When Autumn Leaves: A Novel (23 page)

“Piper, I believe you.” Autumn said calmly. Something significant had happened. Something so strange and unexpected Autumn thought it might have been out of even her league. She racked her brain, trying to find the words to use, words that would help but not scare the pants off Piper. “I have to admit, hon, I’m not an expert on this. But there are places between places, or under or over them.”

“It was green, and dark,” Piper said. “The thickest forest I’ve ever . . . Autumn, it made me well. I’m—” She touched her cheek, and her face fell a little around the eyes and mouth at whatever she felt there. “Well, at least, I was better, for half a minute. Where did I go? How can I go back?”

Autumn shook her head, knowing she wasn’t doing very well. “I don’t know how to explain this. I’ll probably muck it up. It’s like this: to a bird, the idea of flying to the moon is impossible. Just the very concept of it would never occur to a bird. But you, in theory, could get to the moon. It has been done, if not necessarily easily, or by everyone.” Autumn put her hands in Piper’s, which were trembling ever so slightly. “Most people are like the bird. They don’t think going to different worlds, or realms, or whatever those alternate places are, is even possible. It’s make-believe stuff. For others, like you, like me, who have a broader perspective, we know that it is indeed possible, but . . . well, you know how few astronauts are around. Generally one needs quite a bit of training. It’s a rather specialized field. However, I know of at least one person here in Avening that can do this kind of travel without the training.”

Piper, in trying to process what Autumn had just said, could only shake her head. “Autumn, it’s not just that I went there. Being there, it made me feel better. I mean, I don’t think I’m cured or anything. But . . . I mean, it felt like I was.” She laughed embarrassedly. “Do you think . . . Maybe, if I can visit this place every so often, I can get a boost. It will help me hang in there, for a little longer, you know?”

Autumn looked down, to try to diffuse the anger she felt welling up inside her. Piper did not deserve this, and the hope that had leapt onto Piper’s features was heartbreaking. Autumn hated not being able to tell Piper more. Autumn didn’t entirely understand what was going on, but she was going to find out.

“Piper, go home. And please, I know you came to talk about doing yourself in, but let’s not go there, okay?” Piper looked shocked, and Autumn chided herself for bringing it up so unceremoniously and, really, unnecessarily, but decided to barrel on. “One thing at a time. And for now, it’s this. As soon as I find out some answers, I’ll be in touch.”

Piper didn’t bother to even wonder as to how Autumn knew her dark secret. Instead, she picked herself up, went out the door and walked home without stopping, not even once.

It began to happen a lot. Piper readjusted her headspace and reexamined her agenda to accommodate the change. She would rise from her bed, and her feet would touch grass instead of carpet. She would open a door and find herself on a rise, the forest behind her, a valley below. She was sure she saw the outline of buildings there, faint on the horizon, but she couldn’t be sure. She was only ever given a matter of seconds in this other place.

The girls somehow intuited that something was going on with Piper. They thought all her brooding and fundamental disorientation meant she had given up all hope. The house had become somber. The girls were quieter, their steps softer, as if Piper would find their youth disturbing. As if being healthy and having their lives ahead of them was perhaps another cause of their mother’s sadness (when in fact the opposite was true). They were old women, older even than Piper sometimes, though she did everything she could to encourage them to be themselves.

Sylvie and Siobhan dealt with their mother’s illness in different ways. Sylvie, who was seventeen, hung on, shadowing Piper’s every move around the house. She had no social life. The phone stopped ringing; friends no longer came by. Sylvie did not see it as a sacrifice; she knew that she had only a finite amount of time left with her mother. But Piper knew differently, she knew that these were magical years, where a girl could experience independence and discover her womanhood while still living within the safety of her family. The real world wasn’t quite real yet, without deadlines or bills to worry about. She tried to explain this to Sylvie, but Sylvie would turn away, embarrassed that her mother loved her so much she was telling her to leave.

Siobhan, on the other hand, could not be in her mother’s presence for more than an hour at a time. Piper understood why, but that did not make it any easier. She longed to take her baby girl into her arms, though at twelve she was hardly a baby anymore. Piper knew Siobhan was preparing to be motherless, and she was trying to prove that she did not need anyone in order to function. She could not quite look Piper in the eye; she fidgeted and scratched. There were times when Piper thought Siobhan wanted to reach out for her, but then would do something else with her hands, pull her hair behind her ears or pick at her nails.

At first Piper thought she was scared of having death so close, though Shiv knew she wasn’t contagious. Then Piper began to understand that she wasn’t scared at all, she was angry. She was thoroughly pissed off with her mother’s sickness, mad that she could no longer do what normal kids did with their mothers, and most of all irate at the thought of being left behind.

Twelve was such a hard age. Piper could hardly blame Siobhan for being so self-absorbed, for making it all about her, like she was the victim, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Pubescence called for selfishness, demanded it. Piper didn’t blame Shiv at all. More than anything it broke her heart. She knew that years later, when Siobhan became a mother herself, she would look back on this time with great disappointment. She would feel guilty, she would wonder, Why didn’t I try harder to get to know her? Why did I make it so much harder for her? Piper hoped that Shiv would forgive herself without too much self-destruction in the process. It was hard, though, to think about the future, hard to imagine how much she would miss.

Piper would never have called herself a Christian. She did not believe that things were as simplistic as heaven or hell, and she certainly did not believe in angels. But she did hope that there was a place where she could watch them, guide them, even, and it was a hope that kept her going. Sometimes, when she found herself in the green forest, that’s where she thought she was going, to that gathering place, for watching and waiting.

While she brooded over the mystery of her traveling, the going itself lent her energy. She tried, during those times when she felt truly well, to be normal, even if the thing allowing her to be well was anything but normal. When she felt good, the girls felt good too. Piper would walk out of the bath and almost smack dab into a tree and then down to the dinner table in her dining room. The girls picked up on her vibe during times like that, and were much more talkative and animated. It was casual, as if it were any other meal that would be like every other meal to come. Piper was determined to make the most of it.

“So, Shiv.
Jane Eyre
is the last book on your summer reading list. What do you think of it so far?”

“It’s okay. I’ve got like about a hundred pages to go,” Siobhan answered.

“I never really knew what to think of Jane. She never seemed like the brightest girl. I used to think that I would have marched right on up to where those noises were coming from and done some investigating.” Piper put her elbows on the table and leaned into it. “Of course, women weren’t supposed to question these things back then. Aren’t we lucky to have been born now instead?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mom,” Sylvie countered. “It was such a romantic time, wasn’t it? Men were chivalrous. At the end of the day, I think all women are genetically programmed to want to be saved at least once in their lives.” Piper felt her eyebrows rising, but Sylvie was smiling a far-away kind of smile. “At least back then they could admit it without seeming weak or backwards.” Piper wondered if Sylvie really wanted saving. From what? From whom? There was no point asking, illness or not. She didn’t think she’d get a real answer anyhow.

“Wow, Sylvie, I am surprised,” Piper said. “Do you really think it’s genetic programming? Or maybe social programming?” Her voice rose with enthusiasm; she was looking forward to her daughter’s answer. “Every form of media, even children’s books, perpetuates that mythology.”

“Here we go,” said Siobhan, rolling her eyes.

“Basically,” Sylvie went on, ignoring her sister. “I mean, we are animals, right? Look at animal behavior. Females don’t flock to the weakest male, they’re not attracted to the puny one who brings home the crappiest food supply. They want the alpha male, the strong one, the mate they know will keep them fed well and protect their offspring. So I think that females, all females, including us, factor this in when they’re looking at a man’s potential. We might not necessarily think we need to be saved, but we like to think that option is available if necessary.” Sylvie leaned back in her chair with a rather smug look on her face.

“I won’t argue with that, Sylvie, but that’s just it. A hundred and fifty years ago, the general attitude was that women did need to be saved. We were inferior in every way. And I don’t think it was nearly as romantic as it’s made out to be. Now Shiv, what do you think of Jane?”

“Well,” she began, putting down her knife and fork. “I think she was pretty brave. I don’t know what I’d be like if both my parents died.”

“Yes,” said Piper sadly, looking at her daughter. She knew Siobhan was capable of surviving just about anything, but did not know herself well enough yet to think so. “I think you’re right. She was very brave.”

Autumn dropped by the Shigerus’ for a chat a couple of weeks after Piper had visited her. She didn’t bother with the usual small talk. “Now listen, Piper, I’ve been doing a little research about your phenomenon. I think I might have some ideas, but it’s not totally clear to us quite yet.”

“Us?” Piper raised an eyebrow, but Autumn hurried on.

“You’ve traveled again, right, Piper? At random? Since that first time?”

The leaving had felt so secret, so private, Piper had almost forgotten Autumn knew. “Yes. Quite a few times, but always, as you say, randomly.” Piper shook her head. “It was so disorienting at first.”

Autumn plonked down her oversized purse on a chair and turned to face Piper, her long skirt swishing over Piper’s ankles. “Right.” She was clearly excited. “The next time you go, try not to concentrate on what’s happened but rather where you are and see if you can tell your body to remain there instead of jumping back home. Try to breathe into the place, imagine that your feet are roots and plant them there.”

“Uh, yeah, well,” Piper said noncommittally. She had wanted to know why she was going, and where, what the point of it was. She was hoping Autumn would tell her. But Autumn was as mercurial as she was mysterious. She would only ever give as much away as she wanted to, and if you pushed for more, she would give you even less, as if impatience itself meant that you weren’t ready to hear the truth. But from a practical standpoint, Piper couldn’t afford not to ask all her questions. She didn’t have time. “What if I get stuck there? I don’t know if I should even try something like that. I have no idea how I do this, and I wouldn’t have the first idea of how to get myself home if I decide to try and take control.”

“Piper, I promise you, you will not get stuck. If my theory is correct, you are meant to control this ability you have. It’s a matter of will. Focus and concentrate on where you are and where you want to go.” Autumn sounded sure; she was sure. Piper couldn’t share her confidence.

“Okay, I’ll try it. But . . . do you know why I can do this? Am I meant to do something with it? I just . . . don’t understand.” Piper regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

“Let’s start with this experiment first, and then we’ll go from there.” It was the kind of vague answer she was expecting, and maybe even that she deserved. She was beginning to feel this was her mystery to solve anyhow, so she said goodbye to Autumn and watched her friend’s progress across her lawn. As ever, Autumn moved with the grace and ease of a cat. Sometimes Piper wondered if her feet ever even touched the ground.