by Scott, Emma
“Tell me.”
“Not much to tell. It’s the same farm story since time immemorial. Things are tough, the debts pile up, and a bank pounces.”
“How much debt?”
“Not an impossible amount, but it’s more than we have.” I shot him a look. “And that’s all I’m going to say.”
“And what about your Harvard application?”
“Non-existent.” I gave him a tired smile. “I’ve been a little distracted.”
“I’m sorry,” Weston said quietly.
“Why are you sorry?”
He shrugged, cracking his knuckles. “As a friend. I’m sorry you’re in pain, Autumn.”
My vision swam and I swallowed hard. “I lied. I want to talk about him. How is he?”
“Scared,” Weston said. “We’re not supposed to admit that, but we are.”
“It’s no excuse to cut me off,” I said.
“No, it’s not.”
“I swear, Weston. It’s like the guy who wrote me from Boot Camp is gone. Vanished.”
Weston nodded slowly, fingertips worrying between his brows. And said nothing.
“You were with him,” I said. “You know him better than anyone. Why would he write to me like that if he wasn’t prepared for how it would affect me?”
“I don’t think he was thinking that far ahead,” Weston said. “Or how it would affect you. He wasn’t thinking about whether they were too much or not. Or what you would expect when he got back. He was thinking about himself. And relief. And getting through the day.”
“Why?”
Weston thought for a moment. “Basic was hell. All day long, every day, no thought was our own. We had only orders to follow. No opinions. No feelings allowed. Only pushing our bodies to their limits and beyond. Then classes. Then more PT. Total physical and mental exertion like that wrings you out. You can’t cry but some days you want to. At the end of the day, we had one hour of personal time to decompress. We poured ourselves out in that one hour.”
“You did too?”
He nodded.
“To who?”
Who do you pour yourself into, Weston?
He shrugged. “Different people.”
I held his gaze a moment, absorbing this. “But Boot Camp is over and now everything’s back to normal?”
“Nothing is normal anymore.”
This time, when the tears came, I let them fall.
“And it won’t be again, will it? I’m scared about what you two will see or have to do. I’m scared it’ll erase Connor’s smile. I’m scared of what will happen to me, waiting here for you to come back. But you will come back, Weston. Both of you. You have to.”
It was on me then. Wave after wave. I covered my face with my hands, drowning in it. A scrape of chair legs and Weston was lifting me to my feet, pulling me against his chest. I buried my face in his shirt, grabbed two tight fists of his jacket. He stroked my hair as I both pushed into the fear and clenched my hands to pull it apart.
“I’m sorry, Autumn,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
In between the ragged sobs, I inhaled the potent scent of him. Just like the morning when I put on his shirt by mistake, it overwhelmed me. Filling up my nose and throat and chest until all at once, my tears were burnt up on a flush of dry heat that swept through my entire body.
I leaned back in the circle of his arms and looked up, falling into his ocean eyes. His hands rose to cup my face, thumbs brushing along my wet cheekbones.
Just like in the dream.
He held me as if I were the most precious thing he’d ever touched with his calloused hands and scarred knuckles. He swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple bobbed over the collar of his black shirt. Then he gently let me go.
“Connor’s just as scared,” he said. “I’m not excusing him, but believe me when I say it’s not his fault.”
I nodded, and took a deep breath. Wiped my eyes. “I’m done here. Drive me home?”
“Can’t,” Weston said. “I sold my piece of shit.”
“For a loaf of bread?”
He grinned out of the corner of his mouth. “Something like that. How about a walk?”
So we walked home in the falling twilight. I shivered in the late winter’s cold and Weston shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over my shoulders. I closed my eyes at the heady scent of him and his residual body heat in the collar and sleeves. Opened them to gaze at him walking beside me, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
He’s beautiful. And he’s scared.
I linked my arm in his. “To keep you warm,” I told him.
His eyes widened and he slowly stopped walking.
“What?” I said.
His silent gaze roamed over my face, my hair, squinting at the sun setting behind me, taking it all in.
“Nothing,” he said. “I just… Nothing.”
We resumed walking in comfortable silence. I welcomed it this time. I was out of words. I only wanted to walk with my friend whom I loved.
I do. I love Weston. And I’m losing him, too.
“Connor’s family is throwing us a goodbye party,” Weston said at my front door. “In two days.”
I gave his jacket back, and hugged myself in the chilly air, holding my emotions in check. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll try to make it to Connor’s party. The one that you are inviting me to.”
Weston chuckled. “He will call and tell you himself.”
I smirked. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Will you come?”
“When, and if, he invites me,” I said. “I’ll say yes.”
He smiled a little.
“I’ll see you then, Autumn.”
“Bye, Weston.”
He pressed his lips together and jammed his hands in his pockets. Then he turned and strode away.
Inside my place, I dumped my sweater and purse on the floor and went to my desk and the stack of Connor’s letters.
The proverbial moth to the flame, I thought, feeling lost. Like I’d lost myself in a man and this strange relationship with Connor. I should have been drawn straight to my neglected work, but I wanted the letters instead.
“Hello to you too,” Ruby said from the couch where she was watching an old Steve Martin rom-com. “How was work?”
“Hey,” I said, rifling through envelopes. “Fine.”
I scanned the latest letter, the one that made my heart ache with its quiet intensity.
Quiet intensity is exactly how I’d describe Weston Turner.
I blinked at the sudden thought. “Ruby?”
“Yeah?”
I bit my lip, and set the letter down. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m going to lie down a bit.”
“Feel okay?”
“Just tired.” I went into my room and shut the door, then pulled out my phone.
Are you there? I texted.
I’m here, baby.
Tears came again, as if something deep inside me had sprung a leak.
I need to hear your voice.
No answer for a moment, then my phone lit up with Connor’s incoming call.
“Hi,” I said, sniffing.
“Are you crying?”
“It’s all I ever do lately.”
A sigh gusted over the line. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry. Weston is sorry. What are you both so sorry for?”
“You talked to him?” His voice curled higher over the words.
“He came to visit me at work. Why?”
A beat. “I don’t know what he’s sorry about. That we’re both knuckleheads who joined the Army?”
I sniffed a laugh. “Don’t do that. I’m mad at you.”
“I know. Fuck, the last thing I want is to hurt you.”
“I’m not talking about joining the Army. I’m scared for you, but the hurt is from your silence, Connor.” I blinked back tears. “Why would you write to me like you did in Boot Camp and not expect me to…” I bit back the words, fall in love
with you. “Have strong feelings for you after?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” he said, sounding almost angry. “I wasn’t thinking about anything but myself, to be perfectly honest. Writing to you that way was selfish. Really fucking selfish. And stupid.”
“Stupid?” I switched the phone to my other ear. “Do you regret writing them?”
“No. I didn’t mean…”
A silence, then a sigh.
“Well?” I demanded. “Were you going to tell me about the party? Were you going to tell me anything? Because honestly, Connor, it feels you might skip out without talking to me again and blame it on your deployment.”
“I wasn’t going to skip out,” he said, bitterness infusing his voice. “I just… I’m better on paper, apparently.”
“You’re good in person too, if you’d just let yourself be.”
He made a noncommittal sound. “Wes told you about the party on Tuesday?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be there? I want you to be there.”
“Do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m so confused right now, Connor, I don’t know what to think.”
“I know.” Now his voice turned gruff. “But I’m scared, Autumn. I’m not going to lie. Boot Camp was fun and games, but now I’m legit freaking out a little.”
“Of course, you must be.” I sighed and pulled it together. “I’ll be there.”
“Thank you, babe,” he said. “You’re too good for me. Too good for…anyone.”
“I don’t want anyone,” I said. “Just you.”
“Just me,” he repeated, almost pained.
“Connor?”
“Nothing, babe. See you Tuesday.”
Autumn
The days dissolved away to Tuesday, the day before Connor and Weston were being deployed. Ruby and I drove to Boston for the goodbye party, which was a semi-formal barbeque in the Drakes’ enormous backyard.
“I hope we got the dress code right,” Ruby said.
“You look gorgeous. As usual.”
Ruby wore jeans and an elegant black blouse that crisscrossed in the back. She straightened her hair, so it curled up at her shoulders and highlighted her eyes only with mascara. She didn’t need anything else.
“So besides Connor’s family, who’s going to be there?” Ruby asked.
“Weston’s mother and sisters. A few friends from Connor’s old baseball team.”
“Baseball players?” Ruby grinned at the windshield. “Sounds promising.”
“I want to be you when I grow up.”
She glanced over at me and patted my hand.
“Try to have fun, okay? I know it’s hard, but you’ll get to FaceTime or whatever Army-technological-super-classified-top-secret method of communication they have over there.”
“I know. It’s just hard.”
“You look fantastic. If that counts for anything.”
I wore a purple dress that buttoned down the front and flared at the waist. My hair was tied up in a loose bun and I curled the tendrils that fell down around my face.
I forced a smile.
Ruby pulled up to the curb and looked through her window at the Drake house. “What a cozy little family cottage. Brief me, Goose. I didn’t talk with the Drakes much at Boot Camp graduation. Anything I should be prepared for?”
“Mr. Drake changes conversation subjects at the drop of a hat. Just go with it. And Mrs. Drake will ask you to call her Victoria and you won’t want to.”
“Got it. Let’s do this.”
A housekeeper answered the door and led us through the house to the backyard. Ruby barely looked at the interior décor. She came from money so she wasn’t impressed easily. For all her bawdy irreverence, her manners were impeccable. That and her confidence won over Mr. and Mrs. Drake immediately as we chatted for a few minutes in the kitchen.
“Forgive me, I must mingle,” Mrs. Drake said. “Such a pleasure seeing you again, Ruby.”
“You too, Victoria.”
Ruby shot me a smirk and I rolled my eyes.
A hired barbecue chef manned three grills, each the size of a small car. Two were crammed with hot dogs, hamburgers, steaks and chicken. The third was all vegetarian fare. Soft drinks and water were laid out on one table, practically untouched, as most of the guests congregated near the open bar.
Weston was nowhere to be seen, but I saw his mother and sisters gabbling together and arguing at one of the six umbrella-covered tables. Connor stood with some baseball buddies, a drink in his hand, talking and laughing. He did a double-take when he saw me, and a strange, nervous smile floated over his lips.
“Hey, baby,” he said, coming over. He smelled of gin as he bent to kiss my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Looks like a nice party,” I said.
“Excuse me,” Ruby said, slipping away, leaving Connor and me to stand in silence like ex-spouses barely on speaking terms.
“Autumn?”
I glanced up sharply. “Yes?”
Talk to me. Please. Tell me something.
“Look, I… I have something for you. Come on.”
He took my hand and guided me back into the house. I followed him down hallways and around corners to an office space. Beautiful, floor-to-ceiling shelves in shiny mahogany lined the walls, every one of them packed tight with books.
“Wait, don’t tell me,” I said. “You’re giving me this library? Just like in Beauty and the Beast? I accept.”
He laughed as he went to the immense desk in the center of the room. “Not quite. Something better, I hope.”
He pulled out an envelope from a drawer, then brought it to me and pressed it into my hand.
“What is this?”
“Open it.”
The envelope wasn’t sealed. I peeked inside to see a check made out to me. My heart took off and my gaze jumped up to his.
“Thirty-five thousand dollars? What …?”
And then I knew. The envelope trembled in my shaking hands.
“Weston told you, didn’t he? About the farm?”
He nodded. “It’s from both of us, in that sense. Because we both…care about you, Autumn.”
I shook my head, tears welling. “I never told him how much we needed.”
“Is it enough?”
“It’s almost exactly right.” I pressed the envelope to his chest. “I can’t take this.”
Connor caught my hand and held it, so the envelope wouldn’t fall. “Yes, you can. Your family needs it.”
“It’s too much. You have this much?”
Connor bit his cheek. “My father helped.”
I sagged. “God, Connor. You told him? You told your parents?” I turned away, my face burning. The envelope fell to the lush, carpeted floor.
His arms came around me from behind to turn me to face him. “Hey. It’s nothing to them—”
“It’s everything to me!” I cried, tearing out of his grip. “But I can’t say no, can I? I have to help my family. I’d be a fool to let my pride stop me, but my parents… They have pride too. And if they knew how I got this…”
I sank down in an overstuffed leather settee with wide brass buttons. Connor retrieved the check from the floor and knelt in front of me.
“We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” he said. “For God-knows how long. Wes told me about your family’s situation, and he didn’t—we didn’t want to leave you alone to cope with it. Not when I can help you.”
“This was his idea,” I said.
Connor shook his head. “He told me you needed it. I made it happen.”
“No, I can’t. It’s too much. My parents would wonder where I got it and I could never tell them. Never. God, my mother would never speak to me again.”
“Why not? For helping them? That’s all this is, babe. It’s help.”
“It’s too much.”
He pressed the envelope into my hand, and curled my fingers around it. I lifted my tear-stained face.
And then I froze. A heavy lead weight dropped into my stomach. Followed by another. Two pieces clicking together. My throat went dry and a million thoughts—a thousand words—suddenly swarmed my brain like white-winged moths. I looked at Connor and my mind tried to conjure him sitting at a table, pen to paper, writing and writing and writing. My name at the top of the page.
I couldn’t do it. Connor wasn’t there.
But Weston…
Weston Turner materialized at the empty desk in my mind’s eye, and it was effortless to picture him there, bent over a notebook, his pen scribbling…
No. Stop. Impossible.
Yet the implications swamped me. A deluge of nauseating suspicion.
“What is it?” Connor asked, his tone wary, his hands stiffening on mine.
I held his gaze hard, searching, thoughts racing through my mind.
It can’t be. That’s a fucked up thing to do to someone. Catfishing? Like that show? Despicable. Weston would never manipulate me like that. And Connor would never do that and then sleep with me. Never toy with my heart. Why would he?
“You wouldn’t… lie to me, would you?” I asked, my voice hardly a whisper. “You wouldn’t tell me things that aren’t true? Not sentiments like those in the letters?”
I slept with you for a poem.
Connor shook his head from side to side, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“They’re all true, Autumn,” he said. “Every word in those letters is true.”
I nodded slowly. Connor’s words were his own. They had to be. Plenty of them came out of his mouth. I’d heard them myself. The phone call in Nebraska was a perfect example.
I sucked in a steadying breath. “I just don’t know what’s happening. Everything feels so tangled up.”
Connor blew out his cheeks. “I know. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Mrs. Drake walked into the office then. “Oh, I beg your pardon, I hope I’m not interrupting.” Discreetly, she kept her eyes on her son while I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “The guests were starting to ask after you, dear. And Reginald has arrived.”