point, I immediately ask about the mayor and her past.

  “That’s none of Ed Dorazio’s business. But yes, I was ‘with’ Nick,” she says.

  The word with causes my heart to miss a beat, stalling out in jealousy.

  “Two years ago,” she adds. “Our relationship was phony. At least to him, it was. I didn’t know he was engaged and I was ‘the girl on the side’ until I saw an article online about his fiancé. I haven’t had a boyfriend since. Just a bunch of flings about as bland as oatmeal.”

  “No shit,” I say, stunned. “No relationship at all?”

  She changes the subject quickly. She says I need help, and she’s glad I let her come along. I don’t know if she’s referring to needing help with Joel and Lona Anderson or in general. Likely, in general.

  “Dylan, you’re screwing this whole thing up with Autumn,” Sean says from the back seat.

  “No, he’s not,” Autumn says, sitting next to me in the front.

  “You finally like a girl, and you do this? You take her to Heather’s house?”

  When I smile at him in the mirror, he refuses to smile back, in a complete stew over this.

  “Don’t listen to him,” she says to me. “Sean, a relationship isn’t based on bits and pieces. You have to be willing to share everything.”

  “Wroooong. Not this. No way,” he says.

  “Yes, this too,” she argues. “The good and the bad.”

  “Dylan”—he leans forward—“I think you should drive home and let this go. Maybe Autumn will give you another round of head back at the house.”

  My laughter catches me off guard. I tighten my lips, seeing Autumn’s open-mouthed expression out of the corner of my eye. “Sorry ’bout that. I wanted to brag about how fantastic it was. I mean, how fantastic you are.” I lay it on thick.

  “Did you give him details?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “No body description?”

  “Nope.”

  “As long as it was good.” She gives my knee a reassuring squeeze. “Dylan shouldn’t give up on this.” She returns to the argument with Sean. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Because you’re a girl,” he says.

  She reaches back and tugs his scarf. “No, because I’m human.”

  “And you’d bring your new guy along?” He swats her hand away.

  “Absolutely. If my new boyfriend wanted to come along to understand me better, why not?”

  “You’re as cracked as he is.” He snorts, moving restlessly in the seat. “Dylan, I know you’ve been through hell, but you need to separate the past from the present. Especially with this new chick.”

  “He’s saying that out of love,” I whisper to her.

  She looks over her shoulder, eyes zeroing in on him. “Sean.”

  “Huh?”

  “There’s a moment in everyone’s life when the past and the present collide. It’s a sobering reminder of what has and hasn’t changed.”

  He harasses her with a slow clap. “Good one. Where’d you hear that crap?”

  “It’s not crap.” She throws him a dirty look. “Think about it.”

  “Yeah, no. Men don’t want to be reminded of their past. It’s better to keep it hidden away forever.”

  “All right, that’s enough from you two.” Their backbiting is nothing but caustic to my aching head. “Let up, or I’ll pull over and make you both walk home.”

  Autumn clasps her hands in her lap, twiddling her thumbs. “He’s so annoying,” she whispers.

  “Hey, Sean.” I tilt my mirror so I can see him in the back. “Is that what you think about me? That I’d be better off never thinking about Heather and Jake? Should I keep them hidden away like they never existed?”

  He turns away. Autumn glances back at him before shifting her gaze at me, then at the window. She draws a heart on the fogged glass, and looks down at the heart tattoo on her finger, giving a half-smile. “I think a relationship is destined for failure when you hide the past from the present.” She presses her finger to the heart on the glass. “People are only interesting when they have a story to tell.” She swipes an arrow through it. “It’s part of the attraction. Too bad you’re a blank book, Sean.” She looks at him in the passenger-side mirror, and he scrunches his nose at her.

  That’s why I totally adore her.

  I ease into the brakes and park a few houses away from the Andersons’. It’s dark outside, but not late. They’re still awake and might see my truck if I park right in front.

  “Dylan, this is not what your dad meant when he told you to stay out of trouble.” Sean grabs hold of the headrests and pulls himself forward; his face springs up between the two front seats. “We have an agreement. Right? This is the last time. Say it.”

  “Last time,” I say.

  “And you’re not doing anything foolish, right?”

  “Right.” He made me swear I wouldn’t break any windows, kick in any doors, or use his gun. I can only ask Joel and Lona politely, politely, one last time to see the note.

  “And when they tell you no, you’re going to respect that answer and walk away. Right?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I can’t hear you.” He cups an ear.

  “Right. No guns, no arguing, and I have to walk away when the Andersons tell me to go to hell.”

  “Which house?” Autumn asks.

  “Three up on the left.” I point.

  She leans forward to have a peek. “The snow is too dense to see it from here.”

  “It’s an English Tudor that looks like a miniature castle.” I open my door and step into the biting wind. “Wait here.”

  They hop out and dash to my side of the truck. Autumn tucks her jeans into her boots while Sean wraps his scarf around his neck.

  “We’re going with you to make sure Lona doesn’t blow your head off,” he says.

  “I figured as much.” I buzz my lips. “Don’t get trigger-happy like at the party. This is a different situation.”

  A flickering streetlight by the Andersons’ house attracts me like a beacon. Snow swirls through front yards, and landscape lighting emits a romantic glow. Heather walked past the lights along their driveway the last night I saw her. She turned back to me and waved. I remember that now. Her blonde hair lifted in the wind, and there was a tear on her cheek.

  “Why was she upset?”

  “Who?” Sean asks.

  I massage the back of my neck. “No one.�
��

  We cross the street, our boots sinking into the fresh snowfall on the narrow sidewalk, burrowing into the crunchy layer hidden underneath.

  Sean zips and unzips his coat. He does it again, the repetitive noise unleashing stress and anxiety.

  “Stop,” I warn.

  He stops briefly, starts again. Stops and starts.

  “Cool it.”

  He puts his hands in his pockets and takes kicking strides, causing snow tumbleweeds to blow down the walk.

  “Sean, would you relax for once?”

  “We shouldn’t be here again,” he says.

  “It’s too late to turn around.”

  “It’s never too late, Dylan.”

  My arm extends across his chest, and I grab Autumn’s shoulder, stopping them as a car speeds past. Out of control, the rear end fishtails. It makes a quick turn into the Andersons’ driveway, smashing through a snow berm left by a plow. The car stampedes to the house and slides to a stop, mere inches from the garage.

  It’s a black Lexus—Joel Anderson’s car.

  “Don’t move,” I say, keeping an eye on the scene.

  A line of pine trees separating the Andersons’ property from the neighbor’s screens us. The driver’s-side door swings open and Joel rushes out, arguing with Lona as she charges out of the car after him, their heated words echoing down the street.

  “Don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do.” Lona wobbles close behind him in her high heels. “You hear me, Joel? If I want to talk to a lawyer, I will. I don’t need your goddamn permission.”

  “We can go over things together, before you talk to a lawyer.”

  “I can’t live like this anymore!” she screams. “I don’t need to tell you what I’m doing.”

  “But you can call me for a ride when your car gets stuck in the snow at his office? Are you that much of a bitch?”

  “Don’t you dare call me that!”

  “Don’t do this, Joel. Don’t do that, Joel,” he says in a whiny voice. “Don’t talk.” He turns around and flaps his hands over his head. “Only talk when it’s convenient for you. Is that it? When you need something? Then I’m allowed to talk?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you, too, Lona.” He unlocks the side door of their house, pushing it open with a grunt. “Are you going to call me after the divorce when the dishwasher breaks, or just when you need me to come over and unload it for you?” The door slams shut, and their words get trapped inside.

  “You can’t ask them now,” Sean says.

  “Guess not,” I say.

  “But we can listen to them fight.” Autumn moves into the neighbor’s front yard, screened by the row of pines. She forges through knee-deep snowdrifts, clearing a trail for us.

  “Good idea.” I follow right behind her.

  “Really? We’re gonna listen?” Sean huffs. “You guys … what for?” He blows out his cheeks. “Ugh, wait up.”

  A light turns on in the Andersons’ front living room, then the entryway, and then the office. Shadows merge as Joel and Lona stalk one another throughout the house, shouts muffled by the thick exterior walls.

  Taking the lead, I duck past windows, creep across the back patio, and wedge between the overgrown boxwood bushes under their kitchen window. I gesture to Autumn and Sean to stay low. They elbow their way in next to me, and we peep over the windowsill, the top of our heads disguised under a frosting of snow.

  A fluorescent light in the kitchen flickers on. Joel walks in, Lona a step behind, hurling her purse onto the center island.

  He points at the refrigerator door. “Where is she? Where’s Heather’s photo?”

  “Safe.” Lona opens the fridge, slamming it shut a second later, carrying a yogurt container across the room.

  “Safe where?”

  She digs through a silverware drawer, flips off the lid, and shoves a spoonful into her mouth.

  “I told you not to touch any of that. Put her back. Put it all back!”

  I’ve never seen him this angry, or his face bright red, or his fist hit the counter, or hit anything for that matter.

  “Put her back!” He beats the fridge where her photo used to be.

  “Never!” Lona screams.

  I shake my head. Joel Anderson is a mouse. The man before me isn’t him. The aggression and loss of control—I don’t even recognize the guy.

  “You did this.” He follows her around the kitchen island. “She’d still be alive if you hadn’t—”

  “Hadn’t what? Been open with my daughter? Told her what was happening in our marriage?”

  “If you hadn’t cheated on me!”

  She throws her hip out and licks the spoon. “Well, I wasn’t getting any from you.”

  “Wow,” I whisper.

  “And don’t you dare lay this on me.” She sticks the spoon inside the container and spins it around. “It wasn’t my fault. Dylan did this to us. You know that’s true.”

  Joel crosses his arms. “That’s what you always say. You blame Dylan. It’s so much easier than taking responsibility for being a whore, isn’t it?”

  “Heather wrote ‘it was a blow to the head.’ That means something, Joel. It’s about him. I bet he hit her.”

  Sean covers my mouth before my response to Lona’s comment comes flying out.

  “She also wrote about a twig.” Joel paces. “Is that slang? Is it pot? Was someone smoking weed that night? Or was blow about coke? We don’t know. We’ll never know.” His hands flap over his head again. “It could be about anything. She was drinking after she got back and the note is a mess. It’s just a bunch of wild scribbles.” He stops pacing and glares at her. “I know Heather was upset over you, not Dylan. Face it. The clearest part of her note to him is her first word. Pregnant. After that, it’s an incoherent rant!”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, choked by that word. Pregnant.

  Lona throws the yogurt container in the sink, splattering it on the counter and up the backsplash. “Heather was upset over Dylan.”

  “Over me? Why?” I stand, and Sean tugs me down.

  “Don’t let them see you,” he says.

  “What blow to the head? What did Heather know?” My words gush out. “Was she at the party? Do you remember her being there?”

  “Of course not. I would’ve told you.” He grips my shoulder and holds me steady. “Be quiet and listen.”

  “Her mom was pregnant? Or was Heather pregnant? Which one?” I ask.

  “Dylan, drop your head. Don’t let them see you.” Autumn puts her hand on my head and drives it downward.

  Joel stares at the fridge. “Put everything back, Lona.”

  “I’m not putting anything back.”

  “Then get out!” He makes a swift turn and puts a massive dent in the freezer door with his foot.

  “I’m not leaving the house where I raised my baby girl!”

  “This is my house.” He pounds his chest. “I bought it from my parents before I even met you. You’re not welcome here.”

  She waves her spoon at his face, one step closer to him. “I’ll kill you if you don’t stop punishing me.”

  “With what? A spoon?” He catches her wrist. She squirms, but he refuses to let go.

  I stand up, pitching forward and back like I’m revving up to crash through the kitchen window.

  “Dylan, don’t.” Autumn waves me back down. “Let them fight it out so you get some information.”

  A burst of wind breaks through the backyard. I raise my arm over my face as it powers into me. The gust harvests an avalanche of snow that plummets from one end of the roof to the other. A clump lands on my boots, stirring up a flashback of Heather’s funeral when Joel took a handful of freshly dug dirt and dropped it onto her casket. A fierce wind picked up and the dirt settled on my boots. He released the earth to his daughter as he said his goodbyes, but it came to me. A horrifying experience I’ve never been able to shake. />
  I kick the snow off and hunker down before the Andersons see me, suddenly nauseated … and needy. I want to embrace something that isn’t here and, at the same time, I want to embrace something that is here. Lines are crossing in ways I don’t understand. I stare at the beauty of Autumn, her cheeks dusted with specks of snow, tiny flakes glistening on her long eyelashes. She’s all in, with me, for me, considerate about life in its entirety. And I look through the window at Heather’s parents, remembering the beauty of Heather’s life as it was, wondering what we’d be like today, the two of us, here, now.

  Lona breaks free of Joel’s grip. “Touch me again, and I’m calling the cops.”

  “Heather should’ve called the cops on you.”

  “What for?”

  “Abuse! You insisted she couldn’t do it. She should’ve come to me.”

  “That’s not what happened!” Lona clutches her hair with both hands. “You’re wrong, Joel. Dead wrong.”

  My legs tremble. I lower my head between my knees and suck in ragged breaths. “Heather would’ve told me if she was pregnant. It can’t be true.” I spit into the snow, about to heave. “Why would she keep that from me?”

  “She wouldn’t have,” Sean says, helping me back up. “She didn’t.”

  I grip the window ledge and peek back inside the kitchen. Joel has his palms flat on the kitchen island, his chin to his chest. “Put everything back, Lona.” He claws the counter. “You need to look at Heather’s photo every day. Every god-awful morning when you come in here, her face should be the first face that you see.” He hugs himself and rubs his arms. “And put that card to the Women’s Clinic back on the fridge so you can remember that you cheated on me. I wanted it there for a reason. Do it, or get your ass the hell out of my home.”

  I turn to Sean. “Was Lona pregnant? Who was pregnant?”