One Summer With Autumn Read online

  This feels worse than my missing the last touchdown pass at homecoming. Okay, maybe not, but still. My mother, and CEO of the company, bet I couldn’t handle training a single intern this summer, and it’s already a disaster. Pride tenses my shoulders, stiffens my neck. I glare at the closed double doors, tilting my head until my neck bones release a satisfying crack.

  Oh, it’s on.

  The girl is going down.

  Resentment builds as I push through the doors and into the hallway. What’s up her ass? Who talks to total strangers that way? She made a fool of me, and I was about to offer her a job for crying out loud.

  When she first faced me, I took in her too-tight dress, tacky earrings, and overdone make-up and actually felt sorry for her. Her eyes darted around the room like a treed bobcat looking for escape.

  Then she opened her mouth.

  Of course, all the things I should have said and didn’t fill my mind now that it’s too late. People don’t talk to me like I’m their dog. They don’t tell me what to do, either. Except your mother, a voice whispers, and your brothers … and your sister—

  Shut up voice.

  Farther down the hall, I hear someone sniffling. I follow the faint sound, taking in the familiar scent of floor wax, books, and pencil shavings. Around the corner, I see Pygmy-girl squatting next to a child no more than four years old. I stop, frozen at the sight. And with no idea why I’m going all Mission Impossible, I press my back to the wall behind a row of lockers and listen.

  “Hey, don’t cry,” Pygmy-girl soothes. “I’ll help you.” I peek around the corner. A steady stream of snot pours from the kid who’s practically hyperventilating. It’s disgusting. “I bet your mom is real close by.”

  I don’t speak crying kid, but Pygmy-girl has her arm around the child’s shoulders and nods as though she understands every whimpering word.

  A door hinge creaks as someone enters the dimly lit hall from the other direction. “Autumn, are you there?”

  I recognize Principal Teslow’s voice. The man contacted us months ago asking if our company would host a student for the summer.

  His footsteps get louder on the polished linoleum floors. “Autumn!”

  “Over here, Father.”

  Mr. Teslow comes into view with a tall blond trailing him. Thankfully, neither can see me where I’m hiding. I can’t exactly show myself now. How would I explain my reasons for spying on a girl and crying kid?

  Mr. Teslow stops short when he sees the child. “Who is that?”

  Pygmy shoots him a look that might shrivel a lesser man’s pod. I want to warn him, Dude, grab a lead shield and cover your boys!

  “Undetermined. She’s lost her family.”

  The blond rests her hands on her hips. She’s pretty, in a plastic kind of way. “Leave it to Autumn to find a stray at a job fair,” she says.

  Mr. Teslow pushes his glasses up his nose, watching the pair on the floor. “Sydney, please take the child and find her parents. I want to talk to your sister.”

  Whoa, sisters? If that’s true, I’ve never seen two people less alike.

  The little girl cries harder as Sydney takes over. Situating the child on her nonexistent hip, she complains, “Ugh, it’s drooling on me.”

  Autumn ignores her sister and gives the kid a real smile. “You’re okay, don’t worry.” She brushes the hair back from the child’s sweaty face. “This is my sister. She’s really nice.”

  I quiet my snort.

  “Go with her to find your mommy, okay?” And then they’re off, leaving father and daughter all alone. Well, I’m here, too, but whatever.

  The pair face each other. Stiff and immobile, I’m waiting for them to pull swords, or guns, or light sabers—something. If it’s a fight, my money’s on her.

  “What’s the matter with you? How could you speak to that gentleman with such disrespect?”

  Yeah! Tell her off, old man.

  “After all our careful planning, after everything I’ve sacrificed, you lost your scholarship in under two minutes. Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  His daughter tosses her hair back. “You don’t care, I suppose, that Sydney set me up. It’s not the first time she’s done something like this, and you never say a word.”

  “Don’t you dare blame this on your sister, she has her scholarship. As usual, you go off half-cocked without the facts. That gentleman was offering you legitimate employment, and after your incredibly embarrassing display, I don’t imagine any vendor will have you now. Who could blame them? If I can persuade someone, you will accept the next available job opportunity on the spot, even if it means scrubbing toilets for eight weeks.”

  “Father, I can explain if you’d—”

  “No!” He pauses, squaring his shoulders. “No more excuses. You’re as willful and thoughtless, and selfish, as your mother was. I’m so disgusted, I hardly know what to say anymore.”

  His daughter’s chest strains against the neckline of her black dress with her deep breath. Her eyes shine, but she says nothing.

  “At seventeen, you don’t understand how the world works, but I do. If you throw away enough opportunities, the day will come when you have none left. Eventually, you will see that I’m right. Until then, keep your mouth shut, and do as you’re told.” Without waiting for an answer, he stalks off leaving his daughter in the hallway.

  Silent, her eyes glitter in the poor lighting. Granted, my family is competitive, but nothing like this. Her clan is ripe for a shot on Animal Kingdom, spotlight on “species that eat their young.”

  Autumn leans against the line of metal lockers with an unguarded expression of misery on her face. I don’t know if I feel pity exactly, but I freely admit the girl’s been dealt a crap hand.

  You’re crazy, a small voice whispers. Don’t do it. You don’t need any more drama. But as I stand there watching the unhappy girl in the hall, I already know what I’m going to do.

  Without a sound, I backtrack, making my way out the rear doors that lead into the gymnasium. The crowd is thinning. Some of the vendors, who’ve apparently signed their summer interns, are talking or breaking down displays.

  Mr. Teslow stands near the center of the room, speaking with several people. I’m amazed at how composed he seems after the heated confrontation I’d just witnessed. Pausing until he finishes his conversation, I straighten my back and jump in before I change my mind. “Excuse me, Mr. Teslow? I think we’re good to go here.”

  “Oh, Mr. Behr.” He glances down, clearing his throat. “How may I apologize for my daughter’s behavior? She’s a bit volatile at times.” He meets my gaze. “Regrettably, all of the other interns are assigned. I can offer a replacement, though it will take time to arrange.”

  “You misunderstand me. A delay may invalidate our time requirements, so I don’t want to risk another candidate. I want her.”

  The slow blink of his crystalline eyes reminds me of an owl. “Can that be right? You’re still willing to hire Autumn for the summer?”

  While I’m not a fan of this guy, or the prospect of working with his psycho banshee daughter, I smile the smile I use for business—and parents. “Mr. Teslow, I believe I can work the situation out to both our benefits. If that is acceptable to you?” My words are imbued with a confidence I don’t feel, but I have no choice.

  My brother Quinn refers to my time in high school as the “FUBAR years”, and I really can’t argue. Swapping places with him at the job fair today marks the beginning of a test. To show I can handle more responsibility, I bet my mother that I could train a competent, model employee by summer’s end. If I do that, she backs off and I make my own decisions about school. Failure means I take business classes at Clemson.

  Admittedly, I’ve made a bad start.

  Teslow’s face reddens, and I think he’s going to refuse, but he only says, “I will accept the offer on behalf of my daughter, Mr. Behr. I have a few suggestions, if I may be so bold. We’ll arrange those details later, but congratulations, yo
u have an intern.”

  I question my sanity again remembering Autumn’s stormy eyes and the razor sharp edge of her tone as she tore me a new one not a half hour ago. If I’d been on time, I might have had first pick of potential employees, but I overslept, missed my flight, and then the traffic …

  The Hellcat and I don’t have to like each other, we just need to get through the next eight weeks without maiming each other, or worse.

  I shake the man’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Teslow. I’m sure everything will work out fine.”

  “Yes,” he says. His grip is as hard as his smile. “I’m sure it will.”

  3

  Autumn

  There’s something deeply satisfying to my soul about a good storm. Wind howls around the clapboard siding of our old Victorian home, while rain pelts the metal roof with a vengeance. Thunder punctuates the ferocity of the deluge outside, making me feel less alone. I pretend the sky is on my side. As long as the gale rages, my anger is justified because nature agrees with me—sometimes you just need to scream.

  I push in my earbuds, hit the start key on my phone, and the sound of music drowns out the rain. I roll over and stare at the mural on my ceiling. It’s a copy of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. In fact, my entire room is a collage of his artwork. From Over the Rhone, to Almond Branches, to Wheatfield with Crows, one picture melds into another. I’ve reproduced them all in deep blues, and greens, and yellows to keep me company. There’s something about the combination of Vincent’s genius and madness that intrigues me. Beautiful and desperate, his work calls to me the way no other painter’s does. And yeah, I call him by his first name.

  There’s a map on my wall near the window. My mother hung it there when I was little. Over time, the paper creased and faded, but the thumbtacks are still bright. Ten in all, they trail across the country, marking the cities she wanted us to visit together someday when I got old enough. Someday never came.

  My chest tightens, and I roll away just in time to dodge the white, silk nightgown Sydney throws at my head. I see her lips moving and roll my eyes. “Hang on.” I pull the buds from my ears. My elbows support my weight as I rise. “What is your bidding, Maleficent?”

  “Very funny. Are you done hating me yet?”

  “See me in a year.”

  Syd must be desperate to stick her head in here—the place she fondly refers to as The Bermuda Triangle of bedrooms. First, because I’m messy, and second because the floor plan is an actual triangle. Built in eighteen-ninety-two, our house is full of architectural oddities. I love that my room used to be some funky conservatory before my mother remodeled it. Thankfully, she left the mosaic floor tile and old wall fountain alone. The fountain doesn’t work, but I can see the fish once spurted water from between his fat, fishy lips. I painted him Kauai blue.

  Sydney’s eyebrows scrunch. “I admit I may have gotten carried away at the job fair earlier.”

  “May have?”

  “All right, I did. But seriously, how could I know a company rep—that coincidentally looked a lot like a zookeeper—would walk up at the exact moment I was teasing you about one.” She waves a hand. “I swear it wasn’t a set up.”

  “Okay.” I fall back on the bed and watch the skylight in my ceiling.

  “Are you still mad?”

  I cough a laugh. “You were horrendous, Syd. So, yeah. I don’t think I’ll talk to you today.”

  “Technically you’re talking to me right now,” she says. “And you have to forgive me; we’re related. It’s in the by-laws.” When I don’t answer she goes on. “We’ll be apart eight whole weeks.”

  “Something you should have thought about before picking a fight with me in public.”

  “True.” Sydney drops her chin. “Though you yelled at Random Guy all on your own.”

  I sit up so she gets the full effect of my glare.

  “Fine, I’m horrendous and you get to be right. Now come and keep your big sister company while she packs.” Sydney has days until she leaves for New York. Ever the compulsive personality, she’s way too anal to postpone an elaborate packing schedule.

  “You’re older by four minutes.”

  “Pfft, details.” She smiles. “First is first.”

  “And people think I’m the mean one.”

  “Kidding. Sit with me?”

  I know my sister well enough to list the issues troubling her: she can’t stand the thought of anyone staying angry with her, she doesn’t like to be alone, and she honestly feels guilty for treating me like crap today. Though she’ll do it again, and somehow, I’ll let her.

  “All right. Anything to stop the whining.”

  “Yay! I’ve never flown First Class before … ” Following the sound of her excited chatter, I wade through the dirty laundry on my floor, turn the corner and enter her rambling, ice-pink room. The closet door is flung open revealing a row of clothes organized by color. Not even a paperclip is out of place. “They’re sending a limo to take me to the airport. What should I wear?” A pale blue shirt flies though the air. “I have to look the part. Confident, professional. What’s the right wardrobe for New York?”

  I shrug, watching the rainbow of pastel separates build in her designer suitcase. She wants my company, not fashion advice. “It is a dilemma,” I say. “Almost like solving world hunger.”

  Sydney bites her lip as she inspects a stain on her white cardigan. “I know, right?” She’s not even listening. More clothes fly from the closet, followed by bras and underwear from bureau drawers. “Hey, you know I get defensive for Daddy sometimes, but while I’m gone, could you try to be a little nicer to him?”

  When we were little, Dad and Sydney made up one team, and Mom and me made another. Snuggle buddies on the couch for movie night, storybook pals, bedtime talks. When Mom left, I lost my partner, and the Feng Shui of my life went with her.

  “Nice won’t fix what’s wrong with me and Dad.” I lounge on Sydney’s bed, stabbing her toy bunny in the nose with my orange fingernail.

  Sydney walks around the end of the bed. “Stop poking Mr. Bunnykins.” She grabs for her rabbit, but I jerk him away and she misses. “Serial killers start by torturing stuffed animals. You know that, right?” The springs groan as she crawls onto the bed, stretching her five-foot-ten self out next to me. Her arms wrap my shoulders and she buries her face in my neck. She smells like the tea-tree shampoo that’s supposed to control her dandruff. A secret she’d kill to keep. “What are you going to do here all summer without me?”

  I lay the back of my hand on my forehead. “I’ll try to carry on, somehow.” She shoves my arm. “Well, what do you think, Syd? I have no idea.” I consider my lost internship, and my throat dries. “I’ll stay busy. Get a job and avoid the old man as much as possible. I’ll figure it out.”

  “You know you’re my favorite sister.” Sydney shifts to her side and starts playing with my hair, the same way she’s done since we were little.

  I smile. “Only sister.”

  “Then you’re my favorite … psycho.”

  “Aw, thanks.” My smile widens to a grin. “And, you’re my favorite snob. No one does bitchy quite like you, hon.”

  Her shoulders shake.

  Before I know it, we’re both cracking up. It’s probably stress, but everything and nothing is so damn funny right now. My sister snorts with laughter. I fake a gasp and point. “Oooh, disgusting mucus-filled noises, and from the prom queen, no less? What would James from student council say if he knew?” She grabs her stomach, but I don’t stop. “Better yet, what do you think Banks and Cooper will do when they find out you’re a closet snorter?”

  “Shut up, scag!” When Sydney snorts again we laugh harder.

  “Sure thing, Babe.”

  She smacks my arm and sits up, trying to catch her breath. “I love-hate you so much, Autumn. God help me, you’re just so ridiculous.”

  “What’s going on?” Father skulks in the doorway, expression grim. I swear he’s like the fun troll—sucking the life
out of anything humorous within a fifty-mile radius. “I need to talk with Autumn.”

  Again? I place a pillow over my stomach, as if feathers can protect me against the verbal darts my father’s “talks” involve.

  Dad gives me the once over. “Heaven knows why, but the man you insulted this morning has offered you a place with Behr Mountain Sporting Goods.”

  “Oh yay!” Sydney squees, but her smile withers under my father’s scowl.

  He pulls a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. “As the only candidate left, I suppose he had no choice, but the eight weeks of employment fulfills the requirements of your college scholarship.” He hands me the paper. “This is a copy of an email I received a few minutes ago. I suggest you follow your sister’s example and get packed. You leave first thing Wednesday morning.”

  My fingers tighten on the paper in my hands. It’s a list asking that my height, weight, measurements, clothing, bra, and shoe sizes be emailed to an address scrawled on the bottom. What the hell kind of company is this?

  I remember passing the empty booth this morning. Their reps must have come in late. “What will I be doing?”

  “Who cares what you will be doing?” my father roars. “If you intend to honor our agreement, you’ll do whatever they ask you to do. Without question.” He rubs his hand across the back of his neck, glances at the ceiling, and takes a deep breath. “Your life coach and academic advisors went to a lot of trouble to create a step-by-step plan. Mapped out every detail for a successful future. College is next. I’ve made sacrifices, but I’m not made of money. You will take the job, Autumn. I talked with Mr. Behr this afternoon. We’ve outlined the parameters of your position there, and I quite approve.”

  My spine stiffens. “What does that mean exactly?” Because whatever my father is hinting at doesn’t sound promising. His tone implies he’s enjoying the prospect far too much.

  I don’t hate the idea of college so much as he’s never once asked me what I want. Not that I know, exactly. I wanted some time off to figure it out. When I suggested skipping a semester to travel first, he went apoplectic. The stack of college applications he’d had me working on were mailed the following week.