* * *
—
First thing in the morning, a new nurse brings my breakfast. I get oatmeal today, which is an improvement on the all-liquid diet. Jason’s coming over after school, and I get this giddy flutter every time I remember that. Dad texts that he’ll be here in an hour, and I guess that makes me happy, too.
I wish they’d let me see Autumn.
I’m spooning the last bite of oatmeal into my mouth when Emma knocks on the doorframe. “You up for a visitor, Ivy? There’s someone here to see you.”
I suck another mouthful of lukewarm water up the straw. “I’m pretty sure half the universe has visited me over the last twenty-four hours, so I’m not sure who could be left, but sure.”
The nurse steps out into the hallway, speaking in hushed tones to someone I can’t see. She comes back in, rolling Autumn in a wheelchair. My sister drags an IV pole behind her. A bag of clear liquid hangs off the hook, attached to her hand by a long tube. A purple ring encircles her left eye, and bruises dapple her arms. The moment I see her, it’s like my heart could burst.
“Well, I’ll give you two some privacy. Press the call button when you’re ready to go back to your room.” Emma pats Autumn lightly on the back and disappears into the hallway.
We stare at each other for a good thirty seconds.
Autumn scratches her neck. “Can I come hang out for a bit?”
“Hey.” I blink. “You’re back.”
In some ways it’s like I’m looking at a stranger, or someone who’s been gone a long time—three days, three years. But then, somehow, it’s like she’s been here the whole time.
Autumn smiles, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her smile in years. “I never left.”
EPILOGUE
11 MONTHS AND 15 DAYS LATER
AUTUMN
This cardboard box is killing the circulation in my fingers. I let it fall onto the rubbery dorm mattress with a thud, then catch my breath, wiping a lock of sweaty hair off my forehead.
Somewhere in the building, a stereo pounds, vibrating through the thin walls. I take a seat on the edge of the bed and survey the room. I’m usually not lucky, but I won the room-lottery jackpot and wound up with a single. Sweet, sweet privacy.
Various boxes and garbage bags stuffed with my clothes and knickknacks litter the floor. The wooden desk looks like it’s been around since the seventies, and the tiny dresser probably won’t hold half my clothes.
White walls with chipping paint surround me, and there’s only one window in the back of the room. My therapist has gotten me into painting. I’m not very good, but I like it. These walls are begging for some artwork.
“So this is college, huh?” Ivy shuffles into the room hugging my giant purple body pillow with one arm and a garbage bag full of my clothes with the other. “Where are all the raging parties?”
“Going to wager a wild guess that they’re not in the chem-free dorm.”
She gasps in mock offense. “Hey, us sober kids can have pretty cool parties, too.”
It’s good to see Ivy smiling. Things at home have been rough lately. Dad and Kathy sleep in separate rooms now, and I wonder how long their marriage will last. I still can barely stand the sight of that woman, and I’m pissed Dad’s still with her. But the gem in all of this is that I’ve found my sister again.
Dad strides into the room carrying my shiny new microwave, still in its box. “Where do you want this?”
“Um. Put it on the dresser for now.”
He sets it down and stretches out his arms. “Okay, I think I’ve got one more load from the car, and then we’re done! Be right back.”
Dad heads out into the hallway. He starts chatting loudly with someone, and Ivy and I both roll our eyes.
“So, are you excited?” Ivy asks.
“I guess. I didn’t know pre-vet came with all these math and science classes right off the bat.” I stroke the tattoo on my wrist. “I’ll miss you guys.” I never in a million years thought I’d end up going to school only forty minutes from home. I used to think that was way too close for comfort. Now it feels like I might as well be going to college in another country.
“You can come home every weekend.” Ivy smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “And I’ll come visit you now that I’m a licensed driver. I mean, when Dad lets me borrow the car.”
“You better.”
Every time I see my sister, I remember how she looked in that hospital room, all those months ago. I can picture it with perfect clarity, like it’s tattooed on my brain. But I don’t want to forget any of it, not a single moment.
I can spend every second of every day thanking her, and it will never be enough. That’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay.
But she’s my sister. She’ll always have a chunk of my soul, no matter how many miles separate us.
I never told Ivy about those two and a half days I followed her around as a ghost. I don’t even know if she’d believe me. But in a way, I didn’t have to tell her. It’s like this unspoken understanding passed between us, a connection that doesn’t need words to be kept alive.
“Oh, before I forget. I made you something.” Ivy digs in one of the boxes and pulls out a picture frame, the kind with three photo slots. On the left, there’s Ivy and me as kids, in that ridiculous photo with the Harry Potter wands. In the middle, we’ve got our arms wrapped around each other at my graduation a few months ago. I cock my head. “Why is the last frame empty?”
Ivy shrugs. “For future memories?”
“I like that.” I set the frame on my dresser by the microwave. The room looks better already.
Dad comes back in with the last load—my laundry basket, filled with endless packages of Easy Mac and ramen. He sets it on the floor.
“That’s the last of it.”
I wring my hands. I guess I never thought this moment would actually come. Now that it’s here—independence, adulthood, all that shit—it’s kind of overwhelming. I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. But maybe no one does.
Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
“I’m sure.” I’m not sure, really. But I’ll do my best. It’s bittersweet when they head to the door. “I’ll see you guys Friday? My last class is . . .” I quickly scan my schedule. “Chem at two. I can be in Concord for games by four?”
“Five on Friday,” Ivy corrects. “Patrick, Alexa, and Sophie have Pride Club on Fridays after school now, so we moved it.”
“Maybe I can come a little early, then? Hang out with you guys? See Pumpernickel?”
“Dunkin’ Donuts Friday?” Dad and Ivy say at the same time.
“Oh my God.” I roll my eyes. “You guys are so cheesy.”
“Can I invite Jason?” Ivy asks.
“No, Ivy, your boyfriend is totally unwelcome.” I make a face at her. “Yes, obviously. I think we’re all more than used to his presence by now.”
Dad squirms, and it’s kind of hilarious that he still hasn’t gotten used to Ivy dating.
I hug my dad and Ivy in turn. “You’ll take care of my dog, right?”
“You mean my dog?” Ivy wiggles her brows.
I deadpan glare at her, and Ivy cracks up laughing.
“Yes, of course I’ll take care of your dog, jeez.”
Ivy and Dad walk out, leaving me alone in my new dorm room. I watch them through my window, heading down the steps and into the parking lot, where various cars and trucks wait in the loading zone, packed with boxes, wide-eyed freshmen, and nervous parents.
I don’t know what hits me, but I turn around and charge out the door after them, through the hall and outside to the parking lot. My flip-flops clap against the pavement.
“Ivy! Wait!”
She spins around. “What’s wrong?”
I run up and throw my arms around her. �
�I’m just going to miss you.”
We hold on for at least a minute. Finally, she climbs into the front seat of Dad’s Honda and they pull out, giving a few short honks back to me.
I wave, watching until their taillights disappear onto the main road. In some ways, I guess this is an ending. It’s the end of my childhood, the end of living at home, the end of my old life. But in other ways, it feels like the whole world is spread out at my feet, like a million new beginnings.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Autumn’s disappearance in The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly is a metaphor for rape culture. We live in a world where abusers’ futures are often prioritized over their victims’ lives. Just like Liam’s father was willing to harm Autumn to protect his son from facing consequences for his violent actions, far too frequently, convicted rapists are given egregiously light sentences for their crime(s), many times due to the desire not to damage their futures and careers, with little or no regard to the damage done to the victim’s future and career.
Much like Autumn shouting into the void in her out-of-body experience, many assault victims are gaslighted, accused of lying, and forced to watch their abusers walk free. When Ivy reports the very real danger she fears her sister is facing, Autumn’s situation is disregarded due to her history of substance use, misbehavior, and crime; this is similar to when sexual assault victims’ pasts, intoxication, outfit choice, and sexual history are unfairly scrutinized and used as reasoning to justify what happened.
I wrote The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly from a place of frustration, sadness, and anger. While Autumn Casterly’s story is fictional, her circumstances are all too real. According to the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network’s website (rainn.org), one in six American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime (https://www.rainn.org/statistics/scope-problem); however, out of 1,000 rapes, 995 rapists will walk free and never serve a day in jail (https://www.rainn.org/statistics/criminal-justice-system). We have a serious problem in this country, and it’s not okay. Change starts with listening to and believing victims. If you were a victim of rape or sexual assault, I’m so sorry that happened to you. Please know that you’re not alone and it wasn’t your fault. I see you, and I believe you. You matter. Never stop fighting.
National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673
—M
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly would not be here today without the help and support of many wonderful people.
First of all, I would like to thank my phenomenal agent, Sarah Landis, who supported me and this story from the beginning. I am forever grateful to you for everything you’ve done for me, my career, and this book. I’m so lucky to have such an amazing agent! And thank you to everyone at Sterling Lord Literistic.
Ari Lewin, my fabulous editor—thank you for taking a chance on me and for bringing this book to the next level. You’ve been so supportive of Autumn, Ivy, and me, and I’m so lucky to have had an editor who really understood the story.
Elise LeMassena—thank you for all your support and spot-on editorial work on this book. I am so grateful to have had such a great team working on Autumn and Ivy’s story!
To my copy editor, Cindy Howle—I am still in awe of your copyediting skills. I am so grateful and lucky that I had someone with such a keen eye for detail working on my book. Thank you!
Thank you to Jennifer Klonsky for believing in this book and for all your support, to amazing cover designer Dana Li, and to publicist extraordinaire Tessa Meischeid for everything you’ve done for my work! And to everyone at Putnam, Penguin Teen, and Penguin Random House—working with you has been a dream come true, and I’m honored you chose to publish my book. And thank you to Susie Albert for helping me get my college football facts straight!
I would also like to thank the wonderful literary agents who saw something in this book. I am so grateful to have had the chance to speak with you, and I took all your feedback to heart and used it to improve the story. Thank you for believing in this story.
Jamie Howard—who’d have thought when we started chatting on #CPMatch back in 2014 that you would become one of my best friends and lifelong critique partner? I’m so grateful for your friendship and for all your notes and critiques over the years, especially with this book.
Jennifer Stolzer—thank you for your epic plot-whispering and CPing over the years. I’m so lucky to have you as a CP and friend!
Ron Walters—thank you for continually supporting me over the years, for your beta reading, and for everything you did for this book!
A big thank-you to my beta reader friends who helped make this book shine—Kirsten Cowan, Monica Craver, Julie Abe, Erica Cameron, and of course, my fabulous husband and eternal beta reader, Vincent Servello.
I’d like to thank all the wonder authors of #TeamLandis for all your support, wisdom, and guidance. Erin Craig, Shelby Mahurin, Jess Rubinkowski, Leah Johnson, Julie Abe, Ron Walters, Elisabeth Funk, Jen Adam, Isabel Ibanez, Lyudmyla Hoffman, Jennie Brown, and Mindy Thompson, I’m so grateful to have you all in my corner!
To all my writer friends who supported this book: Amanda Heger, Marie Meyer, Annika Sharma, Joanna Ruth Meyer, Erin Callahan, Diana Pinguicha, Jamie Krakover, Emily Hall, Zoulfa Katouh, Rosaria Munda, Lisa Hood, everyone in the NAC, the Electric Eighteens, my Twitter buddies, the entire Write Pack, and everyone else—your support and friendship mean the world to me. I’m lucky to be surrounded by such wonderful, talented people. Thank you.
And thank you to the fabulous teachers Jon Kelly and Jackie Catcher for answering my high school teaching questions!
Vincent—I could list you as my husband, or my best friend, or my beta reader, or my biggest supporter, and they would all be true. I love you so much. Thank you for everything you are, and everything you do.
Dad—thank you for all your support and love over the years. I am so lucky to have such a supportive father! I love you.
Thank you to my mother, Jessica Ross Tate, who is no longer here but inspires me every day. I carry you in my heart. I love you.
Thank you to Vincent F. and Michele Servello, all the Tates, Rosses, Siegels, Servellos, Murrays, Bombardiers, and Pions—I’m very grateful to have such supportive family and in-laws!
To all my friends not mentioned above who have supported me and my writing from the beginning—Caitlin Clark, Rebekah Mar-Tang, Kristina Rieger, Sarah Winters, Caitlin Stevenson, Joanna Wolbert, Corey Landsman, Caity Bean, Alexis Carr, Audrey Desbiens, Katie Levesque, Brendan Bly, Molly Hyant, Amy Debevoise, Eric and Amy Lousararian, Lauren Vanderslice, Jill Schaffer, Brett Roell, Paige Donaldson, Katie Gill, Ashley Taylor Ward, Jess Taylor, Barbara and Ed, all the Dizzy Dames, all my wonderful teachers, and everyone else—you know who you are—thank you from the bottom of my heart!
And thank you to my cousin Jon Siegel for taking my author photos!
Wonder Waffel, Plusch Cafe, True Brew, Kaldi’s Coffee, and others—thanks for letting me take up a table and write/edit this book for hours, and for feeding me lots of delicious food and coffee.
Shout-out to Friendly’s, Red River Theater, Szechuan Gardens, Dunkin’ Donuts, Polar Seltzer, Granite State Candies, Midnight Merriment, True Brew Barista, Concord High School, White Park, and every other real Concord location, event, or local product referenced in this book—you’re all wonderful, and are all featured because you hold special meaning for me. I hope you don’t mind that I named you in my book. The name-dropping came from a place of love and respect, and I hope that shows!
To my lovely hometown of Concord, New Hampshire: I would not be who I am without all those wonderful years and memories that went on to inspire this book. I wrote about Concord, a town of extreme importance to me, from a place of fondness and admiration, and I hope that comes through in the text. Please forgive the playful jabs, which I promise were made with love!
I took some liberties on some aspects of the town, which were exaggerated or added from my imagination for the story’s sake, and I hope you understand. This book is not autobiographical and does not reflect my experience attending Concord High School.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Meredith Tate grew up in Concord, New Hampshire, where she went on many adventures (but thankfully never had to solve any attempted murders). In college, she fell in love with her two passions -- writing and traveling -- while working on her first novel and studying abroad in London. She earned her master's degree in social work from the University of New Hampshire and worked in the field in Boston for several years before deciding to pursue her true dream of telling stories. After spending three wonderful years in St. Louis, Missouri, Meredith and her husband moved to Zurich, Switzerland as expats. When Meredith's not writing, she loves playing the piano, trying new recipes, and chasing her dream of seeing every continent (four down, three to go!).
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The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly Page 29
