A Beautiful Fall

by Chris Coppernoll

Emma stood and walked from the den to the entryway, surveying the house like a treasure hunter looking for the “X” on a map. Emma spotted the half-open door to the guest bedroom.

  “What about turning the downstairs bedroom into a home office?” she said, turning to face her father.

  “That’s my storage room. I like it just as it is.”

  Emma charged back into the den animated by a good idea.

  “Dad, that would be a great space for a home office.”

  Emma and Will walked down the hallway and pushed open the bedroom door. It creaked like the door of an old forgotten chamber. They stepped beyond the threshold without speaking.

  Inside the ten-by-eight-foot room was a double bed with a brass frame. A dusty rose-colored bedspread neatly made and decorated with pillows covered the mattress. Above the bed hung a pastel watercolor print of a bouquet of roses with faded red petals and green leaves. Against the wall stood a tall chest of drawers—an antique Will bought just after his wedding. A delicate lace doily decorated the surface, and in its center was a wedding photograph of Will and Hannah. They both looked at the photo in silence.

  “This room hasn’t changed at all,” Emma said. “Has it gotten any use as a guest room?”

  “Not much, but your mother liked the room put together like this. After she passed away, I just decided to leave it this way.”

  A narrow double window on the long wall let in the room’s only light through a sheer curtain, as white as a wedding veil. From the bed the window looked like a frame around a picture of the farm. Emma touched the bedspread with her fingertips. It felt textured and soft like a tightly knitted sweater.

  “So it’s never been used?” Emma asked, still looking down at the fabric, feeling its pattern against the side of her thumb. Wondering if the sensations would trigger another memory.

  “I didn’t say that. When your mother got too sick to climb the stairs, this was her room. She liked seeing the farm outside her window, hearing the cowbirds and wrens in the trees.”

  Emma turned to look at her father. He let out a long exhale and walked over to lean his back against the windowsill.

  “That’s the chair she liked,” he said, pointing to an old Shaker rocking chair in the corner behind the door. “She used to rock you in that chair, praying over you.”

  “I didn’t know any of this,” Emma said. “I shouldn’t have suggested changing the room. Let’s just forget it.”

  “Maybe that’s why we should change it, Emma, because it’s a room packed with memories. Maybe it keeps me thinking about the last months of her life after she was frail and sick when I should keep focus on all the good times.”

  “I’m really embarrassed. We can come up with another idea for your office.”

  Will reached for Emma’s hand and gave it a playful bounce.

  “Emma, I think you came up with a good idea. We should change this room. It should have been done a long time ago.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked him.

  “Positive. It’s a little tight for space, but once we get the bed and everything else out of here, it will look a whole lot bigger.”

  “Until we bring in office furniture …” Emma said. “Isn’t the pantry on the other side of this wall?”

  Will focused his gaze on the wall behind the headboard where the painting of a rose hung.

  “Yes, I think it is.”

  “If we knocked out that wall, there would be plenty of room.”

  Will raised his eyebrows. He knew that was a big job, more than they could handle.

  “Michael Evans could probably do it. Right? I mean he has his own construction company …”

  It would mean a lot of changes to the house, but Will Madison was ready for change, not only to his home, but also his life. He liked the idea of working on a renovation project with his daughter, even more than the prospect of having a home office.

  “Why don’t you ask if he could come by? I’m not saying we should start knocking down walls, but I’m open to hearing his ideas.”

  It was an act of humility and selfless love that brought Emma to the kitchen phone. She paused before lifting the receiver, hearing her dad’s hard-soled shoes on the stairs as he went to his room for another nap. Was she really about to call Michael and ask for a favor?

  She picked up the receiver and cradled it between her neck and shoulder.

  The number stenciled on the side of Michael’s work truck had been easy to remember. She pointed her finger inside the rotary dial and spun the numbers.

  The phone rang once.

  Michael made it clear he didn’t like how things had ended after their last rendezvous twelve years before. But she needed his help just the same, even if it meant eating a slice of humble pie. The phone rang a second time.

  She sat on one of the kitchen’s hard oak chairs, listening to the third ring and realizing she’d probably have to leave a message on his machine when Michael finally answered.

  “Hi, Michael. It’s Emma.”

  “Hi,” he said.

  “I’ve got a question for you. Do you remember when you asked if my dad needed help with anything?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, there may be something you can help us with. I was … we were wondering if you’d come look at the downstairs bedroom here at the house. We’re thinking of renovating it. I don’t know what your schedule is like, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “It’s been awhile since I was … do you mean the downstairs bedroom off the hallway?”

  “Yes. We think that bedroom would be a great space for an office.”

  “I built a home office for Bonnie Lloyd so she could sell real estate and still be home with her girls. Sure, I could come and take a look. It might a simple renovation.”

  “There’s also a pantry space behind the back wall. We think that might be a way to add some extra room.”

  “Okay, that’s a little more involved but easy to do. I’d have to come out to the farm again and take a look. The only tough part is adding a new project to the schedule. We’re committed to working out here on the Macintosh place for another week, unless we get rain. Sounds like your job would be all indoors though.”

  “I think so,” Emma said, feeling a little guilty about requesting something of Michael. He’d always been there when she needed him, but where was the evidence she’d ever returned in kind?

  “Last I saw, the weather guy was saying mostly sunny the rest of the week. I’ll come by either tomorrow after work or Friday to take a look at it.”

  “Michael, thank you,” Emma said. After a brief, uncomfortable silence, she continued. “I’m sorry for how our conversation went at the bakery. I know that was … awkward. It means a lot that you’re willing to help out my dad.”

  “That’s the deal, Emma. It’s what I’m here for,” Michael’s voice was surprisingly sweet and light, his words skipping like stones thrown across a calm pond.

  Emma hung up the phone and glanced out the window at the sky. It was more blue than white and that disappointed her. She might not be in Juneberry for the completion of the project, but she wanted to at least be in town when Michael started it. She climbed the stairs, heading to her bedroom for a nap.

  As she lay down, Emma thought about how awkward she felt asking Michael for help; about how kind her childhood friends were to her even though she didn’t reach out with a similar generosity. She thought of her father and the grace he’d offered her over the years and across the miles. These were good people. But there were gaps, holes in her relationships with them. Holes she had dug.

  “I have no idea how to fix this,” she said.

  Emma drew a pained breath and reminded herself that in just a couple of days she’d be back in Boston where all of her trials were fought inside
a courtroom. At least there she knew the rules, she knew how to solve the problems.

  Then she rolled over to face the bedroom window on the second floor and looked out over the farmland, watching the clouds grazing the sky like white buffalo.

  ~ Seven ~

  Someday, some way,

  you’ll realize that you’ve been blind

  Yes, darling, you’re going to need me again

  It’s just a matter of time.

  —BROOK BENTON

  “It’s Just a Matter of Time”

  “So, have you agreed to go out with him yet?” Lara Gilmor said. She was the firm’s youngest and newest associate attorney, and like Emma, was single. Emma and Lara often took lunches together at a small Thai food restaurant near Chinatown. It was the kind of Boston eatery where you could get in and out in an hour.

  “Who? Colin?”

  “Yes, Colin. Who else? He’s such a hottie and he’s obviously smitten with you.”

  “Lara, I can’t believe you,” Emma held her cell phone in one hand and a paper grocery sack in the other. “Nothing could be further from my mind these last few days.”

  “Emma, how is it that even smart girls can become so dense when it comes to the subject of men and dating? Colin is so the one for you. He’s a successful lawyer with great teeth and a six-figure, high-rise salary. You’d be crazy to let him stay on the market.”

  “You make him sound like a prized ham in a butcher-shop window.”

  “He is, and you need to ring him up in the express lane, get him bagged, and bring him home.”

  “That’s just gross. Get him bagged?”

  Emma pulled a bag of fresh tomatoes from her grocery sack and set them on the counter.

  “It’s not gross, it’s practical,” Lara said, reaching into the top drawer of her desk and sliding a red Twizzler from its bag. She bit into it. “When you find what you want in life, you just gotta go for it.”

  Emma tried to picture herself and Colin together. The two of them racing down to Cape Cod in his BMW for a getaway. Colin would talk to clients on his cell phone while he drove, and she would wonder why he had to talk to clients on the way to their getaway.

  “I’m not sure he’s my type.”

  “Colin is every woman’s type. Tall, rich, and handsome … and rich.”

  “What’s gotten you all excited about Colin anyway?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He stopped by the office this morning to meet with Robert. He chatted with me awhile, gave me the news about your dad, and he asked me about you, of course. Want my opinion? He’s seriously missing you.”

  Emma stuffed a head of lettuce and bag of carrots in the refrigerator crisper. She folded the paper grocery bag in thirds and stashed it in a lower cupboard.

  “Why did Colin meet with Robert?”

  “He didn’t say, but it must have been important. Their meeting went on for over an hour. It was business, but I can’t tell you what kind.”

  “Hmm, that’s interesting.”

  Lara bit into her Twizzler again.

  “I guess, but now you’re avoiding the subject. If Colin were to ask you out, what would you tell him?”

  “He already has, Lara, and I told him I see us only as friends.”

  “I can’t believe you!” Lara said in mock disgust. “You’ve got to get back up here as quick as humanly possible so I can talk some sense into you.”

  Emma watched out the window as the wind shook the leaves from a maple tree.

  “I don’t know. I’ve always thought there’s one special person out there for each of us, and I think when it happens, we know. I don’t think we have to be talked into it.”

  “I’m not talking you into anything except popping open those eyelids of yours to see this special person who seems to have found you. I mean, if you’re not gonna go for him, maybe I should … oh, never mind. So when are you coming back to civilization?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Robert is under the impression you’ll be back on Friday.”

  “I know. I’ll talk to him. He knows my situation.”

  “You’re not getting any heat from me. We all just want to see you take care of things, and get back up here where you belong as quickly as possible.”

  o o o

  Michael agreed to stop by the Madison farm as soon as he and Bo finished the roof at the Macintosh place, or when rain fell, whichever came first. The following morning all of Juneberry awoke to the sound of a steady September downpour. Michael heard the rain as he lay in bed.

  Before the weakened sun rose to reveal the morning’s gloominess, Michael called Bo to officially cancel their planned work. He stood at the gas stove in his kitchen and fried eggs, sunny-side up, for breakfast. But his mind wasn’t on breakfast. He was recalling one of his earliest memories of Emma. He was in the seventh grade and she was just a fifth grader. During recess, he taught her how to hit a softball. At first, he’d been frustrated by her impatience, but the way she reacted when her bat finally connected with the ball was enough to erase any uncertain feelings.

  Their first dance came in high school—after Juneberry won their homecoming game. “Unchained Melody” had started playing when he asked her. They stayed friends throughout high school but didn’t fall in love until that summer after she’d graduated. He didn’t know the term soul mates back then, but thought of the two of them as “cuff-link love,” matching pieces made to go together.

  “Women are like fine jewelry,” Michael told Bo one day. “Men are like the strong black boxes that hold the jewelry. You know the ones I mean? Women are the beautiful works of art, and men are there to appreciate their beauty, to surround and protect them.”

  The moment he said it out loud, Michael knew that’s how he felt about Emma. When he saw her that night after work, he kissed her like she was the most precious diamond in the entire world. If a picture paints a thousand words, a kiss paints what words can never say. When the day came that she told him she was leaving, all Michael could ask was “Why?” It was a question she could not answer. A question she still hadn’t answered. But when she asked him to help her father the day before, his answer had come easily.

  When Michael pushed the doorbell, thunder boomed and rolled a long, seemingly unending rumble. He laughed at the coincidental timing and hoped the weather wasn’t a foreshadowing of what awaited him inside. He wore his denim work clothes, but had second-guessed his attire more than once on the drive over. Raindrops darkened small ash-colored dots on his shoulders.

  Emma opened the door.

  “Michael,” she said.

  “Looks like a good day to be working indoors.”

  “Yes, it does. Won’t you come in?”

  Emma pulled open the heavy front door. Michael came into the foyer and shook the rainwater off, shuffling his feet across a floor mat that looked to be made from some sort of coarse natural fiber.

  “I want you to know how much I appreciate this,” Emma said. “I’m sure when my dad comes downstairs he’ll want to tell you the same thing.”

  “It’s no problem,” he said, looking around the entryway. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been inside the old place.”

  “It hasn’t changed much. Do you want to take a look at the room?”

  “Sure.”

  Emma led him down the front hallway. A narrow strip of red carpet ran through the center of the hall. Most of the downstairs was painted white. He remembered the intricate crown molding where the walls met the high ceiling, and the two fluted columns that stood at the entrance to the comfortable living room. He tried to ignore the memories that peeked around every corner, but they came anyway. The house was full of memories.

  “This is the space we’re thinking of changing,” she said. “Dad’s still sleeping upstairs, but we’ve tossed
around a few ideas. We really want to hear yours.”

  The two stepped into the small room.

  “It’s a lot smaller than I remembered,” Michael said.

  Emma pointed to the back wall.

  “On the other side of this wall is a pantry that really isn’t needed. Do you think we could knock it down? The room really needs to be larger if at all possible.”

  “Maybe …” Michael studied the room, taking it all in. He saw the closet running the length of the opposite wall.

  “You’ve got another two feet of space if you’re willing to take out this closet area.”

  Emma pulled open the sliding door and looked inside. The closet was jam-packed with old clothes, boxes, photo albums, and other evidences of family history.

  “You can see how things stack up in these older closets. If you wanted, we could build new storage areas into the design of the room,” Michael told her.

  “I didn’t know what was in here until just now,” Emma said. “I suppose I’ll have to sort through everything and clear it out for you.”

  “Do you have somewhere else to put this stuff?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure how much is stuff to keep and how much can be thrown away.”

  “Well, we could build a secondary workspace with a counter and cabinets above. It’s a great way to include functionality with design.”

  “I like that.”

  Michael pointed to the ceiling.

  “I think we can match this historic design in the new cabinets, too. As for this window, I’d recommend putting in insulated windows that will let in more natural light. Are you thinking of keeping the carpet? Or can that be removed?”

  They examined the flat navy blue carpet beneath their feet.

  “Looks like it’s pretty worn. I suspect it can go,” Emma said. “But I’m not sure what Dad will want to replace it with.”

  Michael moved the rocking chair to the center of the room and knelt down in the corner. He removed a utility knife from his work belt and pried up the carpet.

  “Did you know you’ve got a hardwood floor underneath this old rug?”