A Year Without Autumn (15 page)

She dries her hands on a towel and comes back to the table. “Do you know what?” she says, smiling genuinely for the first time since we’ve been talking. “I’ve got an even better idea.”

Then she picks up the pad, tears off the first three sheets, and hands them to me. “Have it,” she says.

I look at the pages of flowery writing in my hand. “Why?”

“I promised myself I’d write the letter and then dispose of it. I didn’t specify how. This way, I get rid of the letter — and you have a permanent reminder.”

“Of what?” I ask.

“Of what happens if you just accept what happens to you and don’t try hard enough to change it. It’s too late for me — and maybe it always was. But I don’t want you to have a life like mine. Try harder than I did — while you still can!”

I carefully fold her letter in half and put it in my pocket. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Smith smiles and wipes her hands on her dress. “There we are now,” she says. “It’s done. So really I should be thanking
you.
”

“I should get back,” I say as I stand up. Talking to Mrs. Smith has given me
some
answers, but I need more. I still need to know how things are going to work out for Autumn’s family — and for mine.

She holds out her hands to me as I get to my feet. “Good luck, Jenni. I hope your life turns out differently from mine.”

“Thank you,” I say as she pulls me toward her and hugs me tight.

“Don’t just accept the life you’re given,” she says at the door. “Question everything. Always attempt the impossible. Be brave. Will you do that, for me, Jenni?”

“I will,” I say. “I wish I could do more than that for you.”

She reaches out and briefly takes my hand. “I’m OK, Jenni. I’ll be fine.”

I nod. I try to smile, and then I turn and head for the stairs.

“There
you are!”

I’m just coming out the front of Autumn’s building as Mom runs over to me. I took the stairs because I want to stay here, two years ahead. I have to know what’s going to happen.

“Come on,” Mom says.

“Come on what?”

“We’re leaving. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Where are we going?”

Mom sighs. “The dairy farm, Jenni. Craig’s in the condo with Thea. I said I’d only be two minutes. Let’s get going.” She smiles. “I can’t wait to see Thea’s face when she sees all that ice cream!”

We’re outside the first-floor condo that was Autumn’s last year. Is she still there? What’s changed? I’m desperate to find out. And I’m desperate to read Mrs. Smith’s letter, too. It feels as if it’s burning a hole in my pocket, but I can’t read it with Mom and Craig around.

“Do I have to go?” I ask.

Mom’s face falls completely flat. “I thought you liked doing these things. And I thought you liked being with me.”

“I do. Of course I do. It’s just I really need to see Autumn.”

Mom sighs again. “Oh, Jenni. Can’t you leave Autumn to her own devices for one morning? I know it’s awful of me to say but . . .”

“But what?”

“Well, I know how much she relies on you — but just this once, can’t you let them get on with things and spend some time with us? Especially with Autumn being so unpredictable at the moment. You’ve said it’s been hard lately.”

“I have?”

“Well, not in so many words. But I can see that’s how you feel. You never come home from her house smiling like you used to.” Mom’s face colors instantly. “I mean — not that I’d expect you to. I’m sorry. I just sometimes wish we could have a bit of the old Jenni back.”

You and me both, Mom!

“She’s my best friend,” I say.

“I know. Just — well, sometimes it seems like you’re acting out of some kind of . . .” Her voice trails away.

“Some kind of what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s not for me to say. I’ve been bad enough myself. I’m only just starting to get my own act together, you know, now that your dad and I —” She breaks off and walks away, heading back toward our block. “Come on, let’s get going,” she says.

I catch up to her. “No, tell me,” I say.

Mom stops and turns to me. “OK, I’ll say it. Guilt. Like you can never do enough for her, always trying to fix things, make her life better. I mean, I understand — of
course
I do — but sometimes I can’t help wondering if it’s holding you back from moving on with your own life. It’s as though you won’t let yourself be happy again until Autumn is.” Mom reaches for my hand. “And I don’t know if that’s going to happen for a long time,” she adds softly.

I don’t know what to say. All I can think is —
so nothing’s changed.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Mom says, still holding my hand as we head back to the condo. I walk along numbly beside her. I’ll have to leave Autumn and my letter till later. It seems Mom needs me as much as Autumn does this time.

“Is Dad coming?” I ask as we approach our condo.

Mom stops in her tracks. “Jenni, that’s not funny,” she says, staring at me.

I stare back at her. “What?”

“Of course your dad’s not coming.”

“Why not?” I ask. In the silence before she replies, I realize I’m holding my breath.

“Oh, Jenni. Please don’t start this again.”

“Start
what
again?”

“We’ve been through it so many times. This is
my
week with you and Craig.”

My stomach turns cold. “Your week? You . . . you’ve split up?” I say numbly.

Mom stops on the doorstep, looking into my eyes. “I thought you were all right with this,” she says, more gently. “We agreed it was for the best. It’s better for you and Craig in the long run, don’t you think?”

“What’s best?”

“It’s not good for you to be in such a tense atmosphere.”

“Tense atmosphere? There’s
never
a tense atmosphere at home — you and Dad get along great!”

“Jenni, that’s kind of you to say — especially since I know a lot of it was my fault. But you don’t need to pretend. We all know what it’s been like.”

“What what’s been like?” I ask.
What’s happened to my family?

Mom just shakes her head. “Jenni, where have you been for the past two years?”

“I . . .”
Yeah. Good question, Mom.

“We’ve both tried our best, but since, well, you know, since Mikey —”

A sword slices into my chest, and I catch my breath.

“It just hasn’t been the same,” Mom goes on, oblivious.
Since Mikey what? Is he still alive? What’s happened to him?
I can’t ask outright. Mom will seriously worry about me then. She’s still talking.

“We’ve both changed, and it’s good that we’ve acknowledged that. Things just aren’t right between us anymore. We all know it. This is for the best, Jenni.” She takes my hand. “And I’ve been coping better, with Thea and everything, now that we don’t have all the drama. You’ve said so yourself.” She tries to smile. “And we’re happier,” she says. I don’t know if she’s convincing herself, but looking at her eyes, she’s certainly not convincing me. “At least, we will be,” she adds, maybe reading my mind. “It’ll take time. But you’ll get used to it. We all will.”

She turns back to the condo. “Come on. Let’s get going. It’ll be OK,” she adds with half a smile.

Craig slides into the car beside me. He looks so different! He’s wearing jeans and a lime-green T-shirt. His hair has been chopped into a crew cut. Trendy little eight-year-old. I can’t help smiling. He sticks his tongue out at me as he pulls the door closed.

Thea sits in the little baby seat that I remember using for Craig. She shakes her legs and points out of the window, shouting, “Baa, baa!” every time we pass a sheep, and “Eee orr” when we pass a field of horses. Her innocent delight briefly takes my mind off everything else, and for a few moments in the car, I relax and smile, allowing myself to get lost in her world.

But then we get to the dairy farm, and while we walk around, I can’t concentrate on anything. I just want to get back and see Autumn. I can’t bear not knowing what’s going on with her.

Mom, Craig, and Thea sample virtually every ice-cream flavor between them. Craig has at least three helpings of raspberry, and Mom goes back for seconds of the lavender, the honeycomb, and the chocolate orange and Cointreau. Thea covers every bit of her face and clothing in brightly colored goo, much to everyone’s delight.

I get a vanilla ice cream, just so Mom doesn’t hassle me and worry if I’m OK. But I can’t eat it. My insides are too churned up and my throat feels too thick, so I just take the occasional lick and knock bits of it into the trash can when no one’s looking.

I can’t stop worrying about what’s going to happen when we get back. I can’t stop thinking about Autumn and wanting to know what’s happened to her and her family. Wishing and hoping and praying that, despite what Mom was saying earlier, things have changed for them. That Mikey’s gotten better, that Autumn’s OK, that her parents’ lives are back on track. Maybe Mom was exaggerating before. Maybe she was wrong. I have to find out. Not only has all that happened, but now it turns out my parents have split up, too! This future world is getting worse and worse. The only good thing about it is Thea. There has to be something else good in this reality. There
has
to be.

But my mind keeps hurling horrible thoughts and questions around. What if I
can’t
get back? I keep thinking about how Mrs. Smith got stuck in the future. What if that happens to me, too?

What if the elevator doesn’t work again, and then we all have to go home? Maybe if you leave Riverside Village, you can
never
get back to the present day! What if that’s what happens to me? I’ll be just like her. I’ll have lost my life — not just a year,
two
years. I’ll never really know what happened and never be happy again. I clench my hands into fists; they’re clammy and slippery with fear.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Mom smiles at me. “The four of us out like this?”

I nod, gulping hard. “Mm,” I say, trying to twist my face into a smile.

I spend the rest of the morning following the others around in a daze, trying to act normal, trying not to count the seconds till we’re back and I can find out what’s happened to Autumn.

Come on. Please let’s just go back,
I say in my mind, over and over again.
Please let everything be OK.

The second Mom pulls into the parking lot, I throw my door open.

“Hold on, Jen. I haven’t even turned the engine off.”

“How come Jenni never gets yelled at?” Craig moans. I pinch his leg as I jump out of the car.

“I’ll be back soon,” I say. “I’ve just got to check something.”

I run around to Autumn’s building. As I approach her condo — the new one on the first floor — the door opens and Autumn’s dad appears.

“Hey, Jenni,” he says. He looks as though he’s lost a lot of weight, and his hair’s gray, but other than that he looks normal. He even smiles at me.

“Hi, Mr. Leonard,” I say nervously.
Is he off to the bar?

He picks up an easel and a box of paints by the side of the door. “Just off to hang out in the woods for some inspiration,” he says. “I thought this would be an appropriate place to get started again. Wish me luck.” Then he gestures inside. “She’s in there with her mom,” he says. “See you later.”

I go inside and stop in the hallway. “Hello?” My hands are sweating. What am I going to find here this time?

“In here,” Mrs. Leonard shouts back from the living room.

She’s plonking a pile of clothes down on the sofa and opening up an ironing board. “I just spotted this in a closet and thought I’d do a bit of ironing,” she says. “I can’t remember the last time I bothered.”

Nor can I. I think the Leonards used to have a cleaner who did things like that. Autumn’s mom was always far too glamorous to do
ironing
!

She plugs in the iron and switches it on. “She’s in her room,” she says. “Go on in. I think you’re just what she needs today.”

“Today?” I ask. “Why today?”

Mrs. Leonard rolls her eyes. “She’s having one of those days. Good thing you’re here. You deal with them much better than I do.”

Then she goes back to the pile of clothes, and I make my way to Autumn’s bedroom.
Those days? What days?
What am I going to face on the other side of this door?

I knock on the door. No reply.

“Autumn?” I push the door open. She’s inside. She’s sitting on her bed, facing away from me.

“How come you didn’t answer?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light, despite the quiver I can feel behind it.

She shrugs.

“Autumn?” I cross the room and stand in front of her. She looks so different. Her face is pale and lean; her beautiful red hair is lank and lifeless, even more so than last time. She looks about ten years older than she is — unless I’ve gone even further forward than I thought.

She looks up at me. “What are you doing in those old clothes?” she asks.

I look down at myself and feel ridiculous. To Autumn, I’m wearing clothes that are two years out-of-date. “I don’t know,” I say. I try to sound cheerful. “Anyway, I haven’t come by to talk about my clothes!”

“What
have
you come by for?” she asks sullenly.