Page 98 of Again, In Autumn

“But I’m not the type to back off to spare someone else’s feelings. I always go after what I want.”

“And you want Adam,” I mutter.

She smiles. “Yeah. I do.”

“And I want you to have him!” I stand. I plaster a smile on my face. “You two would be so cute together. Really, front cover of a magazine level adorable.” I double down: “I’m not interested in Adam.”

She casts her eyes over my body, not quite believing my statement. “Okay,” she settles, walking to the door. “Good night.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I peel the curtains back. The fog of dawn sits atop the lake in layers and swirls, making the grass shiny and the trees dark. It’s Wednesday. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Friday it all ends – the magic of being here, the chaos of it all. Whatever’s happening between me and Adam.

Nothing, I remind myself. There’s nothing happening.

I start the coffee maker and wrap up in the long knit cardigan I hide in the coat closet.

I found it when I was sixteen, in Heddy’s bedroom. The soft green yarn and intricate cables felt familiar.

“Ingrid knit that,” Heddy said, watching me pull it from the hanger. “She spent the entire summer ripping out stitches and doing it again until it was perfect.”

I have multiple items my mother knitted but I’ve seen them so many times that the fingerprints lack significance. Any time I held a story or an artifact that contained a shred of her soul, I wanted to capture it and keep it for myself. With all of the things I had grown numb to, a spec of new information reimagined her. She became alive again in that new object or the voice of the person who could tell me a snippet about my mother that I never knew.

I take my coffee mug with Amber’s face printed on it and pull out the pot while it still brews. A falling drop sizzles, heat rises from my filled mug. After adding a drop of creamer, I step into my boots and walk onto the porch.

Purple and deep, a watercolor painting in the ethers, the sky gets ready for the sun, and everything else stays quiet. Few birds chirp and a few critters crackle the leaves. Settling into a rocking chair, I prop my feet up on the railing and take that first warm, relaxing sip of coffee.

That something I couldn’t do last night – relax. I fell asleep thinking of Kate, dreaming of her glaring at me and sharpening her claws, sitting in the corner of every dream state scenario ready to pounce.

I woke up thinking of Adam.

Last night, we fell into old familiarity. Our bodies felt too comfortable touching and it led to an overeager mistake.

It was a mistake.

It would be less of a one if we had no prior relationship, just two grown adults attracted to each other, making out in the woods. They don’t write country songs about it, but it’s pretty normal. The extra stuff between us makes it less normal. Pressing into a bruise. Salting a wound.

Speak of the devil.

A noise catches my attention. To my left, Adam pauses before he reaches the porch stairs. I wish I found nothing cute about his dragging, tired face and bedraggled hair or the way his mouth curves up at one side.

“Morning,” he offers slightly.

“Good morning,” I reply in the same tentative tone.

I listen, half-hopefully, for sounds in the house but know there won’t be any.

He sighs. “How’d you sleep?”

“With one eye open.”

He thinks about that for a moment.

I dive in and ask, “What are you doing here?”

Adam rests his boot on one stair and shrugs. “I knew you’d be up early. I wondered if we could talk.”

I wanted this last night, to talk. Now I’ve never been afraid of anything more. The thought of him saying anything that teeters the scale from neutral to “I don’t ever want to touch you again” or “Let’s get back in those woods, baby,” terrifies me.

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