A Year Without Autumn (6 page)

“We saw workmen with a digger and they talked to us, and Mom said I can go back and watch them work tomorrow, didn’t you, Mom?” Craig tells us eagerly.

Mom ruffles his wet hair. “Yes, darling.”

“I’ll see you later?” Autumn says, glancing at the clock. “I gotta go.”

I walk her to the door. “See ya!” she says. And with that, she dances down the sidewalk, pausing just before she goes out of sight to wave and blow me her usual flamboyant kiss. “We’re leaving at two on the dot,” she calls. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

“Condo 210!”

“Yes, don’t worry. I’ll come to the right place this time.” I force a laugh.

Once she’s out of sight, I turn back to go inside, closing the door behind me.

“Jenni, set the table for your mom,” Dad says. He’s still sitting at the table.

“You’ll have to move, then.”

“In a minute. Can’t stop when it’s flowing. You’ve heard of the person from Porlock, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Dad. We’ve all heard of the person from Porlock.”

He tells us this story about once a week. Some guy was writing a poem or something, and he was interrupted by someone at the door: the person from Porlock. And that was the end of that. His inspiration was broken, and the poem was never completed. It would have been a brilliant work of genius, and he never finished it. Great story. It’s basically Dad’s way of getting out of doing anything around the house.

“OK, lunch.” Mom brings a tray of sandwiches to the table as I get the plates.

Dad leans across to kiss her. She touches the back of his head, holding him close to her. When they move apart, they smile at each other. He kisses her cheek. “Fifteen years. Who’d have thought it, Mrs. Green?” Dad says.

Mom smiles and leans down to rest her head on his shoulder. Then Dad gets up to clear away his notebooks. “Come on, Craig.” Craig’s in front of the TV again. “Lunch.”

Normality. Thank goodness for that. For a moment, I forget all about the weird things and almost manage to convince myself that they didn’t happen. Life is calm and peaceful again, as it should be. As it always is. The normal, predictable Green family household — just how we like it.

As I go into Autumn’s building, the old elevator is standing open. I’m sure I closed it behind me. It’s as though it saw me coming and opened especially for me.

The other one doesn’t come when I call it, so I step inside the old one and go up to the second floor. With the slightest jitter in my stomach, I stand outside number 210, staring at the door.
Definitely
Autumn’s condo! I straighten my clothes. My top feels tight. Maybe I shouldn’t have had a whole bag of potato chips with my lunch.

I knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

Oh, no! It’s her again! But it
can’t
be! This is the right place; I checked and double-checked. What is going
on
?

The door opens a fraction.

“I’m sorry. I . . .”

The woman stares blankly at me for a split second and then registers recognition. “You again,” she says quietly. “What do you want with me now?” She’s not as friendly as last time. Her voice has an edge to it that could just be irritation but almost sounds scared.

“I’m just looking for Autumn,” I say.

“What do you mean, looking for autumn? How do you lose a season?”

As she says this, her face suddenly drains of all color. She pushes the door farther closed — her eyes big and shocked against her suddenly gray face. When she talks again, it’s as though she’s looking straight through me and talking to a ghost.

“You’re trying to make a fool of me, aren’t you?” she says. “You know! But how? It’s impossible. No one knows — no one
ever
knew. Only me. Always lost.”

What’s she talking about? “I — I don’t know what you mean,” I say, trying to sound as reasonable and unthreatening as I possibly can. “I’m not trying to do anything bad. I just want to find Autumn. We’re going out in a minute.”

The woman has stopped staring beyond me and seems to have remembered I’m here. “Look.” She reaches a thin arm through the crack and points to the numbers on the door. “My condo — 210. My week. How many times do you need to be told?”

I can feel my eyes sting. “I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t
know
how many times I need to be told. All I know is that it doesn’t make sense!”

The woman stares at me, holding my gaze for so long that I want to turn away, but the link between us feels so strong, it’s like a magnet and I can’t move a muscle. “What doesn’t make sense?” she asks eventually.

“This is Autumn’s condo. I’m sure it is. They’ve been here for the last three years. I saw her an hour ago!”

She stares a bit longer, as though she’s trying to read my mind. That’s when I realize — it’s a joke! She’s going to tell me, any second. It’s Autumn messing with me. I should have known she’d do something like this. She loves pranks!

“This is a joke, isn’t it?” I say, feeling my body relax with relief as I smile at her.

“I thought as much,” the woman says. “Look, I don’t know where you got your facts, but it’s not funny.”

“No —” I try to backtrack. “I mean — I thought you were playing a joke on me.”

The woman lets out a harsh laugh. “
Me
playing a joke on
you
?” she snaps. Then she shakes her head. “You need to go now,” she says. “Or I’m calling the police.”

And with that, she closes the door.

I try knocking again.

“I mean it,” she shouts through the door, her voice shaking. “I’ll phone them. You’ll be in trouble.”

I can’t stay here; things are just going from bad to worse. I check my watch. Past two o’clock. They’re going to leave without me.

A man I vaguely recognize is going into a condo at the end of the hallway. I think he’s a friend of Mr. Leonard’s.

“Excuse me!” I call. He turns around, and I run to catch up with him. “I’m looking for Autumn,” I say.

“Autumn?”

“The Leonards, you know. Autumn and Mikey and their parents. They have a condo in this building. Don’t you know her dad?”

“Well, yes. I do. But . . .” The man gives me a really weird look. As though I’m stupid and shouldn’t be allowed to wander around on my own. He fiddles with the strap of his bag and slings it over his shoulder.

“Have you seen them?” I ask, a little impatiently. Any second now, I’m going to be too late. They’ve probably gone without me already. It’s nearly quarter past two.

“Well, I haven’t seen them up here,” he says. “Have you tried their condo?”

“I’ve just
been
there!” I cry, frustration burning into my throat. “They’re not there. There’s just this woman I’ve never seen before. Didn’t you just see me in the hallway?”

“How could I have seen you?” He laughs. “I haven’t been downstairs.”

“Huh? But we were there a second ago. Just over there.” I point down the hallway. Why is everyone talking in riddles to me today? What’s going
on
here?

The man takes his bag off his shoulder and puts it down. He draws in a breath, then kind of puffs his cheeks out and looks away.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Have you seen the family recently?” His face is grim.

“Yes!” I scream. “I was with Autumn an hour ago, and we’re supposed to be going out together. I’ve probably missed them now. Where are they? Do you know?”

“Listen. Why don’t you just try their condo again?”

“But I’ve just been there! I keep telling you! No one’s come or gone since we’ve been standing here!”

“How do you know?”

“Because we’d have seen them!” What is this man’s
problem
? “Look, thanks for your help,” I say, walking away. “I’m sure I’ll find her.”

“It’s 114,” he says.

I turn around. “What?”

“That’s their condo, 114. First floor.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, shaking my head. “That’s not their condo. It’s 210.”

“Just try it,” he says. He shakes his head as he pushes his door open and steps inside. “I can’t believe you didn’t know about them changing their condo. She’s your friend, isn’t she?” he adds before closing the door behind him.

Like everything else, his words make no sense to me, so I try not to dwell on them.

I decide to take the stairs now that I’m at this end of the hallway. I might as well go home. They’re bound to have left without me. The man obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The Leonards always have this condo — he must have been thinking of a different family

I check the parking lot on the way out. There’s no sign of a gleaming, sparkling Porsche, just a couple of old cars that they wouldn’t be seen dead in! I knew it. It’s nearly twenty past two. They’ve gone without me.

But as I leave the parking lot, I glance at the first floor and notice that the doors have changed color! They used to be brown; now they’re white. But that’s impossible. They couldn’t have painted them overnight, could they?

I glance at the number on the last one: 114. The one that man said was Autumn’s.

But he didn’t know what he was talking about, did he? He must have thought I meant someone else.

Still, there’s nothing else to do if I’ve missed them, so I might as well give it a try.

I walk up to condo 114 and take a deep breath. For some reason, a flutter of nerves twirls around in my stomach.
Don’t be silly,
I say to myself.
What is there to be nervous about?

Then I reach up and knock on the door.

“Jenni.
Am I pleased to see you!”

Autumn takes my hand and pulls me into the hallway.

At least, I
think
it’s Autumn.

I mean, of course it’s her, but she looks so different! Her hair that’s always completely crazy and full of life is lank and greasy. It’s about six inches longer than it was this morning and hangs down the sides of her face like a damp mop.

Her eyes are black and ringed. She’s wearing baggy jeans and a T-shirt that was possibly white at some point but is now a very unattractive gray — and I think it has a stain on it.

“Autumn?” I say tentatively. “Are you . . . OK?”

She stops in the hallway. “What d’you mean?”

“I — your —” What can I say?
You look dreadful, and when was the last time you washed you hair or your clothes?
I don’t think so.

“Oh, you mean about being here?” she says.

Being here?
Being where?

“Yeah, it’s weird,” she goes on. “It’s really hard. To be honest, I’m not sure why we came. Mom was insistent, though. Last place we had a family vacation — she wanted to mark it, you know? Not that you could call it a vacation. More like torture. Come on, let’s go in and sit down.”

As I follow Autumn into the living room of this strange condo, I try to make sense of what she’s just said — but fail badly. Out of all of it, the part that puzzles me the most is the last bit.
Sit down?
When did Autumn ever voluntarily sit down?

We go into the living room, and I follow Autumn to the sofas at the back of the room, looking around at this strange place.

Their normal condo is one of the biggest units in the whole complex. It’s light and sunny with views for miles across the surrounding forest and hills; the windows are always open, and they always have music on. Mrs. Leonard likes world music with loads of drumming, and Mr. Leonard likes jazz. They always argue about what to put on — but there’s always something.

This condo is small and still. The windows are closed. I’m struggling to breathe regularly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m starting to panic or because this place feels so closed and claustrophobic that there isn’t enough oxygen for us both in here. And it’s deathly quiet.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

“Dad’s at the bar in town — of course. Mom hasn’t come out of her room for about an hour. I think she’s asleep,” she says.

“What about Mikey?”

Autumn shoots me a look of — what? Anger? Shock? Pain? All three of them, I think. She stares at me without speaking, till I feel my cheeks turn to balls of fire.

“What?” I ask.

“Jenni, that’s not funny,” she says quietly.

“I wasn’t trying to —” I begin, but I stop myself.
Just don’t say anything,
I tell myself.
Concentrate on trying to breathe, and it’ll make sense in a minute.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Autumn asks, getting up to riffle through the collection of DVDs in a drawer by the TV. “We’ll need to stay in so we’re here when Mom gets up.”

Watch a movie? Autumn never, and I mean
never,
suggests watching TV — not when there’s a day to be explored and bounced around in. And, anyway —

“Are we not going, then?” I ask.

“Going where?” Autumn says without turning around. She’s reading the back of one of the DVDs. “This looks good,” she says. “Listen . . .”

“Horseback riding,” I say.

Autumn drops the DVD on the floor and turns to look at me. Her face has turned a pale shade of gray; her eyes look like black wells, buried deep in a long, tired face.
“What?”
she says.

“Horseback riding?” I repeat, more uncertainly this time. I can hear the quiver in my voice — what am I so scared of? What is
happening
here? “You said two o’clock.”