The Edge of Autumn Page 21

  School on Monday was a study in patience. I succeeded only in that I made it through my classes without biting anyone’s head off; in truth, I spent the entire day on tenterhooks, wondering what Sara had planned. Driving my own car to school had felt strange and set my nerves on edge right from the start. I knew Sara was busy reviewing before her exam, but the radio silence between our usually active phones added to my anxiety.

  She’s never let you down before, my brain chided, of course it will be awesome. My heart, overwhelmed by the events of the previous day, responded, But what could it be? Why the secrecy?

  As a result, I spent the day ignoring my teachers as I dreamed up various scenarios that might await me once I’d picked her up. Certain scenarios were significantly less appropriate than others, it was true, which then had me in a panic wondering if I would be disappointed with a simple dinner date. It wasn’t the disappointment itself that worried me, either—it was the prospect of Sara seeing that disappointment in my face and being hurt. I forced myself to run through a number of terrible possibilities that were definitely not going to happen, just so that a dinner outing would seem like a million bucks in comparison. I knew an evening with her, wherever it was, would be the best birthday gift I could ask for; I just needed to banish some of my more inventive guesses, and soon.

  The day crawled by at a snail’s pace, but at long last, the final bell rang and I rushed to my locker, grabbed what I needed and stashed what I didn’t, then hightailed it out to the parking lot. I had pre-programmed the address into my phone and fired up the GPS to talk me through the directions. It wasn’t far, she had assured me, and basically a straight shot from town. She usually took the bus, which took at least twice as long as driving, but she said she had felt bad making her mom close the store to chauffeur her out there each week.

  I turned the radio on but kept it low so I could hear the GPS voice tell me where to turn. As I drove out of Oakville, the sobering realization that Mr. Matthews' accident had occurred somewhere off of this stretch of road struck me like a bowling ball to the gut. No wonder Sara didn’t want to make her mom drive her.

  I sighed, trying hard to force it out of my mind. I couldn’t imagine how Sara and her mom could handle the grief with such grace. It felt strange to be an outsider to such a horrific event that had rocked the town so thoroughly. Since I’d started school here, I couldn’t recall hearing anyone but Nelson talk about Mr. Matthews, yet the silence spoke volumes.

  When the GPS told me the turn was only two miles away, my mind snapped to attention. This is a day for celebration, I told myself sternly. I would relish my time with Sara, that much was certain. As I turned onto the campus grounds, my pulse accelerated. Almost go time.

  I had to circle around a few times to find guest parking, but eventually managed to slide my little silver car into a spot between two big pickup trucks. I had a view of the parklike lawn across the way, where students huddled in pairs and small groups at picnic tables and on the large stairway leading into the gray stone building. I tried to imagine myself as a college student, puffed up with knowledge and self-importance, cramming for exams with Sara in a private corner of the library. It made me vaguely queasy.

  I texted Sara to let her know where I was parked, turned the radio back up, and waited. The day was brisk, sunny but with that biting fall chill that I was becoming so familiar with. Autumn had swiftly become my favorite season, I thought. Thanks in large part to one gorgeous redhead.

  About ten minutes later, my phone vibrated. Heading your way!

  I grinned in anticipation and surveyed the lawn before me, watching for the glint of copper hair among the growing crowd of students leaving their midterms. Before I spotted her, though, I heard the roar of an engine as a familiar red Ferrari whipped through the parking lot across the lawn. What is he doing here? I wondered, dread forming a cold, icy ball in my stomach. I watched, frozen, as he climbed out of the car, his spiky blonde hair signalling disaster as he stalked across the grass. Sara said Jay went to some other hoity-toity school in the city, why would he be here—and on the same day I was here? Could this really be a coincidence?

  I lost sight of him somewhere around the gathering crowd halfway across the lawn, which only increased my concern. I fired off a warning text to Sara, but after it sent, I finally saw her coming down the stairs from the building, her hair shining like a beacon in the sunlight. My heart lifted briefly, but when the crowd thinned out and I saw Jay staring straight at Sara, I knew I had to move, fast.

  I tried to estimate the distance I needed to cover to intercede before he got to her, if that was in fact his intention. Wildly, I bolted from the car, slamming the door behind me as I ran toward the stairs. I wove around innocent bystanders, trying very hard not to tackle anyone in my blind panic. When the path cleared, I raced, hoping my long legs could magically overcome the headstart Jay had. Sara must have reached the bottom of the staircase, since I could no longer see her over the heads of the crowd before me. I was forced to slow and then stop, trying not to shove them all out of my way. “Excuse me,” I said, over and over as I wormed my way between bodies that all seemed to be moving in the opposite direction. “Please, I just need to—”

  Suddenly, I reached the edge of the crowd, at last able to see straight to the staircase. Sara stood alone on the second-to-last step, the tension in her slender frame visible even from this distance. I was maybe ten yards away, frozen for a moment. Jay stood before her with the same aggressive caveman stance I’d noted at the grocery store all those weeks ago. I struggled to catch my breath and forced my feet to move, one in front of the other. It felt like one of those nightmares where walking feels like wading through a sea of jelly, wanting to speed up but unable to do more than drag each foot along like it weighed a thousand pounds.

  Finally—maybe a minute later, maybe an hour—I was close enough to hear Jay speaking. “You think you can get away with all of it, don’t you, you little bitch?” he snarled at her, grabbing her wrist in his hand.

  Just like that, the jelly melted away and my panic melted into fury. “Hey!” I yelled, striding toward them. Part of me hoped that would end it, but the other part hoped he’d still be touching her when I reached them so that I could justify punching his damn lights out.

  I was ten feet away and saw him squeeze her wrist tightly before he jerked around to face me, releasing her arm. His lips curled back off his teeth like a snarling dog as I covered the distance; I felt eerily calm as I pushed past him and put my hands on Sara’s shoulders. “You okay?” I asked quietly. Her eyes were wide as saucers and I felt the relief flow through her. She nodded, silent.

  Jay was prowling behind me, I could feel it. I kissed Sara’s forehead and turned, keeping my body between them. “How dare you touch her, you scumbag,” I growled.

  He smirked. “Oh, c’mon. She used to love it when I touched her, didn’t you, doll?”

  Something inside me snapped at the taunting words coming out of his smug mouth. I punched him square in the jaw and he stumbled backward, falling onto his rear end in the grass with a look of utter shock. My fist felt like it had burst into flames, but I tried to swallow the pain. I was nearly as stunned as Jay, I realized. I hadn’t hit him hard enough to do any real damage, I was sure—at least, not to his face. My hand might be another story entirely.

  Sara shifted to my side and clung to my left arm as though hanging on for dear life. Jay held one hand to the side of his face, glaring at us both. “You . . . you will pay for that, Holmes,” he said hoarsely, his eyes radiating such hatred that I fought the urge to send Sara to my car and duke it out with him here and now. The students on the lawn had mostly dispersed in the time it took me to get over here, but a few stragglers gaped at the spectacle before them.

  Before I could say anything further, he scrambled to his feet and took off, his angry strides moving him quickly to the parking lot across the way. We watched him until he was out of earshot, then I turned and took Sara into my arms,
burying my face in her hair.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped against my chest. “You really just hit him.”

  “I really just hit him,” I repeated, feeling a bit dumb. My voice sounded terrified, even to my own ears. “Are you hurt?”

  Sara pulled back slightly to inspect her arm. A dark, angry bruise was forming around the delicate bones of her wrist. She wiggled her fingers and moved her hand back and forth to test it. With a wince, she nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice firm. “What about your hand?”

  I held it up before my eyes, noticing the swelling first. My knuckles were puffing up like dinner rolls and turning a scary, mottled purple. “I’ll be fine,” I assured her, echoing her own words.

  She stared at my face for a minute and then a choked laugh bubbled up in her throat. “That was . . . very heroic of you. You’re pretty badass, Travis Holmes. And happy birthday.”

  I gave a hoarse laugh and pulled her back against my chest, trying to slow my breathing to normal. “You’re pretty badass yourself,” I said. “I’m sure you would’ve done just fine on your own.”

  We stood like that for several long minutes. I tried very hard not to picture how that scene would have played out if I hadn’t been here to pick her up, despite my bravado. The thought made me want to puke. She was a tough cookie, that was for damn sure, but I didn’t like the idea of her having to face down a guy like Jay Hallowell on her own—again. I glanced around us, noting that only a few observers were left in the vicinity. Sara finally lifted her head, looking around. “Do you know any of these people?” I whispered.

  She shook her head. “No, most of my class is still working on the exam. I usually finish early,” she said, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. “Is he gone?”

  I turned, peering in the direction Jay had taken. The Ferrari was gone. “I don’t see him. We should get you some ice,” I said, concern drawing my eyebrows together as I looked at her wrist.

  “I don’t want to stay here,” she replied firmly. “We can both get ice somewhere else. Please. I don’t want this to ruin your birthday.”

  I nodded, pressing one last kiss against her head before taking her other hand in my left. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” I said, as lightly as I could manage. Judging by the smile she offered in response, I figured I hadn’t failed completely.

  We took off toward my car, though I couldn’t stop myself from scanning the area around and behind us every few steps. My knuckles were pulsing with a searing pain and my hand was beginning to look like an inflated rubber glove. When we reached the parking lot, I hesitated a moment in confusion, expecting to see my mom’s Buick. Sara swallowed a laugh and pointed to my new car. I tried to look nonchalant about it. “Right, of course,” I muttered, sneaking a peek at the grin on her face. I was so utterly enthralled at the strength of this girl at my side. Even after a near disaster—in public, no less—she didn’t lose her sense of humor.

  I gingerly held the door for her and didn’t miss the side-eye she gave my injured knuckles as she slid into her seat. The sleeve of her sweater prevented me from checking her bruises, so I shut her door carefully and jogged around to the driver’s seat, glancing one last time around the parking lot for any sign of Hallowell.

  I started the engine and turned to look at her. “We don’t have to go out anywhere if you don’t want to,” I began.

  The death glare she gave me was answer enough, but she said, slowly and succinctly, “We will be celebrating your eighteenth birthday, as planned, unless you need medical attention for that hand.”

  I flexed my fingers, biting back an expletive. “No, I’m good,” I said with a bright smile. She lifted a skeptical brow but said nothing. “So, where are we headed, boss?”

  A sly smile spread across her lips, which I now noticed were looking particularly inviting today. How had I missed that? “Go out the way you came in and take a left,” she instructed.

  “Further from Oakville?” I mused. “What on earth exists in that direction?”

  She simply shrugged as I turned onto the road. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see, birthday boy.”

  I hummed in discontent but followed her directions. Sara gazed out her window, admiring the fall foliage as we drove away from the college. Every so often, I glanced over, wondering what she was thinking. She looked stunning, as always, but I detected a certain glint of steel in her expression. Whatever she had planned, she was hellbent on not allowing a moron like Jay Hallowell to ruin it for us.

  “At the next traffic light, take a left,” she said, sitting forward a little in her seat. I tried to focus my mind on the hint of excitement in her voice instead of on the throbbing in my right hand. Unsuccessful, I wondered vaguely why people would choose to get into fistfights. A single punch was enough to last me a lifetime.

  I turned onto the next cross street, recognizing signs of civilization. The college owned a ton of land surrounding the campus, Sara told me, which they used as part of their forestry and environmental conservation programs. Beyond that land was a small town, much like our own but largely inhabited by college students, she said. It wasn’t nearly as quaint as our town, but it had a certain degree of charm. A number of little shops lined the main drag.

  “You can park on the street up there,” she directed, pointing off to our right. I scanned the shop names, wondering where we were heading, but she said nothing more. It was almost five o’clock and a Monday, at that, so the street was nearly deserted. I pulled up along the curb and shifted into park.

  I eyed Sara for any hint as to what her plan might be. “What next?”

  “Now we walk,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Hopefully there’s ice available at our destination.”

  I wondered for a minute if we were going to a gas station or corner store, but Sara’s eyes danced with merriment and I was sure she had something much better in mind. A motel? my undignified teenage brain interjected. I stomped that thought right back down where it belonged, but my pulse beat a little faster. We stepped out of the car and I used my fancy new key fob to lock the doors. Sara laughed at my absurd delight as I pocketed the keys and offered my arm. She slipped her arm through mine, avoiding pressure on any of our bruises.

  “How far until we reach this destination?” I asked, puzzled. We seemed to be heading away from the center of the town and the shops along the sidewalk were becoming few and far between.

  “More walking, less nagging,” she commanded. I mimed zipping my lips and she laughed, leaning her head briefly against my shoulder as we strolled down the sidewalk. The sun was low in the sky, lending a soft glow to everything in view.

  After a few more minutes, Sara turned us up the street to our right. There before us, in all its neon glory, was an actual rail car diner. I stopped in my tracks, gasping in delight. I could feel Sara’s gaze on me as I took in the sleek, curved steel exterior and glowing signs. There had been very few moments in my life that I was actually struck speechless, but this was one of them.

  Finally, Sara poked me in the side. “Are we going to eat or just stand here ogling it all night?” she demanded.

  I turned to her, forgetting my injured hand, Jay Hallowell, and all the world around us. I slid my arms around her waist and kissed her, making sure she felt my joy at this wonderful surprise she had given me. My heart was full to bursting and when we finally broke apart, I couldn’t hold back a grin big enough to split my face.

  “You are the most incredibly amazing girl on the planet,” I told her earnestly.

  Her responding smile was breathtakingly sweet. “I thought you might like it,” she said, eyes atwinkle. “It’s been here since 1929, it’s a historical landmark in Spruce Hill. I’m partial to The Ruby, obviously, but I’ve heard the food here is amazing.”

  My stomach growled as if on cue. “Shall we?” I asked, offering my arm once more.

  “Let’s,” she replied, and we entered the gorgeously retro diner together. It was everything I could have hoped
for, exquisitely decorated, every update honoring the original style of decor. Of all the beloved diners I had frequented throughout my life, only one other had been this classic rail car style, and this one was in far better shape than that had been.

  A giant display case full of pies greeted us, along with a pink-uniformed waitress. She led us to two stools at the corner of the long counter, leaving us with two colorful menus after taking our drink orders and barely batting at eye at our bizarre request for a couple bags of ice cubes. While Sara flipped back and forth through her menu to weigh the options, I studied mine carefully, wanting to memorize every detail of the experience.

  The waitress, Janine, returned a moment later, setting down two glass bottles of root beer and two small bags of ice cubes. We smiled gratefully up at her and confessed that we needed another minute with the menu before placing our order. As we carefully positioned our makeshift ice packs, I winked at Sara.

  “Is it everything you hoped for?” she asked with a grin.

  “Oh, yes,” I said reverently. “This is the best birthday gift ever.”

  There was something cheeky in her responding smile, but she said nothing, returning her attention to the menu. When we had settled on our meals—a mountain of French toast with hashbrowns for me and chocolate chip pancakes topped with whipped cream for her—I handed the menus back to Janine and gazed around the interior of the diner. The ice had already started to dull the pain in my knuckles, and my hand looked a little less grotesquely swollen, I thought.

  “How long have you known about this place?” I asked.

  Sara took a sip of her drink and cocked her head. “I heard of it a while back, maybe last spring? I never felt the need to make the pilgrimage out here though until I found out about your love of old diners,” she said with a smile. “I had no idea what to get you for your birthday, so I thought this might be a fun surprise.”

  I took her hand in mine—I had positioned us so our uninjured appendages were closest, for just this reason. “It’s an amazing surprise. Thank you, Sara,” I said softly, bringing her fingers to my lips.