#1.5 Finding Autumn (5 page)

I didn’t respond, instead giving a half-hearted shrug. I was relieved Kaylee hadn’t been pissed in the morning. I’d have to file it away in the back of my head that my body could at least function even when my brain couldn’t.

“She’s been over a lot,” he said with no inflection.

Darien wasn’t one to beat around the bush and I waited for him to get to his point. He was a safety for Cook University and we’d been friends since our freshman year. When I needed a roommate to help pay for my two-bedroom apartment, I’d been thankful when he decided to move in. He knew the most about my past and never treated me differently after finding out about my stepfather. Several times, I’d almost told him about Autumn’s connection to the case, but never followed through. Instead, I made him promise not to say anything about my stepdad’s imprisonment. Darien was trustworthy, and I never really worried about him gossiping.

“I only find it weird since you seem to be
obsessed
with Autumn,” he said.

My head snapped up. “What? I told you before I don’t even really like her. She’s just in one of my classes.”

Spooning a pile of eggs on a paper plate, he responded, “I know what you said, but I also saw the way you were with her when she came over to play video games the other night. Why do you think I kept hitting on her? I could tell how pissed you were getting.” Darien’s laughter made me tempted to smack him. He continued. “What’s your problem? It’s obvious she likes you. She came here after a bad date, probably looking to you to fix things for her.”

The urge to vomit returned. I couldn’t do anything for Autumn. The only thing I could give her was more misery. It had been careless to invite her over into my space. However, she had looked dejected when I ran into her at the campus store. I’d been feeling guilty over the way I’d pressured her to talk about high school, and at the time it felt like an opportunity to make amends.

Autumn had gone to the store to load up on junk food after a disastrous date with a hipster wannabe named Josh. According to Autumn, her date with him had been awkward, but maybe she hadn’t given him a fair shot because of developing feelings she had for me. Josh had been a tool bag to me when we met, but he seemed like he would treat Autumn the way she deserved. Maybe I could slap on a pair of wings and be their fucking cupid by convincing her to give Josh another chance.

“I’m not going to mess around with Autumn,” I said, after a moment of excruciating silence. Darien was looking at me expectantly, probably wondering over my hesitation. I’d never had qualms about sleeping around before. “I’m not attracted to her.”

Darien burst out laughing and smacked his hand against the stone counter several times. It took at least thirty seconds for his laughter to fade away. “You’re a liar.”

“I can have a friend that’s a girl and not want to bang her—”

Darien interrupted. “I’m lost over what your problem could be with Autumn. You’ve been a disaster since meeting her, and if you don’t want to be with her—stay away. Because she seems like a good person and she’ll be hurt if you screw her over.”

Darien was done with the conversation and took his breakfast into the small dining area connected to the kitchen. He took a seat at the oval table with his back facing me. I didn’t take offense at his harsh words. I respected Darien, and his advice had kept me out of trouble more than once.

Darien was right. What I could have had with Autumn was doomed before it even got started. The decent thing would be to avoid her. I could drop the art history class and make up the credits next year. Cook was an expansive campus, and I could likely dodge her for the rest of the year.

But there was a war raging inside me, and my logical side was losing. Because staying away from Autumn was getting harder and harder each day. My initial mission to discover her secrets was starting to seem irrelevant. The longer I kept up the charade—the worse the fallout would be when the truth was revealed.

Chapter Six

My stomach growled as I entered the Italian restaurant. My mom, sounding surprisingly cheerful, had called earlier in the day and asked me to meet her and Delia for dinner. My mom had settled on a restaurant that split the driving difference between Fairfort and Clark.

As I approached the table, I sensed the exuberant atmosphere. My mother and Delia were often at odds with each other, but I could hear their laughter from across the room. My mother’s face was glowing, and a satisfied grin changed her normally dour expression completely. I couldn’t help but smile when I noticed how her cheeks creased when she laughed—I hadn’t seen her smile lines in two years.

At my approach, Delia jumped out of her chair and clapped her hands together. Each year, she was becoming more beautiful. She had grown her hair to her waist in middle school, but had cut it to a more manageable length at her mid-back a few months ago. Although it was intended as a casual family dinner, she wore a short black skirt with high heels and a form fitting red sweater. I cringed as I imagined the horny teen boys in her class looking at her with their minds in the gutter. If it were up to me, I’d have her attending an all-girls school.

“You’re late! Where have you been?” Delia demanded without any sting in her words. Belatedly, I realized my family must have some good news to share. Dinners were generally a depressing affair chock full of unsaid resentments.

“Hi, honey, you look handsome tonight,” my mom said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. I looked down at my gray sweater and jeans before returning my stare to her. Her greeting was another affirmation that something was off since my mother never freely paid compliments. She was into psychological mind games—always telling me I could play football better if I only put in more effort, in the hopes I’d rise to her challenge.

I kissed them both on the cheek before flopping into the empty chair at the table. The restaurant was nice—tea lights on the tabletops, a live violinist playing in the corner, and fresh floral arrangements at the hostess stand—a surprise since we lived on a tight budget. My mother worked as a secretary and also relied on the money I gave her from the trust my grandparents had set up for me to survive. My mom hated my father’s parents and wouldn’t let them see me growing up. She said they considered her trash and never thought she was good enough for their precious son. The irony wasn’t lost that she had no qualms taking their money. After paying for my tuition and my apartment with the trust fund, there was little money left to survive on. Luckily, I worked construction jobs over the summer for a friend’s father, and it gave me enough cash to make it during the school year.

“So, what’s the occasion?” I asked as I opened the menu. My eyes popped at the exorbitant prices printed next to each entrée. Since I didn’t want to kill the mood, I pushed away my disquiet. “Did Del finally pass her driver’s exam or something?”

Delia slugged my arm. I gave her a mock hurt look and rubbed my bicep. She glared at me and said, “I told you before the instructor was sexist and it was the reason I didn’t pass.”

“I’m sure that’s it. But just remember, I tried to teach you to drive, and my tires have never been the same after all the curbs you plowed into,” I teased.

Delia sneered in my direction, but she gave a bright smile to the young waiter who approached our table. After we ordered, I turned to face my mom. I gave her a questioning look and she shot me another rare smile.

“We have some news about your father.”

Every muscle inside me clenched, and I could feel the flush warming my cheeks. My mom didn’t have to clarify which father she was talking about. My biological father, Jeff Preston, had ceased to exist in her world from the day he died. I didn’t remember the aftermath of his fatal car crash, but I imagined her disillusionment to be some sort of coping mechanism. Maybe if my mother pretended he was never real, her grief would lessen. To her, finding Thomas when she had was a gift from the gods. Thomas was kind with a well-paying job, and, most importantly, he was alive. He fit her requirements as the ideal candidate to take on the walk-on role as my father.

Gripping the edge of the table, I waited for my mom to continue. Briefly, I wondered if my juggling act had finally come to an end. Did my family somehow find out about my friendship with Autumn? How could I make them understand when I couldn’t explain it to myself?

“Dad is being released!” my mother whooped.

“What?” My voice was strangled and it caused the smile to slip slightly off my mom’s face.

I turned to Delia and she was beaming at our mother. Was my family delusional? Why was I the only one appalled by the news? Maybe I had my own coping mechanism I’d been relying on—because I belatedly realized, with Thomas in jail, I’d been fooling myself into believing he no longer existed.  

“How?” I asked, swallowing. “His sentence—”

My mother cut me off. “Yes, it was supposed to be five years, but he’s eligible for parole. It seemed unlikely he’d be granted it, but they must’ve realized what a mistake it was to keep an innocent man locked up away from his family. He’ll be home in May.”

An innocent man
—words that coiled around my throat and cut off my breathing. I rose to my feet, knocking my knees into the bottom of the table and causing the glasses to tumble over. Diners turned their heads toward the spectacle with no idea what they were witnessing. I was falling apart. I was the glue in my family, trying to hold us together, as we faced tragedy after tragedy. And I couldn’t do it for a second longer.

“I have to go,” I managed before turning toward the exit.

My mother’s voice was furious as she called out to me while Delia’s pleas sounded heartbroken. I had come in like a missile and obliterated their happiness instantly. But I couldn’t feel bad about it—I was still reeling from knowing Thomas Bridges would be a free man again.

***

On my way out of the restaurant, I had texted Darien to find out what his plans were for the night. He let me know about a party a block away from our apartment building, and I made plans to meet him there. I couldn’t go back to the apartment alone. Because then I’d be forced to think, and that was something I wanted to avoid. I couldn’t think about Thomas free because it would make me consider what the news would do to Autumn.

Why? Why did I purposely put myself in an impossible situation?
Not only had I lied to Autumn, but I led her on. Despite talking about the problem with Darien, I never kept my resolution to stay away from her. If anything, I’d grown more attached. I cringed as I thought about how I’d come to her room after a party a week ago and asked to spend the night. I was glad she had the good sense to make me sleep on the floor.

The next morning, I’d invited her to the art museum to work on our class project. She fell in love with a painting displayed, and I couldn’t resist getting her a print of the work from the museum’s gift shop. It was one of the first true gestures of friendship I made to her without an ulterior motive. She had such a hopeful expression on her face with her cheeks rounded and a lingering smile in place as she stared at the flowers in the painting, and I wanted her to keep that hope alive long after we left the gallery.

Since the museum, I’d caught her watching me. Most times, Autumn had a practiced mask of indifference set upon her beautiful face. But her level of comfort had been slowly building when she was around me, and it had opened her up. I was beginning to see the start of her feelings for me clearly in her expressions. And the terrible truth was, I hadn’t made an effort to vanquish those feelings—for either of us.

I met Darien at his friend Don’s house. The party wasn’t huge, and my aim was to find a quiet corner to get lit and hope no one would notice. Don had cooked up his own moonshine and after a few wincing drinks I anticipated my worries would be gone. I was hoping to forget my name by the end of the night—much less think about Thomas and Autumn.

Darien detected my sulking immediately and hounded me for most of the party. Whenever I tried to drift away, he found me and tried to distract me from my moodiness. Before long, my senses blurred, and I was able to pretend everything
was
fine. I didn’t have to live this way—miserable and letting the past control my life. I could take what I wanted and never look back.

Laura, from art history class, was at the party, and she used the opportunity to corner me. I thought she’d question why I ended our brief fling last year, but her actual plan involved picking up where we left off. Several times, she licked her pink lips, pressing her ample chest in my direction. Hooking up with Laura would be another way to turn it all off, and I leaned toward her eagerly. Before I could kiss her, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket again, and this time I decided to look. Delia and my mom had called over and over again since I fled the restaurant. I’d been ignoring their calls, but it was getting late, and I wondered how long they’d persist. Delia was stubborn and she knew I’d never really shut her out. I reasoned I should text her with a promise to call her the next day. Then, I could turn my phone off without any lingering guilt.

Laura gave me an annoyed look when I removed the phone from my pants pocket. She opened her mouth to protest, but grew more incensed when I stuck up a finger to silence her. I exhaled noisily as I saw my screen filled with missed calls from Delia and my mother. I stilled when I noticed another name in my missed call log.

Hours earlier, Autumn had called. Clutching my phone in a death grip, I tried to decide whether or not I should call her back. On one hand, I was close to falling down drunk, and there was a high likelihood I’d make a fool of myself. On the other hand, maybe I should use my obliterated state to my advantage. Perhaps it was time to tell Autumn everything. I closed my eyes and swayed in place.

“Blake, go home. You’re getting sloppy, and it’s becoming a turn off,” Laura said, her crabby voice breaking my train of thought.