One Summer With Autumn

by Julie Reece

  “I can’t believe I agreed to this. I’m a nice person.”

  “Geeze, I’m not going to hurt her.” I shake the hair from my eyes. “Wait until you meet her. Trust me, if there’s a full moon, you’ll be glad she’s out there and not in here with real people.” I smile when she shakes her head. “Oh, lighten up, it’s a joke. The work will be good for her. Rub a little dirt in it.”

  She squeezes my shoulder. “Showing a little understanding wouldn’t kill you, Caden.”

  “Silas.”

  “Just don’t go overboard with the work detail. Any problems and she moves to the house. Okay?”

  “Sure, but there won’t be. That girl is part granite, just let me handle it.” Jesse’s head tilts. I can feel she wants to say more, but I hope she won’t. I tense in the building silence, tying to think of an excuse to leave.

  “I’m … I’m thinking that after last spring, after Piper’s accident, you feel you have something to prove. You don’t, you know? It could have happened to any—”

  I’m saved from more touchy-feely discussion when my older brother bursts through the door. “There you are.”

  I stand. “Hey, Quinn. Take my seat, I was just headed in.”

  “Coward,” Jesse says, under her breath.

  “You bet,” I admit. “Technically, you’re still newlyweds. Which means the two of you will start pawing each other in about thirty seconds, and I just ate.”

  Jesse holds her hand out to Quinn. “Shut up, Caden.”

  “I don’t know any Caden. I’m Silas, remember? And Jesse Behr, part of the family who employs me to train interns, can’t cook. In fact, she regularly tries to poison me with pseudo food-like substances masquerading as dinner. I’m already queasy, so I definitely don’t want to watch you two make out.”

  Quinn pops me in the head as he passes. “Just wait, Silas. We all talk big until it happens to us.” He pulls his bride from the rocking chair and sets in her place. Settling her in his lap, his arms wrap her as she snuggles against him.

  My eyes roll. Yes. Nausea beckons. “Well I can promise ‘it’ isn’t happening to me. That’s the sort of stupid thing married people say to those of us still unattached.” Jesse buries her face in Quinn’s neck.

  They aren’t listening. Though, if I had a girl in my lap, I’d probably ignore me, too.

  “Whatever,” I say, and head inside. I’m suddenly irritable with no idea why. “Yeah, it’s all good until they bite you.” And with that, I stalk upstairs to the quiet of my room.

  ***

  I lie on my back in bed, arms behind my head, thinking. Call and Deets sleep next to me. Their heavy breathing is rhythmic and usually calming, but tonight I’m anything but relaxed. Ever since Jesse mentioned Autumn’s safety, I fight with myself over whether or not to go check on her. The idea she’s out there and afraid bothers me, despite my lecture on how she’d have to “rough it.” The clock beside my bed reads ten forty-five. Not late, but not early either. She could be asleep. Reason tells me she’s safe as a lamb out there in the cottage, so why am I stressing?

  Because some guy in a ball cap almost … I can’t even think about the almost.

  True to her word, she didn’t show for dinner. I turn over, absently stroking Call’s furry head. Autumn said she was tired. More likely pouting and pissed off, but okay. Point is, I knew she wasn’t coming to the house tonight, right? She’s fine. I’m not worried. Worried is too strong a word. Curious, maybe mildly concerned. I’m just being responsible, that’s all.

  Jesse encouraged, no, more like demanded, I look out for her—right before she not so subtly reminded me of Piper’s accident. Piper’s my almost, not-quite girlfriend since, oh, I don’t know—birth. With a groan, I thread my fingers through my hair. She’s nice. Sweet. And I hate to say it, but she’s laid back to the point of being dull, sometimes.

  I know our story by heart. My mom met her suitemate and BFF Lila in college. Both women married men they met at school, then settled in the same town. If that’s not crazy enough, when they both got pregnant at the same time, our moms “arranged” a wedding the minute the ultrasounds reveled our sexes. Aw, how cute. Not.

  It was fine when they’d kept their plotting to themselves. Piper and I had been friends our whole lives. But before she died of cancer, Piper’s mother had finally spilled the beans about her hopes for me and her daughter to tie the knot. Talk about pressure. Naturally, the poor girl decided I was the One, but she didn’t act on it right away. Not for a long time, in fact. Then, last winter, we were sitting out on the dock laughing and talking as usual. Life’s copasetic, right? The next thing I know, her tongue is down my throat, and from there, everything fell apart.

  As if it hadn’t already.

  I shift again, unable to shut my thoughts down. My mind drifts to the ever-feisty Autumn. I could take a walk through the yard. Jesse would approve of me making a quick stop. While I can’t be too soft on her, no one can argue her day was pretty shitty. A bus trip, finding out she’s sleeping alone in a shed for eight weeks, the dogs, then earlier there was the ass from the bus all over her …

  Why had she claimed he was robbing her when he clearly wasn’t? With that thought, I’m up and angling for the door. Snatching the flashlight from my end table, I flip it on and head out. The dogs’ nails click on the hardwood as they follow me down the stairs to the main floor.

  “Caden?” Quinn calls from the living room.

  “It’s Silas! And I’ll be right back.” I hear Jesse murmur, but I don’t ask her to repeat herself.

  Outside, the air is warm and sultry, yet the hair on the back of my neck rises. Nerves jump as I fist my hands and move faster. Already, the grass is slick with dew. You’re being ridiculous, I tell myself, even as I break into a jog toward the cottage.

  A high pitch scream shatters the quiet. Deets barks, while Call bounds away. Another shriek echoes off the surrounding trees. I race after my dogs, heart slamming against my ribcage. Could Ball Cap Guy have followed us here from the bus station? If he touches her, he’s dead.

  “Autumn!” Information trickles into my adrenaline-pumped brain. Her shouts are distant. Why isn’t she in the cottage? I veer around the side of the building and head for the outhouse. “I’m coming!”

  My dogs jump against the building and howl. Gus is here, too, standing on his hind legs, front paws propped against the outhouse door. Hinges rattle as if they’ll snap, so I’m thinking she’s somehow trapped inside. I pull my dog down and reach for the handle, but the door flies open and cracks my skull.

  Stars explode behind my eyelids. It’s the Fourth of July in my head. My ass hits the ground, and I’m flat on my back in the grass. Weight on my chest forces the air from my lungs. A groan escapes, but I’m not sure the sound comes from me. Hair brushes my face. Dog hair. Intern hair.

  “Autumn?” I croak.

  “Kill me now.”

  Her breath tickles my neck. Someone’s licking my cheek. I hope to God it’s Autumn, but decide it must be Gus. Autumn shifts on top of me. Her protruding hipbone nudges mine. I feel every curve. I’m hot. I’m bothered. And I tell my body it’s so not the time for this shit. When I open my eyes, her face swims overhead, hair hanging down in a heavy curtain, pooling on my shoulders. “I heard you scream. Are you hurt?” I ask.

  “No.” She grunts, rolling off me. As I struggle to sit up, my fingers scout around for the knot I’m sure is growing out of my forehead.

  Light spills from the single bulb in the outhouse onto the lawn, illuminating a ten-foot circle around us. Autumn faces me, butt planted in the grass with her knees pointing up. Her jeans bunch around her ankles. Her flimsy T-shirt barely covering the waistband of her red panties. I mentally punch myself to disengage my stare. “What the hell happened?”

  She mumbles and flips the hair from her face.

  “What?”

  She points to the open door. “The Queen Mary Mother of all spiders is in there, waiting to ambush innocent, would-be pee
-ers.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Show me.”

  “Like hell.” Her chin jerks. “Find it yourself, cowboy.”

  I do.

  Pushing to a stand, I search the grass for the flashlight I dropped, and try not to watch my intern slide her jeans on. Maybe I am a perv.

  Retrieving my flashlight, I head into the outhouse and immediately see the problem. South Carolina Wolf Spiders are big, hairy, and they jump. With six eyes bunched together on the top of their heads, I admit, they’re a real freak show.

  Grabbing a magazine, I scoop the spider from a corner of the outhouse before stomping it to death with my boot. Then I sweep the squashed remains out the door and into the grass. “Still need to pee?”

  “No.” A long sigh. “Yes. I guess I can always go out here in the grass like a dog.”

  I glance down, hiding my grin. “You could do that,” I say. “But you’re just as likely to find another spider out here as in the bathroom—where I’ve made a thorough search and can promise an all clear.” She rubs her hands up and down her skinny arms as if she’s freezing. “I’ll even stand watch.”

  “No, it’s okay.” She leans forward, peering around the grass in front of the door. Her arms are rigid against her sides, hands balled into tiny fists. “Where is it?”

  “What, the spider? It’s dead.”

  “I know, and I thank you, but where is it? The carcass?” She’s still looking, body tense as a spring.

  The girl is entertaining; I’ll give her that. And ripe for a good scare. I could easily yell and freak her shit more, but I don’t. “Its way over there,” I say, waving toward a space beyond where the light reaches. I have no idea where the damn spider is, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  “Okay.” She moves in slow motion, tiptoeing into the bathroom. Her eyes scan every corner of the small space. Then she stops. “Hey, why are you out here, anyway?”

  I can’t have her thinking I’m going soft. “The dogs and I were taking a walk when we heard you yell.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks. Thanks for the second time today.” Her barely-there whisper sends an odd shiver over my skin. “Have a good night, Silas.”

  “No problem.” I’m guessing that’s my queue to leave, but I can’t. Not yet. It’s quiet as tombs out here, other than the soft swish of dog paws in the grass. I don’t know why I’m still standing here. Autumn’s fine. Go home. I argue with myself until the outhouse latch jiggles.

  When the door opens, Autumn stops short. “You.”

  “Yeah. I decided to … I thought I’d, you know, walk you back to the cottage.” It’s official, I’m a pansy-ass.

  “Kay.”

  We say no more, strolling from the outhouse, around the cottage and up the stairs to her door. She faces me while the dogs weave between us, bumping our legs. There’s enough light from the moon to highlight her face. Gone are the angry lines of her usual frown. Her skin looks soft, smooth, and touchable. The way she plays with the bands on her wrists instead of looking at me is kind of cool. Is she nervous?

  “Thanks again,” she says, lifting her head. “You know, for the warrior bug-smashing you did back there.” Her gaze flits downward. She bites her lip, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was checking me out. Watching her watch me is a huge turn on, or at least it would be if she wasn’t my employee, and we didn’t already hate each other’s guts.

  “Glad to help,” I say.

  I stall a little longer, though there’s no reason to stay. The air is too warm, tension too tight. She shifts her feet, tosses her hair. My brain processes the action in slow motion, like she’s starring in a shampoo commercial. My lungs struggle to function. The longer we stand here not talking, the dumber I feel.

  “See you at six,” I say too loudly, and clear my throat. “Let’s go, dogs.” When I shuffle down the steps, I notice I’m short one mutt. I turn finding Gus on the porch, still sitting with his big butt parked on Autumn’s foot. “Gus, come on, boy.”

  My dog blinks big, dopey eyes at me like he’s suddenly forgot his name. Pissed at his disobedience, I’m about to call him out when it hits me. Isn’t she safer with Gus in the cottage? “You want him to stay with you tonight?”

  She hesitates, glancing at the black dog whose head is higher than her waist. “Oh, that’s okay. I don’t do dogs, remember?”

  I smile. “Right. Well, he didn’t get the memo. I mean, look at him!” Gus leans against her almost toppling her tiny, pygmy body. “Dogs are usually a good judge of character.” Usually. I don’t know what’s happening here, but he seems to want to stay. “Might be good company, and he makes a nice watchdog.”

  Autumn perks up at the word watchdog. Maybe she is afraid.

  “I’ll tell you what, if you don’t want him, you can kick him out.” I turn my back and start walking. A weird satisfaction settles over me, knowing my dog protects her.

  “What? Wait. No! I don’t know how to talk to dogs.”

  I can’t stop grinning. She’s so gullible, and fun to mess with. Without looking back, I answer, “Guess it’s time you learned.”

  “Silas! You have to take him. What do I do?”

  I’m laughing now. My first rescue, Gus has had the run of this property for three years. No one manages that dog. He manages us. “Sweet dreams, intern.”

  8

  Autumn

  “What are you painting, Momma?”

  I’m six years old, sitting on a crate in my mother’s art studio. I know it’s a dream, but it seems real enough. My mother stands in front of a seven-foot square frame. She throws paint against the white canvas and together, we watch it run to the plastic sheeting on the floor.

  “What do you see, Aud?” she asks. Her hair is the color of peanut butter. Shoulder-length waves bounce as she glances at me over her shoulder.

  I consider her question carefully. I think I should know the answer, but I don’t. Before me is a kaleidoscope of red, orange, and yellow swirls that make no sense at all. “A tree,” I say.

  “Aw, you just guess now, eh?” Momma’s heavy accent is teasing, challenging. “Never be afraid to dream, minha filha pequena. Tell me, what do you see?”

  Her question tickles my imagination. I swing my legs, enjoying the sound my heels make against the wooden box. “It’s the merry-go-round at the park?”

  Her smile is brilliant. “Ooh, there now! Very good, little one, and can you see the horses?”

  I giggle. “No, silly, they are running much too fast.”

  The heavy metal door clangs behind us. A click of shoes echoing on the concrete reminds me of my father’s work shoes, but the man emerging from behind the frame is not my father. He’s tall, but as dark as my father is fair. His smile is a streaking white comet against his tanned skin. Glancing from me to my mother, he speaks a language I do not know.

  “Fredric, this is Autumn.”

  The man kneels before me, still smiling. He’s handsome, but there’s something in his eyes that I don’t like. My mother motions with her hand, prompting me to answer. I don’t want to.

  “Do not be shy, my dear,” Fredric says. “Your mother and I are good friends. I think you and I will be too, yes?” Fredric pets my hand. His fingers are smooth and cool. He seems familiar. I think I must have seen him before, but can’t remember where. His eyes are a muddy mix of brown and green. They crinkle at the edges when he asks me for a kiss. Unsure, I look to my mother for guidance, but she isn’t there. I turn back to Fredric, and find he too is gone. Panic wells inside me. They’ve left me here alone? Mother would never do that. Something is wrong, very wrong.

  I jump from my seat, and run to the door, but it’s locked. “Mother” echoes throughout the room as I call. Over and over, I circle the large, empty space. All that’s left is the little wooden box and my mother’s painting. I face the picture. Incomplete. Abandoned. Pure pigments bleed to the plastic mat below where they meet in swirling puddles of color. Hues and tones alter from the original a
s they blend to become something else. Something new. Then the paint peels away from the canvas, colors lift like heavy steam rising from a doused campfire. Oils fuse and burn, flame licks the sides of the wooden frame, before spreading to the floor.

  I lied. This is no merry-go-round. It’s a barn. Mother’s painting is a raging fire come to life, consuming the stable, paint, canvas, and me. I said I couldn’t see the horses—but I hear them. They are in my head, screaming their terrible screams as my mother’s studio burns with us inside. My cry for mercy joins the desperate neighs of the frightened horses. Let us out! Oh, please, someone let us out …

  A cat shrieks, jolting me awake. I crack one eye open, regretting Sydney’s ring tone. Sweat rolls down my neck, and I swipe it away. It’s hotter than a Fourth of July sparkler in the cabin, quite possibly due to the hairy rug beside me, pinning my body to the wall. “Ugh, Gus. You big oaf, get off!” My throat is thick with drainage, and I sneeze repeatedly. Pushing my stringy hair from my face with one hand, I reach for my screaming phone with the other. Last night, I stuffed it under my head for safekeeping, and now the ringer is blistering my eardrum through the pillowcase.

  “Hang on, Sydney!” Grabbing my phone, I swipe the screen. “Hello?” My nose runs like a faucet. I crawl over the dog, grab a tissue poking from the box on my end table, and blow.

  “That was in my ear, thank you. You sound diseased.”

  Sydney’s no picnic in the morning, or any other time, really, but she is contact to the outside world—one without sadistic supervisors, outhouses, and an overabundance of crawly things. “Apparently, my sinuses don’t like the woods, or dog hair.”

  “How uninteresting. So, I only have a minute. Nate is taking me to some local antique stores and then lunch, meow. But you’ll never guess who I saw last night.”

  “Justin Bieber?”

  “Almost, Alexander Knight.” My heart skips.

  “That’s … random.” Of all the people I thought she’d name, my ex guitar-playing boyfriend wasn’t one of them.