Page 63 of Autumn on My Mind

Then she bustles past me, out of the room, and up the stairs again. I’m left watching her go, and as soon as she’s gone, I hurry around the couch to retrieve the photo.

I lift it carefully, smiling at my dad. “Hi,” I tell him, my voice soft. “I’ll put you back on the wall so you don’t have to stare at the ceiling, okay?” I carry him across the room, lifting my sweater to clean the frame—only to realize that there’s no dust.

I hang the picture gently, returning it to its place. Then I glance at some of the other photos that hang nearby. Their frames are all covered in a fine layer of dust, except for one: another family photo, one from when I was still in middle school. It hangs slightly crooked, so I straighten it, squeezing my stinging eyes and wondering how much time Alvina spends with my dad when no one else is watching.

Bright and early Monday morning brings the beginning of the Fall Festival, and I swear the crisp breeze is scented with pumpkin spice.

Main has been closed off from end to end, giving plenty of room for all the booths and tables and activities. I don’t make it to the kick-off breakfast because I’m helping Nathan open the store, but I smell what’s being cooked—delicious maple and sizzling sausage and fluffy pancakes. As much as I love the pumpkin patch, I’m almost sad when it’s time to head over.

I step out of Berk’s and into the sun, the cheerful hum of chatter and enjoyment greeting my ears. Leaving the sidewalk past the trees that line the road, I crane my neck up and down Main to get a better look; a smile finds me immediately at the vibrant colors and the milling of townspeople and the laughter of children officially off school for fall break.

My smile dims when I see Rosie hurrying around, though. She looks frazzled, but that’s not what bothers me; it’s the memory of my conversation with Alvina last night that floods in and wrinkles worry into my expression. I wave when I catch Rosie’s eye, and she waves back, but my greeting is halfhearted.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen my mother the way she was last night. For a few brief moments, all of her masks were stripped away, and she felt human—not drifting aimlessly and carelessly but somewhat rooted. What’s more, she seemed to want to be that person, even if she denied it.

Maybe he could fix her!

The words I spoke in desperation the other day come back to me now, but I shake my head. “Absolutely not,” I say to myself. “It doesn’t work that way, and you know it.”

No one can fix another person. But the power of a positive, motivating influence…that can’t be denied, either.

I scrub my hands down my face and groan.

“Talking to yourself?”

I startle and whirl around to see Dominic, his arms folded. The cord of his necklace is tucked securely beneath a green t-shirt that turns his eyes from mossy to emerald, even in the shadow of his baseball hat.

The memory of pretending to kiss him floods into my mind, and I can feel my stupid cheeks heating.

He brought me a blanket. I wore his shirt. I sat on his lap.

“Yes,” I say, straightening up and dragging my mind away from what happened. Then I clear my throat. “But only a little, and for a very good cause.”

“A very good cause?” he says, stepping closer. His shadow looms over the pavement, swallowing mine completely.

“For—” I falter as I search desperately for a reason. Then, finally giving up, I say, “For charity.”

His lips twitch, but I go on before he can respond.

“What are you doing here?”

He points past me to the entrance of the hardware shop. “I need to grab a few things for Rosie. She bit off more than she can chew with all this”—he gestures up and down the street—“so I’m filling in some gaps.”

“Such a good brother.”

“And only one of my admirable qualities.” Some of the amusement in his eyes fades as he looks at me. “You okay?”

Because he could be talking about several things—my embarrassment-red cheeks, my worries about our parents, my flustered heart—I don’t answer right away. I wait until he goes on.

“You look worried,” he says, and relief trickles through me.

I cannot explain my flushed skin. I cannot tell him I’m still remembering our not-kiss.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, but I can feel my face fall, and I grimace. “Kind of? I don’t know.” I pause. “The situation with our parents might have changed a little,” I admit.

He unfolds his arms slowly and adjusts his hat, his brows furrowing. “How so?”

But before I can say anything, he glances over his shoulder and sighs. “No, sorry—I actually can’t talk at the moment. I’ve got to run.”