One Summer With Autumn

by Julie Reece

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “It’s true. I swear it.”

  “Huh.” Her head tilts. “Still not happening.”

  “No?” Damn, I’m having fun.

  “No.” Her hands grab her shapely hips, as though punctuating her statement.

  “That just makes me sad. I didn’t figure you for a welcher, and—”

  “Hey, I’m no—”

  “And as much as I’d like to see you on your knees, I might have another idea.”

  Her eyebrow arcs. “I’m listening.”

  “Admit you like catching fish, and I’ll take you out again.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.” I look at her again because I can’t help myself. Though I know every glance creates another tangle of nerves in my belly. I swear she’s stalling, trying to think of a way out. She glances at the dock.

  “All right, it’s a deal.” She sends me a tantalizing smile. “Catching fish is stupid fun.”

  “That’s my girl,” I say, keeping the smugness in my voice to a minimum.

  ***

  Autumn sits on the end of the dock with a ruler and pile of Ziploc bags. A tackle box stands open on her right. Hundreds of brightly colored lures and rubber worms cover her crossed legs.

  “Let me get this straight. You need them all measured, catalogued, and color-coded, right?” she asks, tone incredulous.

  Not even a little bit. No one at Behr Mountain gives a crap whether we measure to see if each purple, floating trout worm is really three inches long, but Autumn’s measuring her little heart out anyway. Unbeknownst to her, the ten, seven, and four-inch green power worms originally came in separate bags. Before I dumped all three thousand worms into the same bin and asked her to separate and catalogue them.

  I’m on the fence as to whether I feel bad about this. When in doubt, I chant her Duck Dynasty wannabe quote to myself until it passes. Or, at least, that’s what I used to do.

  Now, I’d like to forget these chores. Erase all the extra crap I came up with in addition to the real product testing she was to do for our company. The trouble is I gave her the task list when she’d first arrived. When I was still angry. There’s no way to undo part of the deception without undoing all of it. She’d never understand, and we’re that close to getting what we need. For both our sakes, I keep to the plan.

  “Yep.” I cough. The lies don’t come as easily as they used to, but I won’t have to do it much longer. “It’s important that we keep careful records. Best to stay as organized as possible. You’re doing great work.”

  “Okay, thanks.” A pause. “Hey, Silas?”

  I stop fooling with the tangled line in my reel and look up. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” My intern chomps her gum with a vengeance. She sets a bag of worms aside, the line between her brows so deep it might become permanent. “Do you think Caden will show up this summer?”

  My heartbeat sprints. Has she caught on? Does she know he’s me? I’m silent only because I can’t think how to answer, or dislodge the golf ball sized knot in my throat. She must think I’m waiting for her to continue because she does.

  “I only ask because when I met Dex last week, I thought he was Caden, and I almost had a heart attack. Jesse mentioned he’s the one who came to our school.” She picks up a neon green worm; stretching it to the point, she almost yanks its head off.

  My muscles relax as I take a calming breath. She’s having a hard time with whatever she wants to say. Her body language is flustered, almost guilty, but I don’t believe it’s about my identity anymore. “Okay. Is that a problem?”

  “Not really. Maybe. Actually, yes. See, I’ve already met Caden—once—at the job fair. I’m not sure if he told his family about what happened. It’s a long story. I won’t bore you with the details, but through a misunderstanding with my sister, I mistook Caden for someone else. It’s such a mess because I said things I wished I hadn’t.” A clumsy attempt at a smile twists her mouth until it looks downright uncomfortable, but my heart nearly stops.

  What do I do? She’s talking about meeting me after all, and though I want to tell her who I am, all the reasons I haven’t up to now still exist. It’s like my lips have been shut by a staple gun. Another second and I release the breath I’ve been holding. “He’s probably forgotten it by now.”

  “I doubt it. Having basically told him what to shove and where.”

  “That’s … ”

  “Awkward?” When her cheeks flush, the sight arrests my breathing. “The guy probably hates me. I was pretty rude, and everyone here has been pretty nice, and I don’t know what to say when I see him.” When she successfully tears her worm in half, she holds up both ends. “Shit!” She throws the shredded worm in the water. “I can send him an email or wait and apologize in person. Could that work? I don’t know what to do.” Her head flops down on her knee muffling what comes next. “Tell me what to do!”

  She’s confiding in me. Confessing. Jesse’s warning to tell Autumn who I am shouts in my head, but we’re having a moment. Sort of. And just beginning to get along. If I tell her right now, she’ll hate me, maybe even quit. I can’t risk that. Not yet.

  I lay my pole beside me on the dock. “Autumn, look at me.” She does. Her honey-colored eyes pierce me, but I can’t give in to their power. “I know Caden pretty well. Have for a long time. You said it was a misunderstanding, and I believe you. If you explain things to him, I guarantee he’ll listen.”

  She’s already shaking her head. “It was ugly. You know how I get.”

  “Yeah, I do.” I can’t help my slow smile. She’s pouring herself out which makes me a jerk, because I know how hard this must be for her. Her honesty proves she’s beginning to trust me, doesn’t it? If I wait for a stronger foundation between us, maybe she’ll hear me out, but making a confession too soon will destroy everything.

  This is about more than the bet, or payback, or even avoiding an uncomfortable scene. Keeping her trust has suddenly become very important to me. “Caden’s no saint,” I assure her. “Far from it. Everything will be fine once you two have a chance to talk. You have my word on that.”

  16

  Autumn

  The boat rocks us like a cradle, the breeze a lullaby. Worried my feet will fall asleep, I shift, adjusting my pole. Silas and I don’t speak. The not talking we’re doing isn’t strained or weird, and I’m enjoying the lack of expectation. The sun eases tension from my muscles and my eyelids slide closed.

  When Silas asked me to admit that I like fishing, I actually bit the inside of my cheek, first. What I didn’t say is that my favorite part was how he held me while teaching me to cast. The way his nose bumped my hair when he leaned in, and how his warm breath fell against my neck making it impossible to concentrate.

  The old me fights with the new. Frustration and blame always simmer under the useless layer of saran wrap I keep my emotions covered with. The fish tugging on my line was exciting. Admitting that made me a hypocrite. On the boat, guilt and anger took control again. Pushing Silas into the water was mild compared to what I might have done. What I have done. He was right when he said my explosive temper isn’t normal. And it’s not who I want to be anymore, even if I have to swallow my pride and talk to someone.

  I’ll probably apologize to Caden one day, but part of the burden was lifted the minute I fessed up to Silas. I took a leap of faith, and he was surprisingly decent about it.

  Cracking under the pressure of becoming a nice person is a real possibility. I don’t know if I’m really evil at heart, or choose to be a shrew. When the rage hits, it never feels like a choice.

  The Behr’s lake brings a peace I’ve not often felt. Dragonflies graze the water mirroring the movements of a heron skimming for a meal. Tree branches sway, wildlife splashes. The sun covers me in its gentle warmth, like the whispered promise of something better. Quiet, but far from silent, life out here is better than any drug. Maybe I am an outdoor girl after all.

  Si
las sits on the bench across from me. His dark hair, bleached by the sun, has peanut butter-colored highlights woven through the tips. Long legs stick out of a pair of loose cargo shorts. A blue T-shirt stretches over his back with each cast. He’s not bulky, built more like a swimmer. I think his family might have money, because his casual (on purpose) style of dress typically takes some green to achieve. Then there’s his attitude: the confident, somewhat spoiled air of someone who’s used to getting his way.

  “You doing okay?” he asks.

  “Yup.” Warmth scalds both cheeks, knowing that I’ve been staring for too long. “This is a pretty lake.” Another flush and I feel like an idiot.

  “You’re a terrible liar. What’s really on your mind?”

  Cocky. “Fish.”

  “You’re blushing, Teslow.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s hot out here.”

  Mercifully, he lets it go. “You’re pretty good with knives for a rookie. I’m starting to think we got played.”

  It’s cool how he starts like we’re already in the middle of a conversation. “I’m a sucker for almost any kind of game. Competitive nature and all, I guess. At my house in Macon, we have a dartboard and pool table … I think that helps my aim. Anyway, Sydney and I played when we were kids. I’m fairly awesome, and she quit when she couldn’t beat me anymore. Ha ha ha.” What the hell? I clamp my mouth shut to keep more diarrheic rambling from spilling out.

  Silas’s eyes glint with his smile. “What’s your favorite game?”

  I answer immediately. “Billiards. I’m good.” Really good.

  Dad taught us young. Mom quietly protested as he paraded me around in front of his friends or dinner guests at parties. When I made difficult or trick shots, he’d call me a prodigy and beam with pride. So would I. After Mom left, pool seemed the one subject where Dad and I could still connect. I won eleven tournaments in a row. Thought I was hot stuff too, until some kids at school found out. Full-on bullying started soon afterward ending in a fight on the bus.

  I quit and when I wouldn’t change my mind, Dad’s disappointment turned to anger. I was just a dumb middle schooler. Hell, we’re all sheep then, aren’t we? Terrified to stand out for almost any reason, pool dork at thirteen definitely qualifies. Dad didn’t understand, and he hasn’t bothered since.

  “I love pool,” says Silas. “There’s a hall on Main Street downtown. We’ll have to go sometime.” When I don’t answer he says, “Do you drink?”

  The boy’s conversation topics jump faster than a grasshopper on the highway. “I’m not allergic to the idea.” Am I trying to impress him? I am, but I don’t know why. My normal alcohol intake is a glass of wine at my father’s table for Sunday dinner.

  “Do you smoke?”

  I lift a brow. “Not currently.”

  “Smoke weed?”

  I look at him.

  “Do any drugs?”

  My lungs depress with my sigh. “What is this? Would you like to see my file?”

  His eyes widen. “You have a file?” Only when he breaks into a smile, do I realize he’s kidding.

  “Jerk.” He chuckles. “Yes, I have a file. All the best people do. I’m hoping to get a parole officer soon, too, but that takes time.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything. It’s just … I was told a few things about you before you came. Put together with the way you act sometimes, I figured—”

  “Let me guess.” I spit my gum into the water. “I’m a mentally unstable slut who’s in and out of juvie for addiction, assault, and anger management issues.”

  “Is any of that true?”

  I do my best to act bored. Typically, that’s not a problem, but right now I feel nervous and uncertain. I don’t like talking about myself, and if I have this conversation at all, it isn’t with someone like Silas.

  “Oh come on. Do you expect me to believe you’re not trying to control what people think of you?

  “Can that be done?” I say, stalling so I won’t have to admit that, a) that’s exactly what I do, and b) I’m no longer sure how I want Silas to see me.

  “Don’t play games, you know it can. What I don’t get is if you care what people think, then why act—”

  “Because I don’t care, all right?”

  “I never said I believed any of it.”

  “I don’t care what you believe!”

  “That isn’t true, is it Autumn?” His voice is calm while I’m almost shouting.

  Now that I think of it, Silas might be a sarcastic pain in the ass sometimes, but he rarely responds in anger himself. His eyes are soft around the edges. It’s not pity I see in those dark, expressive depths. He’s not placing blame, or being defensive, or even offering up some form of patronizing advice to fix me or shut me up. Silas is simply calling me out on my bullshit. Making space for me to get real if I want to.

  I can’t accept his invitation just yet, but his offer means more than he’ll ever know.

  We’re quiet a long while. The breeze blows on and off, gently rocking our boat against the pull of the anchor. Silas baits his hook, his handsome face inscrutable. When his head lifts again, I don’t even try to hide the fact that I’ve been watching him the whole time. “I’m going to say something to you, and then I’ll drop the subject.” he says. “I don’t give a damn about any rumors or what’s in your past. I think you’re interesting, Autumn. A mysterious, perpetually pissed off girl with terrible people skills.”

  Mysterious? “Gee thanks. I like you, too.” I lighten my tone, hoping to defuse the tension.

  “I’m not big on advice, and have no room to judge anyone.” He snorts a laugh. “Believe me. I’m just trying to figure you out, Teslow.”

  On silent, my phone buzzes a text in my back pocket. “You and me both.” I pull it out and swipe the screen.

  Sydney: Can u talk?

  I shake my head as though she can see.

  Autumn: Srry. Not alone.

  Sydney: Crap. K. Call me asap. Got big news.

  My thumbs click away on the screen.

  Autumn: Did the stick turn blue?

  Sydney: Hilarious. Call me! Ta!

  “No texting with boyfriends on company time,” Silas says. His gaze darts away again as he casts.

  How cute is that? “Sister. I told you, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  His spine straightens. “You never said that. You said that one text was from your sister. Well, and later, that you liked your men ‘absent.’”

  “Well, I don’t. Have any. A boyfriend.” Gah! “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  I hear him breathe out, but he doesn’t face me. “You did have, though?”

  “For a guy, you sure ask a lot of questions.”

  “And you’re annoyingly closed mouthed, for a girl. So, did you?”

  “Well, yeah, I’m not a nun.”

  “I wasn’t implying the lack of dateability on your part lies in your piety … ”

  I wait, assuming there’s more insult coming.

  “ … however that carnivorous nature of yours would intimidate a T-Rex.”

  And there it is. “Good thing prehistoric animals aren’t on my roster to date this month,” I say, trying not to laugh. “As for the carnivore part, I don’t like meat. Remember?”

  His expression turns thoughtful, as though this isn’t the most ridiculous conversation two people ever had. “Hippos. Herbivores crush their victims.”

  My eyebrows lower. “What?”

  “What?” he mimics, his expression all innocence.

  “You do realize you just called me an undateable herbivore.”

  His laugh is deep and satisfying. “I guess I did.”

  “That makes me sound like a literal lonely cow.” I sweep my drooping hair back and re-do my ponytail. “You never stop, do you?” If this is his roundabout way of getting into my dating history, he’s out of luck.

  “Not really, no.”

  “Well, I’m not the only one in this boat who needs help with thei
r people skills.”

  “True.” He chuckles. “I’m just trying to get to know you better, and you’re evasive, which makes it worse. I’ve already confessed my terminal curiosity.”

  “Huh, well, are you dating anyone?” His jaw tightens. See? Not much fun, is it?

  “Sort of. Not really. I don’t know.” He reels in his line.

  “Wow. And you say I hedge?”

  “That’s fair.” His mouth curves all crooked how I like it. “All right, Teslow. I’ll play, but if I have to explain, so do you.” Inquisitiveness wins over privacy. I nod. “Piper is eighteen, a year younger than me and a long-time family friend. Her mom died of cancer five years ago, one year before my dad passed away.”

  Something familiar nags at me as he shares, but I can’t imagine what. “I’m very sorry.” When I asked about his ex, I hadn’t expected him to start with a story about dying parents, and I wish I’d never asked.

  He shrugs. “Piper and I have a history together. Our moms went to the same college, their husbands became friends, and they had always wanted us to … ” He pauses with another cast of his line. “ …you know, date. Then last spring, a bunch of us went climbing. Piper is the most laidback person I know, but things between us were tense that day. Everything escalated and we ended up arguing, right there on the side of the mountain. She was upset. Crying, repelling too fast. I was frustrated and wasn’t watching when she lost control.”

  His tone hardens as the story unfolds. “She fell, and it was my fault. My mom and her dad still talk all the time, but after the accident me and Piper decided to take a break.” His jaw clenches, brow settling in deep furrows.

  Sorry sounds lame, but what else can I say? I can’t imagine what he’s been through, so though I’m wondering how his dad died, and if Piper’s okay now, I don’t ask.

  He tries for a smile. “It will work itself out eventually.”

  What will? The awkwardness between families? The pain of losing his father? Does he want Piper back, but thinks he can’t have her because of the accident?