Page 9 of Again, In Autumn

I stare at the vest, walking a circle around her as I sweep.

It’s an entire story in clothing art. The puppy and the fox are friends. There’s an old man with a gun. The fox and dog grow up.

“Is that the story of The Fox and the Hound on your top?” I ask.

She twirls around. “Yes. Do you love it? I painted it last night.”

Thankfully, she’s thinner than a pole, otherwise that vest would not have covered what I know is not a bra.

I sweep the glass into a paper bag. “Did you watch that movie? You hate talking animal stuff. Plus, the dog has, like, these big droopy eyes that make you want to cry. You don’t like crying at cartoons.”

I’m going to cry just thinking about it.

“It’s a book first, my dear,” she says, staring up at her tower of candles. “But I know you don’t read.”

“They wouldn’t make TV if they wanted us to read,” I argue.

“Who’s they?”

I fold the top of the bag and stand upright. “You know. The people who make things.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Drop that in the closet. Zander will take it on his way out. And if your mother heard you say you prefer television over books, she would disown you.”

I do as I’m told and smile internally.

Heddy and my mother, her best friend, were nothing alike outwardly. My mother had no hard edges, no sharp words, and only wore neutral clothing, zero jewelry, and a splatter of makeup on her thirty-seven-year-old face.

Inside, they were the same person.

I think that makes it easy for Heddy to still talk about her, which I love. She’s the only one who ever does. Francesca won’t anymore, I have no aunts or uncles on that side, my grandparents aren’t alive, and I’m not sure my father ever met his wife. We were probably conceived immaculately, Jesus-like.

Heddy waves her short fingers around the room. “I’ve got a whole idea. Hanging feathers, coffee filter flowers, paper birds careening down from the heavens…” She’s got that face. The moody display-is-not-working face.

I stand beside her and rest my head on her shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. It always comes together.”

She brushes back my hair the way I knew she would, and I follow her to the front desk. She leans her hands on the counter. “So. What’s the reason for the season, Puppet?”

I tap my fingers against the marble. “I came for your key to the lake house.”

She cocks a brow, picking up a ceramic mug and bringing it to her lips. “Is that so?”

I explain, “I decided to go with Fran this week. They’re all going up tomorrow, but I thought I would come tonight and have a night to myself.”

“Sure, baby.” She reaches around Zander and opens a drawer. Keys jingle. “What’s the change of heart?”

I rest my palms flat on the cool surface, listening to the front door open again. “Fran wanted the support.”

Heddy moves her head, shaking gold hoop earrings. “That’s not what I meant,” she says holding the silver house key toward me.

I swallow, taking it.

Heddy knows why I don’t go to the lake house anymore. My father does as well, not that he cares. They’re the only two people in the world who know what happened on that last day, fourteen years ago. Well, besides me and –

Music rings out from my left.

“Sorry!” A young girl walking through the door giggles, fumbling with her phone. She turns it off and the music stops.

Heddy’s mouth drops.

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