The Edge of Autumn Read online

  Nelson looked like he wanted to puke and I released Sara’s hand to wrap my arms around her. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against my chest. I could feel the harsh pace of her breathing under my hands, but she didn’t cry. I met Nelson’s gaze over her head.

  “Brett Kennedy,” he said quietly. “He was the one who introduced me to Jay’s circle. A follower, that one; he went along with every stupid scheme Jay or Teddy ever proposed. He’s the only one from the accident who’s in our grade.”

  Sara drew in a long breath and stepped back a few inches, capturing my hand once more with a fierceness that belied her calm expression. She gave Nelson the tiniest of smiles and looked up at me, all blush gone from her cheeks. “Can we go?” she asked, her voice tight.

  I exchanged a look with Nelson and pressed my lips against her forehead. “Of course,” I answered, and we set out toward the car.

  We were nearly there when I heard the rasping breath that escaped her lips. She was deathly pale and even through my sudden panic, I realized she was hyperventilating and sprang into action.

  “Hey, easy, it’s okay,” I soothed, tugging her to sit on the curb beside the car. She sat and covered her face with her hands. “It’s okay, I’m here,” I repeated, sounding useless even to my own ears, but I ran my hand in gentle circles over her back. Bit by bit, her breathing eased. She sat up slowly, then sagged against my side. I kissed the top of her head, holding her tight against me.

  Despite the frightening pallor of her skin, her eyes were dry. “Sorry,” she mumbled against my shoulder.

  I snorted. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I said sternly, leaning my forehead against hers. The din of the carnival still roared in the background, but I focused on the sound of her soft, steady breaths. The harsh gasping had slowed to normal; I thought I had never been so grateful for anything in my life.

  We sat like that for several moments, clasped together in the fading autumn daylight. I couldn’t imagine the flood of emotions that must be striking her at every turn. Just when the tide seemed to have calmed, a sudden undertow grabbed at her from unseen depths. Would she ever find peace here, I wondered?

  In typical Sara fashion, she rallied quickly and flashed me a brief but heart-stopping smile. “I think . . .” she began, then shook her head as though to clear the fog. “I think I’d like this weekend to be over!”

  I grinned at that, said with a mixture of dry humor and utmost sincerity. “I can’t fast-forward through time,” I replied, “but I would happily hide you away until it’s done.”

  Her eyes, a tumultuous, stormy blue in the fading daylight, twinkled at me like stars. “I’ll bet,” she teased. My heart lifted at her light tone. “Where would we hide?” she wondered, cocking her head at me.

  I tapped my chin with one finger. “Let’s see. Your house might be too obvious. The car might get a little too confining. Got any hidden nooks or crannies at the store?” I asked with an exaggerated leer.

  Sara laughed at my expression but nodded sagely. “Actually, yes, quite a few.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Was she serious? I couldn’t imagine for one second that she’d run off and hide away without telling her mom—nor did I fancy the idea of doing that to my own parents—but she looked like she might be honestly contemplating the idea.

  Before I could respond, she patted my cheek. “Well, maybe not for the whole weekend,” she finally conceded. “But it’s getting chilly--we could go warm up at least.”

  That did nothing for the rush of heat that threatened to humiliate me when we stood up. I covered her hand with my own and stared into her face, searching. She blushed ever so slightly but held my gaze with a steadiness that captivated me. I wasn’t stupid enough to expect this to turn into some romantic—or even not-so-romantic—tryst between the bookshelves. That might come, eventually, but the past two days had wrought too much havoc on Sara’s psyche for either one of us to be comfortable with that. However, after sharing her with Nelson and the crowd at the dance and today’s festivities, the prospect of being alone with her someplace safe and quiet was awfully alluring.

  As though she’d heard every thought pass through my brain, Sara’s eyes crinkled at the corners and my breath caught in my throat. “You are so beautiful,” I murmured, soaking in the warmth of her gaze, her smile, her touch.

  She shook her head as though in denial, but the corners of her mouth lifted. “You’re crazy,” she retorted, but she leaned in to kiss me, just the barest brush of her lips across mine. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I wasn’t going to make her ask me twice. I took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Your wish is my command, my lady,” I said with a wink. I opened her door and jogged around to the driver’s side, and we set off to find comfort in solitude.

  CHAPTER 24: Saturday Evening

  The drive to Mrs. Matthews' shop was uneventful; with practically every member of the town enjoying the festival, the streets were eerily quiet. I parked just around the corner from the shop and Sara punched in a code on the keypad at the shop’s back door. I raised my brows at her, thinking it seemed like a pretty high tech system for a bookstore, but she grinned.

  “My mom has lost at least a dozen keys—house, car, shop. My dad used to find every single one, but without him, she figured she’d better look into something she couldn’t lose!”

  I laughed and we entered a part of the shop I hadn’t seen before. It was a decent sized room that appeared to be part storage, part shrine. Tattered and faded spines filled over half of the bookshelves lining the walls, most of them probably far older than our parents. There were shelves of newer books and boxes scattered throughout, but I was drawn to those containing the beautiful, aging treasures.

  “Is this your mom’s collection?” I asked as I tilted my head sideways to scan titles. Among the better known classics were a handful of books and authors I’d never heard of.

  Sara ran her fingertips along the worn spines. “She and my dad used to try to outdo each other,” she said with a faint smile. “They found most of them together, but then it became a contest to see who could find the oldest or most obscure books when they were traveling. They went to Scotland before I was born and my dad found this copy of Black Beauty in a shop he said he mistook for a pub.”

  I laughed at the image, even as I wished I’d brought my camera inside to get a picture of Sara’s dreamy expression as she gazed at the books.

  Out of nowhere, I recalled what she’d said to me while working in the shop one day. “What do you write?” I asked, feeling as though her answer was suddenly vital.

  Sara blushed. “Oh,” she began. “Well. Short stories, the occasional very bad poem. I started working on a novel a few months ago but who knows what will come of it.” She seemed genuinely embarrassed, which—for a girl who cared so little about what the world thought of her—seemed puzzling.

  I cocked my head, trying to hide a smile. “Whoa whoa whoa. You scoffed at the idea that I hadn’t shown my parents my photography, but you, the daughter of a bookstore owner and an English teacher, are acting like your writing is some kind of bad habit?”

  Her blush deepened but her eyes flashed at me defiantly. “I am not. My mom knows I write, but it’s different.”

  I wasn’t buying it. “Different how?” I prodded, keeping my tone gentle lest she get truly upset at my questioning.

  “Your work is artistic and beautiful and meant to be seen and shared,” she said bluntly. “Mine is . . . well, raw still. Write what you know and all that jazz.”

  “Ahh,” I conceded, lifting my hand to touch her cheek. “I understand.” She was right; photography certainly could be raw and personal—my dad’s work had shown me that long ago—but I had yet to delve into that kind of subject matter. I wasn’t offended, either. I knew Sara too well by now to fancy she was calling my photos shallow or trivial. She was the first person who’d encouraged me to take photography seriously and that was no small thing.

  Sar
a studied me cautiously, as though searching for any hint that she might have hurt my feelings, but I smiled down at her. “I mean it, I understand. And if someday you need someone to share your writing with, I hope you already know I would be honored to read it.” She caught her lower lip in her teeth and I winked. “But I promise you, Sara, I will not be upset if you want to keep it to yourself.”

  The qualifier seemed to please her. “Well then. I believe you ordered some bookstore nooks and crannies?” she asked, her eyes alight with mischief.

  I was instantly suspicious but equally intrigued to see what she had up her sleeve. “Lead the way, milady,” I said with a bow.

  Her laughter filled the room and she took my hand, leading me out into a hallway at the back of the shop. The waning daylight crept through the windows with a hazy glow, lending a dreamlike feel to the silent bookstore. I trailed behind Sara as we squeezed through a small opening between one wall and a tall metal storage shelf. The room behind it was pitch black; this must be the wall between the shop and the neighboring store, I thought. Sara squeezed my hand and let go to search for a lightswitch.

  A rainbow of light suddenly filled the tiny room, which might have really been a large closet. The walls were hung with faded movie posters, the floor littered with tasseled pillows and furry bean bag chairs. On a tiny stone table inlaid with a mermaid perched a beautiful Tiffany lamp, casting the rich hues throughout the room. “What is this place?” I asked, my voice just above a whisper. The wonder of this magical little cove had struck me hard and fast.

  Sara’s smile sparkled under streaks of blue and green. “My secret hideout,” she responded in a similar tone. “I came here every day after school when I was little; I think my mom got tired of me climbing on countertops and trying to hang off the rolling ladder like I was in a Disney movie.” She grinned. “She told me I could decorate it however I wanted. That kept me busy for months, and when it was finished, I never wanted to leave. I remember her having to bribe me to go home for dinner more than once that first year!” Turning, she reached behind me and tapped a small square of construction paper with “NO BOYS!” and a skull and crossbones drawn on it in crayon. “Even Nelson wasn’t allowed in here.”

  At that, I laughed. “Well, clearly this is an honor,” I said, slipping my arm around her waist. “Thank you.”

  She lifted her face to kiss me, sweet but brief. When she pulled back, she grinned. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

  I obeyed, studying the posters on the walls in her absence. The selections were an interesting mix of classic films, 80s teeny bopper, and a smattering of newer movies from our childhood through more recent years. I assumed her parents had contributed many of them to the collection, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she’d carefully chosen each and every poster for some sentimental reason.

  Sara returned, silent as a cat, and held up two bottles of root beer. “I owed you one,” she said with an impish grin. I accepted gratefully and we flopped down onto the lumpy bean bag chairs.

  “Oof!” I exclaimed. “These are not quite as comfortable as the fluffy exterior might suggest.”

  She snorted. “You’re telling me! It’s all that will fit in here, though, so if you give it a few minutes, your butt will just go numb and it’ll feel fine.”

  I nearly spit out a gulp of soda at that, barely managing to choke it down. “Thanks for the sage advice,” I gasped.

  Her laughter floated through the small space, as light and mesmerizing as the rainbows that danced over the faces of Hollywood’s greatest. I leaned back, resting my head against the wall to study her in the kaleidoscope light. Her eyes sparkled back at me from her pale face. The cornflower blue of her shirt was muted and morphed by the colored light. I wondered what my camera lens would make of the enchanting scene before me, whether I could ever capture the essence of this beautiful nymph before me as she was in this moment. I settled for trying to burn the sight into memory, hoping to conjure it again when I needed a touch of magic in my life.

  Sara regarded me calmly, her eyes aglow, as though waiting for me to say something. I gazed back, my expression carefully blank. When she finally raised a brow in subtle challenge, I reached across the small space and dragged her onto my lap. She laughed a protest but snuggled immediately against my chest, still giggling. “You’re a goofball,” she scolded, her voice muffled by my shirt.

  I buried my face in her neck and blew a raspberry, causing her to emit a high pitched shriek. “Goofball, eh?” I growled against her ear. “I’ll show you goofball!”

  Amidst the laughter, I heard her mumble, “That doesn’t even make sense!” I rubbed my face against her neck, tickling my fingers across her ribs. After a moment, she began to fight fire with fire, somehow managing to zero in on the ticklish spot under my chin. I tried to catch her hands in mine but succeeded only in toppling us both off of the lumpy bean bag and onto the very hard floor. I shifted so that my body would break her fall.

  “Oof!” I exclaimed as her knee connected with my stomach.

  Sara could barely breathe through her giggles. “Sorry,” she gasped, rearranging her limbs until she was sprawled on top of me.

  I brushed her hair off my face, tucking it behind her ears before I wrapped my arms around her. She laid her head against my chest and I stroked her back until her breathing slowed to normal.

  “This was more romantic in my head,” I informed her, contorting my back to find a more comfortable position on the concrete floor.

  She lifted her head, resting her chin against my breastbone. “You planned a tickle fight in my secret hideout?” she queried, eyes atwinkle.

  I moved one hand to tip her head back onto its side, removing the pressure of her adorable little chin, and closed my eyes. “Just let me enjoy this, will you?”

  She snorted. “As comfortable as I am up here, I imagine you’ll be sore tomorrow if we don’t get up,” she said, making no effort to move off of me. I would have resisted anyway.

  My fingers trailed over her back, noting that the hem of her shirt had lifted to reveal a band of astoundingly soft skin. “Well worth it,” I replied softly.

  We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity—perhaps more, to my back on the cold concrete, and less, to my gluttonous fingertips as they roamed across the silken warmth of her skin. She hummed softly, an unrecognizable tune whose vibrations caused me to lose awareness of where my body ended and hers began. The windowless room of rainbows made it impossible to determine the passage of time, but I had no complaints.

  Eventually, Sara shifted, resting her chin on her hands to gaze down at me without injuring my delicate ribcage. In this position, she was bathed in a warm, rosy glow. Her eyes appeared black as obsidian, though they hadn’t lost their customary sparkle. She smirked. “How’s that back feeling?” she asked smugly.

  I discreetly noted the throw pillows off to my left and gave her a ferocious scowl, then wrapped my arms around her and rolled over, planting her on the softer surface. I growled against her ear, “Just fine, my pretty! I’m as spry as ever.”

  She tangled her fingers in my hair and kissed me; this bore little resemblance to the light, carefree kisses of earlier in the day. It felt as though something inside her—some desperate need for physical connection—had suddenly boiled over and demanded action. I shifted to one side, bracing my weight along one elbow and leg to keep from crushing her, and let her take the lead.

  Good heavens, lead she did. How a girl nicknamed Ice Princess could kiss like that was well beyond my mental capacity to puzzle through in that moment. How I could withstand it without shaming myself was equally unimaginable, but I was so caught up in the tidal wave of her touch that I couldn’t focus on anything but her mouth on mine.

  When she finally dropped her head back, breaking contact between our lips, I had the same dizzy feeling as after those carnival rides. We were both breathing as though we’d run a marathon; the rise and fall of her chest against mine was nearly enough t
o distract me from the deep sapphire pools that gazed up at me as though shocked by her own actions. I didn’t have the strength to smile down at her, to tease her or say something clever. I could only stare down at her, overwhelmed with awe that she was here, with me. The sense of belonging that pulsed through my veins was like nothing I’d ever felt before—belonging to her, with her.

  When at last my supporting arm threatened to give out, the spell was broken. I collapsed onto the floor beside her. She took my hand in hers and we stared up at the rainbows dancing on the ceiling. The silence spread over us like a warm blanket, until she squeezed my hand and we rolled toward each other, like magnets drawn together.

  Sara studied my face as though searching for an answer to some unasked question. Her stare was so intent that I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt it with speech, so I studied her in return. Her ponytail had loosened so that wispy curls floated around her face like a halo. Though her lips lacked their usual curve, she looked luminous, with skin like pale marble. I reached out my free hand to trace her cheekbone with the tip of one finger.

  A shiver ran through her and I couldn’t hold back a smile, leaving my hand cupped against her cheek. She mirrored my caress, lifting her hand to stroke a finger across my significantly rougher skin, but she didn’t stop there. Her finger trailed down to the corner of my mouth, following the curve of my smile, and then along the edge of my lower lip.

  I struggled to keep still, not wanting to break the spell she was weaving over me. She paused, her expression intent, as though studying my reaction for some bizarre scientific research purposes. When I could no longer bear it without wiggling, I caught her hand in mine, kissing each knuckle one by one.

  Finally, the intense silence evaporated and a slow, lazy smile spread across her lips. They looked ripe as berries in this light—assisted, perhaps, by the kissing. I turned her hand over and nuzzled my nose against her wrist, causing her to squirm for a moment until the ticklishness subsided, then followed the same path with my lips.