One Summer With Autumn

by Julie Reece

  “What are you doing?” Autumn asks, her tone more curious than annoyed.

  “Close your eyes,” I whisper. “Smell the air. Listen. What do you hear?” I crack open an eye, surprised to find hers obediently shut.

  “Gus is panting.”

  “Yes.” I smile. “That’s good. What else?”

  Her head slips to the side, cheeks warmed to a natural bronze. “Splashes, wind … the boat is creaking.” Bathed in sunlight, her peach mouth rocks that uni-lip thing I like.

  Dude, no. She’s your em-ploy-ee.

  “Ah! A bee,” she shrieks, snapping me out of my trance. “There’s a frigging bee!”

  As if it wasn’t already racing, my heart slams into fifth gear with her scream. Our skiff rocks as she bounces around. “Are you allergic?”

  She pauses, eyeing me like I have two heads. “What? No. But he’ll sting me.”

  The male pronoun isn’t lost on me. “Stop panicking! You’ll dump us both in the lake.”

  “Kill it! Kill it!” Her hands flap around her face. She’s spastic, and irritating, and pretty damn funny doing an imitation of a bird trying to take off.

  “You won’t hurt a fish but you want me to kill a bug?”

  Her glare is her answer.

  “Bees smell fear, like dogs do. Relax and he’ll go away.”

  “What a load of crap!” She ducks, arms flailing. “Are you being serious right now?”

  “Yes, I promise.” I lift her pole and hold it out over the water. “I’m going to distract you. Sit still.” Carefully, I step over my dog and situate myself behind her on the bench. My arms encircle her slender waist, stomach pressing her back. My jaw locks as my thighs stretch out on either side of her. How will I survive a whole summer of this? I try to ignore how good she feels and force my pulse to slow.

  Her body goes rigid. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I rub my unshaven jaw across my shoulder, swallowing hard. “Teaching you to fish. Now, calm down, and pay attention.” When she tosses her head, her hair flies into my mouth. I spit it out, not sure if I’m mad at her or myself. “Don’t worry about me, Teslow. I don’t date the help. Trust me, if I wanted you, you’d know.” That ought to shut her up. Now if I can convince myself.

  “Hold the rod out in front of you, feel the weight.” She does. I take her hands in mine and adjust her grip. Be professional, I tell myself. I focus on the task, tentatively hopeful she will too, but I’m prepared for her elbow to hit my gut. “Press down on the orange release button, here, and hold it in. That keeps the bobber in place until you’re ready to cast.”

  “What’s a bobber?”

  A grin colors my answer. “It’s that red and white ball at the top of your rod.” She nods. With her back to me, her hair rubs my cheek. Her skin is soft and warm everywhere we make contact. I know she works for me, but I’m not blind. She’s a pretty girl. I can appreciate that without being creepy, right? “If you take your thumb off that orange button, line releases from the spool and drops the bobber in the water. Got it?

  “Piece of cake.”

  “Don’t get cocky. Always check for anyone standing too near you, also for low tree limbs that can snag your line. Keep your body at a slight angle, like this … ” I shift my hips, moving her a quarter turn. It’s too warm out here, the heat from the sun, the energy radiating between our bodies. Every time we touch it’s an electric zing.

  “Bend your arm at the elbow, raising your hand with the rod like this. Then sweep the pole forward until you reach the ten o’clock position. Release your thumb from the button, the bend in the rod casts the bobber and bait out, see?” My fingers brush hers sending delicious jolts up both arms. She may kill me yet.

  “Yeah … I think so.”

  Against my will, I release her hands and sit back. “Next, reel in a couple of turns until you hear a click. That’s it—repeat the steps until you get a bite.”

  I watch her carefully tick off each of the points we’d just run through, ending with a short, wobbly cast. “I did it!”

  If I didn’t know her better, I’d swear she was pleased. “You did. Think you can do it all again?”

  “Maybe, yeah.” She tosses her line out several more times. Some casts land better than others, but I only need to help her once.

  “You’re doing great.” Reluctantly, I ease out from behind her, but keep my seat on the bench at her side. “So what are you doing with the scholarship money? I assume you’re enrolled somewhere.”

  “Yeah. No.” She glances at me, chewing the inside of her lip. I smile so she’s knows I’m really interested, but she shrugs, faces forward, and tosses her line out again. I give up on her answering when I hear her exhale. “My dad had me apply everywhere, and I was accepted at several schools.” She says this without a hint of conceit. Still, her words surprise me, never picturing her as an overachiever. “He wants me to start this fall. I want a year off to travel. We’re worlds apart.” Her voice sounds sad, defeated.

  “I did that.” She lifts her head. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do and slept-walked through most of high school, so I took some time off to get my head straight.”

  “Did it help?” The end of her mouth curves a bit. Her eyes get bigger, and I consider lying since I hate what I’m about to say.

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “That’s too bad.” Her smile fades, and I think she means it. “I wanted to be an artist, but my dad will never pay for a degree in something so impractical.”

  “I’m sorry.” And I am. My parents supported my brothers and me in almost any harebrained scheme. Mom still would (as evidenced by her pushy phone calls) if only I would make a plan, anything at all. Here Autumn knows exactly what she’d do with her life, and her old man is the hammer. “I know it doesn’t help, but I think he’s wrong.”

  I interpret her quick nod as thank you. We’re both quiet a minute when she asks, “So what’s next for you then?”

  “I’m enrolled at Clemson. My family wants me to take some business courses—”

  “To continue working for the Behrs?”

  My eyes widen. At first, I think she’s on to my true identity, then I realize she’s making a logical guess. “Yeah, exactly.”

  “And you don’t want to … ”

  “It’s not so much that I don’t want to as I’m not ready. It’s hard to explain, but I feel stuck sometimes. Like, it makes sense to have a plan first, right? But until I decide what I want, I can’t start, so more time goes by and—” My laugh is harsh. “Stupid, I know. Forget I said anything.” I feel like a moron. Admitting my faults to this girl, of all people.

  When I asked about school, I’d wanted to hear more about her. I had no intention of whining about my personal shit, yet here I am, doing it anyway.

  She studies me with her shrewd eyes, dissecting, judging, cutting away at my façade. It’s as if she already knows the truth and can see straight through me.

  “No, it doesn’t sound stupid at all.” She shakes her hair back as though it offends her. “Everybody talks like life is this straight line. To get to point B, you start at A. No detours. Shake, stir, and voila—happy life.” She sends her line out again, getting better, more confident with every cast.

  “Who says that?”

  “Oh, you know.” Her brow furrows. “The ones who act like they were born knowing—if you do life this way, you become that person. But I don’t believe them. You can’t hide your before by only talking about what you learned after.”

  I’m not sure what she’s getting at, but I’m too curious to interrupt and risk her shutting down.

  “It’s so hypocritical, the pretending. I’m sure they made mistakes and had to learn first, just like we do.” She casts again, the line a beautiful arc into the water. “I might listen more if they’d get real.”

  That makes me smile. “You think so?”

  “Maybe. Probably not.” Gus rolls over on her foot. She grimaces. “Shutting up, now. You don’t want t
o hear me vent.”

  Surprisingly, I do. I’ve never heard her speak so freely, and wonder if she’s been talking about her dad. Autumn’s reeling her line in again when the pole bends sharply. “Silas? Something’s wrong.”

  I lean over for a better view, my chest pressing against her shoulder. “There are a lot of sunken trees down there. You’re probably snagged on a branch.” I pull with her on the rod and feel the unmistakable tug of a fish.”

  “Holy shit!”

  She flinches because I yelled in her ear. “What?”

  “You’ve got one! There’s a fish on the line.”

  Her butt bounces. “What do I do?”

  “Don’t yank too hard, your fish will get off if he isn’t fully hooked. Reel in slow and steady—”

  “Ahh.” Gus barks. “I turned the handle thing the wrong way.”

  “You’re doing fine. Here, I’ll help you.” Our hands are all over the rod, each other, limbs a twisted mess. A silver flash glints under the surface of the green water. I can feel Autumn holding her breath. “Grip this, and don’t let go.” I release the pole and detangle myself from my hysterical intern. “Looks like a big one. I’ll get the net.”

  By the time I grab what I need, Autumn has a thrashing, thirteen-inch Bass near the surface. He’s a beaut.

  “Hurry!” She pleads. “I … crap. Hurry!”

  I drop to my knees, dip my net in the water, and maneuver the opening under our prize. The line goes slack. A last flash of silver winks as Autumn’s first catch blazes a trail toward the bottom of the lake and freedom.

  “Damn it, Autumn. You’re too impatient. You shouldn’t have tried to lift him.” My gaze still tracks the depths as I stand. “Next time, you should—”

  A sharp blow to my back topples me forward. Water covers my head. Lungs contract with shock and cold. Heavy boots and clothing makes swimming cumbersome. As I rise through the murky water to the surface, Autumn stands in the boat with both hands on her hips. Why do girls always do that when they’re pissed?

  Gus’s nose points to the sky. He’s barking like any good Newfie will when his person’s dumped overboard. Perfect. It’s only moments before … Splash.

  “What the hell was that about?” I’m referring to being pushed in the lake, of course, but Autumn’s focused on my dog.

  “Gus! Come here.” Her eyes are big as soccer balls. “Silas, Gus jumped in!”

  “Caught that.” Gus paddles straight for me. Tongue hanging out, the dog is in heaven. “Oh, and I’m fine Autumn, thanks for asking … just happy to be wet.”

  “I’m sorry, but can you help him?”

  Help him? Newfoundlands love water. The dogs were bred to rescue drowning people—whether they need it or not. I’m about to put her mind at ease when a stroke of genius hits me.

  “Hurry. Get me into the boat!” My tone holds a heavy dose of imminent danger. “It will take both of us to pull him in.” Which is completely true. I swim toward her with Gus heavy on my tail. The stupid dog is going to “save” me if it kills him.

  I throw my arms over the side of the boat. Autumn, God love her, does everything in her power to help haul my soaking body on board … all to save the dog.

  Gus barks at us from the water and is rewarded with a gentle, “Hold on, Guster. We’re coming.” Her words equally amuse and annoy me.

  I stand and clear the dripping hair from my eyes in time to catch Autumn’s concerned gaze sweeping over me. Only slightly less insulted now, I turn my attention to the dog in the water and my evil plan. I settle my face into a mask of concern. “Okay, let’s save Gus before he’s too tired to go on.” I’m laying it on thick, but she’s got it coming.

  Having done this many times before, I lower a wooden ladder over the side, and Gus swims closer. He climbs in awkward, clumsy steps. Me and my little helper work together hefting my one hundred and forty-pound canine into the boat. It’s hard work and we’re both straining. I’m betting this dog is a hell of a lot heavier wet, but it’s not like we’ve weighed him.

  “What a good boy,” Autumn croons. “You’ll be okay now.”

  As the dog’s back legs hit the last rung, I whip to the side and grab my pissy intern by the hips. “I hope you can swim,” I say, holding her tight against me, “cause it’s your turn.”

  “Silas, don’t!” she yells as I fling her into the lake.

  I wait for her to break the surface, ready to gloat, but I don’t see her. I swallow my mounting anxiety. There are limbs down there to get caught on. Seriously, I was kidding about the swimming thing. Her job application stated she could.

  Gus barks, leaping back into the water.

  I curse under my breath and glare at the rippling lake, willing Autumn to pop up and call me names. It’s been too long, I think. She’s been under too long. I breathe in and jump.

  When I come up for air, so does she. With Gus to my right, we make a perfect square, equal distances from each other and the boat.

  “Took you long enough,” she says. “I almost gave up.”

  Anger builds in my chest to boiling. “What in the hell were you trying to prove?” My dog looks back and forth between us, as though he’s not sure who to save first. Traitor.

  “I could ask you the same.” Her death-ray eyes blaze at me from across the water. “You scared me on purpose about Gus.” She pauses, watching the dopey dog swim around, confident as any river otter. “Then you lost my fish, you big jerk. And yelled at me for doing it.”

  I’d argue, but I can’t. “So, you were faking, staying under so long?”

  She looks me dead in the eye, expression defiant.

  When my hair slides forward, I snap it back. “I thought you didn’t care about catching fish.” I know she takes my point because her gaze slides away. “Even if you did, that’s no reason to push someone in the lake. You’ve got a helluva temper.”

  There’s little sound as we tread water. I focus on the wind in the trees, Gus’s splashing paws, anything other than how Autumn looks when she’s wet.

  “Sorry,” we blurt at once.

  “I shouldn’t have yelled,” I say.

  Her hands slap at the surface. “I … shouldn’t have pushed you in.” Autumn’s head slips, her mouth and nose dipping under the water.

  I feel my brow crease. “Are you messing with me again?”

  “No, I’m good,” she says. “My boots are heavy.”

  Her arms chop the water in awkward movements. When I think how heavy my own boots are, my chest tightens. She’s got a vest on, too. “Let’s get back to the boat.”

  “Fine,” she answers, but not because she is. I think the one word is all she can manage. Her movements seem labored, eyes wide and wary.

  My pulse speeds as I swim forward, but I’m not close to her. Gus is.

  “Autumn, call Gus. He’ll lead you back.”

  “What?” Confusion colors her tone. Of course, she’s never seen what Newfies can do. The water around her boils with hand strokes. Her head dips again, sending my breathing into hyper-drive.

  “Make it a game, and let him pull you.”

  Her pride is a fearsome thing. She’ll drown before asking for help, just to prove how fine she is. I swim as quickly as I can. My progress is slow in these clothes, reminding me it’s the same for her. Panic wraps its icy fingers around my throat and squeezes. If anything happens to her, I’ll …

  “Gus!” Autumn yells, then coughs. She’s openly struggling now, splashing and fighting. Head dipping lower each time. “I can’t stay up.”

  I bite my tongue to keep from shouting directions to my dog. He’s almost there and I don’t want to distract him. I will all my energy into the animal. My arms slice through the water as I propel myself forward. When her head breaks the surface, she drags another gasping breath inside.

  Fear weighs on my limbs. As hard as I work, I can’t reach her. “Autumn!” My intern is drowning, and it’s my fault. Just like last time.

  Seconds take an eternity.r />
  And then Gus is there.

  He makes a pass near Autumn’s tiring body. Relief swamps me as her thin arms grab hold. As Gus drags her along, I can almost see the joy on his big, sloppy face. Thank God for loyal dogs. “Good boy,” I shout. “Get to the boat.”

  Time moves much faster now. Autumn clings to the ladder’s side rail, coughing as Gus tries climbing the rungs alone.

  “Wait a minute, buddy,” I say. A few more strokes and I’m there. My hands grip the ladder on either side of my dog, and I bring my knees underneath him. I glance at Autumn, trying to gage her condition, her emotions. “You okay?”

  She nods, white knuckling the metal rail. With one hand, she reaches out, touching Gus.

  “Can you help me push him?” He’s a heavy ass dog, especially when he’s soaked like this. Another nod and she moves around the ladder to my side, but when she tries to step up, she slips. Her face has gone pale. Her lips tremble. She’s got nothing left. “Never mind. I’ve got a better idea.”

  When I hold out my hand, she takes it in a vise grip. I transfer her hands to my waist. She clings to me as I shove my dog’s butt upward. Sandwiched between soggy mutt and terrified intern, progress is slow. My arm muscles burn with effort and my head pounds. I don’t know how long I push until Gus plunges, head first, into the boat. I twist around, peering down at the girl clamped onto my hips. “Your turn.” I try a smile, but her expression is blank.

  Her weak arms shake as she works her way up the short ladder. She isn’t hurt, I think it’s shock. I stay close and spot her over the side. As she collapses on the bench, she releases a seal-bark cough. Gus shakes, coating us both with more water.

  Hunched on the bench, Autumn lifts her head. Slowly, her lids rise and her gaze searches me out. Her hair lies plastered to her skin, making her face appear more round, her eyes huge. Everything about my angry, little pygmy screams vulnerability. And that look she’s giving me melts the frost off my resolve to hate her.

  The mask drops. I see her fear. Not an accidental glimpse, this guarded creature is choosing to let me in. More intimate than if she stripped herself bare, because in her way, she has.

  I want to stand and fight and fall on my knees before her at the same time. An uncontrollable urge to scoop the shivering girl into my arms comes over me. The same urge that made me want to hold her after punching her attacker at the barbeque joint.