A Year Without Autumn (10 page)

“I’ve only just finished,” Dad says, still calm, but with an edge of exasperation creeping into his voice. “They were on the counter before. At least they’re clean now.”

“Oh, my mistake. You left
clean
knives lying around, and they’re in the dish rack, rather than on the counter! Well, that’s much better, isn’t it? You do know that eighty percent of household accidents occur in the kitchen, don’t you?”

“Yes, dear,” Dad says. More quietly, he adds, “You’ve only told me about a hundred times.”

Mom just shakes her head as she noisily puts all the knives away. Then she surveys the room, as though checking it for any more potentially life-threatening hazards. Clearly satisfied that there aren’t any, she goes back to the fridge and gets the juice out.

“Do you want one?” she asks without looking at either of us.

I glance at Dad and realize for the first time that he looks different, too. Not as different as everyone else, but different nevertheless. More tired. And there are a few spots of gray in his dark hair that I’m sure weren’t there this morning. But who knows? This morning’s already feeling like a lifetime ago.

“What’s up with her?” I mouth at him.

Dad makes a “Just leave it” face at me before handing me the baby and going to join Mom in the kitchen. He gets two cups out of the cupboard, gives her a tiny kiss on her cheek, and smiles gently at her, as though she’s an old lady he’s helping across the road. “I booked a table,” he says.

Mom looks vacantly at him. “Table?”

“For tonight. Our anniversary.”

“Oh, yes. That. OK. As long as Jenni’s sure about Thea.”

Thea?
I look at the baby.
Is that you?
“Of course I am,” I say, more than happy to spend the evening with my little sister.

Mom glances over at us. “I don’t know,” she says to Dad. “Can we see how she is later?”

“Jenni will be fine with Thea, and so will Craig, won’t you, Craig?”

Craig grunts a reply without looking away from the TV.

Dad puts his arms around Mom’s waist. “Darling, they’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen to anyone. We can call them every half an hour just to check. But it’s our sixteen-year anniversary, and I would like to take my wife out to celebrate. OK?”

Mom looks at him and finally smiles. “OK,” she says. Then she gives him a quick peck on the cheek and wriggles out of his arms so she can pour the juice.

Dad comes back into the living room, and we sit down on the sofa together.

“What’s
up
with her?” I ask in a whisper.

“What d’you mean?”

“Why’s she being like this? Mom’s never moody.”

Dad runs a hand through his hair. “What planet are you living on, Jenni? Have you actually been around for the last year?”

“Good question,” I say under my breath.

“What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“You know how all the stuff with Mikey’s affected her,” Dad goes on. “She just needs a bit of time to get back to normal.”

Hmm. Don’t we all?
I kiss Thea on her soft little head and hold her out to Dad. “I’m going out, OK?”

“Do you have to? You only just got back in,” he says, taking Thea and cuddling her.

I look around at the room, at all of them, and suddenly I can’t take it — any of it. “Yes, I have to,” I say.

“Can I come?” Craig asks instantly, breaking away from the TV for the first time since he came in.

“No.” I need to be on my own. I’ve got too many questions racing around in my head to start dealing with Craig.

“Be back in an hour at the latest, all right?” Dad calls. “I’d like to spend a little time all together before we go to dinner.”

“No problem,” I say, and I make my escape.

My head’s spinning as I walk aimlessly along the path. I keep looking for things that have changed. I’m sure there’s a tree missing — and wasn’t that blue shed green this morning? Everything’s so familiar and yet so different. It’s too spooky.

I automatically head over to Autumn’s building. But I stop outside her new condo. No, I can’t do it. I can’t go back to see her. That would be even worse than our place was.

I need something that makes sense to me. Something that can help me work out where my life has gone. But there’s nothing that can do that, and nowhere I can go. I’m totally alone and lost in a strange world that isn’t my life.

Wait!

Who said that? Someone said almost exactly the same thing — I’m sure of it.

With a shiver that snakes the length of my body, from my head to my toes and back up again, I remember who it was. The woman upstairs, in Autumn’s old condo. I remember her words exactly because they were so strange.

No one knows — no one
ever
knew. Only me. Always lost.

That’s exactly how I feel!

Does she . . . could she . . . ? Is it possible that she might know something?

One thing’s for sure — I’m not going to get answers anywhere else. If there’s a chance she could help, I’ve got to try asking her.

And before I can talk myself out of it, I’m inside the building and taking the elevator up to Autumn’s old condo. The normal elevator, that is. The old one is closed and silent beside it.

“I only want a minute of your time,” I say quickly before the woman’s had a chance to tell me to go away.

She’s holding on to the door, almost hidden behind it, her face peering around the side.

“I’ve got to understand something,” I say. “I need your help.”

“Why?” she asks suspiciously. “How on earth could I help you? You’ve come to make fun of me again, haven’t you?”

“No! I haven’t. I promise.” I can see she’s about to close the door in my face — and part of me thinks I might as well give up. But then another part — a new part, a part of me I don’t even recognize — speaks up firmly. “Don’t shut the door on me. Please. I need someone I can talk to.”

She looks at me for a long time, searching my face, her eyes screwed up tight, as though scanning me with a lie detector.

“Very well,” she says eventually. Opening her door, she adds, “You can have five minutes.”

I follow her into the condo. “I’d offer you a drink, but I’ve only got rose-hip tea, and you won’t want that.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” I wave away her offer, if that’s what it was.

She sits down at the table and points to a chair opposite her. “Now, what can I do for you?” she asks, smoothing down her dress.

“I don’t really know,” I say.

“Well, that’s a fine start, isn’t it?”

“I just — it’s just that I came here, and then everything changed.”

“Everything changed? Now she’s not even making sense,” the woman says to the room, as though there was an audience sitting on the sofa.

“I came up here. Where Autumn’s family comes every year.”

“Autumn again. I’ve told —”

“Where they used to stay,” I continue quickly. “Autumn’s my friend. Or she was. Well, she still is, but — anyway, I was coming up here to see her.”

“Now, listen — what’s your name? And please don’t say something ridiculous like Spring or Sunshine.” She purses her lips together in a tight frown. I wish she didn’t seem so annoyed, but then I imagine having some girl turn up at your door for the third time talking absolute nonsense isn’t strictly the best way to bring patience and kindness out in people.

“Jenni,” I say. “With an
i.
”

She raises an eyebrow. “Right. Well, Jenni with an
i,
I’m Mrs. Smith. With an
i,
too, as it happens. Not very original, I know. Not my fault, I’m afraid.” Then she smiles a bit.

“It’s OK,” I say, feeling more stupid every time I open my mouth.

“So tell me, Jenni,” Mrs. Smith continues over me. “Why were you so convinced you’d find your friend here?”

“This has always been her family’s condo. I just saw her this morning, and she said it was definitely this unit again. I made her tell me the number just to be sure.”

Mrs. Smith stares at me for a long time. I stare back. As I do, it’s as if I can see past the front she’s putting on, right behind it to the woman I met the first time I came here. The kindly, helpful, nice lady — the one who hadn’t had some girl show up three times with stories that don’t make sense.

“I’m sorry,” I say, wanting to make it better for her. Why should she get dragged into my crazy mess? “Look, I got it wrong. I know I did. I just don’t understand how or why I’m the only person confused by things that everyone else takes for granted.”

Mrs. Smith doesn’t say anything. She just keeps staring at me. I feel as if she can see right inside me, all the way into my soul. Can you see the truth in there?
Can you tell me what’s happened?

“Yes, dear,” she says, her voice soft like it was the first time. “You just got it wrong. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“But I didn’t make a —” I begin, and then I stop. What’s the point? I don’t want to annoy her again.

“They must have changed condos,” she goes on. “Your friend is obviously as confused as you are! This is only my first year here.” She pauses, her eyelids lowering slightly. “Well, my first for a very long . . .” Suddenly, her eyes go all watery, and she smoothes her dress again and gets up from her seat. “You’ll at least have a glass of water, won’t you,” she says, wiping an arm across her eyes as she goes to run the faucet, “on a hot day like this?”

“I — yes, OK,” I say as she brings two glasses to the table. She sits down and stares into her glass.

“So it’s your first year here?” I prompt her.

Mrs. Smith glances up at me as if she’s just remembered I’m there. “It is, yes,” she says briskly. “That’s all there is to it, you see? You got it wrong. Your friend changed her condo, told you the wrong number. It happens all the time. I’m sure you’ll find her. Why don’t you ask someone which unit she has now?”

“I don’t need to — I found her!”

Mrs. Smith does this really weird thing. Somehow she manages to look relieved and disappointed all at the same time. “Well, that’s wonderful!” she says. “So you
did
make a mistake!”

She says this as though it’s a statement, but the way she’s looking into my eyes makes it feel like a question, a challenge — a test.
What’s the right answer?

Something inside my stomach is playing leapfrog. Can I really tell her what’s going on? I don’t even know this woman. What makes me think she can help? Just because she said she’s always felt alone? She could have meant
anything
by that. Why on earth did I think she meant that everything around her suddenly skipped forward a year and left her behind?
How
crazy would it sound if I said that out loud!

“Things have changed,” I say carefully, watching her face for a reaction.

“It happens, you know. Life moves on. Things do change,” Mrs. Smith says back, just as carefully. She tightens her lips. “People get forgotten,” she adds, that sharp edge coming back into her voice.

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean she’s changed a
lot.
And so have I. I’m not who I was. Or I am, but —”

“You’re talking in riddles, child,” Mrs. Smith says. “Spit it out — what are you trying to tell me?”

“She was a year older than I remember!” I burst out before I can stop myself. “And I am as well! Everything —” I stop to take a breath. “It’s all moved on. It’s all changed. I’ve lost a year of my life, and I don’t know where it’s gone!”

Mrs. Smith looks as though I’ve slapped her. Her cheeks have gone white, sucked in, her eyes dark and hollow. “You what?” she says in a shaky voice.

“I — I don’t know what’s happened to the whole of last year,” I repeat, less certainly. And then I realize what the look is on her face. She’s looking at me as though I’m insane. She thinks I’m a complete and utter crazy loon who shouldn’t be allowed to wander around freely.

She stands up and takes a step away from the table. That’s it — she’s going to call someone and have them take me away. She probably thinks I’m dangerous.

I’m a fool! Just because some lonely woman confessed to me that she’s always felt a bit lost, I decide to spill my guts at her kitchen table and make her think I’m a raving lunatic! I have to salvage the situation quickly, before she calls the police and gets someone to cart me away to a psych ward with padlocks on the doors.

I try to smile. “Hey — I’m only joking,” I say. “Ha-ha. Just being silly. I mean, obviously I haven’t lost a year of my life! Ha-ha, just my little joke.”

Mrs. Smith grips the back of her chair. “You were joking?” she whispers, her words tight like a taut piece of old rope that could snap at any moment.
“Joking?”

I try to smile again. I know I probably look even more like a demented idiot, but just hearing myself say those words — it was crazy to say them out loud. And to a complete stranger as well! What was I
thinking?

I need to get out of here. I get up and carefully push my chair under the table.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” I say. “It was just a joke. A — a dare. Playing around. I’m sorry. It wasn’t true. Sorry.”

She nods. Her grip has tightened on the back of her chair. She’s furious with me for playing a joke on her, and I’m not surprised.

“I’ll go, then,” I say, backing away to the door. “I’m really sorry,” I repeat.

“A dare,” she says, her voice trembling.

“Yep. Sorry. Just kids, you know . . . ?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry,” I say one last time. And then, before she has the chance to say another word — or reach for the phone — I grab the doorknob, swing the door open, and get the heck away from there.

My brain is in a scramble as I get to the elevators. I press the button. I can hear electrical whirring sounds behind the door, but the elevator doesn’t appear. I feel really bad about making Mrs. Smith think I was playing a joke on her — but what else could I do? It’s better than having her think I’m crazy and telling my parents to lock me up.

I’m about to head toward the stairs when I hear a clunking noise behind me. The same clunking noise as earlier. It’s the old elevator.

I yank the door open, pull the gate, and step into the elevator. I need to get away from here before Mrs. Smith comes after me or tells anyone what just happened. In fact, I need to get away from everyone.