Waiting for Autumn

by DeRouen, J. A.

  Sometimes forgiveness is about letting go—taking that five-ton boulder off your chest and heaving it into the abyss. I’ve carried this weight for far too long.

  Lance walks away from me without another word. I clench my hands into fists and give the varnished wood a gentle tap of my knuckles, a silent goodbye … I’m sorry … I love you.

  It’s a start.

  I turn toward the gravel road that snakes through the center of the cemetery and follow my brother. My gaze falls on the only other vehicle left from the service, and my heart seizes in my chest.

  She folds up the wheelchair and loads it into the back of the SUV, unaware of my eyes drinking in every single part of her like she’s finely-aged whiskey. I savor this moment, letting the warmth run a path from my throat, down to the empty pit in my stomach. Her hair is shorter, lighter than it used to be—almost a white-blonde. She looks different, but also exactly the same. I’d know her anywhere. Five years, ten … blonde hair or black. It makes no difference. Autumn Norris will always have a direct line straight to my heart.

  The edges of her black dress dance around her thighs as she walks to the passenger door and climbs into the seat. Only then does she turn her head. Only then do our eyes find each other, years of love, laughter, tears, and heartbreak reeling between us with one heavy blink.

  “Hurry up, Autumn. I’ve been waiting … I’ve been waiting for so long …”

  I don’t know what I want her to do next, but I’m craving … something. After all these years, after all this time, I wholly reject the notion that we could lock eyes and just walk away. Who we are, what we’ve always been to each other deserves more than that. Demands it, even.

  I don’t know what I’d say if she gave me the chance, but my heart wells with intense longing. The need to say something choking me, words left unsaid for far too long grappling to break free. Anything to make her stay where she is right now and just let me savor the sight of her. To make the time drift away like wisps of smoke, along with guilt, regret, and every bad decision I’ve ever made in my life.

  Screw it. I can’t come this close to the future I squandered and not at least try to right some wrongs, close the gap even a little bit. I have to try.

  I raise my eyebrows in a show of hope, or maybe vulnerability, and step toward her. Before I can take the second step, I watch her face crumple. Her expression is painted in grief at the mere sight of me. I shouldn’t be surprised. It shouldn’t hurt like a punch to the gut, but it does all the same. She turns her head toward the driver, breaking our connection. The ignition cranks, and the tires inch forward.

  I focus on the driver and only then do I remember the wheelchair Autumn hauled into the back of the SUV. Only then do I remember the reason why nothing I do will ever make up for the things I’ve already done. You can’t throw a dozen roses on top of a nuclear explosion and call it good. And that’s what I did to their family—I rocked them to their foundation.

  Autumn refuses to meet my eyes again, keeping her gaze firmly trained on her lap. But Brady doesn’t shy away as the gravel crunches underneath the rolling tires. He throws up a hand in a cheerful wave that is all Brady. Then the five finger wave morphs into a one finger salute.

  And for the first time today, I laugh.

  Chapter 6

  Autumn

  Past

  Prosper, LA

  “Where is that damn nurse? He should have already gone to CT and been back by now. This is ridiculous.” Spittles of saliva collect in the corners of my dad’s lips as he rages. And rages.

  He vacillates between furiously pacing the room and providing a running commentary of the inept medical staff at Prosper Medical Center. The one thing he’s yet to do is take a good look at his son.

  My brother, who’s laying strapped to a board, collared, and freaking the hell out. I see it in the frantic way his eyes dart from one part of the tiled ceiling to the other, nostrils flaring as he drags in one ragged breath after another.

  Another stray tear burns a trail as it tracks down my sunburnt cheek.

  This is all my fault. This is all my fault. This is all my fault.

  My mother trembles uncontrollably in the corner, stunned and silent. She checked out before she ever stepped foot into the hospital.

  I brush a lock of Brady’s sweat-drenched hair back and wipe the dirt smeared across his forehead. He clenches his eyes shut and presses his lips together, holding back … something.

  Everything.

  “It’s going …” I suck in a breath and squeeze my eyes shut. I hold back the words, the lies sitting on the tip of my tongue.

  I don’t know if everything is going to be all right. I don’t know anything at all. And I certainly don’t know what to say to Brady to help him get through this. One glimpse at my spiraling dad and helpless mom tells me they don’t either.

  I settle on, “I’m here.” It’s the only solace I can give him as we wait. “I’m here for you, Brady.”

  “I-I-I …”

  I lace my fingers with his, fisting them together, careful not to move or jostle him in any way. I’ve done enough damage today. I wait patiently for him to finish his sentence, but he’s stuck on that single syllable, over and over and over again.

  “I-I-I …”

  “Shhh,” I coax as I squeeze our gritty, sweat-soaked fingers together. “I’ve got you, Brady.”

  “Are you building the goddamn machine?” My dad hollers down the hallway to whoever will listen.

  The monitor above the stretcher beeps, beeps, beeps as I watch the numbers, meaning God knows what, rise with each furious outburst from my father.

  I’ve got to get this situation under control before we cause any more damage. It doesn’t take a doctor to know this isn’t helping Brady at all.

  I know who can help. Who we need. And I’m positive he needs us, too.

  “Where’s Seb?” I ask, patting my pockets, searching for my phone that’s probably crushed into a million pieces in the field at this point. “We need to call him. He needs to be here.”

  After calling 911, we were flooded with blinking lights, blaring sirens, and a barrage of organized chaos. Policemen barked orders and EMTs worked on Brady and whisked him into the ambulance at breakneck speed. I ran along with the stretcher, never leaving his side as the door clicked shut and peeled off to the hospital.

  We were halfway there before I realized Seb wasn’t with us.

  Before I can reach my mom’s purse sitting on the bedside table, it’s swiped out of my reach. My father glares daggers at me as he clutches it to his chest. He shakes his head slowly as his knuckles whiten from his grip.

  “Don’t. You. Dare.”

  “Give me the purse, Dad. He’s got to be worried sick—”

  He leans into me, eyes bulging, face crimson and twitching with fury.

  “I don’t give a shit what he is!” His voice booms with such force, I step back for cover. “That boy has ruined our lives for the last time. Beer drinking, cow tipping, sneaking out … how stupid your mother and I have been. I should have known where it all would lead.”

  “You can’t blame—”

  “I can and I will!” The purse hits the cabinet across the room with a bang, flinging it open. Medical supplies tumble to the floor as my dad rips at his hair with one hand and points accusingly at me with the other. “It should be him lying in this bed. Him!”

  “Dad!” I cry, shaking my head, trying to erase the venomous words from my mind.

  He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it.

  He continues to point at me as I hover close to Brady, not sure if I’m trying to protect him or seek protection for myself.

  “He will never touch my family again. You hear me?” he whispers, the furious rage cooling into quiet vengeance. “If I see his face, I promise you, he’ll need a stretcher of his own.”

  For once, I don’t answer back, my body thrumming with an emotion I never thought I’d feel toward my dad.

  Fea
r.

  His expression flips back to frenzy, all signs of menace wiped clean. So quick and complete, I wonder if I’d imagined the entire thing. He drops his eyes to the floor and walks across the room and into the hallway.

  “Nurse? Nurse!”

  “I-I-I-”

  “I’m right here, Brady. Don’t worry about Dad, okay?”

  I lace our fingers once again and shoot a frantic look in my mother’s direction for her to do something. She never even meets my gaze.

  “Autumn!” Brady’s voice wraps around my name like a thorny branch, and I jump to attention.

  I raise up on my toes to hover over him, looking directly into his eyes. He blinks frantically, then inhales a deep breath.

  Then his face crumples. My brother, the hero … the all-star … the town legend falls to pieces in front of my eyes.

  “I-I-I-,” he whispers, loud enough for me to hear, but low enough to make me lean in closer. A single tear slips free, sliding down his temple into the stiff collar around his neck. “I can’t feel my legs.”

  Chapter 7

  Seb,

  This shit has gone on long enough. A few miles won’t change what you and Autumn have.

  She’s not budging, man. You have to go.

  Fix this shit,

  Brady

  P.S. - If Autumn makes me watch one more second of Lifetime television, I’m going to go find your balls in her purse and pulverize them.

  Sebastian - Seventeen Years Old

  The Past

  Prosper, LA

  “Come on, Autumn, open up,” I whisper, my light tapping on her window becoming more insistent. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

  Her only response is to flick off her bedroom light and leave me in total darkness. Autumn made her wishes known the second I peeked through her bedroom window. With a furious scowl and red-rimmed eyes, she pulled the blinds closed right in my pleading face.

  Any other girl would have called me romantic for deferring my college enrollment. Any other girl would be happy to have a boyfriend who couldn’t bear to be away from her. She might even reward her boyfriend for such acts of selflessness, possibly with gratuitous sexual favors.

  Autumn is obviously not most girls.

  When she found my acceptance letter to Southern Louisiana University jammed in the back of my sock drawer, she was livid. Why hadn’t I told her I was accepted? Why would I keep something so important a secret? What other secrets was I keeping from her?

  The answer was simple. I never told her about my acceptance because I didn’t plan on going. At least not this year. From the moment I unfolded the letter and read “Congratulations” on the first line, I knew what I wanted to do. I also knew what I didn’t want to do.

  I didn’t want to be where Autumn wasn’t. It’s as simple as that.

  I would defer for a year, take a few classes at the local community college, and save up some extra cash while helping my dad with his lawn business. Then once Autumn graduated high school, we’d both take off for Haven in the fall.

  So, who’s the most romantic and caring boyfriend in the world? This dipshit right here—the one with his shoes suctioned to a pile of mud, sweating his ass off, tapping on a vacant, dark window while his girlfriend pouts about … what in the hell is she pouting about again?

  Let’s just ignore the fact that she was digging in my things when she found the letter. I’m perfectly willing to forgive that complete invasion of my privacy if she’d only start acting like a rational human being again. If her head would stop spinning like Regan’s in The Exorcist long enough to listen to me, I’m sure she’d give in to reason.

  “Open the damn window, Autumn, or I’m going to ring the doorbell and wake up the whole house, I swear to God—”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  I turn as best I can with my feet cemented into the muddy ground and see Mr. Norris in his robe, leaning over the porch railing, amused eyes trained on me. Busted.

  “I’m not trying to cause any trouble, I promise. But she won’t listen to reason, Mr. Norris,” I explain with a frustrated sigh.

  “Son, I’ve been married for longer than you’ve been alive, so trust me when I tell you this. Females were absent the day God handed out reason. They’ve got their own way of thinking of things and listen closely to what I’m telling you. Their way is the right way.”

  Wait … what?

  “Now hold on a minute—”

  Mr. Norris shakes his head and frowns. “The sooner it seeps into that stubborn skull of yours, the happier you’ll be. Now come up here on the porch with me before we wake up the neighbors. Mrs. Coletti keeps a loaded shotgun by the front door, but never remembers to wear those Coke-bottle glasses of hers when she’s waving the damn thing around.”

  I meet him on the front porch steps, and he takes a seat beside me. We both remain quiet for a bit, me thinking about his unreasonable daughter, and him hopefully thinking up the perfect answer to my problem. Obviously, my approach of “I’m staying here for a year, so deal with it” had gone over like a gift-wrapped box of rocks, so I’m counting on him to bring this one home for me.

  The long-suffering sigh he releases while frowning and shaking his head leaves me doubtful.

  “Women are a mystery, Sebastian, and I assure you, my daughter is no exception. With Mrs. Norris, when I’m wrong, I’m wrong. And when I’m right …” He looks over to me and shrugs. “You guessed it. I’m still wrong.”

  “Excuse me for saying so, sir, but that’s just crazy.”

  “That’s life with a woman. But in this case, you deferring for a year and staying here in Prosper?” He smiles grimly and meets my gaze. “Any which way you slice it, you’re wrong on this one, son.”

  I slump my shoulders and lower my head in defeat. “How can wanting to be with her be wrong?”

  “You think you’re giving something up and that’s proving your love to Autumn, but you’re wrong. You think that’s what love is—wanting to be with her all the time and making it happen, no matter the cost.” He lets out a labored sigh. “And I guess in some ways it is, but it’s an immature kind of love.”

  My spine goes ramrod straight, and I gnaw my cheek to keep from mouthing off to Autumn’s dad. I’m trying to keep us together, and he’s calling me immature? Screw that.

  “I feel your hackles going up, but just hear me out. Real love is about hard work and sacrifice. It’s about doing the things you need to do to make a future. Staying here, waiting around? It’s effortless, Sebastian. It’s the easy way out. Going to college, showing her you love her enough to make long distance work, that’s what real love looks like. Doing what feels good at the time is the easy part. Doing what’s right for the future? That’s what a real man does.”

  “If I stay here, I’ll save some money, take a few college classes …”

  “But that’s not moving forward, son. It’s a holding pattern.” He slaps a firm palm to my knee and nods. “You know what you gotta do. You gotta do the work.”

  Do the work. I’ve heard him say those words a thousand times, but always to Brady. Tossing balls, lifting weights, on the field, no matter where, do the work. Mr. Norris is a great motivator for his son, but I never thought he’d take on the role of my relationship coach. I feel honored and kind of creeped out all at the same time.

  Or maybe his evil genius plan is to send me far away from his daughter, hoping our relationship will implode and he’ll finally be rid of me. With all the hell the three of us have raised over the years, I can’t rule out the possibility completely. Except … deep down I think the old man really likes me. And he can’t scare me off so easily—I’m sure he realizes that by now.

  “Do the work, huh?”

  “You know what you need to do. My daughter is one helluva person, and she could never live with herself if you put your life on hold for her. That girl doesn’t have a selfish bone in her body, so it’s no matter that she’s gonna miss the hell out of you,
she still knows in her heart of hearts she’s got to let you go.” Mr. Norris lifts to standing and places a hand on my shoulder. “And when the two of you make it through that year apart, you’ll both be stronger for it. And that’s how you build a relationship that lasts.”

  “Yeah,” I say, as a thousand random thoughts circle my brain and my plans make a complete one-eighty.

  Mr. Norris chuckles. “Scary shit, huh? I can hear it in your voice. That’s how you know you’re doing the right thing. Now go find my daughter and make things right, okay? She’s making the rest of us miserable. And I wouldn’t object to you telling Mrs. Norris that I was the one who fixed everything; ya hear me? Let me be the one that’s right for a change.”

  Chapter 8

  Sebastian

  Present Day

  Prosper, LA

  The boards groan beneath my feet when I hit the third step, and I smile. Some things never change. Mrs. Norris has her fall chrysanthemums proudly displayed on the porch, The Prosper Daily is still on the doormat waiting to be picked up and read, and Mr. Norris will never get around to fixing that third step on the porch. The creak sounds more like a welcome than a nuisance at this point. I should savor it since it’s definitely the only welcome I’ll receive. Regardless, I’m here to say my piece.

  Like Lance said, do what I need to do, and then finally, finally let it go.

  I wish it were as easy as that. I wish I could say what I came here to say, then leave my baggage on the Norris’s creaky third step. Just walk away, for better or worse and get on with my life. Moving to Haven, starting fresh and growing the fuck up, has healed pieces of my heart, but there’s always that part, shoved way back in the corner, festering with the knowledge that things are still unresolved. Words have been left unsaid. That knowledge feels like a tether, holding me hostage in so many ways.