Page 16 of Again, In Autumn

“Porno magazine,” he blurted out.

My cheeks went warm, he never stopped looking at me, but I managed to reply, “Not here at this store, you didn’t.”

Adam had this smile. His cheeks would bunch up and his mouth tightened, but every other muscle in his face relaxed, his eyes strong and focused. I could always see the energy of that smile, billowing under his heaving chest, even if he didn’t let it alter his face.

He finally opened his paper bag, and I checked its contents.

Glass jar of olive oil, a box of Band-Aids, Pillsbury pull-apart chocolate chip cookies, and a brick of Folgers coffee.

My mouth curved into a smile.

He lifted his shoulder. “It felt like a cookies and coffee kind of day to me too.” Then he said, “Do I still get to come over?”

I bit my lip, realizing that I wasn’t over the black-out nervousness in front of a boy phase. I just hadn’t met this boy yet.

All I could do in that moment, flush with infatuation for someone I’d just met, was nod.

“Let me give you a lift.” He gestured to an old, red truck. “We can put your bike in the back.”

Fran wouldn’t like it.

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” I said, my voice unstable. “I-I like to ride.”

Adam wavered. I knew he wanted to ask again, so I jumped in with, “I’ll see you when you guys get back.”

From the boating trip I wasn’t invited on.

He tipped his chin. “I will see you. Right?”

The confirmation, the question, and the desire in his tone released a flurry of butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

“Yeah,” I answered, clipping my pink bike helmet under my chin.

I’m cold.

It’s dark out now and that spot where I would once lock my bike is empty. I hug the paper bag of groceries to my chest and walk across the quiet, spare parking lot.

I could make chocolate chip cookies when I get home, but the sting of standing in our kitchen remembering Adam, with his damp hair and bare chest, putting that cookie in his mouth while staring at me, cannot be ignored.

I forgot a piece of that memory. The bit about Francesca not inviting me on the boat.

When I had returned to the house, she had her bathing suit on, and she claimed to be going swimming in David’s neighborhood pool. I had already begun stirring my batter at that point. When the three of them came into the house later, the boys mentioned being on the boat and Francesca never said a word, and I never confronted her about it.

That night, she climbed into bed with me and started to cry.

“I wish Mom was at our graduations,” she whimpered. “I wish she saw how pretty you looked in your white dress.”

At eighteen, brushed my twenty-two-year-old sister’s hair and calmed her the way I’d done for ten years.

“I’m glad you’re here, Vee,” she said. “This summer is going to be special for us.”

That night might have been the last time Francesca spoke about our mother, but it wasn’t the last time I had been expected to be everywhere and anywhere she needed me. After the silence of an empty home, it felt good to be needed.

I turn my car down the dark gravel driveway through the woods to the house and park facing the lake, watching moonlight sway on gentle waves. Outside, it’s silent, like I’d hoped. I grab my suitcase and bag of groceries, Heddy’s house key in hand.

The porch stairs creak. The screen door sticks for a second when I pull it back. I put the key in the lock and glance over my right shoulder. Through the thinning woods, I view the outline of the house next door, seeing lights glow from inside the windows, a silhouette moving past. Suddenly, there’s sound. Someone’s listening to acoustic guitar music, of course. His parents must still live there.

I pry my eyes away and enter the dark house.

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