I watched you disappear into the clouds

Swept away into another town.

To say I was upset with Trace was a huge understatement. The fact that he told these people, Autumn’s parents, that I was okay with meeting them mere hours after their daughter had killed herself, was ridiculous and tactless.

 “But you need this. It’ll be good to get this closure!” he yelled at me through my bathroom door as I tried to make myself look presentable.

I looked like shit - sallow skin, puffy eyes, dark circles, and my blue eyes were bloodshot. I was going to meet these people for the first time, in the midst of their grief, looking like a zombie. For the first time in my life, I wished I was a woman so I could depend on concealer and foundation to cover up the travesty of the night before.

If this look persists, I might need to make a trip to the cosmetic department at the mall.

But closure? I don’t even know what the hell I need right now. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that not even twenty-four hours ago I watched a woman fall to her death. I’m still trying to come to terms that my car has been destroyed because a woman fell a few hundred feet and landed on top of it.

And now I’m here, sitting in Eric’s Mercedes as we drive through Pacific Palisades towards the Weaver’s home. Eric is making a quick call into the office and I’m trying to swallow the fear bubbling in my stomach. I want to throw up, I want to open the car door, do a tuck and roll, and run for the hills. I have no idea why I agreed to this, I should have had Trace call them back and say he was mistaken.

But as we pull up to a two story home with a grassy front yard that reads 2340 Piza Street, I realize that there really is no way to turn back. I’ve made it this far, and I’m sure I’d have to meet these people sooner or later. Don’t ask me why, but it’s just this feeling I have.

“Nice place,” Eric remarks; I didn’t notice he had gotten off the phone with the office. I was too preoccupied noticing that this place probably has a backyard view of the ocean and cost the owner’s a pretty penny.

The house is everything I would want my next house to be – the house I would buy when I manage to settle down with a wife and start a family. The white walls and blue shutters are screaming for a white picket fence, and there’s a path laid in stone leading up to the front door. I turn to look at Eric, hoping that he will suggest we screw this meeting and go for coffee, or better yet, drinks at a bar. But he merely gives me an encouraging look.

“Thanks for driving me over here,” I mutter, hoping he can pick up the anxiousness rising in my throat, “I don’t know how long I’ll be. There was a coffee place at the end of the street, I can call you when I finish up and walk down there…”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Eric states as I take off my seatbelt and open the door.

Eric drives off without another word and I find myself standing where the sidewalk ends and the path up to the Weaver’s front door begins. It takes me a while to realize that I’m holding my breath.

I don’t know why, but as I walk up the path towards the front door, I can’t help but feel this ominous feeling rising in the pit of my stomach. And it’s not because I’m about to meet the parents of the girl who spent her last moments with me – it’s something different. Even though the house is white and bathed in innocence, there’s something lingering beneath the surface. A shadow…

God. Maybe I should take Nigel up on that counseling. I have a feeling I’m going to be acting this way for a while. Maybe talking to a professional will help me sort this shit out before it gets even worse.

I walk up the three steps to get to the front door and immediately ring the doorbell. There’s no time for hesitation, I’ve done that enough. Hell, my hesitation probably got Autumn killed. If I hadn’t have thought she wasn’t capable of doing that to herself maybe I wouldn’t be standing at her parents’ front door getting ready to possibly talk about their daughter’s suicide.

I’m standing at the door for maybe thirty seconds before I see a shadow behind the distorted window approaching. The door opens and there’s a woman in maybe her mid fifties standing in front of me. It looks like she’s been to hell and back. Her auburn hair is disheveled and her eyes are puffy and bloodshot – worse than mine this morning. She’s made an effort to get dressed in some kind of tunic and legging ensemble, but she is void of makeup and any poise.

“Mrs. Weaver? I’m Justin, I was with Aut…” I’m unable to get anything else out because Mrs. Weaver merely steps over the threshold and hugs me tightly. I hope to God she doesn’t start crying because I don’t know how I’d be able to conduct myself. I’ve just met this woman; I don’t even know her first name. And yet she’s clinging to me as if I’m the last connection to her daughter. I don’t know that for certain, but that’s what it feels like. I feel like she’s trying to pull the life out of me with her embrace.

Fuck, this is so awkward.

Mrs. Weaver pulls herself away and I see her try to hide the tears that are already falling down her face. She attempts to give me a half hearted smile.

“Thank you for coming, Justin. I’m Gail, please come in,” her voice is small, meek. There really isn’t anything else for me to say. Hell, I don’t know what to say. So I nod and follow Mrs. Weaver inside, hoping that she’ll offer me a place to sit down. My legs are shaking.

Mrs. Weaver takes me past a staircase and over to the left. We enter a large living room, the focal point being two large, plush white couches and two equally plush armchairs. There’s a man with salt and pepper brown hair sitting at one of the couches, running gnarled hands through his thinning hair. I don’t even have to look at his face to know that he’s been through hell.

“Mitchell,” Mrs. Weaver says cautiously. I get the feeling that Mr. Weaver might be a bull in a china shop and I hope I won’t be witness to a complete and total breakdown from this man, “Mitchell, this is Justin. He was with Autumn when she…” but Mrs. Weaver can’t find the words and I don’t blame her. Speaking it out loud is worse than thinking it. Saying what happened out loud only makes it all the more true.

And I’m not ready for it to be true. I know it’s selfish of me, but just thinking it makes it feel like a bad dream, like it didn’t really happen to me, like I didn’t get thrown into the middle of this family’s drama.

I don’t even want to know what they must be going through. To lose a child…

My thoughts are broken with the shrill ringing of the telephone. Mrs. Weaver throws me a sympathetic look before she disappears into the belly of the house. All I can do is stand there and watch Mr. Weaver collect himself before he straightens his posture and smiles at me.

“Thank you for coming, Justin,” he grimaces. His voice, I’m sure, would be quite pleasant if it wasn’t on the cusp of breaking. I’m about to tell him it isn’t a problem when his wife enters, holding onto the receiver of the phone.

“Mitchell, it’s your brother. We need to speak with him,” Mr. Weaver nods and gets to his feet with a grunt, “Justin, please have a seat. We’ll be with you shortly.”

The couple leaves and I’m left in the living room with ample seating options, but my body won’t comply. Instead, I’m drawn to the pictures on the mantle of the fireplace and the pictures on the side tables.

There are baby pictures; first day of school pictures, graduation, and family vacation pictures all depicting a happy, normal family. I immediately pick Autumn out of a family vacation to Disneyland. She can’t be more than five or six and there’s another girl there, maybe five years older with her arm thrown carelessly around Autumn’s shoulder. They’re standing next to Goofy and I swear Autumn’s toothless grin could light up Times Square.

Another picture of Autumn, this time older, maybe seventeen or eighteen, on the beach a inquisitive smirk on her face as she looks out over the ocean. The lighting from the sunset hits her face just right and she looks so serene. Did they know back then? Did they know she was on her way to throwing herself off a building?

“That’s my favorite picture of her,” Mrs. Weaver says behind me and I jump at the sound of her voice. Great. They’ve caught me prying into their world. I should have forced myself to sit down when I was told to.

 She walks into the living room, her husband following her and they sit on the couch opposite of where I’m standing. Taking their lead, I sit down across from them, hoping that they won’t start crying, or worse, blaming me.

“We just wanted to thank you,” Mr. Weaver begins as he reaches out for his wife’s hand, “We wanted to thank you for being there for our daughter in the last moments of her life. We know she really appreciated having someone there…”

“It’s okay,” I say immediately, “I’d like to think that Autumn would have done the same for me if I…well, if the roles had been reversed.” Her parents smile sadly and I’m hoping I’m saying the right things. I really don’t want to bring any more sorrow into their lives.

“Well again, thank you for being there for her,” Mrs. Weaver adds before she looks cautiously at her husband, “we actually wanted to ask you something in person.”

“Yes?”

“We were wondering,” she pauses and I can see Mr. Weaver squeezing her hand for encouragement, “we were wondering if you’d come to the memorial service and the funeral. I know you didn’t know Autumn for very long, but we would really appreciate your presence. I know it’s going to sound really insane and new-agey of us, but you’re the last bit of Autumn, as weird as that sounds.”

Oh God. They want me at the funeral? Do they want me to speak? I’m such a shit writer and public speaker, I couldn’t even imagine getting up in front of perfect strangers and talking to them about a girl who I only knew for about twenty minutes. What would they say to relatives when I was introduced? Oh, this is Justin, he was with Autumn just before she died and the bastard didn’t do anything to stop her.

I can just imagine cousins and friends that Autumn was close with coming up to me and giving me shit for allowing her to do this to herself. Because even though police or even her parents haven’t accused me, I still feel responsible for her death. I could have fucking done something.

“We’re not asking you to say anything,” Mitchell Weaver explains over the deafening silence, “Gail and I figured that you being there would allow you some kind of closure, and it would help us begin to recover, as silly as it sounds.”

I look up at them and notice that Mrs. Weaver is crying silently into a tissue and Mr. Weaver is looking like he could use a week’s vacation on some tropical island to escape the nightmare he’s been thrown into. But maybe they are right. Maybe I do need some closure. Maybe I do need to learn more about Autumn and understand that even if I wasn’t on the rooftop with her, she would have still gone through with it anyway. And what better way to get that kind of closure than to go to a memorial service and funeral where her entire life and character will be summarized by eulogies and people reminiscing?

“That wouldn’t be a problem.” I can feel the emptiness in my stomach starting to disappear when I see the warm smiles on Gail and Mitchell’s faces. They tell me where the services will be held and when, and I quickly jot it down into the calendar on my phone.

Mrs. Weaver is about to say something else when I hear a car door slam outside their house. It takes a great deal of self control to not jump immediately to my feet upon hearing the noise.

“I think that’s my friend coming to get me,” I explain as I get to my feet as slowly as possible, “My car was totaled…” my voice stops immediately when I realize that the reason why my car was destroyed was because this couple’s daughter decided to fall on it after falling a couple hundred feet to her death.

Way to make them feel like shit, Timberlake.

“We understand,” Mr. Weaver responds as he and his wife stand up, “And we’d like to replace your car…”

“That really isn’t necessary,” I respond hastily as I make my way towards the hallway, the front door, and ultimately Eric’s car and my salvation, “Really, I know the insurance should take care of it.”

“It’s the least we could do after all you did for Autumn,” Gail offers as she and her husband follow me through their house. God, this is a nightmare. I feel as if this couple is going to follow me like the Ghost of Autumn Past.

You know how there are those people who save someone’s life and then they feel as if they have a debt they need to pay off? I am definitely getting that vibe from Gail and Mitchell Weaver. And while that isn’t such a bad thing, I know that once this funeral is over, I do not want them barging in and out of my life like they owe me for talking to their daughter before she offed herself.

I have finally reached the blessed front door and turn to look at Autumn’s parents. They look so small standing in the foyer of their house and I wish I knew them better so I could hug them without feeling like a loon and tell them that everything will be okay. And that Autumn’s death wasn’t their fault. But what do I know? For all I know these people beat their daughter senseless and that’s why she decided to throw herself off the hotel roof.

“Aside from the circumstances, it was really nice meeting you,” I explain and then immediately feel like an idiot. Seriously, Justin? Now you’re just babbling and trying to make conversation with these people so your leaving so abruptly doesn’t seem like an asshole move.

I open the front door and turn to go but I find my way blocked by Autumn’s twin.

“Oh,” I breathe in surprise and it takes a few seconds of furious blinking to realize that this girl is taller than Autumn and older. After another few seconds of trying to wrap my brain around the situation, I realize I must be staring blankly at her sister, April.

She has a look of shock registered on her face and it takes me a moment to grasp that she is also blinking furiously in my direction, no doubt trying to make sense of why there is a perfect stranger in her parents’ home.

“Uh?” is all I can muster. Her hair is the same color as Autumn’s but wavy and disheveled. There’s mascara tattooed under her eyes and her face is rather puffy. All in all, I’d have to say that Autumn was better looking, but then again, when I met Autumn it didn’t look like she had been crying for fifteen hours straight.

“Oh my God,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth and I can see her lower lip begin to tremble. “It’s you. You were the one that was with her before she…”

April’s voice trails away and I’m about to confirm her suspicions until she swallows an enormous sob and I feel a stinging sensation across my cheek. It takes me a moment to register that she has just slapped my quite hard across the face.

I start to bring a hand up to my throbbing face, but I find that I can’t, because April has completely broken down and is sinking onto the front stoop of her parents’ house.

 I reach out to grab hold of her without a thought and find that I too, am sinking to the ground, but I’ve got an inconsolable young woman grasping onto me so tightly that I feel like if I let go she’ll continue to fall.

I allowed Autumn to fall, I won’t let it happen to her.

Her parents look down at us with unreadable expressions as I rock Autumn’s sobbing sister back and forth, trying to soothe her cries.

So much for not getting even more involved.