Page 12 of Unnatural (Men and Monsters #2)

The mailbox in front of the small yellow house that backed up to thick, fall-hued woods spelled out the name Clancy in peel-off reflective letters.

Bill Clancy. That was the name the social worker who had driven her here had said belonged to the man who’d agreed to foster her.

Autumn liked to consider herself at least moderately brave.

Life had dealt her a crap hand, and she’d accepted it with as much grace and fortitude as she’d been able.

She’d suffered pain, both emotional and physical.

She’d been lonely, mourned people she’d loved, and endured circumstances that most others, even if they lived to the ripe age of ninety, never would. But now? Now she was terrified.

“Here we are, Ms. Sterling,” the social worker said cheerily.

What’s her name again? Before attempting to remember, Autumn dismissed it.

What does it matter? She only drove me here.

I won’t see her again after this. A deep shiver went through Autumn as the car came to a stop and she waited as the social worker got out of the vehicle, coming around and opening the back door as though she were a child.

I feel like a child. A child who’s about to be abandoned.

Again. She’d had less than two hours to adjust as her entire world was flipped upside down.

Fifteen minutes to hug those who meant the most to her, to try to manage the slew of emotions rising and falling inside as her friends both cried and celebrated, squeezing her as tightly as their weak, emaciated bodies allowed and then standing in the hospital doorway, waving as her car drove away, leaving behind everything familiar to her.

The social worker had had the emotional awareness not to attempt small talk.

Either that or she really didn’t care to have a conversation with a fourteen-year-old girl.

Autumn wouldn’t have been able to manage it anyway, her throat clogged with tears, her mind spinning with thoughts and fears and too many questions to attempt to arrange or put into coherent language.

She stepped from the car. The air smelled clean and fresh, with the slight bite of woodsy chill.

Mercy Hospital was right outside New York City, but even removed, it hadn’t smelled like this.

The hint of city exhaust from cars and factories and people living right on top of one another was always there. She hadn’t realized that until now.

A man appeared in the doorway, stepping out onto the porch and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

He wore a pair of jeans and a red-and-black flannel shirt.

He had to be at least fifty, with a short graying beard.

He watched as the social worker guided Autumn up the gravel pathway to the base of the short porch.

The man smiled, but only slightly. He appeared nervous, uncertain, and for whatever reason, that impression allowed Autumn to take a full breath. “Hi, Autumn. I’m Bill.”

She stepped slowly up the two steps but stayed at the edge of the porch. “Hi,” she said, and she was proud that her voice didn’t tremble.

The woman behind her cleared her throat. “Well, I wish I could stay as you two get acquainted, but unfortunately, I have a long drive back.”

She bustled up the stairs and there was some hand shaking, fleeting smiles, and wishes for luck.

And then she was right back down the stairs and heading to the car seemingly as quickly as possible, hopping inside and backing out of the driveway.

Autumn watched as the woman’s brake lights disappeared around the bend, her mind surely moving swiftly from the skinny orphan girl she’d just dropped off on to her own lists and plans and other personal worries.

Autumn was well and truly alone. With…the gentleman.

She turned back toward Bill. He gave her an awkward smile, moving from one foot to the other. “You must be hungry,” he said.

She shook her head. She’d throw up if she ate anything right now. “No. Thank you.”

He frowned, smoothing his mustache, looking confused as though his one solid plan had just crumbled to dust and he didn’t have another.

“I could drink something,” she offered.

His face lit up. He smiled, and Autumn could see that he was handsome.

For an old man. “Great. Yes. I have drinks.” He waved his hand, indicating she should enter the house, and picked up the suitcase containing all her worldly possessions.

Now minus the thing most dear to her, her journal—her thoughts and fears set to words—which had been lost in the woods.

It’s okay. You can get another. The thought caused a zap of panic, and for a moment, she felt like the blank page that would sit at the front of a new journal. She wondered if, without her old one, she’d even remember who she’d been. Before.

She walked through the doorway hesitantly, taking in the large open room she’d entered. There was a cozy living room area to the right, a fire burning in the fireplace, a dining area to the left, and a kitchen at the rear. Large windows across the back wall looked out to the woods.

It was homey and lovely, and something about it made her want to cry. She didn’t know if they were happy or sad tears and was still too emotionally discombobulated to figure it out.

Bill moved around her, placing her bag near a hallway just beyond the living room that must lead to the bedrooms, and walked toward the kitchen. “I bought a few different kinds of soda and juice. And I have sweet tea. Water of course.” He turned near the refrigerator, looking at her hopefully.

“Water would be great.”

He went about getting two glasses and pouring from a pitcher in the refrigerator.

He placed them on the butcher block island in the middle, and Autumn climbed up on one of the wooden stools across from where he stood.

She took a small sip of the water, waiting to make sure it settled.

When she set the glass back down, she saw that he was studying her, an expression on his rugged face that seemed unsure but also a bit sad.

“You must feel…” He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine what you must feel, Autumn.

So I’ll tell you how I feel. I feel nervous.

I feel worried. And maybe like I’m in over my head here.

My wife, Allie, died two years ago.” He paused, and she saw him swallow, recognized the tremor in the words and knew he still grieved.

“She was younger than me. I must look very old to you.” A small fleeting smile.

“I met her later in life, but she was my every dream come true. She was worth the wait. We planned to end our days together sitting on the rockers on the porch out front.” Another pause, another shimmer of grief in his eyes.

He leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms. “Anyway, the baby thing…it didn’t work out right away, and we knew time wasn’t on our side.

Allie, she…she was so sure God had a plan for us.

But she said sometimes you have to explore all your options and see where God meets you.

We became foster parents. We requested a newborn, but that newborn never came.

Allie got sick and, well…priorities shifted. ”

A newborn. He’d wanted a newborn. He’d pictured his wife holding a baby, and instead he was alone, a strange teenager standing in front of him, dropped off to share his home. She supposed maybe he felt as lost as she did.

Yet he’d obviously kept up his foster parent status. “Were you planning on raising a baby…alone?” she asked.

He met her eyes, seeming surprised that she’d spoken so many words.

He ran a hand through his brown hair with gray at his temples and stared at her for a moment, obviously working out why she’d asked.

He looked away and scratched the back of his neck.

“I don’t know. I stayed current with the paperwork, the inspections…

I don’t even know why.” He sighed, looking off out the window.

“Maybe because Allie’d wanted it, and to let it lapse felt like…

” He pressed his lips together obviously at a loss.

“Letting her down?” Autumn asked quietly.

His eyes widened, and she saw a glint of gratitude in his expression. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. I couldn’t do that. I wasn’t ready.”

I wasn’t ready. It’d been two years, and still, he hadn’t been ready to let his dead wife’s dream die along with her. Autumn felt a catch in her heart.

“Truth is,” he said on a small chuckle that was short-lived, “I suppose I didn’t expect anything—any one —to come of it at all.

” His features contorted slightly into a wince, and his eyes moved over her face, maybe wondering if he’d insulted her.

But he hadn’t. Autumn found she felt more comfortable in his presence with every honest word.

“There’s not much use in the foster care system for a fifty-one-year-old single man who works odd hours. ”

“What do you do?” she asked.

“I build furniture.”

Autumn glanced around, looking more closely at all the beautiful furniture she’d noticed on the way in. “Did you—” She used her finger to gesture from one piece to another.

“Most of it,” he said. “I built the things Allie wanted. I’d never really built furniture for my own home before.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know, the cobbler’s children syndrome, I guess.

” When she stared at him blankly, he chuckled.

“It’s a proverb that just means people don’t usually benefit from the product of their own trade.

” He looked behind her and tipped his chin.

“It looks like there’s quite a sunset happening out there. Do you want to check it out?”

She turned around, giving it a brief glance. “Sure,” she said, getting up and walking with him to the front porch. The sky in front of them blazed deep pink and fiery red.

They stood there for a moment before Bill looked away from the sky and turned to her.

“I figure we’re both out of our element here, Autumn.

And we’re both searching for solid footing.

What I’d like to start with is this: in that search, we tell each other how we feel, because neither of us is a mind reader. At least I’m assuming you’re not.”

Autumn managed a small laugh and felt a loosening inside. “I’m not.” She held out her hand, and he took it. “Deal.”

He smiled as they shook. “Deal.” They both let go, Bill turning back to the sky.

Autumn ran her hand along the rocker next to her, glancing at the one beside it.

They were beautiful, just like the things inside.

Bill had made these. She knew without even asking.

She took a few steps and then sat down in it, moving it back and forth.

The sun lowered. The earth felt still and peaceful.

Could this feel like my home too?

Home. A real one.

She pushed the question aside. She didn’t dare answer it.

Not yet. Still, she’d enjoy the feel of sitting on this porch with this man who was obviously kind, watching the setting sun.

Moments. It was all she’d ever had. If anything good had come from being sick all her life, Autumn knew how to enjoy them.

As she sat there, the picture of him , her moonlight monster, flashed in her mind’s eye.

She’d lost him too, hadn’t she? She’d lost the opportunity to find out more about what was going on at Mercy Hospital.

No, I won’t let it go. I’ll figure something out.

Maybe this man will even help me. But that remained to be seen.

Bill took the seat next to her. She looked over at him, and he met her gaze, his eyes moving from her to the rocker he’d built for his wife with his own two hands, giving a small, sad smile and a nod.

“Okay then,” he said quietly as though accepting the fate he’d been handed rather than the one he had planned.