Page 25 of Again, In Autumn

“It is,” he drops with finality.

Adam asks, “Where are you guys living now?”

“Just outside of Atlanta,” Francesca says. She rattles the bangle on her arm. “You?”

He answers, “Chicago. I’ve been there a few years. The country music crowd in Nashville wasn’t exactly my scene.”

David says, “We didn’t make it long in Boston, Fran and I, it was just too cold. I don’t know how you deal with that.”

“I’m out on tour a ton, traveling for shows and events.” Adam shakes his head. “I’m not in any place too long. My dog’s my home. I just need a bed to sleep in.”

Alice comes outside and leans into her mother’s legs. Francesca runs fingers through her soft, golden hair and leans down to say, “We’re lucky to live close enough to this place so we can give the kids what we grew up with. And we are so excited to be here for Thanksgiving for the first time and to finally share the house with Auntie Vee! Aren’t we, Al?”

“Yes!” Alice smiles.

I don’t know what is real or imagined. Does the sun shine, does that squirrel exist, did Adam’s head tilt the tiniest bit toward me at the mention of my name?

Francesca catches my eye. “Oh! Adam, do you remember my sister, Vienna?”

He doesn’t turn around, but simply answers, “Yeah. We’ve met.”

We’ve met? Something drops inside of me.

David says, “Come inside! It’s cold as balls out here.”

“It is,” Francesca agrees. Her eyes bulge, and she motions for me to close my cardigan in front of my chest.

I swallow, gathering the fabric behind crossed arms, and watch them enter the house. I stay outside, burgundy turning blue, another drip of pain hitting my core. The cold air stings now and the sound of leaves angers my ears.

I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I could avoid his music as best as possible, but the human form of him I considered far from my grasp, out of orbit. I only considered the pain of memory. The pain of being in this house and reliving everything I felt that summer. He didn’t exist anymore, yet he does. But he doesn’t seem affected by seeing me.

And all good things hurt right now.

Chapter Eight

I can’t stay outside forever, but oh how I wish I could. I’d live in the boots-only area if it meant not facing the future that I didn’t accept.

God, why does he still have that look? That moody singer-songwriter, catch you off guard when he smiles more than you think he would, stands so firmly on the Earth that he looks as warm and purposeful as an oak tree look. That summer, he spoke in eye flutters and listened with his skin. He treated me like a work of art. I’ll forget a million words, but never how he made me feel.

I manage to make it long enough outside for my lips to feel numb before I succumb to self-preservation. They’re all laughing in the kitchen. Probably laughing at me and my dry knees and cold, bold nipples.

“Vee!” Francesca calls out.

I close the front door and walk into the room. Adam has his back to me, he and David sitting at the kitchen table, a pulled-out chair where Fran had been. It took five seconds for her to find the coffee cake I made Wednesday night. Yellow beeswax wrapping sits crinkled next to dancing monkey salt and pepper shakers.

Francesca opens her mouth to ask me something, but she stops when Adam asks, “Who made this cake?” He munches on a brown sugar crumble. “It’s delicious.”

“Vienna did,” she answers.

He mulls it over. Then: “You sell this?”

He’s not looking at me, that would render me goo, but I’m being addressed. I can’t find words. David raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to speak human words with my human brain.

“Sell it?” Francesca scoffs before I get the chance. “Like a bake sale? Or a sidewalk lemonade stand?”

David shakes his head, giving her a look. “It’s not a crazy idea, Fran. People would pay money for this.”

“Like charity?”

---