For as long as Autumn could remember, Dad had hidden a house key beneath the squat, odd-looking garden gnome sitting in the dirt at one corner of the house. She had no idea who bought that garden gnome. It had always been there, like it came with the house purchase. But surely, whoever lived there before her family would have taken their garden gnomes with them, which meant her mom probably bought it, a weird thought for adult Autumn to think.
Was her mother the type of woman who purchased ugly garden gnomes?
As a kid, she hated having to dig that key out, since it wasn’t the only thing living under the heavy stone. There were creepy-crawly things—spiders and worms and pill bugs. If she ever locked herself out, she’d rather wait on the front stoop until Leanne or Dad came home.
Today, that wasn’t an option.
Dad and Leanne were at Redeemer with everyone else, and she was here, because she needed somewhere to go that was private and wasn’t her own apartment. She didn’t want greasy-haired people asking for lighters, nor did she want glances—even though innocent—from a stranger exacerbating her paranoia.
So she rode the train here. She had renewed her Ventra card the week before and carried it on her now. A single silver lining from all that had transpired. Autumn Manning was working through her fear of public transportation.
She dug the key out from its hiding place, then let herself inside the house. The door hinges creaked as she stepped inside. It was odd, standing there in the empty silence. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been there alone. Whenever she came, her family was around, filling the tiny space, separating it somehow from the home she took her first steps in. The home she said her first words in. The home she fought with her siblings in. The home she lost her mother in.
This little living room had welcomed so many people after Mom died. Family and friends and acquaintances jammed themselves inside, circling around Dad and Grandma Ally and three motherless ducklings, like more people meant less pain. Back then, Leanne had been an acquaintance from church. A nice lady with smooth hands who rubbed Autumn’s arm and brought over Tater Tots casserole.
What would have become of Leanne had Autumn never forgotten that hair bow?
“We worship a big God.”
“He isn’t cruel.”
Paul’s words.
Autumn’s words.
They twisted around the memories, turning them into oddly shaped, mysterious things. Like a face you thought you recognized, but upon closer inspection, didn’t.
Without turning on any lights, Autumn crept into the basement, each rickety stair groaning in protest. She pulled the chain on the hanging light, and a soft white glow cast itself against the paint-splattered wall.
Laughter echoed in the room.
Mom’s and Claire’s and Chad’s now joined with Paul’s and Reese’s and Tate’s. It was as though the sounds had been baked in.
She ran her fingers along a trail of black droplets.
It never seemed like the end product would be anything worth saving, let alone hanging. The process was so wild and out of control and messy—flinging paint at the wall, getting it all over one another. And yet somehow, when the canvases dried, they always turned out so beautifully.
A sound broke through the quiet.
Autumn froze.
It was the front door opening.
There was a moment or two of stillness, and then?
Floorboards creaked overhead.
Somebody had just walked inside the house.
Not two sets of footsteps, like Dad and Leanne.
But a solitary intruder.
All Autumn could think, in her frozen state, was that she didn’t lock the door behind her and now someone was inside.
Creeping around upstairs.
With painstaking slowness, she grabbed a nearby broom. She crept toward the stairs, then climbed one at a time, stopping and wincing whenever the wood squeaked. When she reached the top, all was deathly still.
Autumn placed her fingertips against the door and eased it open.
Dad was standing on the other side.
He hollered.
She screamed.
They both jumped apart.
It was lucky she didn’t fall backward down the stairs.
Miracle Survivor Breaks Neck, Tumbles to Death
Dad clamped his hand over his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“I’m sorry! I thought you were at Redeemer.”
“Someone didn’t show, and I had to leave.” He gave his chest a few pats with his fist, like he was trying to cough a tickle out of his throat or drum up a belch. A telltale sign that he was suffering through a bout of heartburn.
“Where’s Leanne?”
“She’s still there.” Dad’s attention moved to the broom in her hand.
Autumn propped it against the wall.
“What were you doing down there—sweeping?”
“No.”
He went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Tums off the top of the refrigerator. He poured a few into his palm and popped them in his mouth.
The kitchen filled with the sound of crunching.
When he finished, he filled a glass with water and took a drink. “Why aren’t you at Redeemer showing this video you’ve been working on?”
“I ruined it.”
Dad took another drink. “Why would you do that?”
Autumn hesitated. She made a mess of things by telling Claire. But what did it matter at this point? The damage had been done already. The world knew. She took a deep breath and let it all come spilling out. The truth about Vivian Elliott and her feelings for Paul and his children. Claire blabbing and all the awful things being said on the Internet. Reese e-mailing the footage to Seth, and Autumn’s attempt at fixing it.
When she was done, so was the water in Dad’s glass.
“You’ve had a rough go,” he finally said.
“Yeah.”
“Sounds like this Paul fellow’s had a rough go too.”
Autumn nodded, waiting for more.
But it wasn’t in Dad’s nature to offer more.
“I told Paul that God isn’t cruel.”
“That’s good.”
“You don’t think He is?” Her question came out desperate. She was starving for feedback. Encouragement. Wisdom. Something to take her off the craggy, shifting ground she was currently standing on.
Dad looked at her. When it came to questions of theology, he’d never been verbose. To him, faith was a private matter. He went to church on Sundays. He sent his children to religious ed classes on Wednesdays. He treated people with common decency. He worked hard, and he provided for his family. He did not typically discuss his thoughts on God with his children. Unless, of course, one of those children had a mental breakdown at dinner that left everyone stunned.
“I mean, after Mom died,” Autumn said. “Did that thought ever occur to you?”
Dad scratched his chin. “You know what I’ve learned about God?”
Autumn leaned in.
Eager.
Curious.
Filled with anticipation.
“Circumstances don’t dictate who He is.”
She waited for more. An elaboration. An explanation. Something more filling for her ravenous, hungry heart.
But Dad just filled up his water glass again and said, “You should probably call your sister. Everyone’s worried.”
And then his phone rang.
He pulled it out of his pocket and said hello. He covered the talking end with his palm and mouthed the words, It’s Leanne.
Autumn stood there, listening to his side of the conversation.
“A little better.” He gave his chest a couple more fist-pats. “She’s here.”
There was an exclamation on the other end.
Nothing decipherable.
Just excitement.
Leanne was relieved that Autumn was okay.
“I was pretty surprised myself…Yeah, she’s fine…Uh-huh…Yep…Okay…The what?…All right. Will do…You too.”
Dad slipped his phone back into his pocket. “That was Leanne.”
“I gathered.”
“She says we need to turn on the computer and watch some living video something or other?”
Living video something or other? “You mean the live video stream?”
“That’s it.”
“Of the tribute?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Why would she want us to watch that?”
Dad shrugged. “I’m not sure, but she was very insistent.”