Page 46 of Autumn on My Mind

Footsteps.

On the stairs.

“This is bad,” I breathe, looking around the small bathroom. “This is bad, this is bad⁠—”

“Reese.”

I startle out of my skin at Dominic’s whisper that filters toward me from behind the shower curtain.

“You scared me,” I whisper. Then I frown. “Why did you close that?”

The corner of the curtain yanks open, and out pops Dominic’s head. “I don’t know. Instinct, I guess. I’m almost done with the shampoo.”

Relief cascades through me. “Hurry,” I say as my body sags.

Dom’s floating head twitches upward, his gaze jumping to the door behind me, and then he looks back to me. “We need a cover story.”

Great point. Except⁠—

“What cover story?” I say as I glance over my shoulder at the door too. “What reason could I possibly have for being here?”

I can’t hear the footsteps on the stairs anymore, which means Dom’s dad has either gone back downstairs or gone somewhere else up here. I scurry closer to the shower. “Hurry,” I breathe. “Come on. Hurry.”

“I’m trying.”

“Why do you think he came back? Do you think they fought?” But I slap my hand over my mouth when I hear footsteps once more.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears in the silence that falls. I whip my head to look at the door, and then I turn back to Dominic, whose eyes have gone as wide as mine—except he still looks handsome, while I probably look like a frog, or maybe one of those tiny monkeys with eyes like tennis balls.

Unfortunately, my tennis ball eyes pop even wider when someone outside the door speaks.

Because it’s not Daryl whose words we hear.

It’s the giggling, offhand voice of one Alvina Lucinda Berkeley.

My mother. That is my mother out there, laughing at something Daryl has said, probably not as funny as she makes it sound⁠—

And then, to my horror, the doorknob starts to turn.

It’s this, finally, that releases me from my statue-frozen state and shifts me firmly into flight mode.

And fly I do—over the edge of the bathtub, through the shower curtain, and straight into the shower where Dominic is already stashed.

It is not possible for me to overstate my relief upon seeing him fully clothed. I knew he was, of course; I watched him get in here. But when one enters a shower, one subconsciously expects the occupant to be naked.

With a muffled thump and a wince of pain, I make it all the way into the shower seconds before the bathroom door swings open behind me. I teeter precariously, but Dominic’s firm hand finds my upper arm and steadies me. Our wide eyes meet—and then, maybe because I’m already doing it, he mirrors me; his hand leaves my arm and jumps to his mouth, clamping over it tightly to prevent any sound from escaping.

From outside the shower, the click of fussy heels on tile reaches us, followed by the faint sound of off-key humming.

Humming.

I remember when my mother used to sing around the house, tuneless but cheerful, so many years ago now that the memories have mostly faded.

She was happy, once.

Is she really so happy now, too?

I startle at the sound of a drawer opening and closing; then I squeeze my stinging eyes closed a few times and banish the wilting feeling in my chest.