by Scott, Emma
I’d never in my life felt so cherished.
There’s so much I want to tell you, he said.
Tell me, I whispered.
He opened his mouth to speak, then raised his head to look at something over my shoulder.
It’s time to go.
What? No…
“Auts? It’s time to go.”
I came awake with a start to my brother shaking my shoulder.
“What…”
“They’re kicking us out.”
I blinked and glanced around, the dream still clinging to me. I could feel Connor’s mouth lingering on mine. Or was it Weston’s? It had felt so real, both kisses. Connor’s, I could still feel on my mouth and body, while Weston’s, I felt somewhere deep, in the center of me…
I shook off the dream and leaned to kiss my father’s cheek. “Bye, Daddy,” I whispered. “Sleep tight. We’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
I had flown to Nebraska literally with nothing but the clothes on my back, so Travis drove me to Wal-Mart so I could get a toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, and underwear. Then we grabbed barbecue chicken from Sully’s BBQ and took it home.
Home.
The big rickety farmhouse with its old wallpaper and creaking boards. The kitchen’s smell of wood and time and my mother’s cooking. The sound of the chickens a little ways down the path to the barn, and the cows lowing in the field. As we drove up, the sun sank behind the crops, casting a gold and lavender hue over the horizon that seem to stretch on forever.
I understood why my brother was content to live here all his life. I loved it here but I’d always known, since I was little, that I wasn’t meant to stay. I would leave, but one day, I’d come back with the man I was going to marry and show him the sunset over our farm. I wanted to share my beginning with him, and see the place where he began too. His home. Then we’d venture out to find the place that was ours.
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.”
“That’s sweet of you to say.” I sniffed a laugh and wiped my eyes. “And you do say the sweetest things. Sometimes.”
“But not enough?”
I smiled, cradling the phone closer. “Well…”
“I have a lot to say. I just wish it didn’t take me so long to find my voice.”
“It’s worth waiting for. And worth getting into bed for,” I heard myself add.
The gruff whisper of his voice deepened. “If only.”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing. I just miss you.”
“Me too, but…” I swallowed hard. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s the time to tell you this…”
“Tell me everything.”
“It hurt when I didn’t hear from you after we spent the night together.”
“I know it did.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Autumn.”
“It’s funny, but when we’re talking on the phone right now? Or texting? I feel so close to you. I feel closer to you than when I’m actually with you.”
“I know.”
“You told me you don’t always know what to say, but—”
“I always know what to say,” he said. “Always. But I can’t say it. Like I’m drunk when I’m with you. I’m drunk off of you and then I…I don’t know. I have to step back. And it takes a cold shower of reality to slap some sense into me.”
“I love everything you’re saying now,” I said softly. “But I’m scared.”
“I know. I am too.”
“You are?”
“Sure. Of fucking this up. Of hurting you. I don’t want to hurt you, Autumn. I just want you to be happy. That’s it. End of story.”
My breath became a little shallower. My heart beat a little faster.
“I don’t want to hurt you either,” I said. “Or ask more than you can give, but a part of me wishes you’d share this side of yourself with the world. I know your parents put so much pressure on you.”
“Yeah,” he said. “They do.”
A yawn I couldn’t stop came over me.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“I’ve lost all sense of time. Feels like ages since Mom called me,” I said. “Thank you again. And tell Weston thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being there for me at the bakery. He took care of me when I was freaking out.”
“He has his moments.”
I closed my eyes to the sense memories of the dream. Closing my eyes and falling into Connor’s kiss. Opening my eyes and falling out of Weston’s kiss.
They both helped me that night. They’re both special to me in different ways.
“Connor?”
He coughed a little, his voice growing more gruff. “Yeah?”
“If my dad gets better like they think he will, then I’ll head back to Boston. And if I can do that, then I’d like to go to Thanksgiving at your parents’ house.”
“You would?”
“If you still want me to.”
“It would mean everything to…me. But are you sure?”
“I never spend Thanksgiving at the farm. I can only ever afford one holiday flight and Christmas wins.”
“I can help with any flight, Autumn.”
“I know. But this is the one that counted.” I leaned back against the swing. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me too. And I’m here if you need me.”
“Th
at’s all I need.” Tears filled my eyes again.
“Don’t cry,” he said, his whispering voice softer. “It’s going to be okay.”
“How did you know I was crying?”
I heard him take a long, slow breath. Full of hesitation. “I’m starting to memorize you,” he said. “Not just your words but how you talk. The silences between words. The sound you make when you’re thinking. The quiet where you try to hold back, and the little floods where you don’t.”
I pressed my fingertips to my mouth, listening, absorbing every word straight into my heart.
“I know you’re crying because I can hear you,” he said. “And I can’t hold you but I want to hold you. So much.”
“Me too. I need to feel you.” I curled hard around the phone, holding it tightly.
“I can’t hold you and be there for you, but I hear you. And I changed my mind; if you need to cry, go ahead. I’m listening. I’ll take anything you need to give. Anything and everything. I’m right here. You can give it to me. I can take it. I want to.”
His words unlocked something deep inside me. What I thought would be a tired little cry turned into a flood of tears, pouring into the phone. Fear for my father. For the farm that was already struggling. For gratitude that I was home, and for the longing to be with this man who was hundreds of miles away.
“Thank you,” I said, voice reduced to a croak.
“Try to get some sleep,” he said, his whispered voice thick now. “But call me if you can’t. I’ll stay up with you. As long as it takes.”
“Okay.”
A pause.
“Autumn?”
“I’m going now.”
“All right.”
Another silence, and then we laughed.
“For real this time. Good night, Connor.”
Another short pause, then, “Goodnight, Autumn.”
Weston
I hung up the phone and stared at it, shocked at what I’d just done. What I’d said to her. The truth that poured out of my heart and the emotion flooding back from Autumn to me.
You mean, to him.
Connor was staring at me, eyes wide. “Dude…”
Disgust flooded me, slugged through my veins—thick and cold—dousing the warmth I’d had with Autumn on the phone.
You didn’t have anything with Autumn, you selfish asshole. You tricked her…
“Wes?”
I blinked and gave my head a shake.
“That was awesome, man,” Connor said. “You said everything right. Perfect.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Perfect.”
Connor frowned. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Overthink it. It’s not a big deal,” he said. “When she started to cry, my mind went blank. It’s so much easier to shut up and hug a girl when she’s upset, you know? I’m better with that. Over the phone, it’s rough. But you knew just what to say. To make her feel better.”
To make her happy. That’s all that matters.
I clung to that thought, fighting the rising tide of wrongness for deceiving Autumn. Again.
“She’ll come to Boston for Thanksgiving,” I said, my Southie accent coming back after being carefully locked up for the phone call. My jaw ached.
“Thanks, man,” Connor said. “That’s awesome. You’re a miracle worker.”
“Yeah.”
He cocked his head. “You’re good, right?”
“What? Yeah. Fine. Just tired. And sore from the track spill.”
He nodded. “So. Can I have my phone back?”
I realized I was still holding it. “Oh, right.” Reluctantly, I handed it back.
Handed Autumn back to Connor.
“Thanks, man.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
No problem at all. Except that I’ve dug us in deeper. Dug Autumn in deeper to Connor. Dug myself deeper into lies, and she’ll never forgive me…
A little more than a week later, Autumn surprised him by flying home and coming directly over to our place.
“Hi,” she said softly, dropping her bag.
“Hi,” he said.
They kissed deeply at the door, and then he took her to his room.
That’s why she can never know. Never.
I took a run. Faster and faster, until exhaustion hollowed me out. Hopelessly trying to burn out what I felt for Autumn, and pretending I was filling myself back up with their happiness. Both of them, the two people I cared for most in the world.
The two people I loved.
Autumn
Friday before Thanksgiving, I went to the Panache Blanc to pick up my paycheck. It was the first time I ever dreaded a payday. It wasn’t going to be enough to get me out of the hole from spending ten days in Nebraska.
Dad was released from the hospital and Mom had set him up in the downstairs den. It had an adjoining bathroom so he wouldn’t have to deal with stairs. He insisted I go back to Massachusetts before I fell further behind in my classes and work. I hated to leave. He still looked so pale and thin. Things were bad at the farm and getting worse with every day he had to stay in bed.
“There’s nothing you can do here,” he told me. “If you want to do something to help, get back to school. Pursue your dream.”
“I don’t know what my dream is, Daddy,” I’d said.
“You will. It’ll come to you, and when it does, you’ll wonder how you never saw it there, waiting for you all this time.”
At the bakery, Weston was at his usual table in the corner, head bent over his work. His pen moved quickly over a page, his jaw hard, his eyes nowhere else. I said hi to Phil, slipped into the back room to get my paycheck, and slipped out again. I tore into the envelope, wanting to face the disaster head-on.
I stopped short, mouth falling open and tears flooding my eyes as I read the amount on the check—an extra five hundred dollars that had no business being there.
God, Edmond…
“Are you okay?”
From his table, Weston stared at me, the angular lines of his face drawn down with concern. I wiped my face and slumped into the chair opposite him. I set my paycheck on the table.
“Edmond’s kindness is making me emotional. He’s giving me a ‘Thanksgiving bonus.’” I made air quotes around the word. “Only there’s no such thing. He’s making up for the pay I lost while I was in Nebraska.”
“Sounds like Edmond. But you don’t like taking charity,” Weston said, not quite a question.
I shook my head. “Pride is a weird thing. If the situation were reversed and someone I cared about needed money, I’d give it without a second thought. Why is taking it so much harder?”
Weston nodded. “Yeah, I know how that is. But are you going to be okay?” He gestured to the envelope. “Money-wise, I mean.”
“I don’t know.” Dread lay heavy in my stomach. “I really don’t know if I’m going to be able to stay in school. Or if I even should. It feels selfish when my family is suffering so much. I feel like there’s nothing I can do to help, and I’m so far away.”
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“Not great. Dad was already shorthanded before the heart attack. He was probably working himself harder to make up for it, but it’s the planting season. The most important part of the year, and my brother says that we owe the bank money from an old loan. Dad’s going to have to sell off some acreage to make up for it.”
Weston’s expression was thoughtful as he nodded. This guy observed everything and missed nothing.
His diamond mind…
I huffed a breath and waved my hand. “Anyway, I hate talking about money. I thought the prelim track season was over until spring. What’s a runner like you doing in a place like this?”
“Best carbs in town.”
I laughed and pointed to the crust of sandwich left on his plate. “You going to eat that?”
“Help yourself.”
I took a bit of wheat bread crust. “Carbs I can accept. Money, not so
much.”
“Bread is easier to accept than bread,” Weston said.
I laughed again and gestured to his work. “Am I keeping you?”
“I’m okay,” he said. His eyes were soft. “You?”
“Not really. On top of everything else, I’m panicking about my grades. As opposed to panicking about my Harvard application.” I ran my hands over my hair, yanking it back from my face and letting it fall again. “I’m really sinking. If I don’t maintain my GPA I’m going to be in trouble with this school, never mind Harvard.”
Weston nodded. “I had a partial NCAA and it ran out last year. I’ve been able to stretch the living stipend through this year because Connor’s parents are paying our rent. But next year?” He raised his lean muscled shoulders in a shrug.
“Student loans?” I asked.
“I don’t want to be saddled with that kind of debt. My mother’s been in debt her entire life. It scares the shit out of me. I’m thinking about Army Reserves.”
I sat back in my chair. “The Army. Really? Things are really a mess in Syria right now. And the war in Afghanistan seems like it will go on forever.”
“It’s only the Reserves,” he said. “One weekend a month.”
“What if the service falls on a track meet weekend?”
He shrugged again. “Bottom line, I have to take care of my mom and sisters and I need a degree and a decent job to do it.”
Mother and sisters. No father. Weston never mentions his father.
“I’m looking forward to meeting your family next weekend,” I said.
“Brace yourself,” Weston said. “You’re basically going to walk into a Mark Wahlberg movie.”
I laughed. “Connor seems really nervous about the day. Are his parents really that hard on him?”
“The Drakes are good people at heart,” Weston said. “They want Connor to be his best self. But they don’t get that his best self doesn’t involve being in his dad’s business, or politics, or even being in college.”
I nodded. “I think he’d be happy with his own sports bar.”
“He’d be good at it.” Weston’s pen tapped his page. “At least an economics degree could come in handy for it, even if it’s not what he wants.”