A Year Without Autumn (3 page)

Mom looks at the drinks and raises her eyebrows. “Champagne this year. What’s that about?” She pats her stomach. “Shame I can’t have any,” she says. I grab three cups of orange juice for her, Craig, and myself as Dad helps himself to a glass of champagne and downs half of it in one gulp.

Mr. Barraclough has started talking again. “So, as this is my last year, I thought we’d do it up,” he says.

“Bit young for retiring, aren’t you?” a red-faced man at the side of the room calls out. “Or are we paying you too much?”

“I wish!” Mr. Barraclough says, half frowning, half smiling. “No, I just thought I’d do some traveling. See some of the world beyond Riverside Village,” he adds. “I’m fifty this year. Can’t put your life on hold forever.” Then he stares out the window and pauses. For a moment, he seems to have forgotten about all of us. The pause is just starting to feel awkward when he coughs and raises his glass with a smile that looks really sad. You’d think he’d seem a little happier about leaving his job to go traveling.

“Anyway, I hope you all settle into your condos without any problems,” he says. “I’m here whenever you need me, as are my staff. Try to remember, if it’s a sink you need unblocking, there’s Johnny and Rita and Pete, and if you need someone to share a long drink and chat with in the bar, you’ve got my number.”

A few people laugh while Mr. Barraclough takes a sip of his champagne. “We’ve got a whole bunch of top-notch events planned for you this week, as always,” he continues, “so please take your time to check out all the activities, sign up before it’s too late, and, most of all, have a wonderful week. Thank you.”

With that, he raises his glass and nods to a small round of applause.

Mom grabs my arm. “Come on. Let’s see what they’ve got planned.”

I grab a handful of dry-roasted peanuts and follow her to join the others crowding around a table that stretches down one side of the room. It’s covered with leaflets and brochures and sign-up forms. Dad and Craig wander over to a board at the other side of the room. It shows pictures of a local steam train. That’s another thing that happens every year. Craig’s world would be turned upside down if we didn’t have at least one ride on the steam train while we’re here.

“Look. They haven’t done a trip here before, have they?” Mom passes me a leaflet about a candle museum. “You can make your own candles,” she adds.

I study the leaflet. There are pictures of candles shaped like mermaids and fairies and trees and all sorts of things. I imagine Autumn and me making matching candles and giving them to each other as presents. “It looks good,” I agree.

Mom picks up the sign-up sheet. “They’re doing a trip tomorrow afternoon. Shall I sign us up?”

“Yeah, great,” I reply, glancing at the door for the twentieth time to see if Autumn’s here yet.

A second later, Dad comes over, pulling Craig along by the hand. Craig’s walking like a bowlegged cowboy; his pants are soaked.

“He knocked his drink over,” Dad says. “I’ll take him home to change. Back in a minute.”

He pauses at the door to talk to someone who’s just arrived. I peer around the corner. Yay! It’s Autumn!

She screams my name so loud that half the room turns to see what’s going on, then she runs over and squeezes me so tight that she practically knocks the wind out of me as her parents come in behind her. They’re dressed in matching linen pants and bright tops: his baby blue, hers bright pink. Autumn’s wearing old jeans and a red T-shirt with a white donkey in the middle. When they come in, the room changes, as though it was black-and-white before and they’ve flicked a switch that’s turned it into color.

“Didn’t you girls see each other about two hours ago?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, but we haven’t had time to catch up on the two million things we need to tell each other yet,” Autumn says.

“Two million? It was a million and a half at the last count,” her mom says with a smile.

“That was two hours ago! There’s more now!”

I laugh, but she’s right. There’s always so much I want to tell her. Just stupid things, stuff most people wouldn’t bother with but I know she’ll want to hear about.

“I suppose I know what you mean,” Mom says, kissing Autumn’s mom on the cheek and pulling her to one side while Autumn’s dad goes over to speak to Mr. Barraclough.

“Let’s see what they’ve got lined up for us, then,” Autumn says with a wink as she snatches up a handful of leaflets. “Nope, nope, nah, no way,” she says, quickly scanning each one before dropping it back down and moving along the table.

“Candles!” she snorts, throwing down the leaflet Mom and I had been looking at. “Who’d want to go and visit a candle museum? I mean,
please
!”

I don’t say anything as I shuffle some brochures on the table so she can’t see the sign-up sheet — and I turn away so she doesn’t see my pink cheeks, either. Suddenly, Autumn’s pulling on my arm and jigging up and down like a toddler. “Look at this, Jenni,” she says.

It’s a brochure for an outdoor adventure park in a village about ten miles away.

“We’ve got to go!” Autumn says. “Listen to this. They do rock climbing, rappeling, hiking, all sorts of things.”

I
knew
she’d try to talk me into something like this. “I don’t know,” I murmur, playing for time. I mean I know it generally feels great
after
I’ve done some scary stunt that Autumn’s persuaded me is a good idea — but that doesn’t mean I’m desperate for the next one. “Rappeling? Rock climbing? Don’t those involve heights?” I ask nervously. “I mean — don’t you think it could be a bit dangerous?”

“And horseback riding! That’s it — we’re going!” Autumn bursts out, instantly clicking her teeth and jumping around me, trotting like a horse. “Remember the wooden horses we had in first grade, Jen?”

We’d persuaded our parents to buy us matching hobbyhorses, and we used to trit-trot
everywhere
on them. We pretended we were cowgirls out on the plains hunting for long-lost treasure.

I laugh. “Mm, but like you say, we were in first grade — and they
were
wooden. No danger of having one of them trample on your feet!”

Autumn stops trotting and turns to look for her mom. She’s standing in the middle of the room, her hand on my mom’s stomach, smiling as they talk.

“What’s going on?” I ask as we join them.

“He kicked,” Mom says, beaming.

“He?” Mrs. Leonard asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, we don’t know for sure,” Mom says, “but he feels like a ‘he’ to me. Feel the kick on those legs, and tell me we haven’t got a little soccer player in there!”

I reach out to touch Mom’s stomach. A tiny
thump
pushes at my hand. It fills my heart to think there’s a little life in there. My baby brother. I can’t wait to meet him.

Autumn puts her hand next to mine.
“Awesome!”
she cries. Then she bends down and talks directly to Mom’s stomach. “Hey, Jenni’s little bro,” she says. “Please will you tell Mrs. Green that Jenni and I are going horseback riding?”

“What’s that?” her mom asks.

Autumn opens up the brochure. “Horseback riding! We’re going tomorrow!” she announces. Autumn doesn’t generally do requests. There’d be no point; no one ever says no to her.

“It’s tomorrow?” I falter. “But I’ve just signed up for the trip to . . .” My voice trails off.

“They only do the horseback riding on Sundays,” Autumn says, studying the brochure. She started riding lessons this year and thinks it’s the best thing ever. I went with her once. I didn’t like it all that much, even though I knew I probably should. All girls my age love horses, but I just think they’re so . . . well, big! My favorite animals are generally the type you can cuddle without worrying about them standing on your feet and crushing your toes to dust. Cute fluffy ones like puppies and kittens.

“Mom, we can go, can’t we?” Autumn persists.

“I don’t see why not,” her mom answers, looking at the times of the class. “As long as you can get a ride back. We could drop you off, but I’m booked for an aromatherapy massage later on.” She turns to my mom. “Can you pick them up?”

“I thought you wanted to go to the candle museum, Jenni,” Mom says.

Autumn bursts out laughing as my cheeks heat up.

“I was only doing it for you,” I say quickly. “You go with Craig. I’d rather go horseback riding.” And it’s true. Suddenly the idea of a candle museum sounds dull to me, too. Even if horseback riding
is
scary, if Autumn’s there, I know it’ll be more fun than anything else I could be doing.

And, anyway, both of us want to be together as often as possible this week since we’re not going to see each other as much once we get home. We go to different middle schools. I go to the local one, while she goes to a magnet school in the next town. Autumn went through months of agony last year, trying to decide where to go. She wanted to be with me, but her dream is to be a famous artist, and everyone said that she should go there, since it’s got a great art department. Even I agreed — reluctantly. And apart from missing each other, we’re both really happy where we are.

We’ve always promised each other that it won’t change anything between us and that we’ll be best friends forever. So far, that seems to be the case. But now that it’s the start of another year, I can’t help worrying a little. I mean, you never
really
know what’s going to happen, do you?

Wouldn’t it be great if you did, though? If you could just have a little glimpse of what the future holds. Just so you’d know. That would be so cool.

“All right, love. Your dad can pick you up,” Mom says with a smile. “I’m sure he won’t want to be dragged around a boring museum, either.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say as Autumn grabs my hand and drags me off.

We pass Dad and Craig coming back in as we leave. “Don’t be late,” Dad calls after us. “I thought we’d all have a game of Monopoly before Craig’s bedtime.”

Autumn laughs as she runs outside. “Honestly, Jen. Monopoly? It’s nonstop thrills with your family!” Then she pinches me, tickling me till I fall to the ground, laughing hysterically.

Two girls are walking toward us as we chase each other down the path: Christine and Sally. They’ve been coming here as long as we have. They’re about our age, but as different from us as you can get. Both perfect and pretty, with their long blond hair and little pink handbags swinging on their arms. Their pace quickens and their smiles widen when they spot us. Correction: when they spot
Autumn.

“Hi!” they enthuse in unison, crowding around Autumn and hardly noticing me.

“You want to hang out with us tomorrow?” Christine asks. “I’ve got a new straightening iron we can try out on each other, or we could go shopping or something.” Both girls hold their breath while they wait for Autumn to answer. It’s like being best friends with a movie star. Everyone always wants to know Autumn.

“Sorry, we’re busy tomorrow,” Autumn says lazily. I don’t think she even realizes how much everyone craves her company. “Catch up with you later in the week maybe.”

The girls try not to show their disappointment. “Cool,” Sally says. “See you later.”

“Bye, then!” I say pointedly as they turn away.

“Oh, see you, Jenni,” Christine calls over her shoulder as an afterthought.

Autumn nudges me once they’re out of sight. “Why would I want to hang out with Barbie One and Barbie Two, anyway?” she says.

“Autumn, that’s mean!” I say, secretly trying not to smile as we head back down the path, away from the buildings, along the river, and across the long bridge that curves over to a field on the other side.

A bit farther up, the river opens out into its widest stretch. It’s almost a lake, virtually still and shallow. If you watch closely, you can just about see the current slinking forward.

Across the bridge, you can creep around some bushes at the very edge of the lake to a tiny rocky bay hidden around the corner. It’s our secret place.

Autumn kicks off her shoes and rolls up her jeans. She splashes into the water, picks up a stone, and skips it across the lake. It bounces six times. “Oh, yes! The stone-skipping champion of the world strikes again!” she whoops.

I edge into the water behind her. It’s freezing.

“So what’s new?” she asks, scavenging for another flat stone. “Any gossip?”

I laugh. “Gossip? Me?
You’re
the one with the exciting life!”

“That’s true,” she says as she flicks her stone across the lake.

“Hey!” I laugh, kicking water at her.

She bends down to splash me. Laughing and screaming, we chase each other back to the pebbly cove.

Autumn flops down on the stones. “Come on,” she says, wiping her feet off with her hands before putting her shoes back on.

“But we just got here.”

“Let’s go down to the weir and see how full it is.”

“It’s full. I’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, but not with me, you haven’t.”

That’s how it is with Autumn. As soon as we’re doing one thing, she’s ready to move on to something else. I follow her as she dances along the path. On the way, I tell her about Craig being sick on the way up and about the book I’m reading, and I point out the leaves that have gone red like they always do. Silly stuff, really, but there’s something about sharing things with Autumn that’s important. As though nothing’s quite real until I have.

It’s just starting to get dark when we get back to the condos. The steam train puffs through the woods across the river, letting out its comic little “Toot!” before it disappears under a bridge.

“I wouldn’t believe that train was for real if we hadn’t actually been on it,” Autumn says. “It’s like something out of a cartoon.”

“Yep. It’s definitely real,” I say, remembering last year when Craig and Mikey stuck their heads out the window and tooted at the tops of their voices, making an elderly lady jump out of her skin. I thought they’d given her a heart attack.

“It’s all so organized here, isn’t it?” Autumn continues. “Not like normal life.”

“It’s certainly nothing like
your
life!” I say with a laugh. “
Nothing’s
organized at your house!”