The Edge of Autumn Read online

  I didn't know, but I nodded, wanting to wrap my arms around her.

  She took a long, deep breath, as though enough oxygen could force back the grief. With her free hand, she gestured to the view as the sun rose behind the trees off to our right. “My dad always loved taking pictures at this time of day. I thought you might want to take some new shots to add to your portfolio.”

  My chest felt like caving in with sympathy for this beautiful, thoughtful, wounded girl beside me. I let go of her hand to put my arm around her shoulders, tucking her carefully against my side for a moment before I could speak. “Thank you, Sara.” The words seemed both inadequate and profound in the stillness of the morning.

  For a brief moment, she leaned her head against my chest and I felt her nod in acknowledgment of my gratitude. With a slightly shaky breath, she pulled away and took my hand again, leading me closer to the water. We stopped and stood silently for a minute, then she pointed across the creek. “Look, a blue heron!” she whispered. “The Iroquois considered them to be a good omen.”

  The bird stood at the edge of the water, unmoving. I wished I'd pulled out my camera already but decided sharing this moment with Sara was far more important than capturing the image. Something alerted the heron and with swift grace, it took flight, long legs trailing behind it. Sara watched it go and then turned to me with a smile devoid of sadness. “You're good luck,” she said with a wink. “I think I'll keep you around.”

  I grinned back at her and set my camera bag on the ground several feet from the water. “Good,” I replied, pulling out my camera and favorite lens. I focused on Sara, snapping a few test shots to check the light.

  “Hey!” she protested. “I brought you here to take pictures of nature, not of me!”

  I winked. “No worries. I'll keep these ones to myself.”

  Sara rolled her eyes, laughing. She said nothing more, climbing atop a fallen tree to sit. She set her backpack beside her and pulled out a water bottle. Her dangling legs kicked back and forth like a little kid and I wondered if I'd ever find something that didn't endear her more to me by the minute. I snapped one last shot of her when she looked over toward the rising sun. In this light, her hair—hanging in loose curls today—shone like a flame, all burnished copper. She looked angelic, a mix of breathtaking beauty, aching vulnerability and iron-clad resilience.

  I took a variety of photos over the course of the next hour: landscapes, closeups of wildlife, a few more covert shots of Sara as she laughed, chatted about inconsequential things or stared off into the distance. When I clipped my lens cap on and set my camera back in the bag, she patted the log beside her and offered me the second water bottle. I climbed up, forced by the placement of the branches to sit so close our thighs were touching. I took a long drink and fought the urge to put my arm around her again, wondering if her acceptance had simply been a moment of weakness.

  “How was your dinner with Nelson?” she asked finally.

  My door was opening here for a serious discussion, but my chest felt tight with apprehension. “Good, good. You know him and food,” I joked, then realized maybe she didn't know. Crap.

  She grinned. “So he shoveled food into his mouth while interrogating you?” she guessed.

  “Pretty much.” Man up and get it over with, I told myself. “I think he misses you.”

  Her grin faded and she nodded, eyes focused on the line of trees across the creek. “I miss him too,” she said quietly.

  I shifted so I could look down at her more comfortably. She glanced up and I tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “What happened between you?” I asked gently. I'd have given my right eye in that instant for us to just stay in this bubble, far away from the drama and gossip of high school, but I knew we'd have to face it eventually. It seemed that “eventually” was now.

  She pulled her knees up against her chest, resting her chin on top of them. “It was such a mess,” she said, her voice soft. “The whole thing, it was just surreal. Nelson and Jay were friends and at first I just couldn't bear to look at anyone from school. I knew Teddy was driving that car and it was obvious Jay was involved, but I didn't know who else was. All I could think was that if I hadn't been such a bitch to Nelson about going that night, it never would have happened. He's always been the voice of reason, you know?”

  I gave in and put my arm around her. “It wasn't your fault,” I told her, wishing I had something more profound to say.

  She nodded. “I know that. Years of counseling later, I do know that. I was just so furious with everyone. With Teddy and Jay for being the jackasses they are, with Nelson for ever thinking they weren't, with myself for not being a better friend to him, with my mom for asking them to be lenient. I felt like my whole world caved in and there would never be a way to climb out from under the rubble.” I could feel her trembling and rubbed her back in soothing circles. “By the time I felt like I could breathe again, it had been months. I just couldn't figure out a way to act normal around people again. My mom agreed to let me homeschool. The only person I cared about seeing at school was Nelson and I couldn't even handle talking to him. I just didn't know what there was to say anymore, if he'd even want to stay friends with me. My dad was like the glue between us and suddenly, he was gone.”

  My heart broke for her, for both of them. That one night had changed their lives forever, casting ripples far beyond the pain of losing a parent. The unfairness of it all made me feel physically ill; what right did those kids have to ruin so many lives that night? How could the family and friends left behind move past such a tragedy?

  I rested my chin on her shoulder and she tilted her forehead against mine. We were both silent for a long moment before Sara whispered, “Are you sure you want to get involved in the mess that is my life?”

  Rubbing my nose against hers, I grinned. “You’re stuck with me, toots. No use trying to get rid of me now.”

  She snickered softly and burrowed closer against me. “Well then, I’ll stop trying,” she mumbled, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “And you’re sure Nelson wants to speak to me?”

  “You’re cute when you’re insecure,” I teased.

  Sara poked me in the ribs and we both laughed. Though the vulnerability in those sparkling eyes was endearing, the truth was that her strength was what awed and ensnared me. She was a survivor, a fighter in the truest sense of the word. She had battled grief and loneliness and somehow managed to maintain her sense of humor and passion for life.

  I traced my finger along her cheek. “Anyone who could resist you is an idiot,” I told her.

  “I think maybe you’re biased,” she answered with a smirk.

  “Who, me?” I feigned shock, shifting my hand to cup her face. “Well, maybe a little.”

  A smile played across her strawberry lips. “Good,” she said, “I could use an ally now and again.”

  I wondered what would happen if I tried to kiss her just then. We hadn’t known each other long, but I felt like a lifetime of emotion had been packed into the past several days. She held my gaze steadily, offering neither encouragement nor denial. The invisible pull between us intensified and I leaned ever so slowly toward her. I thought I saw her lips curve upward in approval but before I could take the plunge, a loud screech tore through the morning air and we both jumped back so quickly I almost toppled off the log. I barely managed to prevent falling on my ass and Sara reached out to try to catch me with her free hand, the other clutched against her pounding heart.

  “What the hell was that?” I gasped, holding fast to her hand. I fully expected an axe murderer to come running out of the trees after some hapless victim.

  “Look,” Sara said, pointing downstream from where we stood. A bird soared high above the water. “It’s a red-tailed hawk. Isn’t he beautiful?”

  I was impressed by the extent of her knowledge as much as by the majestic bird. “I think you’re the smartest person I know,” I said, nudging her with my elbow.

  She laughed. “Because I
can identify a couple of birds and do college math?”

  I nodded solemnly. “Those are the most important subjects in life, don’t you agree?” I replied with a wink.

  All traces of grief were gone from her expression as she grabbed her backpack. “Unless there are other shots you want to get, we can head back to my house and grab some lunch instead of snacking out here. I don’t want to battle that hawk for my granola bar,” she joked.

  I thought of what pictures I’d like to take—pictures of her—and averted my eyes before she could see the direction of my thoughts. Her musical laugh followed me as I picked up my camera case and I realized she saw right through me. My mind raced to decide if I should try to ignore it or make a joke of it, but she beat me to the punch.

  “It’s a little too cold for that out here,” she teased. “Stick around until spring though and we’ll see.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement and the faint blush highlighting her cheekbones was far more becoming than the scalding heat in my own. I tried desperately not to picture her in various states of undress, lounging on a rock in the spring sun or splashing in the glittering water of the creek.

  “Oh lord,” I muttered, closing my eyes and making a feeble attempt to replace those images with dinged up cars, musty old books, rotten fruit at the back of the fridge. Way to humiliate yourself on the first date, you idiot! I scolded myself, but when at last I was able to suck in a deep breath and turn back to her, the expression on her face was pained.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  My lips curved upward and I slung the camera bag across my chest before playfully tugging a loose curl. “You’re adorable,” I replied, “and you have nothing to apologize for. Shall we?” I gestured to the tiny break in the trees that marked the path back to the car and took her hand in mine.

  She squeezed my hand lightly and smiled. “We shall,” she said, and we began the slow hike back to the parking lot. This time, she kept hold of my hand, walking beside me until the path narrowed and then tugging me close against her side instead of walking in front of me. The floral smell of her shampoo made me want to rub my face in her hair, but that seemed more than a little creepy. And, as I tripped on a raised tree root, I had to concede that it would be a danger to us both were I to stop paying attention to my footing.

  We made it back to the car without incident and I impressed her with my ability to navigate back to her house with minimal assistance. Neither of us felt the need to fill every silent moment with chatter, but she pointed out a few landmarks as we drove and warned me about the town’s upcoming Apple Festival, complete with parade, bake-off and apple-themed carnival. As we pulled down her street, we spotted a little blue Toyota in her driveway, trunk open wide.

  Sara muttered, “Oh crap,” as my heart shot into my throat.

  “Is that your mom?” I asked, trying not to panic.

  She sighed. “It is.”

  I couldn’t quite discern the emotion in her voice; she sounded mildly disappointed and I dared to hope that she’d actually been looking forward to getting me alone in her house. “So,” I ventured slowly. “Should I come in, or do you want me to slink away in shame?”

  She laughed, but the choice was made for us when her mom came out into the driveway to grab a suitcase out of the Toyota’s trunk. I parked across the street and when she saw Sara in the passenger seat, she smiled warmly and waved. The resemblance between them, hair color aside, was almost uncanny.

  “Hi honey!” she called from the driveway, and Sara returned the wave with a tight smile.

  “Hey,” I said softly, squeezing her hand. “It’s fine.”

  Sara nodded and offered a rueful grin. “Yeah, I know. I just could have unleashed her upon you under better circumstances.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car, grabbing her backpack from the back seat.

  I pretended the ball of dread in my stomach was only anxiety at meeting the most important person in Sara’s life, but I knew deep down that it was also the painful knowledge of this family’s trauma. I’d met others along our many travels who had lost a parent or even a sibling, but never had I been exposed to a tragedy that had rocked an entire community for years. I was beginning to lose my fear of saying the wrong thing around Sara, but I couldn’t risk offending Mrs. Matthews. What if she wouldn’t allow Sara to see me again?

  I followed after Sara, running a hand through my hair in an attempt to look like a respectable young man instead of some punk off the street. Sara’s mom was still smiling as Sara went over to help unload the trunk, but she eyed me carefully as I approached.

  “Mom, this is Travis Holmes. Travis, my mom,” Sara said with a forced calm that I tried to embrace.

  I held out my hand as my father had taught me. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” I said formally.

  Her smile widened and she shook my hand firmly. “I’m pleased to meet you as well, Travis,” she replied, and her eyes twinkled just the way Sara’s did when she was amused. “I assumed Sara was out for a run when I came home to an empty house.”

  I applauded my earlier guess at the hobby behind Sara’s lean muscles and simply smiled at Mrs. Matthews in response.

  Sara rolled her eyes at me, safe from her mother’s gaze as it was still firmly fastened upon me, and I reached to take the heavy suitcase Sara had been trying to maneuver out of the trunk. “Here, let me,” I said, gently nudging her aside. I winked at her and she bit back a smile before she turned to her mother. It felt like a secret language, this maintaining propriety in front of parental units thing.

  “I would’ve left a note if I knew you’d be home early. I thought you were coming back tonight,” she said, managing to keep any trace of disappointment or accusation from her tone even though I flattered myself by assuming she felt both.

  Mrs. Matthews apparently read between the lines as well and her smile broadened. “If I’d known you had plans, I wouldn’t have come back so early, but I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

  Sara blushed fiercely and grumbled under her breath as she took another bag out of the trunk and led the procession into the house. I trudged along behind her, trying not to think about what this day would have been like if we’d come back to an empty house, conscious of her mother trailing behind me. She seemed glad to see Sara in the company of someone her age, even if that person was a long-haired dude in a band tee shirt and cargo pants. I got the impression her mother had felt Sara’s self-imposed solitude as much as Sara had.

  Mrs. Matthews gestured to the stairway just inside the front door. “Travis, you can just leave that by the stairs, honey,” she said warmly. Sara shot me an incredulous look but I took in stride—after all, my mom tended to call me “pumpkin” and “sugar plum” with a frequency that had not diminished as I aged. “Would you two like me to make you some lunch?”

  Sara looked shocked at the offer so I smiled politely and said, “I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble, ma’am. I can make lunch for all of us.”

  Her dark brows shot up and she glowed with delight. “Why, a boy your age willing to cook for the ladies? I am impressed.”

  I ignored Sara’s embarrassed groan and continued to smile at her mother. “I love cooking,” I said, realizing that brownie points with both of them might be worth even more than just impressing Sara with my skill set. “Sara, would you be my sous chef?”

  Sara gave in to my charm and laughed. “Yes, chef,” she replied with a salute. “Mom, why don’t you get unpacked?”

  I pretended to be oblivious to the pointed look she gave her mother, but Mrs. Matthews just grinned and headed upstairs with her travel bags. “Sure, dear!” she called back.

  I followed Sara into the kitchen, chuckling at her audible sigh. The eat-in kitchen was spacious and bright, capturing the morning sunlight through a set of French doors leading to the back yard. From what I could see, the yard was like something out of a fairytale—climbing vines along the wooden fence, a weeping willow in on
e corner, a small row of ornamental trees at the back. My attention snapped back when Sara pulled off her sweatshirt and tossed it on a chair, revealing a pink tank top that highlighted her curves. My mouth went dry as she turned to me.

  “So, chef, what are we making?” she asked, lifting a copper brow.

  Rusty cars, rusty cars, rusty cars! I cleared my throat. “Ah, well, let’s see what you’ve got?” You can see what she’s got just fine, my inner self smirked, and I forced my eyes away from her figure, opening the refrigerator. I heard her snickering softly behind me and realized I was as transparent as I’d feared. She came up beside me and peered at the array of food in the fridge.

  “Did I mention we’re vegetarian?” she asked, grinning when I picked up a package of tofu.

  “Vegetarian, huh?” I replied. “Luckily for you, I’m a well-rounded chef.”

  Sara grinned and I tried to ignore the fact that the substantial difference in our heights gave me a perfect view of the fair skin exposed by her tank top. You are a gentleman, I reminded myself.

  “Very good then, well-rounded chef, what’ll it be?” she asked. Her eyes danced and a soft flush brightened her cheeks. For what felt like the hundredth time today, I fought the urge to kiss her then and there.

  My gaze must have lingered on her lips just a heartbeat too long and her blush deepened ever so slightly, even as her lips curved into a smile that set me aflame. “You’re killing me,” I whispered.

  She turned her head for a moment, listening. We could hear her mother’s footsteps overhead and she looked back at me with a mischievous grin. “The coast is clear,” she whispered back. Before I could quite process what was happening, her hand slipped behind my neck and she kissed me. A thousand thoughts collided inside my head at this tentative first kiss—the incredible softness of her lips, the strawberry lip gloss that teased my nostrils, the emboldened pull of her small hand when I slid my own around her waist and pressed her more firmly against me. Every nerve in my body came alive at her touch, like thunder and lightning and a thousand bells ringing all at once.