Change Of Season (45 page)

“Told you, didn’t I?”

Andrew nodded.  “I do remember something about cookies on demand.”

“Does Rogers offer that as part of their digital cable plans?” Neil asked.  “Because that would make the monthly bill far more palatable – literally.”

With a groan, she shoved her father towards the front door.  “Enough of you!  You have a whole weekend to amuse him.  Shoo!”

She reached back for her bag, only to find it slung over Andrew’s shoulder.  His stern look left no room for protest.  Smiling encouragingly, she headed up the front steps and waited impatiently for her father to unlock the door. 

“You first,” he insisted, stepping aside.

Opening the door a small crack, Autumn squealed as the tiny black cat jumped towards her waiting arms.  “Pan!  Oh my beautiful little girl.  Have they not been treating you well?” 

“That would be Pandora,” Neil advised Andrew, holding open the door for both teens.  “Tiny, loud and loves playing in boxes.”

Autumn continued to coo and murmur, reduced to a gibberish-spouting fool by her dearest friend and confidante of years.  Pandora kept all of her secrets, bore witness to hours of tears.  All she demanded in return was salmon treats and snuggling.  If only humans were so easily pleased.

From another room, a warm feminine voice rang out.  “I hear voices!  Gimme a sec.” 

“Round two,” Andrew whispered anxiously.

“Oh hush!” Autumn chastised.  “Tell him he’s being silly, Pan.”  The feline chirped, rubbing her chin against an outstretched finger.  “Pan, this is Andrew.  You can like him.  And yes, I’m a freaking idiot when it comes to my cat.”

“I think it’s rather charming.  Shatters your tough girl image.  I can’t wait to tell everyone at school.”

“Coming!”  With a dusting of flour on her left cheek, Sarah Brody emerged from the kitchen, beaming.  “It’s so good to have you home, honey!  I see Pandora has wasted no time in reclaiming you.”  Turning to Andrew, she shook her head.  “Put the bags down and stay a while!”

“Jeez, maybe I should.”  Andrew sat the bags near the door, rolling his shoulder backwards in a stretch.  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Brody.  Thank you for having me.”

“Oh sweetie, I hear Mrs. Brody all damn day at work.  It’s Sarah here.  We hate pretense.  Was your father terrible?”

“I heard that!” he yelled from the living room.

“He’s been worse,” Autumn replied.

Sarah sighed.  “I’m sorry, Andrew.  My husband enjoys the proverbial shotgun cleaning shtick a little too much at times.  Autumn, why don’t you show Andrew the guest room and get your things settled, and meet me in the kitchen?  I’m thinking light snacks and early dinner?”

“Sounds good, Mom.  C’mon, Andrew.  The worst is over, I swear.”

Grabbing their bags, Andrew followed her up the main stairwell, exhaling loudly.  Autumn shifted Pandora to her left arm, her mind drifting to her last conversation with Veronica.  She’d expressed her fears about Chris and his proximity to home, and the danger he posed to her family – and Andrew.  Veronica had urged her to tell her parents the truth, offering to come by and sit with her, but she’d dismissed the offer.  No matter what her family felt about the holiday, it was still a festive time of year.  How could she confess the reason for her sullen moods over the spiked egg nog and roast chicken?  How could she possibly explain her prolonged silence?  And Persephone…

There was also Andrew to consider.  He knew there was something horrible in her past, a nasty skeleton in the closet, but little more than that.  Logically, she knew he would be supportive of her; emotionally, she choked on terror, imagining dramatic scenes of argument and slamming doors as she was left alone, shunned for her complicity.  Beyond that, he had his own pain to contain.  She didn’t dare burden him now.

Reaching the top floor, she began the tour.  “This first room here on the right is the guest room, where you’ll be staying.  Across the hall is the bathroom.  Towels are in the linen closet right there.”

Andrew paused, setting his bag inside his appointed quarters.  “A king-sized bed?  Oh my God, I’m in heaven!”

“This room here,” she continued, moving down the hall, “is mine.  That door at the end of the hallway is my parents’ room, and the last door on the right is the music room slash office slash emergency guest room.”

Andrew opened her door and walked inside, placing her bag on the bed.  She kissed Pandora’s head and sat her down gently beside it, studying his reaction to her space.  Posters and photos drew his eye briefly, but it was her collection of books that held him captive. 

“What you expected?”

Andrew’s hand skimmed the spines.  “Yes and no.  The
Harry Potter
was expected, and the Shakespeare as well, for some reason.  It’s this cluster here that fascinates me.”

Autumn peered over his shoulder and swallowed hard.  “The memoirs.”

“For someone who writes fiction, there’s a lot of truth here.  Sad truths,” he added, pointing to a memoir of depression.  “What draws you to them?”

“I suppose truth is stranger and more horrifying than fiction.  When I read the paper or listen to strangers on a bus, I gather stories…  Images.  Characters.  In fiction, there is fact.”

Andrew nodded sadly.  “You hold your own truths tightly.  Do you ever let them out?”

“I write every day.  My wounds bleed ink and binary code.”  She shook herself lightly.  “We should head back before my dad suspects sexual debauchery.”

His hand reached out to cup her cheek with a sad expression.  “You’re never alone in it.  You know that, right?”

“I do.  You do so much simply by being present.  But this is about festivities and family.  It’s not the time or place.”

Andrew frowned.  “Life is about living, Autumn.  Whenever, wherever, doesn’t matter.  If you need help, just ask.  Promise me.”

She nodded, unable to speak. 
I wish I could
, she thought. 
I wish I could just open my mouth and secrets would spill from my lips.  Maybe someday
.  He kissed her quickly and took her hand, taking the stairs slowly as he examined the family photos dotting the walls.

“Your smile here… “ He pointed to a fourth grade photo, where she’d done the toothy grin – only her front teeth were missing.  “Were you showing off?”

“No, I just really liked saying cheese,” she grumbled.  “I learned my lesson, but unfortunately, my mother
loves
that shot.  I once stole it off the wall and hid it for a day.  She grounded me!”

Andrew laughed hard at this.  “Your mom… Love it!”  Near the bottom, he again paused, fixated on her grade nine photo.  “You look beautiful here.  Carefree.”

“I was,” she murmured.

“She’s still in there,” he whispered in her ear.

The scent of chocolate drew them into the kitchen, where several plates of baked goods mingled with cheese and cracker trays and piled hors d’oeuvres.   Sarah Brody was perched on the countertop, sipping a glass of what Autumn recognized as her homemade version of Bailey’s Irish Cream.  Wisps of auburn hair had escaped her low ponytail, lending a youthful quality to her appearance.  Autumn often hoped to look as beautiful as her mother in her forties.

"Hello!  As you can see, I overdid it again."  Sarah laughed, shaking her head.  "Oh well!  No cooking tomorrow, right?"

"My mother, Betty Crocker," Autumn teased, reaching for a cube of havarti.

"Autumn told me you didn’t have any dietary concerns, aside from loathing peas and Brussels sprouts.  That’s correct?"

Andrew nodded, reaching for a chocolate chip cookie.  "She was very thorough with her interrogation."

"Are those your favourite kind?" Sarah asked.  "I’m sending you back with goodies."

"You don’t have to, Mrs. – sorry, Sarah," Andrew quickly corrected.  "But yes, they are."

"I want to.  Autumn, eat a brownie.  You look tired, baby.  Aren’t you sleeping?"

Autumn sighed, obliging her mother and hopping onto the other countertop.  "Like I told Dad, exams suck.  Give me permission to skip class and flunk.  I’ll sleep."

Oh, and if you could hire a legitimate exorcist to clear out my dorm room, that would be an awesome Christmas gift.  Thanks, Mom
.

"This cookie is... wow!  Do you bake at your job?" Andrew gushed, reaching for another.

"Nope!  Well, sporadically, but that’s for band fundraisers.  I’m a music teacher.  I just love baking.  Speaking of, we got a six year-old girl this year.  You can guess what I bought her."

Autumn laughed.  "Easy Bake Oven.  Extra mixes.  Are you still bitter about the light bulb thing?"

"Yes!"  Sarah giggled, shaking her head.  "The new microwave design’s cute, though.  We also got a twelve year-old boy, which is so difficult, what with technology and anticipating resources."

"I’m sorry to interrupt, but who are we talking about?" Andrew asked.

"Our charity children," Autumn explained.  "Each year, we sponsor a needy family struggling to provide gifts for their children at Christmas.  We sometimes get wish lists, but often, we’re flying blind.  We also donate a gift card for a grocery store.  Like I was telling you, we kinda hate the commercial crap, but we find a way to change it into something better."

"We also donate to charities for each other in lieu of large gifts," Sarah added.  "We’re very privileged to live in a nice home and have all our needs met.  We don’t need more things.  We keep the gifts small."

"That’s so thoughtful of you.  Autumn never mentioned it."

Autumn quickly swallowed a mouthful of brownie.  "I sometimes forget how different we are.  Sorry."

Sarah smiled.  "It’s no more than we all should do.  Take care of each other, take care of our community, and be kind to the environment.  Basic decency, for me anyway.  Did you two want something to drink?"

Autumn nodded.  "I’ll have one of yours, of course."

"What about you, Andrew?  We have Coke, Diet Coke, cranberry ginger ale, egg nog – with or without booze –  homemade Bailey’s, white wine, milk, tea, coffee, various liqueurs that Neil likes...  Water too, of course."

Andrew glanced from Autumn to her mother.  "I’m eighteen."

Sarah laughed as she pulled the Bailey’s from the fridge.  "You’re mature, under adult supervision, and what, months from legal age?  It’s the holidays."

Autumn nodded.  "Mom’s Greek and Dad’s family is British and Irish.  They believe in supervised moderation instead of forbidden fruit."

With a shrug, Andrew said, "When in Rome!  Bailey’s, please."

"Excellent choice.  Mom’s tops the legit stuff.  More chocolate, more kick."

"Neil!  Toast!"

The four of them united in the kitchen, they toasted to health and love before each seizing a platter of goodies and slipping into the living room to unwind.  Sinking into her preferred chair, Autumn felt at peace.

Home, sweet home
. 

***

The afternoon flew by in a whirlwind of drinks, food and chatter.  Andrew was particularly fascinated by Sarah’s stint working for Jack Layton’s first Federal campaign, the family recounting their memories of his laughter and love of music.  Neil took great joy in recounting Autumn’s first concert (Sarah McLachlan, age four) while Autumn sought revenge with her memories of parental embarrassments.  She was in awe of how easily her boyfriend slid into the family dynamic, as if he’d always been with them.  None of her friends or boyfriends of the past had ever managed such a feat, aside from Heather, who had over a decade of practice.

Stomachs bloated from dinner, they cleared the table, wrapping up her mother’s baked goods for the next day.

"Presents tonight or tomorrow?" Neil asked.

"There’s a choice?" Andrew asked.

"Why not?  Autumn, what would you like?"

She shrugged.  "I say tonight.  I’m curious this year."

"Everyone gather your wares and reconvene in the living room," Neil said, heading towards the basement.

Autumn and Andrew trudged upstairs, Autumn clutching her stomach and regretting the cherry pie.  Every year, she’d make a promise to herself to eat sensibly, and every year, she’d stuff herself. 
Damn you, Mom, and your baking addiction!

"You’re not allowed to see before we get downstairs.  Why are you following me?" she asked.

"Did you really think I wouldn’t get you a gift?" Andrew asked.  "You’re ridiculous, Brody."

"How?  Wait, don’t tell me.  Now I’m glad I chose tonight!"

Whistling, Andrew slid into the guest room, carefully closing the door behind him.  Impatient, she rushed into her room, digging in her closet for her stash of gifts. 
What did he get me?  How did he get it?
 
He never left campus
.  She, however, had taken the previous weekend home to venture into the maddening throng of shoppers downtown in search of her treasures.

Andrew had made it downstairs first, her parents speaking low as she paused around the corner, listening.

"She’s had such a hard time," her father said sadly.