Eyes of a Stanger

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Tawnia scanned the small room, looking for a purse, but found nothing. “Let’s go, then.” She led the way to her car, with Bret half-carrying Autumn, though the night air seemed to bring her back to life somewhat.

  “Why does she look like me?” Autumn said in a loud whisper. “It’s like looking into a mirror, only it’s all weird. Is she the woman you told me about?” She tripped and let out a short laugh. “I don’t know where my feet are. Do I still have feet? That would be so funny if I didn’t have feet.”

  She had feet, Tawnia noticed, but they were bare. There hadn’t been any shoes in the back room at the store.

  Bret steered Autumn away from a street lamp. “The medicine must be working.”

  “I do feel funny.” Autumn hiccupped and then giggled.

  Tawnia opened the back door to her car, helping Bret push Autumn inside. Tawnia locked the door just in case. With Bret following in his car, Tawnia carefully retraced her path to the bungalow. Now would not be the time to get lost, with Bret tailing her and Autumn lying in the back seat, giggling quietly to herself. Wait, it was quiet now. Maybe she’d fallen asleep.

  In front of the bungalow, they helped Autumn from the car. Tawnia scooped up the blanket before it could hit the ground, pulling it over Autumn’s shoulders. One of her neighbors was sitting on his porch, watching them with undisguised interest and making Tawnia wish the street lights weren’t so bright. She gave him a friendly wave, hoping he wouldn’t think it odd of her to bring a drunk-looking woman and a man to her house after nine o’clock.

  As she helped Autumn into the house, she caught a whiff of something sour. Definitely a bath was a good idea. She’d wash all of Autumn’s clothes and the blanket too.

  “Cozy place,” Bret commented.

  “It’s not big, but it was a good price, and I was tired of apartments. I can have flowers here.”

  “I saw them.”

  “Those are the landlady’s. She comes to water them every day, though I told her I’d do it. I think she comes to chat with the neighbors. She lives with her daughter now, but I think she misses it here.”

  Bret nodded.

  Stop babbling, Tawnia told herself.

  Bret waited in the living room while Tawnia helped Autumn down the hall toward the bathroom. She was no longer giggling but seemed morose and withdrawn. Fever still flushed her face.

  “They said she shouldn’t unwrap that cast for three days,” Bret called after them. “But after that she can take it off to shower. In a week she’s supposed to take it off permanently.”

  “Then I just walk around with a broken arm,” Autumn muttered darkly.

  “It’ll probably be healed enough by then.” Tawnia helped Autumn undress and step into the warm, soapy water, pulling the curtain most of the way for a modicum of privacy. The shirt Autumn had been wearing under the big sweatshirt smelled awful and the shoulder was ripped. But the bandage on her shoulder looked clean and fresh.

  “I’ll help you with your hair,” Tawnia offered. Kneeling by the bathtub, she leaned over and washed Autumn’s hair gently, silently, rinsing it with bath water she scooped up in her hands. With a wet rag, she rubbed dirt from the fingers on Autumn’s broken arm, propped on the edge of the bath. She felt a strange sort of contentment in the motions of helping this stranger who seemed to be someone she knew.

  “Thank you,” Autumn whispered. Her eyes were shut, but her fingers closed over Tawnia’s.

  “You’d do the same for me,” Tawnia said, somehow knowing it was true.

  “He was wrong about your eyes. They aren’t like mine.”

  Tawnia went to the sink and found her contact supplies. In seconds, she removed the contact, feeling Autumn’s eyes on her. Then she sat by the bath and looked at Autumn.

  Autumn’s mouth fell open slightly. “So that’s why he was so freaked out.”

  Freaked out. That was putting her own feelings mildly, though Tawnia had been raised never to use such words.

  “I feel all fuzzy,” Autumn murmured. “This is all a dream, isn’t it? I’m going to wake up in my store, and Winter will still be missing.”

  “Winter?” Was she hallucinating?

  “My father.” Tears dripped down Autumn’s face, disappearing into the bubbles.

  “I’m sorry.” Tawnia didn’t know what to say. “I think we’ve soaked off most of the dirt. Let’s get you out of here. Can you stand? You can put on my robe while I dry your hair with this towel. Then I’ll find you something else to put on.”

  She helped Autumn out of the tub and into her thick, red terry-cloth robe that her mother had bought her last Christmas. She wrapped a towel around Autumn’s hair.

  Autumn moved slowly. “I think I need to lie down.”

  “Come on.” Tawnia took her to her own bed and put the covers over her, robe and all. She walked to the door and turned out the light. “Call me if you need me.”

  “Wait.”

  Tawnia went to sit on the edge of the bed. Autumn’s left hand reached for hers. From the light spilling in from the hallway, Tawnia could see the tears on her cheeks. “It’s gone,” Autumn whispered. “The feeling. I thought it was Winter, but it wasn’t. It was you all along. It was you. You came.”

  Tawnia didn’t understand a thing Autumn was saying, but somehow it made sense. She had come to Portland for a reason. Maybe tonight she had discovered that reason. How or why didn’t matter. “It’s going to be okay.” Tawnia’s own tears slid down her face.

  She held Autumn’s hand until the regular breathing told her she was asleep. That was when she remembered Bret. She found him lying on the couch in her living room, one arm sprawled out toward the floor, his mouth slightly open. She had the inappropriate urge to lie down next to him and curl that arm around her cold body.

  Sighing, she picked up the remote and silenced the small TV that had come along with all the other furnishings in the house. Bret started, coming to a seated position, one hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn.

  “You need me?” he asked.

  “No. She’s asleep. I think the medicine is doing something to her.”

  “Doesn’t help that she probably hasn’t eaten.”

  Tawnia sat down next to him. “I didn’t think of that. I’ll make sure she gets a good breakfast tomorrow.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t stay home. It’s my first week on the job.”

  “Neither can I.” He sighed before adding hopefully, “Maybe she’ll be better.”

  “Maybe. But she can’t stay down at the river like that. She has to go back to her life.”

  “Has to?” His brow furrowed. “Why? What if she doesn’t want to?”

  “Are we talking about her or you?”

  He glared at her without speaking as long seconds ticked by. Then he let out another sigh and allowed his face to relax. “I guess I deserved that.”

  He deserved more, but she wasn’t going to pursue the matter. Their story was in the past. She was more interested in Autumn and the light that had filled her heart from the moment she’d seen her face. “When they find her father, she’ll be able to deal with it better.” She spoke with sureness, though she didn’t really know Autumn. Or did she?

  “The likeness,” he began.

  “Tell me everything about her.”

  “I don’t know anything besides her name and the names of her parents—Winter and Summer Rain. Only Winter had another name. Can’t remember what at the moment. Oh, and the last name was spelled differently. You’ll have to ask her in the morning.”

  “I will.” There was an excitement bubbling inside her. “I think she’s the reason I came here.”

  Bret arched a brow. “What?”

  “Five different states in ten years. I kept moving.” She couldn’t say what she was really feeling, that perhaps she’d been searching for Autumn, because that was too personal and too strange for someone like her who was raised to always do the proper thing.

 
“If you didn’t find her, you might have moved again.”

  She shook her head. “No.” Then feeling suddenly doubtful, she added, “Maybe. But I’m going to follow this through. All my life I’ve wondered about where I came from. It’s time I learned.”

  “And if there’s no connection?”

  “You’ve seen her face. You brought us together. How can you doubt?”

  “I don’t know. Stranger things have happened.” He stood, stretching his arms in the air. “I’d better get going. I need to be at work early tomorrow.”

  She walked him to the door, realizing that she had nothing more to say to him. He’d rejected her once, and she wasn’t about to pave the way for another shot.

  At the door, he turned and looked at her. “This didn’t work out the way I’d planned. I called you this morning. Thought maybe we could go out for dinner or something. Sorry it got messed up.”

  Since he had tried to call her earlier, Tawnia decided to let him have the benefit of the doubt—for now. “You did the right thing asking me to help.” Of course Autumn still might be a drug addict or a lazy woman who leeched off others, but her heart told her something different. Tawnia hadn’t been much good at following her heart, and the few times she’d tried, it hadn’t worked out, but in Autumn she saw something worth the risk.

  Bret looked as though he wanted to say something more. His eyes dropped to her lips, a sure sign in the past that he was going to kiss her. He was endearingly clumsy that way. She steeled herself, not knowing how she should react. She didn’t need him in her life. She didn’t want the problems. It wasn’t as though they were still dating now. He had made certain of that.

  “Look, it’s just not working,” he said, shaking his head. “I

  can’t . . .” He didn’t finish, and she was stung into a reply.

  “You mean you can’t get past that I went out with your brother, or that I was the last one to see him alive?”

  “It’s just that I wonder if he’d lived, what would have happened?”

  “What does it matter? I was Christian’s friend. We worked together. I admired him—everyone did. He was talented and funny, and he had a way of making a woman feel beautiful.” Not like you, she’d wanted to add but didn’t because that wouldn’t be true. She would only have said it to hurt him. “But he died. We’ll never know any more than that.”

  “I see him every time I look at you.”

  She knew that wasn’t true. When he kissed her, he had no vision of his brother. This was an excuse. An excuse not to be happy without Christian, and a year was more than enough time to have waited. “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say.” She’d turned and left his apartment on foot, angry that he couldn’t have chosen a more convenient place to break the news.

  She called a taxi. The closest she came to looking back was sending him an e-mail telling him of her impending move. He’d called her then, and they’d chatted casually, which left a sour feeling when they hung up. To herself she admitted she’d been fishing for something more. Not that it had mattered then.

  Or now.

  Something in her expression must have registered in his brain, because abruptly he nodded and stepped backward. Or perhaps he realized what he was doing and came to his senses. “I’ll call tomorrow. See how you two are doing. If you need anything, give me a call.”

  “I will.” She watched him go, irritation at him flaring in her chest. At least irritation was better than longing. That much she had already learned.

  Chapter 9

  Tawnia examined the fever strip in her hand, the one her mother had packed in her emergency kit when she had first left Kansas. It read 100. Too high to be normal, but not so high as to elicit immediate worry. Then again, since it was on the forehead and not internal, you had to add a degree. Or was it two? She couldn’t remember. Either way it wasn’t horribly high, and Autumn wasn’t exhibiting any other signs.

  In fact, she was sleeping peacefully, still snuggled in Tawnia’s bed wearing her red robe. She appeared young and vulnerable in her sleep, and Tawnia wondered if she looked the same way. For though it was morning and plenty of light spilled in from the window, the face on her pillow was still hers. A slightly undernourished version perhaps, but hers all the same. The upturned nose covered by a scattering of persistent freckles, the high cheek bones, the shape of her cheek, and the dimple in her chin. And don’t forget the wide-set, mismatched eyes. Those were the most notable of their similarities. Only the scar near Autumn’s left eye and her short, red-dyed hair was different, though the under color, a medium brown, was the same as Tawnia’s.

  The resemblance in their faces might be explained away, but heterochromia was rare, and to have both the looks and the eyes . . . well, she wasn’t a geneticist, but that couldn’t happen often. Or maybe ever.

  Even with a sibling?

  Tawnia’s heart thudded in her chest, almost too slowly. She could feel the pounding in her ears. Thud-thud, thud-thud.

  What had bothered her most in her teen years about being adopted wasn’t that her mother had given her up—she figured there were extenuating circumstances of some sort, be it a drug addiction or a teen pregnancy—but that somewhere out there she might have relatives, close ones that were living without her, never knowing she existed. Going along their merry lives loving each other. A grandmother, a brother, an aunt, a cousin. But she didn’t even know if these mythical people existed, and they would never know about her. Neither felt the loss of the other. It just wasn’t right.

  Or was it? Didn’t the new family make up for everything? The new family that wouldn’t have been complete without the adopted child? Yes, it made up for an awful lot. It made up for everything else.

  Tawnia guessed it was simply not knowing that bothered her. She liked everything in its place. She was like her mother in that—her adoptive mother.

  Autumn had been adopted, too. What could that mean? Could she be a little cousin, born shortly after her own self? Yet to look so much like Tawnia. Surely even half siblings wouldn’t resemble each other so much. It was ludicrous. Wasn’t it?

  Well, she wasn’t going to learn anything staring at Autumn all morning. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d be late to work. She’d leave a note for when her guest awoke, telling her to help herself to anything in the kitchen.

  What if she helped herself to more than just food? Tawnia decided to take her most valuable papers and belongings and leave them in her car trunk. That was who she was. Careful. Most everything could be replaced, except her identity and her jewelry.

  A shiver ran through her. This woman could easily steal her identity. The thought made her question for the hundredth time if she was doing the right thing by letting Autumn stay at the bungalow. But what else could she do? Kick her out with a fever, dressed in nothing but that red robe? She felt a small comfort in knowing that at least Bret knew about the two of them. He should be able to tell them apart.

  Sighing, Tawnia went to the minuscule closet and found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. To this pile, she added underwear but no bra since Autumn hadn’t been wearing one. These clothes seemed about Autumn’s style, and at least she’d have something clean to wear when she awoke. In fact, if she threw Autumn’s clothes in the washer right now, they’d be finished tonight and Autumn wouldn’t have to borrow anything more. Tawnia wasn’t good at sharing her clothes. That hadn’t been something her mother had smiled upon, and since she didn’t have a sister . . .

  A sister.

  Longing swift and deep sprang from somewhere inside her. It had been a long time since she’d dwelt upon her youthful desire for a sister. No, not a desire. A need. A deep, soul-shattering need.

  Yet how could she feel such a deep longing for something she had never known? Unless she actually had a sister somewhere. One she didn’t remember.

  No. The idea was too preposterous. Just her imagination going wild again.

  Automatically checking the pockets of Autumn’s jeans before throwing the
m in the washer, she found a few crumpled bills—twenties—a set of keys, and nothing more. Not a shred of ID. Of course not. If Autumn’s story, and Bret’s, was true, her ID was at the bottom of the Willamette River. Slamming the washer shut, Tawnia hurried around the bungalow, throwing papers and valuables into a plastic crate.

  She was hurrying down her sidewalk with the crate when her landlady, Mrs. Gerbert made an appearance. Today the rotund figure was wearing all red, from the flattering wide-legged dress pants to the shirt that hung halfway to her knees. As on the first day they’d met, she wore a copious amount of eye shadow and gobs of mascara. Her cheeks and lips were painted red to match her outfit. Even her pointy flat shoes were red.

  “Hi,” Tawnia called. “Sorry, I can’t talk now. I’m going to be late to work.”

  “No worries. Just came to water the flowers.” She was peering over Tawnia’s shoulder at the house.

  “You must get up early.” Then Tawnia realized her new neighbors had probably reported her late night activities to Mrs. Gerbert. She hoped they’d at least seen Bret leave. She’d signed a contract stating that aside from the occasional visitor, she’d be living alone. “I do have a girl who stayed the night with me,” she hurried to say. “She wasn’t feeling well, so I brought her here to look after her. In fact, she’s still got a fever. I’m wondering if maybe I should take her to the doctor.”

  Mrs. Gerbert appeared relieved, and now that she could rest assured her house was not being used as a den of iniquity, she seemed eager to help. Or did she want to make sure Tawnia was telling the truth? “You go along, dear. I’ll see to your friend. I raised two children. I know all about fevers. They’re mostly just the body’s way of helping you heal. As long as it’s not too hot or doesn’t go on too long, fevers aren’t usually dangerous.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” At least Autumn wouldn’t be able to walk off with much under the eye of this careful lady. “I was worried about leaving her alone.”

  “Well, go along now. You really don’t want to be late your first week.”