Page 27 of Falling for Autumn Again

“Some wounds need a pretty girl to help close them up. Take my word on it.”

I tilt my head. “A pretty girl?”

“Autumn, of course.” Dessie smacks me on the leg as if her words are obvious. “I think your father is a wound you’ve already stitched up all on your own. But Autumn is going to have to help you heal the injury she caused.”

“I’m not—” I sit up straighter in my chair. “I’m not wounded, Dessie. I’m fine.” Though my therapist would probably disagree.

Dessie stands and pats the back of my chair. “It’s okay, sugar. We’re all wounded in one way or another. And Autumn has the exact same wound as you.”

I highly doubt that. She sent me away. Not the other way around.

But I remind myself that I don’t know anything about the last ten years. “Dessie, what happened to Mr. Green?” I ask, waiting for her to tell me it’s Autumn’s business.

She slinks back into her chair. “Cancer. It doesn’t care how good your soul is, it claims who it claims.”

“When did he get sick?”

“That’s Autumn’s tale.” And… there it is.

It’s a simple question. And not even about Autumn. Everyone around here is so determined to be silent when it comes to that girl.

“She needs to tell you.”

I lace my fingers together, resting my hands on the table and staring at the wood grain throughout the cherry tabletop. “She doesn’t seem too interested in talking to me.”

“Well,” Dessie says, standing again and slapping the cuff of myshirt, “maybe that’s because you came back here all high and mighty and a little grumpy.”

“I’m not high and mighty.” And of the two of us, she’s definitely the grumpy one.

She grins. “Not to me, you’re not.”

Is she saying that I’ve been pompous to Autumn? Would anyone blame me for not being overly friendly with that woman?

Don lumbers back into the room, a pair of black rubber boots in his hands. “I brought you my old boots. Can you fit into a ten?” His boots have seen better days, that’s for sure. But they’ll work. I’m an eleven and a half, but they’ve been stretched and worn. They’ll do.

Those boots are my ticket to work right next to Autumn.

Junior Year

FALL

Autumn

I peer down at my watch, tempted to clock in for Ezra. He’s never late. But then, Dessie and Don are forgiving, and I can’t lie to them. I just hate the idea of that being on his record—even the metaphorical kind that no one will see. I know he’ll feel terrible.

Of course… he’d probably feel more terrible if I clocked in for him and he was paid for more work than he actually completed.

I’m working with pesticides—my least favorite job on the farm, but the trees near the parking lot are the ones that need to be treated. I’ll be able to see him the minute he drives up.

Speak of the angel—because Ezra Bennett is no devil—his little black car pulls into view. He’s almost got enough money to buy that truck he’s been saving for. That junkie clunker wouldn’t make it past the state line, and I think I’ve almost convinced Ezra that we need to go far away for college. We’re juniors now. It’s time to figure it out. I am determined to get him to college and away from his dad.

So—cash for the truck and loans for college. At least, that’swhat I keep telling him. It’ll all pay off when Ezra’s got a big fancy architect job.

Now… to convince Ezra.

I’ve got one eye on the tree I’m treating and the other watching for Ezra to exit his car. I stand when he does and brush my dirty hands over the thighs of my jeans.

I watch as he runs into the office to clock in. I knew he’d make it. He’s never missed a day. He hurries back out again and when he starts toward me, I abandon my work altogether and jog toward him.

---