Page 65 of Again, In Autumn

I can even hear the rocks on the window. Apparently, I’m haunted.

Wait.

I’m not haunted. I sit upright and listen again to the unmistakable sound of stones on glass. The covers fall back, and I cross the space to the window. Below, on the grass, Adam stands with his hands out, gesturing toward the lake, knowing I will understand him. He walks off.

What. Is. Happening.

Well, you have to go see what he wants, my brain says.

Pick a lane.

I waver on the spot of my warm, safe bedroom before venturing out of the door. Good thing I’m a fully formed adult now and don’t need to overthink conversations with another fully formed adult. I tell myself, as I tiptoe down the stairs and hike up my boots, that this is all quite normal.

I’m careful to close the back door quietly. The silhouette at the edge of the lake hovers halfway into the woods, his shoulders heaving. When I reach him, my shoe cracks a stick, and he spins around to face me.

My arms cross against the cold air, and I whisper to him, “What are you doing?”

Adam hasn’t changed his clothes. He demands, “What did you mean back there at the bar? About us not being real?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Is that what you think?” His expensive-looking tweed coat ruffles. He sets his hands atop his head and stares at the water, the blood drained from his face. He steals a look my way, as if he shouldn’t look at me but can’t help it.

“I was asking you,” I clarify. “You brought it up.”

“And now I’m the one asking.” He turns, eyeing me sharply. Opening his body with wide, questioning arms. “Do you want to pretend like we never happened? As if we were complete strangers?”

I respond carefully, “Sure feels like that’s what we’ve been doing.” I glance back at the house. We’re not being quiet. If someone came outside right now, they’d have a lot of questions.

Adam follows my observation and shifts to a quieter tone. He admits, “We didn’t talk around them. If I made it known that I know more about you than I do myself, it would look a little weird.”

A lump arises in my throat.

“Or did, know,” he fixes.

And it’s sucker punched right out.

He finishes, “You and I can’t have an easy, normal conversation.”

I add, “No, because you’ve been acting like I don’t exist.”

“Because you don’t,” he snaps. He closes his eyes.

I flinch. My foot takes a defensive step back.

Adam watches the movement and shakes his head, “I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

An owl hoots in a tree. There’s so much silence between us, the scamper of a squirrel sounds like Godzilla approaching.

Adam asked me to come outside, he’s the one yelling at me, and I’m unbearably cold. I don’t have anything to say. He’s burdened with emotion I can’t accept or understand. Either I stand out here and keep taking slices of it or call this thing quits. Like we already did.

“I’m going back inside,” I attempt, my voice more whimper than words.

“Wait,” he says.

I throw my hands into the air. “Why, Adam? What are you trying to say?”

“I want to clear the air.”

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