Page 83 of Falling for Autumn Again

Autumn reaches in and pinches my stomach—or at least she tries. I run a couple miles every day and the gym has definitely been part of my therapy these past ten years. Her attempts only make me laugh harder.

“I’m sorry,” I say, calming myself. Her mother has changed—in ways that are hard to see at a glance. It’s hard for her. I need to acknowledge that, to respect that. And probably halt the marriage talk—for now. “I’ll behave.” I peck her lips and I’m calling it a win that she allows it.

Her chest deflates. “Thank you,” she says, sounding winded. Ithink she is tired. She’s been tired for ten years. The thought has me pulling her in with a need to comfort her.

I hold her close, hugging her tight and silently telling her she isn’t alone anymore.

I’m not going anywhere.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Autumn

“There’s food in the freezer,”I say, though Mom already knows it. It’s routine. “It just needs warming up.”

I hug my mother, holding her small body and feeling the frailness there. What does she do when I’m gone? But I know the answer. She reads. She watches TV. She gardens. She at least gets a little vitamin D from the backyard.

“Do you mind if I look inside the shed?” Ezra says from just behind me.

I stand straight and peer back at him. His russet hair rustles in the wind. “Um—”

“Go ahead. Help yourself to whatever you need.” Mom waves. “So good to see you, sweet boy. Go sweep my girl off her feet, eh?”

Ezra laughs, nodding—but he doesn’t say anything. He promised to behave himself.

“Mother,” I growl under my breath because she’s not behaving herself at all.

“You need a little sweeping. You can’t simply work and take care of me week after week.” But it seems I can—because that’s what I’ve been doing for years. My life switched up for a minutewhen Meg moved into town. Suddenly there were girl’s nights and late talks. But now she’s married. She’s moved. And my brain and body have fallen right back into their go-to-work-and-take-care-of-Mom mode all too easily.

“Shush,” I hiss at her. “We don’t even know each other anymore.” The words don’t sound right. I say them, but I don’t feel them.

I glance back to where Ezra has opened up my father’s old shed and slipped inside.

Mom laughs—something I rarely hear anymore. Those words don’t sound right to her either. “Well, that’s not true. You’ll always know Ezra. Just as he knows you.”

“I don’t know,” I whisper to myself.

“You walked in holding the man’s hand, Autumn. It’s been a while, but I’d wager that Ezra knows you better than anyone. You let him inside your heart and head in a way not even your father and I were allowed.” She looks at me as if she’s studying. I do not like that look. “All those years ago, your bags were packed, your arrangements made, and then you suddenly announced you’d changed your mind. We waited for you to tell us what happened, why you didn’t go. But you never did. When I asked if Ezra had done something, you defended him as if your life depended on it.”

I remember that day. I couldn’t have anyone speaking poorly of Ezra. None of this was his fault or his doing.

She waits a minute, thinking I’ll suddenly open up and share.

Part of me would like to tell her.Sure, Mom, I’ll get it all off my chest.If you come outside, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.I don’t actually offer the deal—neither of us would come out on top in the end. I wouldn’t share and she wouldn’t move. She’s safely on the entry floor of our living room, not one pinky seeing the sun.

She sighs at my silence. “I suppose it was a blessing in disguise. We needed you at home.”

I nod, swallow past the lump in my throat, then lean in and kiss her cheek once more. “Love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Autumn,” she says, one more glance at Ezra before she goes back into the house, shutting herself off from the world.

I walk over to Dad’s shed and stand just outside. It’s a place neither Mom nor I have entered in years. I’ve worked out payment plans with the hospital and the doctors we owe, but I’ll be working for the next decade of my life to get Dad’s medical bills paid off. With Mom, the farm, and the bistro opening, I don’t have time for a vacation—even the kind that includes cleaning out old sheds.

“Find anything good?” I call, tilting my head to peek at Ezra through the shed door.

“Yeah, actually.” Ezra steps outside the small building, holding up a paint can.

I wrinkle my nose. “That can’t be good anymore. I have no idea when it was used last.”

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