A Year Without Autumn Read online

  “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.”

  Autumn slowly shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re saying this, Jenni.”

  “I’m — I thought we were going horseback riding,” I stammer, trying to hold on to the one thing I know for sure is meant to be happening. “You persuaded me,” I continue. “I didn’t want to go, but you insisted, and I knew it’d be fun — if I was there with you. So we were going. At two o’clock . . .” My voice trails off and disappears into the silence of the living room, swallowed up and dying away to nothing.

  Autumn rubs her eyes. “I can’t handle this. We’ve all been through enough. It wasn’t an easy decision for us to come here, you know. Please don’t make it worse with silly games.”

  I haven’t got the first idea what she’s talking about. All I know is I’m starting to feel like I can’t breathe.

  I stumble to my feet.

  “Where are you going?” Autumn asks.

  “I — I don’t know,” I say. It seems to be my answer to everything right now — but I haven’t got a better one.

  “Jenni, I’m sorry,” Autumn says. “Don’t go. Come on, let’s just hang out and try to be normal for a change. It’s so long since we’ve seen each other!”

  “What? We’re always together!”

  Autumn just gives me another of those looks, and I think she’s about to answer, when a weak voice calls her name from one of the other rooms.

  “Oh, well, time’s up, I guess,” Autumn says, putting the DVD back in the drawer and getting up. “Come on.”

  I want to say, Come on where? but I don’t even trust myself to speak any more, so I just follow her into the back bedroom.

  The first thing I notice is how dark it is. The curtains are closed, and there’s a stale smell in the air. Not totally unpleasant, just not fresh and alive. And not how it normally smells when you’re anywhere near Autumn’s family. Apart from her mom’s expensive perfume, their house always smells of paint or incense — and fresh air. Whatever the time of year, the house always feels so alive.

  It feels anything but alive now.

  There’s a suitcase on the floor that no one’s bothered to unpack yet. The dark silence makes even the air feel heavy. There’s a really horrible feeling crawling up through my body, which — like everything else in here — I can’t explain.

  Then I notice Autumn’s mom.

  She looks small and lost, sit
ting propped up on a chair in the corner. Her hair’s loose and untidy. It often is, but this is different. It normally has that “just got out of bed” look that takes hours to create. This time she clearly has just gotten out of bed. And she’s wearing a baggy sweat suit. She never wears anything except either designer outfits or trendy jeans and paint-spattered smocks. Her eyes are dark.

  “Mrs. Leonard, I . . .” I what exactly? I think maybe I’m losing my mind, and I wonder if you can help me find it?

  She turns her face in my direction, and I notice there’s a thin squiggly black line snaking down each cheek.

  “Mrs. Leonard! What’s wrong?” I say.

  “What’s wrong?” she replies. “What’s wrong, Jenni?” Then she turns away again and doesn’t say any more.

  Then I realize — that’s what must have happened. We’re not going horseback riding because Mrs. Leonard is sick and can’t take us.

  I turn to Autumn. “You know, I could ask my mom if she could take us if you like,” I say. “I don’t think they’ll have left for the candle museum yet.”

  Autumn glares at me. “What are you talking about, Jenni?”

  Mrs. Leonard drags a hand through her hair — or tries to, anyway. It snags on a knot. “Take you where?” she asks.

  “Nowhere,” Autumn says quickly. I open my mouth but shut it again without saying anything.

  In a lower voice, Autumn says, “Jenni, please. You’re going to upset Mom. I want to see if we can get her out of the bedroom today. Just think about what you’re saying.”

  I don’t know what to think about what I’m saying, or what to think about what she’s saying, either. So I mutter, “OK,” and decide not to say anything else.

  Autumn smiles at me. “Thanks, Jenni. You’ve always been a good friend. I’m glad I’ve had you to talk to about everything that’s happened this year.” Then, before I can even begin to ask what she means, she goes over to the window and starts to open the curtains. “OK, come on now, Mom,” she says in a bright tone of voice that sounds false — as though she’s talking to a patient in a hospital, not her normal naturally bright voice. “Let’s get you up, shall we?”

  She pulls on the first curtain, and her mom turns away. “Close it,” her mom says firmly. “Don’t push me, Autumn. I’m not ready.”

  Autumn drops the curtain and takes a sharp breath. “OK,” she says calmly. “Do you want a cup of tea, then?”

  Mrs. Leonard nods. “Thank you,” she says in a whisper. “You’re good girls, both of you.”

  I follow Autumn into the kitchen. This has gone far enough. I need to know what’s going on.

  “Autumn,” I say.

  “Mm-hmm?” she says as she fills the kettle at the sink.

  “Listen to me.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Autumn, look at me,” I say.

  Autumn flicks the kettle on. “What?” she says, turning around to look at me. Her face is so pale, her eyes so tired and big and — sad.

  “Autumn, what’s happened?” I ask.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I mean everything! Your mom, you, even the condo. It’s all different!”

  Autumn looks around the condo. “I know,” she says. “Pretty awful, isn’t it? It’s the best we can do at the moment, since we don’t have as much money anymore. I didn’t want to come at all, but Mom and Dad thought it would help, you know, come to terms with it.”

  “Autumn — stop!” I shout, slamming my hands over my ears. I can’t listen to this any longer. I can’t cope with hearing all these things that don’t make sense anymore.

  Autumn takes a step toward me. “Jenni, what is it?” she asks, her voice full of concern. “Are you OK? Has something happened to you?”

  I shake my head. “Has something happened to me?” I say numbly. I don’t know what else to say. I take a big breath and let it out in a long whistle as I try to find the words.

  “Autumn — my head is bursting with so many questions, I think it’s going to explode.”

  “What questions? Tell me. You can still ask me anything, you know. You don’t need to stop yourself just because of all this. I’m still your best friend.”

  I nod. OK. Questions. Where to start?

  “Where’s your dad?” I ask eventually.

  Autumn laughs drily. “Like I said, at the bar, I presume,” she says. “Where else would he be?”

  Her answer makes about as much sense as everything else. Autumn’s parents are hardly ever apart, and they don’t generally drink anything except champagne or cocktails. Mr. Leonard certainly isn’t the type to hang out in the local bar all day.

  “So where’s Mikey?” I ask.

  Autumn’s jaw falls open. “Why are you asking me that?” she says.

  I stare back at her. “I just thought . . . he — he’s not here. Is he in his room?”

  Autumn stares harder at me; her eyes fill with tears.

  “Autumn, what’s the matter?” I ask. “What’s happened? Has something happened to Mikey since this morning?”

  “Since this morning?”

  “Well — at all, then?”

  Autumn rubs the back of her hand across her eyes and wipes her sleeve against her nose. “You really want me to spell out where Mikey is?” she asks.

  I nod, biting hard on my lip. I don’t trust myself to speak.

  “Jenni, Mikey is where he’s been for the last year.”

  For the last year? But he was with them yesterday. I saw him! I don’t say anything; I just wait for her to continue.

  “He’s at the hospital.”

  I clutch my throat. I think I’m going to be sick. “Why?” I eventually manage to squeeze out.

  Autumn shakes her head again. “This is unbelievable, Jenni. Why? Where else do you expect him to be?”

  “I — I don’t know. I don’t know why he’s in a hospital. What’s the matter with him?”

  “What’s the matter? Jenni, I don’t know what you’re playing at here, but if you need me to spell it out for you, I will. Mikey’s in exactly the same place he’s been for a year. In a hospital bed. In a coma.”

  “Jenni, are you all right?” Autumn’s leaning over me, waving a bottle of something strong-smelling over my face. I cough and sit up.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “I think you might have fainted,” Autumn says. “D’you want to try to get up?”

  I sit up and look at her. I try to take everything in and fail miserably.

  Autumn helps me up, and I go over to sit on the sofa. She gets a glass of water and sits down next to me. “Drink this,” she says. “You’ll feel better.”

  When did she get to be so thoughtful? The Autumn I thought I knew would have slapped me on my arm, told me to pull myself together, and dragged me out on some adventure. She wouldn’t be fetching me glasses of water and looking at me with concern.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking a long drink and letting the cool water slip down my throat. “I feel a bit better now.”

  She smiles at me — but the smile doesn’t reach her dark eyes. They look as though they’ve got an invisible veil inside them and she’s hidden behind it. It’s as if what makes her Autumn has slipped out of her.

  She points at my neck. “Hey, nice to see you dug that out.” I reach up and touch the friendship necklace that she gave me earlier. “Look, let’s forget what happened before, shall we? Start again. Tell me what you’ve been up to since I last saw you. It’s been ages!”

  I laugh. “Ages?”

  Autumn half smiles, a tiny hint of the old Autumn shining behind her eyes. “Well, at least two days. Ages for you and me.”

  I rest my forehead heavily on my palm. I need something to steady me. “I saw you —” I look at my watch. Twenty to three. “I saw you a couple of hours ago,” I say, virtually choking on my words. They feel like bricks coming out of my mouth. “We were going horseback riding,” I add in a dull monotone. “You said don’t be late.”

&nbs
p; Autumn takes a sharp breath. “Not this again.” She leans forward and puts a hand out to touch my arm. “Look, Jenni, I don’t know what’s going on here. You’re not playing some kind of trick, are you?”

  It’s the second time today I’ve been accused of that. “Do I look like I’m playing a trick, Autumn?” Then it suddenly hits me. Maybe that’s what she’s doing. For the second time today, I latch on to the possibility that this is all one big prank. A terrible, awful, really sick joke. I can hardly believe Autumn would try to pull off something so horrible — but suddenly it’s the only solution that makes sense. Autumn loves practical jokes. That must be what it is.

  “Autumn, are you joking around? Are you pulling my leg?” I ask.

  Autumn just looks at me. “Pulling your leg, Jenni?” She gets up and takes my glass into the kitchen. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” she says without turning around.

  I get up and follow her into the kitchen. I grab her arms. “Autumn,” I say. “This is awful. I can’t bear it.” Then I stop. My head drops into my hands.

  She puts the glass down. “What is it?” she asks gently. “What’s happened? What’s going on, Jen? Is it something at home?”

  I shake my head. Better not to try speaking. Any minute now, my words are going to swallow me up, turn me inside out. Maybe I’ll disappear, the floor sliding open, and I’ll gradually fall away, slip into nothingness. Like my life has done.

  I take a deep breath, blowing the air back out through my palms. “Autumn, something really strange has happened.”

  “What?”

  “The last time I saw you . . .”

  “The day before yesterday?”

  I close my eyes. “This morning.”

  “I didn’t see you this morning.”

  “Yes, you did! Look. Just hear me out, OK?”

  “OK,” Autumn agrees with a shrug.

  I take a breath. “The last time I saw you, it was just before lunch,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “We were going horseback riding.” Autumn opens her mouth to speak, and I quickly continue before she interrupts me. “You said don’t be late. But I was late. I couldn’t find you. You weren’t at the condo. A man told me to come here. And I did. And now I’m here, and nothing makes sense.” I look at Autumn. She’s staring blankly at me, as though her face is a mask with nothing behind it. My voice is rising, growing tight and sharp as I try to hold myself together. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” A tear slips out of my eye and runs down my cheek. “I think maybe I’m going crazy.”