Page 2 of Falling for Autumn Again

I’m in no hurry.

He’s the one ready to get me home.

It’s midnight by the time we drive back into town and reach my house.

“Eight a.m.,” I tell him.

“I’ll be here,” he says, another peck to my swollen lips.

I peel the spare key from beneath my mother’s doormat. The thing has a big sunshine smiley face on it. I can’t remember this house without it. It’s faded to a dingy, dirty yellow, and I’m pretty sure the only reason it’s still here is to hide this key.

I wave to Ezra—he’s already at his truck—and tiptoe into my house. There’s a light on in the kitchen, though I know Mom and Dad should both be in bed. Neither can stay up this late anymore.

Maybe it’s Summer—except when a cry mingled with a comforting coo fills my ears, I know it isn’t my sister. Those are Mom’s tears. And that’s Dad’s comforting tone.

I silently make my way down the hall until I stand just outside the kitchen door.

I’ve no desire to get in trouble my last night home. But I can’t just go to bed either. Not with Mom crying like that. I graduated today. Mom threw a big party in the yard and Dad grilled every ounce of meat Love had to offer. We celebrated,we partied. I’ve no idea where tears and sadness are coming from.

But then—I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m not even spending the summer at home. Ezra and I got jobs in New York and we’re both taking advantage of the university’s early housing opportunity.

So, maybe thereisa reason to cry. Maybe they’re going to miss me more than I realized.

“Stage three, Ed. That’s far. That’s so far along and—”

“April, stop stressing. I’m strong. I can beat this.”

Mom sniffles and I freeze. My entire body turns to ice.Stage three? Beat this?What are they talking about?

“I just don’t understand,” Mom says, and while she’s whispering, she’s also beside herself with worry. There’s a lack of control in her tone that I do not miss. “You’ve never smoked. Lung cancer? How is that possible?”

“April,honey—”

But the rest of what Dad says is lost on me.Lung cancer.

Lung cancer.

That can’t be right.

I don’t show my face. I listen to Dad comforting my distraught mother for another five minutes, trying to figure out what else their words could mean before I go off to my room—to not sleep one wink the rest of the night.

I don’t cry.

And I don’t fret like Mom—what good would it do?

No, I plan.

Eight a.m.comes quick.

Too quick.

I wait on the porch—I don’t want Ezra ringing the bell and waking my family. I know they wanted to say goodbye. But I’mnot leaving today. And I have no idea how late Mom and Dad were up talking. So, they might as well sleep.

I swallow, knowing what I have to do and hating myself for it. But there’s no other option.

That is my only comfort.

“You ready, Green?” Ezra says, his long brown hair flopping over one eye.

---