One Summer With Autumn

by Julie Reece

  “It means, young lady, that I am weary of your attitude. If they ask you to stand on your head, you’ll do it, understood? This is a chance to do something positive for your future. So, I suggest you make up your mind to take advantage of this opportunity, whatever the job entails.”

  If I finish the internship, at least I’ll take the journey my mother and I dreamed of before becoming my father’s robot. The alternatives are working downtown at the old vinyl record store, or shoveling ice cream all summer for perky shoppers at the mall. Dad might even insist on an exciting summer of data entry at the school office where he can keep tabs on me.

  It’s never easy between me and Dad, but without my sister here playing shock absorber, the best thing for everyone is that I go away. “All right,” I say. “I’ll get packed.”

  4

  Autumn

  Wednesday morning the alarm blares, waking me at an ungodly hour. I groan, roll over, and hammer my snooze button into silence. Not thirty seconds later, a dying bird warbles down the hall. No. Not a bird. It’s Sydney, singing Disney tunes in the bathroom.

  Shoot me.

  Bleary-eyed and mentally evil, I stumble out of bed and into the shower. The hot water transforms me, and after toweling dry, I reach for my favorite, multi-colored gypsy skirt, cream tank, braided bracelets, and sunglasses. I like to call my style bohemian chic. My sister, however, refers to the look as “homeless hitchhiker.”

  In the kitchen, Syd counts out her breakfast: five cherry tomatoes, eleven almonds, and a hard-boiled egg. She’s not that thin by accident. Her willowy figure takes constant, purposeful effort. In this area, I pin my sister to the mat. While her physique takes after my father’s, my mother had the metabolism of an Olympian. And so do I.

  Strawberry Pop Tarts call my name. I pull a silver package from the box, tear it open, and bite a large corner off one end.

  Sydney wrinkles her nose. “So, so gross.”

  I shove my face in hers, nose to nose. “Admit it. You want this yummy goodness for yourself.” I tear off another bite with a growl and chew like a deranged camel.

  “No. I don’t. For an exercise addict, I’m surprised you eat that crap. Eat healthy and run less, I say.”

  “You say that like you’ve run for anything other than a Black Friday sale at Hollister.” I stuff the last bite in my mouth and talk around it. “I’m allowed a few dietary vices. I’ll jog it off later.”

  “Ew. Whatever. I swear; you have the manners of a goat.” She turns to leave, then pauses. “How many hats did you pack?”

  Caught off guard, I shrug. “I don’t know, six?”

  “I figured.” Her eyes cloud, nostrils flaring with her swallow.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing … just, eight weeks.”

  My brow crumples. “I know.” And I do. I’ve never been away from my twin so long before. No one gets our like-loathe relationship but us, not even Dad. I can’t explain us … we just are.

  She squeezes my arm before heading down the hall. A half hour later, my sister climbs into the shiny, black limo waiting in our driveway and leaves for her First Class spot on a plane to New York.

  Then it’s my turn.

  Dad drives our white Volvo eight miles an hour below the speed limit to the Greyhound hub in Macon. In between long, awkward silences, he stares until I get a clue. I ease a plug from one ear, so my father can explain how I’m to meet a coworker at seven with a departure time of seven forty-five. This person will travel with me and introduce me to my new boss who will then show me around, outlining the duties of my summer job.

  Dad gives a final warning to perform well for my internship as we pull alongside the curb. The ebb and flow of bus passengers move across the street in front of us. My father pops the trunk hatch and grips the steering wheel in silence. At first I think he’s going to speak, or that he’s hoping I will, then it dawns on me, he doesn’t intend to get out of the car.

  The smell of diesel fuel is choking as I lift my duffle and backpack from the trunk and haul them to the sidewalk. Scads of people mill around the building entrance. They shout hellos, smile or hug, while others cry and wave. One couple stands lip-locked near the main door, but I can’t tell if they’re happy to see each other or sad to part ways.

  I walk around to the passenger side of the car, but as I bend to say good-bye, my father pulls away from the curb and drives away. No, “Have a nice summer,” or “I’ll see you in eight weeks.” He doesn’t even wait to meet my traveling companion. Burning starts behind my eyes. My lungs close, and it’s not from the exhaust-filled air.

  “Miss Teslow?”

  “Yeah … ” Throat thick with emotion, I cough and try again. “Yes?”

  The guy next to me glances first at my dad’s quickly retreating Volvo, then back to me. I guess his age at nineteen or twenty. Copper-brown hair hangs in curling layers around his face. He pushes the glossy strands back, but the shorter bangs disobey, falling again over dark eyes. A shadow threatens his jawline where the surface looks raw and irritated. Like me.

  “Hm … ” He glances at me, then frowns at his paperwork, back to me again. “Autumn Teslow?”

  “Yes.”

  Me. Paperwork. Frowns. “The one interning for Behr Mountain Sporting Goods?”

  How many Autumn Teslows does he think roam the bus station at 7:00 in the morning? “Is there a problem?”

  “Probably not. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” I swear I’ve been insulted, but I can’t think why, we only just met. “My name’s Silas Reeves.” His hand juts out, and I consider letting him hang until I remember my dad’s warning. “Great to have you with us this summer.” He pumps my arm like a tire iron before drawing a ticket from his shirt pocket and shoving it at me.

  I glance at the destination printed in the corner. Cowpens, South Carolina. “Is this for real?”

  Silas’s brow furrows. “What?”

  My mouth puckers with understanding. I am indeed about to spend eight weeks in a real armpit of a place called Cowpens. “Nothing, never mind.” My shoulder aches from the weight of my duffle. I set my bags down on the sidewalk.

  One corner of his mouth tips up. “Is there a problem?” He looks like a model from a freaking North Face ad with his scuffed boots, faded, low-slung jeans, and snug, blue T-shirt.

  Yes! “Not at all.”

  “Good. Our bus leaves soon, so we’d better get checked in.”

  As he saunters off toward the main entrance, I glance at the overstuffed bags at my feet representing hours on a bus, before spending weeks doing God knows what in a place called Cowpens. I’d rather be on the road to my first thumbtack in New Orleans, but yeah. Hello Cowpens!

  Silas peers at me over his shoulder, then stops. “Problem with your arms, Miss Teslow?

  No he didn’t.

  “Your job with us will be physical.” He looks me over. “If you can’t handle a duffle bag, I’m afraid you’re in for a very long summer.”

  I quite possibly hate this guy. After shooting him a death-glare instead of the finger I’d like to give him, I squat, pulling the thick strap over my shoulder. “I can handle it.”

  “Perfect. Let’s go.”

  We enter the terminal, and I sneak another peek at my coworker, wondering what he does for Grizzly. He’s young. So this might be a summer gig for him, too. I Googled the outdoor equipment company and liked the website well enough, but the email I received only mentioned what to pack, and where and when to meet. Specific answers to questions that I’m too angry to ask right now were vague or missing altogether. Facts like: What I’ll be doing all summer. Where I’m staying, or how many interns there’d be.

  Silas stops abruptly, searching the mounted screens for our check-in window. A cell buzzes. My escort digs one out from his back pocket and scrolls. A goofy grin spreads as he reads, and I suspect a girlfriend.

  “Okay,” he says, all happy-like. “I’ve been to Cowpens. The trip takes four hours, which means six by bu
s. I get the window seat, but you can lean over me near Lake Hartwell, if you want to see the water.”

  He can’t be serious. “Tempting, but I’ll pass.”

  His eyes glitter as though he’s amused. “Suit yourself.”

  After Silas checks our bags, I follow him to the tarmac and our bus, number sixty-six. My stomach tightens at the thought of spending hours next to this guy. He’s tall and lean, with hair that has that messy-on-purpose-without-trying-too-hard thing going on. It works for him. A girl would have to be blind not to notice.

  However, my loathing for him has grown exponentially since he started talking. Just as well. I’m here for college, not to make friends. I’m glad I brought my book and sketchpad. Good to keep busy without appearing like I’m ignoring the tool bag—which is totally my plan.

  Silas breezes past me and boards first.

  I squeeze up the narrow aisle between passengers, and try not to bump anyone. One guy in a dirty ball cap gives me a gap-toothed smile. Not a chance, pal.

  Silas drops into his chair. I recheck the seat assignment on my ticket stub and, you guessed it, number six on bus sixty-six for six hours. Good thing I’m not superstitious or anything.

  The vehicle is almost full. The smell of antiseptic cleanser over gas, bad breath, and body odor permeate our surroundings. Awesome.

  There’s decent leg room and the seats are comfy. My pack serves as my purse for this trip and fits nicely at my feet. No sooner do I get settled then my phone dings, signaling a text from Sydney.

  Sydney: How u holding up?

  Autumn: I’m on an actual bus, how do u think? Coworker cute, but an idiot.

  Sydney: Sweet. Travel eye candy. Silver lining. Srsly, make the job work, k? U need this.

  Autumn: Nag. Call from NY

  Sydney: Yep. Talk soon. XO

  “Is that your boyfriend?” Silas asks.

  “No.”

  “Parents?”

  I can see this isn’t going to stop, so I answer. “Sister.”

  He smiles. “Oh, yeah? My older brother got married a few months back, so I have a sister now, too.” Silas’s arm covers the rest between us. I move mine away. A deep tan compliments his dark hair and brows. He’s thin, muscles defined without being vulgar. A thick vein in his forearm travels up his bicep and disappears under his T-shirt. I swallow and wish I had an iced tea.

  “That’s nice,” I answer.

  His cologne smells warm and spicy, and while a nice reprieve from the musty smelling bus, I’m strangely annoyed. I pull my book out, sending the message I’m done conversing.

  “Mostly,” he says. “Do all big sisters double as well-meaning guidance counselors that sweetly annoy the shit out of you?”

  I picture Sydney’s face in my doorway this morning, singing the theme song from Frozen. “I doubt it.”

  “Right. I’m sure your sister’s not like that.” He chuckles. “What are you reading?”

  I clench my teeth. You can do this, Autumn. A few hours and you’re there. I silently hope that when we get to Cowpens, I won’t have to work with Toolbag much, and that my new boss is extremely unattractive—and mute—so I can focus on my job. My shoulder pushes the seat as I raise the cover of Watership Down toward him.

  He squints and leans forward, scenting the space between us with a hint of wintergreen. “Something wrong?” I ask.

  His expression is unreadable. Still, there’s something glinting in his dark eyes, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was fighting a smile.

  “Not at all,” he says, though clearly something’s up, and he’s still staring at my book cover.

  I narrow my gaze. “Do you have an issue with bunnies?” I refuse to acknowledge how his shirt hugs his chest and keep my eyes trained on his face.

  “Not at all.” Definitely smiling, now. “I’m very fond of all things rabbit.” He waves his hand as though he’s a king dismissing a peasant he’s tired of. “Don’t let me interrupt. Warrens of power and rabbit voodoo are waiting … ” His fingers lace over his stomach as his head eases back. Eyes close. “Damned ridiculous if you ask me.”

  5

  Caden

  “What are you reading?” I ask.

  The muscle jumping in Autumn’s jaw makes it clear she wants to be left alone, so of course I can’t resist messing with her a little longer. She doesn’t recognize me from the job fair and my relief is sizeable. I guess my transformation from Duck Dynasty wannabe to random stranger is complete. After all, she only met me in the gym for a minute before she went postal.

  Her head presses the seat as she lifts her book. I glance at the cover. Watership Down? It’s all I can do not to bust out laughing.

  “Something wrong?” she asks. Her eyebrows are thick and dark with sharp arcs. When she lifts just one with her question, she looks a lot like that Gone with the Wind chick my mom’s always watching on Netflix, complete with attitude.

  “Not at all,” I say, still trying to kill my smile.

  Her eyes narrow. “Do you have an issue with bunnies?” Her gaze flits from my face down the length of my body. When I catch her, her cheeks color. Ah-ha! Not completely immune to gorillas, are we?

  I shake my head, but lose the battle with my grin. “I’m very fond of all things rabbit.” Hunting them, eating them, lining my boots with their wittle pelts … I wave my hand. “Don’t let me interrupt. Warrens of power and rabbit voodoo are waiting … ” Easing into my seat, my lids slide shut. “Damned ridiculous if you ask me.”

  “As opposed to good literature, like Maxim?”

  My smile spreads until a full-blown laugh escapes. Nicely done, point to intern. Though she’ll be a lot less cocky after a few weeks spent roughing it in the great outdoors.

  She huffs, but I still won’t look at her. Get mad all you want, sweetheart. Just wait until you see what I have planned for you this summer.

  After leaving the job fair one thing became clear, I couldn’t have Autumn work for me knowing I’m the owner’s son. She might treat me differently, and this has to be a real test. So, I shaved my beard, lost my favorite hat, exchanged Caden for my middle name Silas, and adopted my mother’s maiden name Reeves as an alias.

  It took some persuasion to get her old man to agree to my terms, and yet, somehow less than it should have. Hard ass.

  In addition, I had to convince my brothers to get on board with the plan. Farce. Hoax. Lie. No … lesson, we’ll call it a life lesson, or some other shit like that. Sounds a lot better than payback.

  Something like guilt tugs at me, and I sucker-punch the thought. Not only did the girl humiliate me in front of my peers at the job fair, she nearly cost me an intern. Which would’ve sucked because my screw-ups keep me a kid in my mom’s eyes—a reckless teenager to be watched and managed. If I show some initiative and successfully train this girl, Mom will ease off.

  And so what if Autumn ends up with a few of the less desirable jobs along the way? She’ll get her scholarship in the end. Everybody wins.

  My scheming wears at my mind until sleep claims me. Yep, I’m going to prove myself and maybe humble Little-Miss-Can’t-Be-Wrong in the process.

  Life is good.

  ***

  I’m jolted awake. The bus hits another pothole and two facts become clear. First, I must have been asleep a long while, because my arm has pins and needles and hurts like a mother. Second, Autumn’s head rests on that arm. Her long hair streams from beneath her knit hat and tickles my skin. I honestly don’t know whether to shove her off me, or leave her where she is.

  I angle slightly and peer at her sleeping face. Not bad, really. Clear skin, cute little nose—when she’s not breathing fire through it. Eyebrows several shades darker than her hair arc over closed lids. Soft and rhythmic, the breaths that smell of cinnamon gum lightly blow against the hair on my arm. Thick, black lashes fan out against her cheeks. My gaze sweeps her frame and back. Some girls this small are curve-less, but not Autumn. Suddenly the bus feels ten degrees warmer.
>
  She nestles closer up my arm. Her breath heats the skin of my neck, ramping my pulse. Oh yeah, I’m leaving her exactly where she is.

  An ear bud hangs loose on her shoulder. I hear buzzing but can’t make out the song. Without moving her, my other hand lifts the wire off her shoulder. I push the earpiece into my ear canal, but I don’t know the band. Most likely some coffee house, alternative shit.

  She seems so different, peaceful and still sleeping against me. I relax and breathe deeper.

  Faster than a bullet, her tiny fist strikes my chest. “What the hell?”

  Yeah, she’s peaceful all right … like a wolverine.

  She jolts away as though I’ve burnt her. The earpiece I borrowed pops from my ear like a cork.

  “Why did you hit me?” I demand. Her feeble punch didn’t hurt, it’s the principle. Rule number one: don’t use me as your pillow and then blame me for, well … enjoying it.

  “You were practically on top of me.”

  The old, white-haired lady across the aisle leans up to get a better look. Another guy wearing a ball cap bends around in his seat, but he seems more focused on Autumn’s legs than our argument.

  I don’t know if I’m embarrassed or annoyed, but the guy’s staring pisses me off. My pointed gaze hits him between the eyes. “Something I can help you with?” He shrugs and turns around. Satisfied, I face Autumn. “For the record, I wasn’t on you, you were on me. You fell asleep. I woke up and found you drooling all over my arm.” I pretend to wipe something off my skin to underline the point.

  “I did not,” Autumn says, though she rubs her mouth to make sure. “And I don’t drool.” But she continues to touch her lips, and I’m satisfied I’ve made my case.

  “Whatever, just stay in your own chair.”

  “Fine!”

  “Fine!”

  A quick glance shows her stuffing her bunny book into a leather bag. She pulls out two sticks of gum, a thick spiral pad, and some pencils. Curling up in her seat, she leans as far away from me as possible, tucking her legs beneath her. She pops the gum in her maw and commences chewing like a llama on crack. Decidedly un-cute, and all the reminder I need that this chick needs therapy. And distance.