When Autumn Leaves: A Novel (28 page)

“It’s for Lexy,” Siobhan said, rolling her eyes. “I know she really wanted to see this one.”

“What a good friend you are, Shiv. Above and beyond.”

By the time they had returned home and finished packing gear and food, it was two, just an hour before Molly was due. Siobhan went upstairs to clean her room, a courtesy for Lexy that Sylvie had diplomatically suggested. With an hour to kill, Sylvie started an entry in her journal. It had been a gift from her mother.

Sylvie knew her entries were pedestrian compared to the kinds of things her mother had written in her journals, but that was okay with her. She would eventually look back and wonder what paths and choices had led her to the future, and her journal, however immature, would be a precious record of her perspective.

She did not hear her father come up behind her. In fact, as she thought about it, it was the first time she had seen him that whole day. Sylvie’s body momentarily tensed.

She loved her dad. But she was extremely disappointed in him. She had little patience for what she considered was self-indulgent moroseness on her father’s part. Personally, she found it irritating—but she was really angry on Siobhan’s behalf. Shiv and her father had been so close, and instead of being that constant source of love and support that her sister needed, he had retreated into himself and into his work. It was like Shiv had in a way lost both her parents in one fell swoop, leaving Sylvie to deal with the brunt of it.

“So, you’re all ready for tonight, huh?” Will asked.

“Yep, just waiting for Molly so we can get going. Lexy’s coming over. You know that, right?”

“Shiv told me. As in told instead of asked. Oh, well,” Will said with a tad of exasperation in his voice. He sat down on the couch beside her. “Sylvie, I know how important this concert is to you. I mean your mother, before she . . . well, she told me how much you like this Callum person. And I just want to say that I think it’s really great, I’m happy when you’re happy.” Sylvie was shocked. She had expected some kind of a lecture from her father on safety and drinking. “So do you need any money or anything?”

“No, I’m fine, Dad. You put my allowance in the bank already this month.”

“I know, but I thought you might need extra. For T-shirts or whatever.”

Sylvie was torn. She knew this was her dad’s way of reaching out, but she also wanted to prove her independence. “Dad, really, I appreciate the offer, but I’ve been saving up for tonight for a long time.”

Her dad looked around uncertainly, and then hauled himself to his feet. “Okay. Well. I’m going to go upstairs and do some work. Have a good time. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. And please . . . leave your cell on.” Will bent down to kiss her forehead.

“I’ll set it to vibrate and keep it in my pocket.” She smiled at his back as he left. Maybe he was coming around.

Molly Moralejo appeared not long after. She didn’t bother to knock; one minute, Sylvie was alone, and the next, Molly was sitting next to her. “Hey babe, ready to rock and roll?”

Molly was far too beautiful to ever really go unnoticed. She, like Sylvie, was of mixed heritages, something they had bonded over when they first met. Her father was a Venezuelan man who had tried for Molly and her mother to fit in in Avening’s cold, trying climate and odd customs. He never stopped loving his family, but found it altogether too disorienting. His unhappiness was turning him into a sour man and a poor father, so he reluctantly returned home, knowing he wasn’t doing his wife or daughter any good. Molly visited him sometimes and they kept in touch with emails and phone calls.

From her father she had inherited a beautiful olive complexion and defined angular features; from her Irish mother she got a mass of fiery copper curls that hung down to the middle of her back. The combination was almost outrageously unusual, and Sylvie was sure that half the male population of Avening was in love with her. Molly’s looks were so loud that she herself spoke only when she needed to. But Sylvie and Molly had known each other for so long that often times they didn’t say anything.

“I am soooo ready,” Sylvie drawled. She was! “I thought you’d never get here. Come on, let’s go load up the car.” Sylvie yelled a good-bye to her father and sister, not really waiting to hear a response. With Callum’s music blasting out of the car speakers, they sped from Hollygrove Road north on Brigid’s Way until they hit the open road.

Neither one wanted to disturb the spell woven by Callum’s music. Molly kept her eyes on the road, and Sylvie watched the season from her window. The leaves were just beginning to turn. Next month, by Halloween, they would be a remarkable sight. They caught the ferry on time and let the lull of the open ocean rock their thoughts back and forth. Sylvie felt drunk on anticipation.

The park was packed almost to capacity. Even though she knew Piper had booked it all in advance, Sylvie was scared that something had gone wrong, momentarily panicking as Molly gave the women at the check-in window her name. The woman smiled, handed a map to Molly and sent them off. Sylvie breathed a sigh of relief. They drove about half a mile until they found their site. They were old hats, having been camping together several times. Sylvie opened the cooler and pulled out some chicken breasts to roast on the grill over the fire. She had also brought veggies she had washed and precut at home, then packed in aluminum foil with oil and garlic.

“God that smells good, Sylvie. I’m friggin’ starving.” Molly settled into the black butterfly chair she always brought along when she camped.

“I know, right? Food tastes so much better out here. I guess it’s probably because you have to work so hard for it, huh?” Sylvie poked the chicken to check its progress.

“Yeah, that and the fact that you cook like MacGyver. You could, like, make a feast out of two blades of grass and a mushroom, whereas I can barely manage to open a bottle.”

Sylvie looked at her friend sideways, but said nothing to the contrary, they both knew the truth of it. “I haven’t eaten yet today and I’m about to faint. I think instinctively my body knows I’ll need my strength for tonight.”

“Oh yeah? You got plans I don’t know about?” Molly said jokingly.

“I plan on dancing my ass off,” said Sylvie.

“Tell me please we brought a camera. We did, right?”

“Please. You know I’m half Asian, right? My Japanese ancestors would be horrified if I’d forgotten a camera.” Molly exploded into laughter.

When they finished their dinner, they began to get dressed. Already from the amphitheater they could hear the opening act. The night outside had gotten cool, and each girl had a thick flannel on, knowing they could shed it within the heat and throng of the crowd. As they walked toward the theater, Sylvie began to feel a kind of mind-numbing terror, and an overwhelming part of her wanted to run back to the tent. She wasn’t sure she could handle it.

Molly laid a hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, Mol,” she answered, wide-eyed.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?”

“Yes . . . No . . . I think I . . . ” Sylvie was almost to the point of crying. She felt so stupid, like such a kid. Here she was, almost eighteen and afraid to go to a concert.

“Listen, it’s okay to be scared. And you don’t have to say why. I know why, believe me. But you’re a total ass-kicker, you’re, like, the bravest person I know. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Sylvie said, feeling the opposite of brave. But she borrowed some of her friend’s strength and pushed her legs forward towards the heavy drone of amplified bass.

“I’m not going to waste your time with introductions,” yelled the burly, bearded man on stage. “You all know who they are. Everybody, put your hands together, for the Callum West Band!” The stage went black, and from somewhere, the unmistakable keening of a single electric guitar. From those few short bars, the crowd knew the song, and the place went wild.

And so Sylvie heard him first, before she actually saw him, so close to her she thought the world had spun away, that she was left floating in the dark absolute of outer space with no way to get back. By the time the rest of the band kicked in, the crowd was on its feet, swaying back and forth, screaming his name. But Sylvie remained perfectly still, watching, opening and letting him fill her.

Sometimes Callum held the guitar like a newborn, cradling, delicate, other times it was a lover, rising and falling beneath his fingers. He knew how to read and work an audience. He knew when to be dark and somber, and when to be emotional and gregarious. He knew, somehow, the intentions of the people before him, he knew what they needed, and if he was able, he gave it to them. That night was pure magic.

Molly watched Sylvie watch Callum. She knew the way of it with true fans and their idols, but weirdly, she also felt the energy between them. Molly was a sensor of things, and there was something connecting them, something she couldn’t put her finger on. And then she began to feel something else, a nagging that something was very wrong. The band finished their set and the crowd screamed and stomped for an encore. Her head began to buzz; she was afraid she might faint. She wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, but it had happened to her before, and she had learned to listen to her instincts, because they were always right.

“Sylvie. Sylvie!” Molly shook her friend out of her daze, and Sylvie looked at her like she had just woken up from a dream. “We have to get out of here, right now.”

“What? Why? They’re going to come back for an encore, we can’t leave.”

“Sylvie, trust me, please, please. We have to go. Something’s wrong. We can’t be here.”

Sylvie gave her a look of desperation. Molly knew asking her to leave now was like asking her to rip her fingernails out. But Sylvie had been through this before. Molly always had a sense of things to come; she just knew things. So she nodded her disappointed consent and let her friend lead her out of the crowd.

They walked in silence back to the tent. Molly wanted to say something to make Sylvie feel better about leaving early. About how great the band was, how tight and perfect. But she thought better of it. No words were going to find Sylvie, who was lost in him, full of him. Better to say nothing and simply hold her hand. They got to the site and undid the zipper of the tent, crawled on all fours inside and changed into sweats and sweaters.

“I’ll go light the fire, okay?” Molly said.

“Okay,” Sylvie whispered. She followed Molly to the chilly night outside.

As they were finishing their cups of tea, Molly looked up. She knew something had happened. She could hear the crowd behind them going crazy, as far away as they were. She opened her mouth, but closed it again. What could she say? She didn’t know what was going on. They sat in silence for a while until they heard the sirens and, from a distance, the rush of helicopter blades. It seemed such an alien sound in that quiet, reflective place.

Molly weighed her own worry about whatever unknown thing had happened at the amphitheater against the unhappiness she knew her best friend was feeling at having her precious evening cut short. “Sylvie. I have an idea.” Sylvie looked up at her, her big eyes sad and dazed. “You could go to him. He’s got to be staying at the Chester. It’s the only decent hotel around here for miles.”

“I couldn’t, Molly; it would be wrong.” Sylvie looked into the fire. “I’ve seen him, that’s all I’m gonna get. I have to learn to be happy with that.” She pulled her knees into her chest.

Their conversation was broken by the sound of running and loud voices. A young couple was crossing their path. “Hey!” Molly said loudly. The two turned and came closer. “What happened over there? What’s with all the sirens?”

“It was fucking awful, man,” the boy told her. “They were just finishing the encore when these drunk assholes in the front started a fight. And then it turned into some kind of free-for-all, and everyone started running. I think some people got seriously hurt. There was this one girl, she got air lifted out, she . . . fuck . . . it was bad.” The girl beside him started to cry. “You guys might want to think of clearing out of here. I’m sorry, I’ve got to get her back to the tent. She’s pretty upset.”

“Thanks,” Molly called as they walked away, the young man holding his girlfriend and speaking soothingly. Molly and Sylvie looked at each other. What could they say?

“Wow. Thank you,” Sylvie said. Molly had no reply. They both knew one or both of them might have gotten hurt if they had stayed; they had been so near the stage. But Molly also knew Sylvie, however grateful she might be, was also convinced of a bubble of sorrow following her wherever she went, even here on this happiest of days, and there it was, hanging heavy and cumbersome in the air. They both sent texts to let their families know they were okay, but otherwise sat in stilted silence.

The bad energy made Molly want to crawl outside her skin. “I’m gonna go for a walk, all right?” she said after a couple of minutes. “I don’t get any vibes like it’s not safe.”

“Vibes,” Sylvie repeated, just barely audibly.

Molly ignored her this time. “You gonna be okay if I go?” Sylvie nodded. “Find him, Sylvie,” Molly said before disappearing into the dark. “You’ll feel better if you do.”