“Autumn,” I say, she doesn’t look at me. She opens the door and climbs out, and so do I. I move toward her, taking her bag from her and slinging it over my shoulder. “What are you doing?” she demands, and I ignore her, draping my arm across her shoulders and tugging her closer.
“I’ll wait with you until she gets home.” she pauses, shocked so I drag her along despite her protests.
The siding is black with mildew. The front porch has buckled under its own weight, and I don’t think anyone’s bothered with the yard since she moved here.
It isn’t even really a yard, just a wild patch of scrubland. Somewhere deep in the woods, surrounded by silence.
“Jaxson,” she says. “Go. I’m okay.”
She’s not. I know she’s not because of the way her fingers had trembled on the door handle, the way her bod
