Autumn in the City of Lights

by Kirby Howell

  I sniffed gently, trying not to let him notice just how on the edge of a tearful mental breakdown I really was.

  “I’m here with you; so are your friends,” he continued. “You’ll have all the council you want if you win this. And if you have to stay here in Paris to preside, I’ll stay with you. I can work on the newborn crisis in any number of labs here.”

  I knew he was trying to reassure me, but it wasn’t helping the drowning sensation inside me. “I don’t want to stay here,” I argued, my voice wobbling. A tear finally broke through and slipped from beneath one closed eyelid.

  “I know, Fòmhair. I know.” He brushed away the wetness on my cheek.

  “I just want to be Autumn, in charge of no one but myself.” I didn’t bother stifling a bitter laugh. “Hell, when The Plague hit, I was seventeen. I wasn’t even old enough to be responsible for myself. And now, now you guys want me to take responsibility for everyone left.”

  “I know what we’re asking. It’s no small task. But surely you see, there’s no other... ”

  “Yes, I know. I have to do this. I have to beat Karl, and it’s my obligation,” I said, letting it all roll together. “But when does it all stop? When can it just be me? When can it just be us, without the weight of the world suffocating us?” I opened my eyes and looked down at him. He was still kneeling in front of me and had both of his hands covering mine.

  “I promise you the day will come.” He paused for a moment and looked away, thinking.

  “What?” I questioned. “What is it?”

  “How about we steal the rest of the day, for just you and me? Today, there is no plague, no Karl, no world summit, no newborn crisis. It’s just you and me. Together.”

  I stared up at him, and for the first time today, smiled through the tears streaking down my face. “Can we do that?”

  “Of course we can. And I know the perfect place.” He grinned.

  He stood and pulled me to my feet. I wrapped my arms around him. I felt the tears drying on my face, and the heaviness in my heart began to subside.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, burying my face in his shoulder. “Somewhere far away? Or maybe back home?”

  “We’re going somewhere very special to me. Close your eyes and trust me.”

  I did as he asked and, in a moment, felt a warm breeze gust through my hair. I opened my eyes and looked around. We were under a bridge, standing on a cement path right next to a river. We were definitely in a city. I walked out from under the cover of the bridge’s shade and shielded my eyes. When I looked up at the city, I saw the telltale signs of Paris.

  “Come with me; I want to show you something.” Grey held out a hand, and I let him lead the way. We found a path that took us up one level, and I saw a beautiful domed building. Its exterior walls were a soft yellow with columns proudly standing in front like sentry soldiers.

  “What is this?” I asked. “It’s stunning.”

  “This is the Institut de France,” he said. “But this isn’t why we’re here. Turn around.”

  I did, and I saw a long pedestrian bridge stretching over the River Seine. It was metal and studded with lampposts.

  Grey took my hand and led me up onto the bridge. Benches peppered the center of the bridge like the dividing line on a road. Grey selected one for us toward the middle of the bridge, and I joined him.

  “See over there—” he pointed to the opposite end of the bridge. “That’s the Louvre. I bet you’ve been there.” I smiled. He was right. “This bridge connects the Institut de France and the Louvre. It’s called Pont des Arts. Napoleon himself ordered the construction of this bridge in the early 1800’s, though it’s been updated some since then, obviously.”

  “Wow, this is a really old bridge,” I said, thinking about how old everything in Europe was compared to the United States. But I couldn’t muster my usual reverence. The weight on my shoulders was too distracting.

  “Sometime over the last few decades, this place has become important for lovers,” Grey said.

  “Why?” I asked, suddenly a bit more interested.

  “The crisscrossing metal fencing is ideal for locks, see?” He pointed to the railing and for the first time, I noticed thousands of small padlocks strewn across the metal work on the bridge.

  “So many,” I said. “But why?”

  “Lovers would come here, and as a testament to their love, they would carve their initials on a lock, and together, they would secure it to the bridge, then throw the key into the river, never to be found again. It was a symbol of enduring love. That’s how this bridge got its nickname, the Love Locks Bridge.”

  “That’s beautiful,” I said, meaning it. “But why is this place so special to you?”

  “Well, I visited Paris a couple years before The Plague appeared. I was so overwhelmed by all of the people here, declaring their endless love for one another, that I vowed to myself to find my humanity again. And, over time, I did.”

  I looked up at Grey, shocked. This really was an important place to him. I was suddenly very pleased with the location he’d chosen for our date.

  “In fact, I want to show you something.” He got up and walked forward, studying the locks for a moment, then waved me over. When I reached him, I found what he was holding, a brass lock with two letters carved into it.

  “G.A.,” I said. “Grey Alexander.” I smiled. “Does this mean you’re in love with yourself?”

  He laughed. “Not exactly. But it was a sign that I allowed myself to love again.” His smile died, and he looked at me in earnest. “This was the turning point for me, Autumn. If I hadn’t made this decision, right here, I might not have been the man you met and fell in love with in Los Angeles. This paved the path for me to find you.”

  My heart became suddenly full. I reached forward and grasped him in a long hug, overcome with my own emotion. After a moment, I pulled back. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “I do,” he said.

  “Do you have a knife?” I asked. He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “We’re not about to make a blood oath. But I was thinking maybe... I could carve my initials on that lock next to yours.”

  He smiled warmly, and suddenly his eyes sparkled even brighter than before. “I think that’s a marvelous idea.” He pulled out a pocketknife. “Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?”

  I took the small knife from his hands and carefully carved the letters A and W under his. And when it was done, I knew this was a perfect moment. I wanted to live in it as long as I could.

  Grey moved behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “Thank you for being patient with me,” he murmured into my hair. “And thank you for loving me.”

  I tilted my head to look at him in surprise. “You make it easy to love you,” I said, shrugging. “It’s not really something you need to thank me for. It just sort of happens on its own.”

  He laughed, and I smiled, feeling light and relieved from the mounting pressure of what lay ahead of me. I felt that, if I allowed them to, my feet would float up off the ground, and the wind would take me down the wide river as it wound its way through the City of Lights to where it emptied into the English Channel, then into the Celtic Sea.

  I smiled, thinking of the Celtic Sea’s steel gray waters foaming along the beach below my grandparents’ cottage outside Dublin.

  “Will you take me to my grandparents’ house?” I asked suddenly, turning around in Grey’s arms to face him. He looked down at me, concern in his eyes.

  “Are you sure you want to go there?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I know what we might find, but this is the closest I’ve been to them in a while, and I feel like I should go. I want to go,” I amended. “And I know you can take me there anytime, actually, but being here, physically this close... I... I want to see their house.”

  He stroked some of my hair behind my ear. “Of course I’ll take you there. When would you like to go?”

 
; “Can we go now?”

  His blue eyes searched my face, thinking, then he nodded. “Okay. What town did you say they lived in?”

  “Howth. Northeast of Dublin.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been to the castle before. I can project us there.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve been to Howth Castle?”

  “I went to school with a couple of St. Lawrences. Neither were heirs, but they invited me to the castle a few times for events.”

  “When was this?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  He thought for a moment, then guessed, “Mid-1880s? It was during my time at Cambridge.”

  I nodded, biting back a million questions that suddenly occurred to me. “My grandparents live just west of the harbor. You can see Howth Lighthouse from where they live.”

  He drew me close to him, and I tucked my face into the folds of his jacket. For a moment, it seemed like we hadn’t gone anywhere, but when I opened my eyes, the Seine and the Love Locks Bridge were gone, replaced by a wide lawn grown wild with time. A gray stone castle stood some distance away, its jutting peaks and dark, arching windows familiar to a younger version of myself. I recalled coming here to tour the castle and picnicking in the sunshine on the green grounds surrounding it.

  “Can we walk from here?” Grey asked.

  “Sure. It’s a little over two miles.”

  “Do you remember the way?”

  I smiled. “Of course I do. I spent lots of summers here.” I took his hand, and we walked up the lane leading to the main road that looped around the peninsula. As we neared the harbor, we passed some shops, shuttered and closed. One block of stores had burned entirely, the blackened timbers lying crisscrossed like Pick-Up Sticks. We passed an empty playground, quietly rusting in the tall grass.

  I led Grey off the main road and up a narrow one-lane. “We’re close,” I said. “Just a little bit farther.”

  I began to recognize the houses of my grandparents’ friends — people who had known my mother when she was a little girl here. The road straightened and rose above the heaving sea to give us a view of the humpbacked island called Ireland’s Eye.

  I paused at the end of the lane, looking down on the roof of a small cottage nestled just below the road. A path led from the road down around its side. It looked just like it did in summers past.

  “This is it,” I said, though a feeling passed through me that it wasn’t. Mamó had always been waiting on the path above the house, sitting on the low stone wall that ran along the road. No one sat there now.

  I was surprised to find I wasn’t scared of finding her or my grandfather’s bodies. Being here was like physically touching my past.

  I let go of Grey’s hand and made my way down the path, my legs swishing through the overgrown grass on either side. The path curved around the side of the cottage, and the front porch came into view, along with the sea cliffs far beyond the house. Wide stone steps led up to the front door, closed firmly against the wind coming off the ocean.

  I mounted the steps, passing into the shade of the porch roof. I swore I could smell Mamó’s potato soup. I touched the handle of the old door and gently tried to open it. It didn’t budge. Locked. I stepped to the left of the door and knelt in front of a small stone statue of a rabbit wearing a waistcoat and carrying a picnic basket. I tilted it to one side, revealing the spare key. I smiled and picked it up.

  I opened the door, and we passed into the dark, chilly interior. All the shades were drawn, so I left the front door open to let in some light. Everything was still in order. I sighed in relief. No one had looted the house. The tall brass coat stand in the corner still held a collection of wool coats and scarves, an umbrella stand almost buried in its depths, and below, a clutter of various Wellington rubber boots like gifts under a Christmas tree.

  I followed the hallway to the back of the house, where it opened up into the kitchen and main living room. Everything was just as I remembered it. I stood still and looked around, trying to soak up all the sights and the memories they brought back to me. The couch in the middle of the room, piled high with folded blankets and fluffy pillows, the walls crowded with pictures of our family through the years, the windows looking out over the sea cliffs. The pots and pans still hung from hooks in the kitchen ceiling. My dad used to bump his head on them, sending them clanging against each other. Mamó had a small stool she used to drag across the floor so she could access whatever kettle or pan she needed.

  I almost expected to see my grandfather dozing in his Barcalounger in the corner.

  “Autumn,” Grey’s voice cut through the stillness in the room, and I turned around, startled to hear alarm in it. He walked silently but quickly toward me and bent his head to whisper. My heart jumped as he clasped his hands on my arms.

  “There’s sand on one of the pairs of boots by the front door.”

  I shrugged and opened my mouth, but he continued in a hushed tone. “The sand is wet. Someone is living here.”

  I swallowed, a feeling of unease spreading through me. I didn’t like the idea of someone other than my grandparents living here. I didn’t want to leave, but my bad feeling was growing.

  I looked around the familiar room once more and saw something in the fireplace. I pulled away from Grey and bent to look. A few glowing embers were visible in the mostly dead fire. Goosebumps prickled my skin.

  “You’re right,” I whispered. “Someone is here.”

  Before I could say more, a clang shattered the deafening silence in the room, and I spun around in time to see Grey tumble to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I rushed forward to where Grey had fallen, his limbs sprawled across the floor. I reached for him but stopped when I saw a figure standing in the hallway, silhouetted against the block of sunlight coming through the open door.

  I slowly looked up, my eyes adjusting. The features of the figure standing over me became clearer. My heart stopped.

  “It canna be,” a familiar voice said.

  I slowly stood, not taking my eyes from the wrinkled face of Mamó. My Mamó.

  “Autumn?” Her tiny voice cracked.

  I covered my mouth with both hands, too stunned to speak, as she reached for me and pulled me against her. It was too real to be a dream. I could smell her. Her wool sweater was infused with eucalyptus, and her wrinkled cheek pressed against my own. When she pulled away, tears dripped down her face, and she shook her head.

  “How an God’s green earth are ye here, child? How is it possible?”

  “We walked... we walked from the castle,” I said, gesturing in the direction of Howth’s Castle. “We were in Paris... I’m immune, and so are you?”

  I wasn’t making any sense to her, I was sure. To her knowledge, I’d been in Los Angeles with my father when the Crimson Fever broke out. How I’d come to be 5,000 miles from there a year and a half after the apocalyptic plague had completely changed the world wasn’t a question I was prepared to answer.

  “Looks to be so, yes,” she mused. “And who is this lad?” She motioned to Grey with the cast iron skillet I just now noticed she was carrying.

  I gasped. “Did you hit him with that?”

  “Of course I did! These are mad times, and he was an intruder in me hoose!”

  I knelt and tried to shake him awake. He was knocked out cold. I pulled his head into my lap and looked up at her.

  “Mamó, this is Grey. He’s my boyfriend,” I said, the words feeling clunky in my mouth. Never in a million years would I have ever thought I’d be introducing Grey to my grandma, particularly while he was unconscious after she’d knocked him out with the skillet she made soda bread in.

  “Ahhhh, you have a boyfriend, now do you? Are you old enough to have a boyfriend?”

  I looked up at her, perplexed by the question, but then I saw her eyes were twinkling. She crossed the room to the kitchen and set her skillet on the table.

  “I dinna have any ice, but I have well wate
r, if you think it would help him come to.”

  “Yes, water would be good. Thanks, Mamó.”

  She brought me a glass of water and a clean dishtowel. I tried dabbing his forehead and cheeks with the damp towel. It seemed to do the trick, and he opened his eyes, moaned, and raised his hand to the back of his head.

  “He’s terribly handsome if you dinna mind me saying so,” Mamó mused.

  His eyes found me above him, then strayed to Mamó, and back to me.

  “Grey? This is... uh... well, this is Mamó,” I said.

  He pushed himself into a sitting position and stared at her. “You’re Autumn’s grandmother?” he asked in disbelief.

  She nodded, smiling. “And yer Autumn’s beau!”

  I stared at her as she smiled at both of us.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked. Then, before we could answer, she was bustling into the kitchen. “I’ve nay any meat, but I’ve potatoes!” she called.

  I helped Grey up, and we followed her into the kitchen. In a matter of minutes, she was frying potatoes for us. Grey seemed groggy but was recovering quickly.

  “Yer grandfather passed on the second day of the Great Fever, but I wasna sick meself. Then the whole town seemed to disappear. But I planted some potatoes, and all’s been well since. Now tell me how you got yerself here all the way from the States? Surely yer not hiding wings under that sweater, are you?” Mamó poked the wooden spoon she was using at Grey.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered, smiling. “But we did fly here in a jet.”

  “Ahhhh, well, that’s almost as impressive.”

  “We live in Burbank now,” I explained. “Well, now it’s called New Burbank. You remember Burbank? We took you there to the Baker Brothers lot when you visited us a while back, remember?”

  She nodded, then expertly flipped the contents of the pan onto two waiting plates, which she then handed to us.

  “Come, come, sit down an’ eat,” she said, bustling us toward the table with her wooden spoon.

  “What about—” I started.

  “I’ve already eaten, don’t worry. Come sit an’ tell me yer adventures.”