Page 62 of Autumn on My Mind

When my gaze drops to the picture, to what’s capturing so much of her attention, my throat tightens.

It’s a family photo of the four of us—Nathan and I, Alvina, and my dad. Taken a year or two before he died, it portrays him exactly like I remember, with dark hair, bright eyes, and a relaxed smile.

The rest of us look so different now that it hurts to see the way we were.

Still paying no attention to her surroundings, Alvina’s slow steps move toward the couch, where she perches delicately on the arm rest.

Finally I set my plastic bag on the counter and leave the kitchen. I approach carefully, because with Alvina that’s always best, especially if you can’t read the situation.

Why did she take that picture off the wall? Checking in on her old family before she moves on to the next?

“So,” I say, and I find the word hoarse. “How are things with Daryl?” I hesitate and then ask, “Is he going to be my new stepdad?”

To my surprise, Alvina doesn’t answer right away. I’m not even sure she hears me; there’s a faraway look in her eyes as she stares at our family picture, and her hands are almost gentle as she brings it closer, touching the glass with one finger.

“Al—Mom?” I say.

“Hmm? Oh,” she says. She looks away from the photo and laughs lightly, and when she speaks, her voice is less theatrical. “Marry Daryl? It’s unlikely, I think.”

My brows jump at this, some of my wariness vanishing.

Alvina looks up and sees my surprise; then she nods and glances back at the photo in her lap. “I fear Daryl is far too good for someone like me.” She touches the picture fondly again. “He’s very like your father, you know.”

I blink. “Is he?”

“Mmm. He’s a gentleman.” She holds up her bony hand—looking, I think, at the ring finger that’s currently empty. Then she fiddles with the shiny bracelets on her wrist. “I adore beautiful things. Your previous stepfathers—they did too. But Daryl…” She trails off, her voice musing, her eyes distant once more. “He’s different, I suppose.”

And my tight throat closes further as the world around me fades away. All I can see is my mother’s expression, and all I can feel is horror and deep, desperate despair, because it never occurred to me—it never even crossed my mind that my mother might actually fall for Daryl.

That she might actually end up loving him.

I don’t know why my heart is breaking, only that it is, ripping along seams already repaired so many times before. “How is he different?” I say.

Alvina doesn’t notice my voice break or my eyes tear up, and I guess it’s for the best.

“Well, I prefer things to go my way, and I don’t mind making a fuss. It’s a woman’s prerogative, sweetheart,” she adds as an aside, flicking a few careless fingers at me. “But Daryl doesn’t give an inch if he thinks I’m being unreasonable. Can you imagine—me, unreasonable.” She scoffs, but there’s a fond smile at the corners of her lips, telling me far more than her words ever could. “I expect he believes in growing old together, working hard for each other.” That little smile fades into something wistful.

Wistful. Like she wants those things.

“I think he’ll eventually realize I’m not that kind of woman,” she goes on. And although her tone is breezy now, her standard way of speaking, she doesn’t look like herself. Her eyes dart away from mine, and she smooths her hair with her free hand.

I find myself stepping forward and speaking. “You could be that kind of woman.”

STOP TALKING, my brain screams at my mouth. WE ARE NOT ENCOURAGING THIS RELATIONSHIP.

But my logical brain doesn’t seem to have any power in this conversation, because I go on. “You were before, weren’t you? With Dad?”

The protests in my mind quiver when a single tear runs down my mother’s cheek.

“I suppose so,” she says, turning her head and wiping the tear with a delicate flick of her wrist. “But I’m not sure it’s worth doing again, you know—that level of devotion. I’m quite happy enough the way I am.” The words are followed by a laugh that’s not quite real, a fake, airy sound.

It’s the laugh of a woman who knows she’s lying.

“Oh, this is all so silly to discuss, Reese, darling.” She stands up, smooths her hands down her shirt, and tosses the family photo carelessly onto the couch behind her. “You should turn in early.”

I blink at her. “It’s not bedtime.”

She waves this away. “Yes, well. You have bags under your eyes.”