Page 45 of Autumn on My Mind

“What?” I say before he can continue. “Why?”

“It’s not my fault,” Dom responds, and in brief hindsight I can admit there was definitely an accusatory note in my voice.

“Sorry!” I say quickly as he grumbles under his breath. “I know. I know, okay? I’m sorry.”

A staticky sigh filters down the line. “Well, they’re going out at six, according to a concerned text from Emma.”

“Wow. Your sisters are on top of things.”

“Emma is,” he agrees. “So mix the bleach stuff then and meet me at my dad’s house at six-fifteen. Does that work?”

“I’ll be there,” I say, my voice as grim as his. “Bring snacks.”

Dominic does not bring snacks.

“Is there no food?” I say, craning my neck and looking him over when he lets me in to his dad’s. “I specifically requested something to eat.”

“Seeing as you are a grown woman,” he says in a dry voice, closing the door behind me, “and seeing as I am not your servant, I thought you could feed yourself.”

He’s right, but food tastes better when it’s given to you by someone else. Everyone knows this.

“I suppose you’re correct,” I say. Then I hold up my plastic container with foil over the top. “Shall we?”

He doesn’t answer but gestures at the stairs, and I hurry up, listening to the thump of his feet behind me.

Steady and sure and firm, whether walking toward me or away.

“First door on the right,” Dominic says when we reach the top. My feet sink into the thick carpet and then meet the chilled tile as I enter a small bathroom with bright lights, a blue bath curtain, and a clean mirror. My teenage self is drinking it all in with excitement and wonder, of course—This is where Dominic brushed his teeth! This is where he got to look at himself in the mirror every day!—but I rein her in. Then I hold out the foil-covered container to Dominic.

But he’s not looking at me; he has his phone in his hand, and he lets out a quiet snort of amusement.

When he glances up and sees me giving him a questioning look, he tucks the phone back in his pocket. “Bennett ran into his wi—” He breaks off, clears his throat, and then says, “His ex-wife today, and he was not equipped to deal with the situation.”

“Maven?” I say, remembering what I overheard when I took Dominic the letter.

He nods but doesn’t offer any more details, so I pass him the foil-covered container, and he steps into the shower, closing the curtain.

I close the door behind us and wait with bated breath, my pulse jumpy even though no one is home. I’ll feel much better once we get out of here.

From the shower I can hear the faint rustle of tin foil and the soft clunks of bottles being moved around.

“This shampoo is pretty full already,” he mutters.

“Just fill as much as you can,” I say. “It should still⁠—”

But I break off when a sound filters to me, coming not from in the bathroom but from without. I freeze, and the faint noises in the shower cease too.

It could be nothing.

I breathe these words unsteadily to Dominic, who doesn’t reply. I don’t think he believes me.

And when the unmistakable churning of a garage door begins, I don’t believe me either.

“He’s home already?” I say. “How?”

Dominic renews his shampoo-bleach process behind the shower curtain, the sounds more hurried now. I dance on my tiptoes with anxiety as more noise begins to filter our direction—the deep voice of a man, followed by⁠—

Oh, no.