With Death in Autumn Read online

  Chapter 1

  In Autumn, the joy of endings mingled with the bittersweet taste of death.

  Sometimes she wondered why no one else seemed to notice that death surrounded them, all the time. There was never a break. Never a time when death wasn’t beside you, peeking over your shoulder, sitting next to you on a bus seat. And if death didn’t have her eye on you, she was cozying up to your friend, your neighbor, the person next to you on the bus.

  She felt like other people looked at death how Allison felt about dinner party invitations. Sure, she’d end up going, even though she didn’t want to. It was inevitable, and who knows? Maybe it would even end up being a roaring good time.

  Sometimes, rarely, she met someone who saw death and its omnipresence the way she did. It was like a lightning bolt of recognition. You see it, too. But knowing death didn’t make it easy to know the living.

  And knowing death didn’t make it easy to live.

  ***

  Dear Allison,

  Remember how we used to write each other letters in college? You would spritz perfume on yours, like a heroine from a 20s novel. I caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5 on the bus this morning and it was all I could do not to bury my face in her hair.

  God, I miss your hair. Why haven’t we stayed in touch? Do you still grow your hair long? Do you still leave it curly and bouncy, or do you straighten it? Please tell me you don’t straighten. I want to picture you wild and free, maybe riding horses somewhere.

  Your mother wouldn’t tell me where you were. She said she doesn’t know, but she can get a letter to you. Maybe you have gone off the grid?

  Can I join you? Things have been hard… I want to escape it all.

  Love forever,

  Jill

  Allison folded the letter and sighed. Light surrounded it.

  Fiction had always termed death a shadow, a specter. The only time people talked about light was the whole walking-into-the-light trope. She didn’t know. She had never gotten that far. But as far as she knew, no one had written about death the way she saw it.

  The light of death always surrounded Jill, but Allison couldn’t stay away. Jill was her college roommate, and while everyone else got along okay, or argued, or teased, Allison and Jill felt like sisters long separated.

  The early days of knowing Jill were the most painful of Allison’s life. Her heart had felt so open and raw, full of joy and love but almost unable to bear it… While the light of death shimmered around Jill. Allison expected her to have a heart attack any moment. She had played the scene of crying over her body over and over. Had they only known each other for 72 hours when Jill had coughed in the diner? Allison had thought, This is it. She will choke and no one will stop it. The Heimlich won’t work and she will die here and I’ll die, too.

  It was hard to avoid drama when you saw death everywhere.

  But Jill had coughed just a little, then smiled and patted her lips with her napkin. “Sorry. You were saying?”

  It had been a full week of knowing Jill when she couldn’t take it anymore. Her head was resting in Jill’s lap, and Jill was playing with her hair while they listened to Serial, a mutual podcast passion. “J, have you been to the doctor?”

  Jill had given her a strange look. She shifted over to pause the podcast, and Allison sat up, pulling on Jill’s sleeve. No, come back. “What?”

  “I know it’s a weird question, but do you feel okay? Have you gotten a physical?”

  Her friend looked suspicious. She didn’t move a muscle, but there was the most subtle sense she pulled into herself. With the pain she felt from the small distance between them, Allison understood what a heartbreak she would have when she lost Jill. When, not if. “Did you read my journal?”

  Allison froze. God, I was right. She’s dying.

  She considered lying, but a flurry of realization breezed through her. It would feel good to tell. If you tell her, she might believe you. If she believed you, you wouldn’t be alone anymore.

  So Allison told Jill her deepest secret, and then Jill told her own.

  ***

  Allison hovered over the gas burner set to high, holding the letter over the steady blue fire. She brought the envelope closer, even knowing it was futile. Flame had no influence on the light, which glowed even near the warmth. If she ruined the letter, the light would no longer be in Allison’s view, but could still exist somewhere, she suspected.

  “This looks dramatic. Old lover?” A pause, a hint of mirth. “Scorned lover?”

  Allison wavered, turned the flame off and set the envelope on the counter. “Not quite. Just someone it might be easier to forget.”

  David leaned in the doorway. He shook his head. large brown eyes perfect for the vamping. “If only it were easy to forget most of our past. Life would be much simpler.” He leaned his head against the doorway and lifted his eyebrows. “Well, when you’re finished burning your old life, would you care for dinner?”

  “Maybe. Nothing fancy.”

  He walked to her and pulled her close. “Fancy,” he said, his lips brushing her ear. “I need to show you off, and the guys are having drinks at the Alabaster.”

  “Ugh.”

  He laughed and kissed her neck. She sighed. Sometimes this felt like love. And he smelled so good.

  “Okay, give me a few minutes.”

  David was an up-and-coming whiz kid in the financial sector. The guys he was trying to impress were in their thirties, married. At the old-school company, the family men earned promotions faster. He wanted to show her off not because she was a gorgeous femme fatale (she wasn't), but because she was the same woman they had seen him with three months ago. It showed David to be stable and dependable: he had long-term intentions.

  She hated the world he lived in. As she dressed, Allison wondered if she would love him more if they left the city and lived in a cabin upstate. She found herself lost in a daydream tending a small cottage garden, reading books, and sitting with a dog by the fireplace in winter. That could be a wonderful life.

  She caught her own gaze in the mirror: her straightened bob made elegant with a jade barrette to the side; her dress sleek and urban, below-the-knee; her makeup polished and error free. Allison didn’t recognize herself sometimes. She existed miles from the life of her daydreams. (And of her night dreams, for that matter.)

  How had she ended up here? Allison looked at the letter and tapped it against her vanity.

  Allison wondered at Jill’s strength. She had fought for so long.

  The letter included an address, an e-mail and a phone number. Until this moment, every time Allison thought of Jill, she had told herself that they had drifted apart, as college friends do. Allison had been on Facebook a few years after graduation, staying in touch with many people she suspected she would never see again, but still devouring anything Jill would say or show of her life. Still, she commented less and less on Jill’s pictures and withdrew more and more into herself.

  Life was difficult after graduation. She had done all the right things. She landed an entry-level job in her chosen field, human resources, and managed a decent job near where she went to college. But she had been miserable. She had thought human resources would be a little more, say, human. Even her driest college assignments had always had hint of helping people better themselves. She had deluded herself into thinking her job would be a mission: She would bring out the best in people. She would help people become what they had always dreamed of being.

  But good God, HR was boring. There was endless paperwork, and it wasn’t even interesting paperwork. It was the same thing, day after day, and on the days she convinced herself this was only an entry-level problem, she would watch those people a few rungs above her, who had been in the company
for decades, and realize they had a different paperwork job.

  Her parents were very proud of her, because she could afford her own place and not have to live with them like so many in her generation did. When she said she wasn’t sure she had made the right choice, that she wasn’t happy, they would respond with some version of their midwestern ethos. “It’s not supposed to make you happy, sweetheart. It’s a job.”

  She slogged through for a few more years - and even earned two more promotions - before she switched companies. Hoping a change of environment would make things better, she was holding back tears in her cubicle by week 6. It would never get better.

  And that’s when David had come by and invited her for lunch. She was post-sniffle, and getting her head back in the paperwork compliance game, so she could respond with enthusiasm. And she was grateful for the distraction. He had been nothing more than friendly colleague for months, but it was a happy day when he asked her to dinner. He was higher in the company, but not in the same line of supervision, so they didn’t break the rules she knew so well. (And they weren’t so much rules, anyway, as guidelines.)

  They had been together for about a year when he told her he had been offered a job in New York. She had been certain he was breaking up with her, and she was okay with it - maybe even a little relieved. But instead he had said, in his easy way, “I don’t expect you to give up your work here, but if you wanted to come with me, we could share an apartment on the Upper West Side.” She had responded without thinking, “Oh, you have no idea how much I want to give up my work here.”

  She had blushed, realizing that it wasn’t the most romantic answer, but he hadn’t seemed to notice. He had kissed her in the middle of Starbucks, and they chatted about their New York plans for hours.

  And so her young adult life turned into an adult life, and somewhere along the way she had deleted Facebook and told her mother not to give out her information to anyone.

  It was easy to put up walls. You didn’t even have to think about it.

  ***

  Stuart woke with a headache. He sent his memory back to the night before.. He had taken three shots of whiskey when he’d gotten home, one after another, to quiet his obsessive thoughts. It wasn’t a massive binge, but enough to cause a headache when you were sleep-deprived and exhausted.

  He wished he knew her name.

  What a ridiculous thing to wish, he thought as he pulled the pillow over his head. Knowing her name wouldn’t make a difference. It would just give him one more thing to obsess about.

  As it was, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was a wretched mix of daydreams and worries to have about someone he didn’t know at all and would never meet again. He pictured her in a sundress, walking on a cloudy day, laughing, her hair down and curly. (But her hair isn’t curly.) This was the clearest image, the hardest to get out of his head. But then he wondered how she would die, and that daydream would flicker out like a flame. Was it her boyfriend? They always said it was the ones you would never suspect… though he had seen a few guys on the news who looked like assholes who had killed their girlfriends.

  He pictured David Simmons - he knew his name, at least, from the credit card - wrapping his hands around her throat, her body wrapped for eternity in the velvet dress. He wondered if she had walked out in front of a car on the way home, or if she had contracted some deadly illness from food poisoning at the restaurant. These thoughts had sent him to sleep despite his best whiskey efforts the night before, and he woke up with them, front and center.

  He sighed and scratched his cat’s head. The tabby had curled up next to him and seemed in no hurry to wake up, which was fine with him. This wasn’t his first run-in with obsessive, neurotic thinking. He was used to it. He knew he would distract himself as the day went on. After he took a shower, he could play the guitar for a while, or find a mind-numbing game on his phone. The new season of Serial was out, so he could always listen to that and go for a walk.

  Getting out of bed would be the hard part.

  His life didn’t have much to offer. He didn’t like his job. He had no family, no real friends. His connection to this world was more tenuous than ever….

  Maybe there was an afterlife, and maybe he would see the pretty girl there…

  Well, if you can still obsess over girls, maybe you aren’t done with this life.

  He hated knowing she would die. It was weird; he passed people every day on the streets who would die in the next days, weeks or months. He had served more than a dozen people their last meals, in his 10-year career waiting tables. (And these were only the ones he’d verified in the news.) But suddenly he cared about this one person.

  You’re being ridiculous.

  He reminded himself of the other times he’d been ridiculous and they had not worked out. The time he’d told his dad he would die and earned a punch in the nose. (He was 5, and his dad died 2 hours later, so maybe not so ridiculous, huh, pops?) The girl he dated for a few weeks, who called him a stalker when he showed up with roses.

  His phone alarm went off. “Damn.”

  He had forgotten an appointment with a friend who had started a business the year before. Stuart wasn’t looking for new work, but networking opportunities were scarce in his isolated world. He hurried to dress and was out the door in ten minutes. He wouldn’t arrive early, but he wouldn’t arrive late.

  A win.

  Walking felt like shaking off an illness. He felt like he had the flu when he started out, but after a few minutes his chest felt lighter, and his head more clear. He decided to listen to Serial, to start getting his head back into reality. And he felt like he might even be getting his appetite back. Eggs and toast at his favorite diner sounded really good… There was a waitress who had given him her phone number a few weeks ago, so maybe he could get up enough energy for a date. It would be better than obsessing about a girl whose name he didn’t know. Who was going to die soon. If she hadn’t already...

  Just as he finished that thought, and Sarah Koenig’s voice started playing over his headphones, he looked up and saw a girl in a sundress, curly hair framing her face… and with the shimmer of death around her. He thought it might be what the girl from the restaurant would look like if -

  Wait. It was her. And she was looking straight at him.

  Chapter 2

  Allison groaned when she woke. Had it been that much wine? Maybe she took more than her fair share of the bottle, or perhaps she’d drunk it too fast. She looked at the clock. 10 a.m. David left for work hours ago.

  At least there was no work today. She made herself some coffee and tidied up a little. The dress was still on the floor. She experienced a disconnect, as if she were looking at someone else’s dress, remembering someone else’s evening.

  The letter from Jill was next to the coffeemaker. Allison had the sudden pang of desire to talk to her, to talk about her relationship with her best friend, to tell her how much she felt like an outsider in her own life… to tell her how much she missed having a best friend.

  She picked up her phone and typed. I’m sorry I have been a terrible friend. Please forgive me...

  Ugh, no. She started a few more drafts with apologies, then kept it simple. Apologies could come later.

  I was so happy to hear from you. Miss you! I’m in NYC these days. How are you holding up?

  She hadn’t hit send - or put the phone down - when she received a response.

  No WAY! I’M in NYC! Visiting.

  Allison nearly dropped her phone. Breathe, she told herself. This was so fast. Allison thought they would slowly work their way up to a phone call.

  Before she could talk herself out if it, she answered. Awesome! Coffee? I don’t have work today. I’m near Broadway.

  And just like that, she had a coffee date set up with her old friend. They would meet in an hour.

  When she got out of the shower, she picked up her hair serum and straightener. I hope it’s still curly, the letter had read. She put the straightener down
and ran enough serum through her hair to take out the minimal frizz. It was a warm October day, not humid. As she scrunched her hair, she smiled at the mirror, like she was seeing another old friend. Ah, there you are.

  There was so little in the closet that wasn’t for work or a nice dinner. She wore yoga pants around the house and shopping, but she wanted to wear something different for Jill. This isn’t a date, chill. She shook her head. It was worse than a date. It was someone she had loved and been loved by, unconditionally. That had been too much for her, so she had disappeared.

  A flash of bright blue caught her eye from the back of the closet. She shifted the hangers back and pulled out a sundress. Ah, there you are, she thought again. Another old friend. She suddenly felt sure today would be manageable.

  David called as she was getting dressed.

  “Hey sweetie,” he said when she answered.

  “Hi! Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I just wanted to see how you were feeling, since I didn’t get to say goodbye this morning.”

  “You’re sweet.” So sweet. The best. I wish I loved you. “I’m doing fine… really feeling good now, actually. Going out to meet a friend.”

  “You are?” It was hard not to laugh at the surprise in his voice. Allison supposed he’d gotten used to her not having any friends. She would have to change that… even if it was just a knitting group.

  It couldn’t be that hard to learn to knit, could it?

  “I really am. That friend who sent the letter is actually playing tourist this week. We’re getting together for coffee.”

  “Wow, that’s great! Good for you.”

  He really did sound too happy about this. “Don’t worry, I’ll learn to knit.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind, silly thing I was just thinking about. See you tonight.”

  “See you tonight, love you.”

  She hesitated. They weren’t the kind of couple to say “love you” casually. It felt like an escalation. Allison was not ready to escalate. She had one foot out the door. “You, too,” she said as easily as she could.