Leaves

The car pulled up to the inn at the corner of Oak and Sugar Maple. The passengers came from Parsippany, New Jersey, but they could as easily have come from Boston or New York or Dayton, Ohio. They could even have flown in from Heathrow the night before.

The leaves were the reason that people came, whether it was for an overnight diversion or to settle for decades, raising generations of others who would remain nearby. The hundreds of miles of coastline, the dramatic topography, the distinctive architecture, and the Revolutionary-era history were all attractions, all contributors to a sturdy economy and buoyant property values. But the signature of the Connecticut River Valley was its October leaves.

Few places in America, or in fact, anywhere in the world, were capable of presenting a fall palette as varied and vibrant as this one. The warm, wet springs, the moderate summers, and early autumn days drenched in sunlight and crisped by cool evenings conspired to urge the trees into broad displays of color. The yellows of the hickory. The bronzes of the beech. The purples of the sumac. The oranges of the sassafras. The scarlets of the maple and the oak. The leaves were an industry here, the vehicle that filled every town in the area for the entire month with “leaf peepers,” traveling from places where nature didn't provide such a rich visual bounty.

The visitors stayed in places like the Sugar Maple Inn in Oldham, Connecticut. The Sugar Maple had opened its doors thirty-two years earlier, after Joseph and Bethany Gold drove up from Long Island and decided to stay in Oldham the rest of their lives. It was known regionally for the magnificent dinners it served, the homemade cookies and chocolates it left for every guest, and the artisan quilts that adorned each bed in its dozen visitor rooms. But Joseph had been gone four years now and Bethany had joined him in the summer. In the days after Bethany's death, the Gold children, all of who still lived in Oldham, made the reluctant decision to sell the Sugar Maple to an organization that operated country inns all along the Eastern seaboard. It would officially change hands November first.

So as this month began, the Golds prepared for the last days they would hold this property that had done so much to define them, this physical centerpiece of their family. October was always a meaningful month to them, on occasion even a momentous one. However, none could have possibly anticipated just what this October would bring.

For this October, certain threads would fray and certain binds would loosen. Unspoken words would be uttered at last while things that needed to be said would be withheld. Tradition would be honored and the past would be rejected. One heart would beat for another's for the first time, while one heart would stop beating forever. And a message would be delivered that was essential to all who heard it.

All before the last of the leaves came to ground.

“Yes, I know I'm late,” Tyler Gold said, not making eye contact with his brother or his sisters as he entered the common room of the inn. “I'm sorry.”

“We'll get over it,” Corrina said in the sharp tone he'd grown accustomed to hearing from her. It was difficult to know these days if she was angry with him for a specific reason or simply angry with him because he existed.

Deborah called out from the dining room. “Dinner's getting worse by the minute. Is Tyler here yet?”

He was a little surprised they'd bothered to wait for him and simultaneously wished they hadn't, though Deborah's cooking would almost certainly be the most pleasant thing about this evening.

“I'm here.”

He made his way into the dining room with the rest of them, Maxwell clapping him on the shoulder as he passed by. These days Tyler felt more like the baby of the family around these people than he had since before he'd graduated high school. He had no idea why that was, given how world-weary the past year had made him feel otherwise.

Deborah ladled soup from a tureen, something orange and redolent of cinnamon and nutmeg. She topped each bowl with a dab of sour cream and snipped fresh chives over that. Ever the maestro, even in this crowd.

“Deborah, stop waiting on us,” Maria said. “We're perfectly capable of serving our own soup.”

Deborah simply smiled at her older sister, finishing at last and sitting with the rest of them.

Then the lights went out.

Just like when Dad died
, Tyler thought instantly. It had been the night of the funeral. A beautiful but unsatisfying service that followed three days of communal heartache and eulogizing. Mourners came back to the inn with them that day, but at night the family gathered alone for dinner. Mom had been crying for a week, but just before the meal began, she stood at the head of the table, raised her wineglass, and said, “Joseph, what you gave us will be with us forever.” Tyler touched his glass with the others and sipped through his tears. He knew what she'd said was true, but it didn't help him miss his father any less.

As Mom sat down after that tribute, the room went dark. For a moment, no one said anything. Then Maria started singing, her voice somewhat otherworldly coming out of the black. She sang “Autumn Leaves,” Dad's favorite song. Tyler joined her, the youngest sibling attempting to lend ragged harmony to the oldest. It was the only jazz standard to which he knew all the words, in fact the only jazz standard on his iPod. Soon, all of them were singing, Mom's voice, nearly as mellifluous as Maria's, coming in last and with a purity that refuted her sadness. When the song ended, they sat in silence, Tyler half-expecting Maria to continue with another song, an impromptu concert to mark the occasion.

At last, Maxwell went to the basement, flicked a circuit breaker, and the power came back on. However, the tenor of the day, of that terrible week, had changed. After all the comfort they'd tried to bring each other at the wake and the funeral, it seemed to Tyler that this group song had managed to give them a modicum of peace.

Tyler didn't know whether anyone else seated at the table tonight flashed back to that previous power failure the way he did. All he knew was that the lights went back on of their own accord a few minutes later.

And this time no one sang.

“I'm just saying that I think we're getting off to a bad start with the party,” Corrina said, her fork poised outward above her plate. “We have less than a month – a lot less than a month, really – to get everything together.”

And what happens if we don't get everything t
o
gether perfectly
, Tyler thought.
Will a huge hole open up and swallow us, taking all of Oldham with it?
The party meant a lot to him, too, especially this year, but Corrina had a way of making it sound like the fate of the free world depended on having just the right balloons.

Maxwell leaned toward Corrina's still-suspended fork. “I really would dedicate all of my time to it, Cor, but I kinda have this job thing that gets in the way. I mean if it wasn't for the annoying obligation to feed my family, I'd take care of the entire party myself.”

Corrina scowled. “Yes, I have a job too, Maxwell. Yet I still manage to think about this function a little. It's called multitasking. Try it sometime.”

“Great salmon,” Maria said to Deborah in a stage whisper.

Deborah rolled her eyes toward Maxwell and Corrina. “Thanks.”

“I can do more,” Tyler said, not really stopping to think. The fact was he
could
do more. Without Patrice and with business as slow as it was, he had much more free time than he needed or wanted.

Corrina shook her head. “You have enough on your plate.”

“Really, I don't.”

“It's fine, Tyler. We'll get it all done.”

There was no way to win with her right now. If he said he was maxed out, she would have criticized him for that. At least Ryan wasn't here to sneer at him tonight.

This was the first Wednesday in two months that all of them had gotten together for dinner. It hadn't been a weekly thing since before Mom got sick. Corrina, for reasons known only to her, wanted this particular one to be a siblings-only event. No spouses or kids. Tyler wondered how Gardner, Annie, and Doug felt about being excluded. Were they offended or relieved? Almost certainly the latter. Maybe they were even laughing together at a nearby restaurant.

“Let's just go over everyone's responsibilities again, so we're clear,” Maria said.

Corrina sighed. “You're taking care of the entertainment, Maria. And it really is getting tight if you want to book a DJ. Deborah is doing the food, obviously, and we need to finalize the menu soon. Maxwell is in charge of promotion and publicity, and Tyler needs to take care of the decorations.”

“It's all very doable,” Maxwell said.

“As long as we really want to do it.”

Maxwell narrowed his eyes. “Why wouldn't we want to do it? We all agreed to throw one more Halloween party.”

Corrina seemed a little flustered by this confrontation. Tyler thought she might even cry. “It just doesn't feel like we're giving this our all.”

Tyler stood up. “We'll get it done. We'll even get it done well. Maybe not as well as Mom and Dad always did it, but it'll be good. Listen, I have to run.”

Corrina offered him a confused expression. “You're leaving already?”

“I know I should have cleared the whole night, but I couldn't. I need to get some shots cleaned up before tomorrow, and I'm already gonna be at this until just before dawn. Deborah, thanks; dinner was great. I'll see you all soon.”

No one rose as Tyler left the table, which was just as well. At this point, he felt as though he needed a little distance from all of them. He stepped out of the inn and headed home. Maybe he truly would spend some time touching up some photos on his computer, though it could certainly wait until tomorrow or even next week.

It was an okay option if there was nothing good on TV.