One Summer With Autumn Read online

  When she opens her book, she positions the pages at an odd angle, I assume, to keep me from spying.

  What is this, fourth grade?

  Write away, Autumn. I have plenty to keep me busy. Plenty. Easing my cell from my back pocket, I scroll through my email and social media pages. Nothing much going on, which isn’t surprising since I rarely Snapchat, or tweet, or Insta-whatever the hell you call it, but I tap keys all the same. Appearance is nine-tenths of the game.

  While I sit there, I try not to notice that she smells like rain, or stare at her orangey-red fingernails, or the baggy socks sticking out of what I’m guessing are size six boots. There’s no reason to count the woven bracelets on her arms. Yet, somehow, I know there are ten on her right wrist and eight on her left, but I am not counting.

  An hour later, my feet get hot and itchy. I’m shifting every five seconds, my ass is numb, and I have to piss.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” The bus driver’s voice blasts over an intercom system. “We will stop in about ten minutes for an hour lunch in lovely Anderson, South Carolina. From there, it’s another hour and a half to Spartanburg.”

  “We have another thirty-minute drive after that,” I inform Autumn.

  She nods, repositioning herself in her seat. There’s a pencil stuck between her teeth, and another behind her ear. Her fingertips are dusky with charcoal, and there’s a smudge on her left cheek.

  I fight the urge to tell her about the smudge, but she’s made it clear she wants her space.

  We disembark at a barbeque joint called Lil’ Piggy, “Best butts in town.” It’s basically a gas station and convenience store with a takeout window, but they have great food, and I’m starving. First though, I need the bathroom, then food, and lots of it. Autumn wanders toward a section of picnic tables and picks a spot under an oak tree next to the elderly couple I saw on the bus. She’s rifling through her pack as the old lady chats her up. Seems safe enough, though I follow to make sure. “Are you okay here for a minute, Autumn?”

  “Peachy,” she answers, deadpan.

  Why I’m bothering with the welfare of cranky pygmies, I can’t guess.

  I’m in and out of the john in five. Scanning the crowd, I see Autumn’s still seated where I left her, so I stand in line for pulled pork, coleslaw, fries, and an extra-large Coke. Maybe I’ll come back and grab a brownie for dessert.

  The group at Autumn’s table glances up as I near. In front of her is a Ziploc bag of nuts, carrot sticks, crackers, and peanut butter. Beside that sits a forty-two-ounce bottle of water. “Where’d you get that?” I ask, sliding onto the bench across from her.

  “Packed my lunch,” she explains. “I eat weird, so it’s easier.”

  My head angles until it cracks. “Define weird,” I say, before biting into my sandwich.

  “She’s vegan.” This from the white-haired lady next to her. “Autumn’s been telling us all about her diet.”

  I swallow my too large bite. “Is that so … and you are?”

  “Mabel Gossner, of course. Of the Charleston Gossner’s.”

  Of course. “Very nice to meet you, Mabel. I’m Silas.” I return my gaze to Autumn. “Okay, so what the hell’s a vegan?”

  Mabel frowns. “Language, mister.”

  “Apologies,” I say, but my focus remains the same. The breeze sends her hair fluttering across her shoulders. “Vegan? I ask again.

  She eyes the blob of pork dangling from my bun and wrinkles her nose. “No sorry, I wasn’t finished explaining the difference to Mabel. I’m actually a vegetarian and eat plant-based meals. I’m not super strict. And unlike vegans, I eat eggs and dairy, but neither of us eats meat and stuff.”

  “Stuff being … ”

  “Bambi. Cows, pigs, sheep … the red stuff. Stuff with a heartbeat.”

  Oh, this is too good. My summer intern, the one who’s going to learn to live off the land, is a lettuce lover? Go figure. She watches me. An amused expression spreads as I poke more fries in my mouth. “Whaah?”

  “Nothing,” she says, holding out her napkin. “It’s just … You have ketchup all over your face.”

  Mabel nods and says, “Word.”

  My respect for Mabel grows. My fingers brush Autumn’s skin as I take the offered napkin. “Better?” I ask, wiping everywhere there might be sauce.

  Her mask cracks with a barely-there smile. “Not really. I can still see your face.”

  “Ah, humor, very funny. Since I’m ketchup free, thanks to you, I’ll return the favor. You have black streaks on your cheek.”

  “What? I don’t have—”

  “I’m afraid it’s true,” Mable says. “I was going to mention it. That, and you often speak with half-chewed food still rolling around in your mouth, but I didn’t want you to feel silly.”

  I can’t help the grin splitting my face.

  Autumn pulls a mirror from her pack and peers at her reflection before catching my gaze over the rim. “You could have said something.” She snaps her mirror closed and rises. “Excuse me, Mabel. I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

  Mable nods. “Good idea, dear. Looks like it might take some soap to get that off.”

  As Autumn stomps off, I stand, lifting my tray. “You’re pretty cool, Mabel.”

  She winks. “You have no idea, young man.”

  After dumping my trash, I wait for my angry pygmy. She’s been gone a while, presumably sulking. Most of the other riders have returned to the bus. An eerie feeling spreads through my chest as I scan the last few travelers without recognizing the one I need. I underestimated a situation once, got distracted and careless. I’m not doing it again. With another glance at my watch, I head for the restrooms. I’m just doing my job, right? Worst case scenario, she’ll yell at me for hovering, but at least I’ll know she’s okay.

  The entrance to the ladies’ room is located on the far side of the restaurant. My pace increases with each step, so by the time I reach the door marked Gals, I don’t even pause. “Sorry, hello? Autumn?” There’s no one inside. “Damn it!”

  Out the door, around the far corner of the building, my head pivots left and right, eyes frantically searching. A single door stands ajar. Fear and adrenaline mix, creating a fire in my veins as I grab the handle. “Autumn, you in here?” I want to be wrong. I want to be that overprotective, testosterone-filled idiot that worries for nothing, but I’m not.

  Light floods the small space as I open the door. The room is bursting with tubs and crates and cleaning supplies. Autumn’s in the corner, trapped between some guy and a wall of boxes. I immediately recognize him from the bus by his cap.

  His head comes up, squinting into the sun behind me. Autumn immediately takes the opportunity to punch him in the ear. “Get off of me!”

  Everything in my brain turns white.

  I lunge, fingers closing on a wad of T-shirt. My other hand curls, then my fist flies. His hat falls off. Stomach, kidneys, chin, I strike where he’s most vulnerable, just like my old man taught me. Fabric tears as he spins out of my grasp and makes for the door.

  “Crazy, som’ bitch.” he yells. “I wasn’t doing nothing!”

  I lunge and hit him again, connecting with his cheek. My knuckles will hurt later. Right now, I feel nothing.

  His palms go up as he stumbles backward. He’s breathing hard and sweating. “We were just talking.”

  “Yeah, I saw you just talking.” I rush him, but the sick bastard’s faster. He’s already around the corner when I hear my name, soft but clear. The voice stops me cold.

  Autumn appears in the doorway. Her hat is missing, hair messed up. “Don’t.”

  Her voice is unsure, but she isn’t hanging her head. She stands straight as a tree. Wouldn’t most girls be hysterical, crying—something? Not her. My heart still hammers in my chest. Don’t what? Do I go after the guy, or stay with her?

  Autumn sweeps the hair from her face. “He needed money. He was after my wallet. That’s all he wanted.”


  From what I saw, money was the last thing on his mind, but maybe it’s important for her to believe otherwise right now. I don’t answer since she seems to talk to herself anyway. I’d like to tell her that it’s okay to be scared, or angry, or to cry, but don’t want to seem presumptuous.

  Her expression is haunted. She’s pale, hollow eyes staring at nothing. The impulse to wrap her in my arms is so strong, that I glance down and shove both hands deep into my pockets. She was just attacked, and I’m a stranger. The last thing she needs is me touching her.

  “How did you know?” Her flat voice knifes something in my gut.

  I raise my head. “When you didn’t come back, I decided to check. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, now.” Her laugh is more of a sob. “Thanks to you. Thank you for … ” Her gaze rises. She eases forward, and for a minute, I think she might hug me.

  “Don’t thank me.” I step back, feeling nervous and confused. My hands still shake from rage, and relief, and the beating I wanted to give and didn’t get to finish. I can’t handle this. Not the tension, or the gratitude on her face. And not the memories of another day like this one with a different ending. But none of that is her fault, so I soften my tone. “It’s my job to keep you safe. I’m just glad I found you.”

  Autumn’s cool mask slips back into place. “Your job. Right, of course”

  Shit.

  “Just … ” She half turns and waves behind her. “Let me grab my bag.”

  While she disappears into the storage room, I curse my big-ass mouth. I didn’t mean to imply that what happened to her wasn’t a big deal. It was. Is. She only wanted to thank me, and it took some stones for her to hit that guy and fight back. I was upset, and my words came out wrong. She’s not just a job. She’s a person, too. Sort of. When she’s not being a … No, keep it clean, Behr. I’m glad I could help her. Of course I am. Only …

  Aw, hell.

  6

  Autumn

  My phone pings again, and I swipe the screen.

  Sydney: R u in Pig Pens yet? I’m here. Welcomed me with a banner and designer cupcakes!

  Autumn: Cowpens and not yet. Did you actually eat a cupcake?

  Sydney: Srsly? So, my boss has an office dog. Black poodle w pink nails. Toots adorbs.

  Autumn: Not a fan of dogs, but fascinating info, Syd.

  Sydney: Right? And my supervisor, Nate, is hot! NY boys r cute. I want one.

  Okay, now I’m getting ill.

  Autumn: Good 4 u, Snortie. Try not to come home pregnant.

  Sydney: Ha. Don’t ax-murder ur coworkers, Psycho. G2G. Text l8r, k?

  I shut my phone off, wondering if I should have told her about the man who shoved me into a storage room and licked my face.

  I thread my fingers to minimize the trembling. All I really want is to put the incident behind me. The douche-nozzle never said a word about taking my money. I don’t know why I lied.

  Maybe Silas was embarrassed, but he’d acted so strangely when I tried to thank him. Maybe he sensed how close I’d come to vaulting into his arms. Relieved, and freaked out, and grateful all at once, emotion took me over. Then Silas dug his hands into his pockets to avoid touching me, and I felt lower than fungus.

  Of course, he wanted to tell the bus driver, call the police, inform my dad. Why shouldn’t he? And I thought about it, but not for long. Telling meant my dad would have to drive hours to meet me at a police station, sit for hours more while I scanned mug shots of sexual predators and filed reports. And then what? If they catch him, I’d have to come back here with Silas and testify at a trial.

  What if Dad thought it was my fault, or that I’d egged the guy on in some way? I haven’t been on the job five hours and I’m already a problem.

  I don’t beg, but I was literally pleading with Silas to let it go. I could tell he didn’t like that one bit, because while I talked, he kept clenching his jaw and rubbing the back of his neck.

  But the man never came back to the bus, nor was he found when Silas went looking for him. It was scary, but it’s over. I’m fine, now. Really.

  In the end, Silas agreed to ask our driver for a few extra minutes because I’d been “sick” in the bathroom.

  “Folks, we’ll be arriving at our destination in approximately ten minutes,” our driver announces. “Please gather your belongings, and double check to make sure you leave nothing behind. As always, we want to thank you for choosing Greyhound for your traveling needs.”

  We disembark. Muscles stiff and cramped with miles of sitting, I’m overjoyed to walk the long distance to the terminal. Mabel waves goodbye from across the tarmac. I lift my chin and think of Mrs. Phelps and spunky old ladies.

  Once inside, I tell Silas that I need to visit the ladies room before we get our luggage. My legs are jittery at the thought of going alone, but I can hardly ask him to keep me company. Turns out, I needn’t have worried. There’s a crap-ton of women in here, but I’ve never been happier to wait in line to pee. I do what I came to do, wash my hands, and exit. Silas’s tall frame haunts the doorway as a few of us spill from restroom hall to lobby. A mid-fortyish brunette with a Chihuahua in her bag harrumphs as Silas knocks her arm getting to me. I let out a shaky breath, wanting to shove her out of the way myself.

  “You look pale. Are you all right?”

  Not even a little bit. “Yep, all good.” I don’t think he hears because he’s examining my face like a math problem. I thought his eyes were brown, but in this light, I see my mistake. They’re dark blue, almost navy. I’m feeling incredibly awkward under his scrutiny, so I deflect. “Better get our stuff.”

  “Oh, uh, yeah. Over here.”

  I traipse behind him, first to get our luggage, and then to the parking lot. We stop behind a black Jeep. It’s nice. Looks newish. I wonder if it belongs to him, or Grizzly. When we throw our stuff in the back, my bulging luggage dwarfs his insignificant duffle. I’m glad Sydney’s not here to gloat. Seems I’m the girl who over packs after all.

  Down the two-lane highway, we drive in silence. The air is warm. A heavy tar smell permeates the breeze from the newly covered blacktop. Once outside the city, there’s nothing but farms and the occasional house. Miles pass, distancing me from what happened with Ball Cap Guy. And while I pretend to stay busy with the bracelets on my wrists, I think Silas does the same thing with his driving. More awkward by the mile, I can’t wait to get where we’re going, so I can put some space between him and me and the growing weirdness.

  When Dad said I got the internship with Behr Mountain, he didn’t elaborate on the company. From I what read online, they have forty-eight elite sporting goods stores in the southeast, with a sister company called Tranquil something or other. Climbing, hunting, camping, biking—anything having to do with the outdoors, Behr Mountain supplies the gear.

  I figured I’d be stuck in an office, staring at EXCEL spreadsheets all summer, but as I gaze at field after lonely field, I’m not so sure. All I see are the butts of cows. Black, white, brown, I totally get why they call this town Cowpens. I study my painted nails. I may be a runner with no fashion sense, but no one’s going to label me the outdoorsy type, either.

  The further we go into the countryside, the thicker the tree line. We haven’t passed another car in ten minutes. Green pastures inspire ideas for painting. The rolling hills could be emerald waves on the ocean, with the towering trunks of pine trees serving as ship masts. Dilapidated barns dot the landscape, succumbing to decay and gravity. I imagine the old farmhouses standing as weathered testimonies to pioneer families. Those that left their blood and sweat to stain the ground as they wrought their living from the land.

  I’m going to paint it all and I think Van Gogh would approve. Wouldn’t you, Vinnie?

  After a while, I break our silence. “Silas?”

  My gaze follows a pronounced cheekbone to the glasses on his nose. I can’t see his eyes through his Oakley’s, but his jaw sets. I’m not deterred. I can do evasive in my sleep. “Can you
give me any details about where we’re headed, or what I’ll be doing this summer?”

  “Didn’t anybody tell you?”

  I shake my head.

  His hands hold the steering wheel in a relaxed manor, but he shifts in his seat. The car slows, as he signals, right. “We’re here. Let’s unload, and I’ll explain everything, okay? You’re going to love it here, Autumn.” His mouth curves. I don’t know how such a little smile can look so mischievous, but it does.

  Gravel crunches under our wheels as we navigate the long driveway. Sandwiched between a cut in the thick woods, our path is so narrow, I reach out and touch the leaves as we pass. It’s cooler under the canopy of branches, and makes a great running trail. Birds sing, their voices echoing a melodious welcome.

  I don’t even pretend I’m too cool to appreciate the view. “Who owns all of this property?”

  “There are lots of farmers, and some old family homesteads. Behr Mountain Sporting Goods Incorporated bought two thousand acres of forest here. The company wanted to preserve part of the land because developers are buying acreage for retail and subdivisions.”

  The idea of houses sitting here instead of all these trees is obscene. The animals pushed out for roads, runoff, strip malls, trash. “I’m glad. I mean, people have to live somewhere, I guess, but I’m glad these woods are safe.”

  Silas’s eyebrows rise above his sunglasses. “People at Behr Mountain aren’t against growth, Autumn. They are a retail company. But the CEO was born and raised here, and she believes in planning, responsible development, and conservation. You’ll learn all about their mission statement this summer.”

  She? How cool is that?

  We creep though the woods until the drive widens, spilling into an open meadow with more trees and a large lake a few acres away. In one corner of the field is a log cabin. I say cabin, but chalet is more appropriate. The home is humongous. White chinking spreads like thick frosting between huge logs to make up the bulk of the two-story structure. A wide porch appears to wrap the entire house, studded with rocking chairs. Two other vehicles are parked in the gravel out front.