Page 31 of Again, In Autumn

He sat upright, still smirking, and began playing again. I listened this time without speaking, trying to remember to breathe.

Without stopping the graceful movement of his hands, Adam asked, “Remind me, again, why you being here right now has to be a secret.”

“Because it would bother my sister.”

“And you have to do what she says?”

“It’s complicated.”

He took a second before saying, “She’s not having a sister’s only summer, you know. You two barely spend any time together.” He altered his tone adding, “I know I don’t know you very well, I shouldn’t say that, it’s just…something I’ve noticed.”

Everyone notices it, the way I give in to Francesca. They wouldn’t understand because only makes sense to me.

“It’s just our dynamic,” I explained. “She doesn’t realize she’s being demanding. She means well. And this is her last summer before she has to go be a real adult. I don’t want to make it difficult for her.”

“Huh.” He swayed his head from side to side. “But that’s only if we started dating. You don’t even talk to me when we’re around her. You don’t hang out with us. She wouldn’t assume anything was going on with us. For all she knows, this –” he gestured between us “– could be completely platonic.”

My throat went dry. “Isn’t it?” I asked quietly.

He paused all movement. “No.”

That statement spurred butterflies. The idea of something happening between him and I, in that forest, among the chipmunks and probable snakes, felt thrilling.

It would mean that every time I felt his eyes on me when he reached down to pet Amber or when he was playing Cornhole with Adam, that something was going on with us. I purposefully sunbathed on a lawn chair with my sunglasses on so I could count the number of times he looked at me. And the number of times he pretended it was because of my dog.

I explained, “If we started hanging out and decided we didn’t like each other, it would make things weird for everybody.” I scratched a bug bite on my ankle. “Dave likes hanging out with you. He’s got too many females in his life.”

Adam chewed on the side of his mouth. “You don’t want to make things weird for them, so you won’t go out with me? And we can only do…whatever this is…in secret?”

I nod.

“I can respect that,” he muttered, zeroing in on his hand movements. “If I start singing to you, are you going to get all squirmy again?”

“Very much,” I admit, pulling my legs back up to my body. “I will shed my skin right here.”

“Good.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling thin this time. Even as he closed his lips, trying to right himself, I recognized the way he couldn’t relax his cheek muscles any more than I could.

Adam muttered to himself, “Now I have a goal to aim for.”

Chapter Ten

Usually, I’d make breakfast for everyone since I’m the early riser, but today I just snack on some cheese and fruit. Long sleeves and leggings later, they’re still in bed as I tuck in the frayed laces of my sneakers and walk down the driveway. The smell of smoke from last night’s fire permeates through the air.

I wish we’d come during the Fall or Winter when we were growing up. During the Christmas holidays, my father sent us off to his sister Juliette’s to run around with her five boys and swim in their heated California pool, but seeing the beauty of the lake turn cold makes me wish we’d been here.

Maybe we’ll do this again. It’ll be our grown-up tradition. The worst is over anyway; I saw Adam, which was more of a salted experience than expected, so maybe I can finally let the past go and move on.

Walking up the winding road around the mountain, I only hear my breath and my steps. Whatever happens in the few houses behind the trees stays indoors. I’m practically alone with the squirrels and falling leaves and, God-willing, not the serial killers. Or bears. Or foxes.

Do foxes attack? Are they dangerous? I should probably know that. It seems like a question I’m going to be asked one day and being shamed by a six-year-old for not knowing something they most definitely know is one of the most humiliating things an adult can endure. Kids know random animal facts. They know what they’re doing when they ask those questions.

They know.

I pick up my pace and relax my shoulders, wishing I hadn’t thought about serial killers. It would never have bothered me if I hadn’t thought about it. Now my head’s whipping around, on high alert, and I’m going to give myself a stress-induced stroke and with the amount of red wine I had last night, that’ll for sure kill me before any murderer does.

There is a sound, though.

I turn around, expecting nothing yet confronted with a red-coated creature bounding on four legs toward me. I freeze, even as the dog comes clearer into view. “Hello,” I mutter.

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