Free Finding Autumn by Beth Michele Page A

reason, my eyes venture up to the sky. It’s a clear blue, only one cloud marring the otherwise perfect vista, and I blanch, like it’s shining a blaring light on the fact that I’m playing a part, reminding me of the hole in my façade.
    There’s a rustling beside me, my gaze following the sound to find a disheveled woman slumped over. Her hair is matted and tangled, jacket filled with holes as if moths have been biting at it, shoes mismatched. My stomach tightens at her appearance, and when she lifts her head, it practically suffocates me from the inside out. She’s not old, yet her skin is weathered, lips cracked, eyes carrying years of sadness. There’s a story behind those eyes, and my limbs are suddenly heavy at the thought of her turmoil, what’s brought her to this point in her life.
    She puts her hand on my arm and I startle. Not because I’m afraid. Simply because I realize in this moment that I could be her, any one of us could be her. We never know where the course of our lives will lead us, what will break us versus what will make us stronger, motivate us to go on. Something has obviously broken her spirit, and my heart bleeds for her. There’s nothing worse.
    “Do you have a dollar?” Her voice is gravelly, hand shaking against my arm. “I’m hungry.”
    My eyes immediately well up with tears, thinking about how much I have, how blessed I am yet there are so many with so little. My mother’s words come back to haunt me. “Don’t give money to strangers, dear. They may have a sign that says they’re hungry, but they are most likely giving in to their demons, you know,” she whispered, “alcohol or drugs.”
    Without a second thought, I unzip my purse, reaching for my wallet. I take out a fifty-dollar bill and hand it to her. Thinning eyes grow wide, as if seeing things, before darting up to meet mine.
    “That’s too much,” she whispers, “I only asked for a dollar.”
    “No,” I smile back, assuring her, “it’s not nearly enough.” I take my hand and enclose her fingers around the bill, pushing it toward her. “Please, take it.”
    “Thank you,” she sputters, stumbling to her feet. “God bless you.”
    My eyes are glued to her back as she walks way. “Wait!” I shout after her, when she’s just a few feet from me. I trot over to where she’s standing and remove my jacket. “Here. I’d like you to have this,” I persuade, and this time she doesn’t refuse me. She clutches the coat tightly in her arms, a small smile attending to her lips.
    “Thank you,” she says, and I smile in return, hoping I’ve helped to lessen her burden.
    I amble around a bit more, window-shopping, until a store called Funusual catches my attention. It makes me think of Vanessa. She’s got an eclectic personality and likes things that are a distant cry from the norm.
    Vanessa Hilliard is my closest friend. She’s the only one who knows that I’m Autumn Winters. We bumped into each other in a coffee shop in Manhattan when I first moved there, then ended up getting drunk together a few nights later, all of my secrets spilling out on the dance floor as if I needed to confess my sins.
    The door jingles as I step inside. There are lots of cool items and I spot something for her almost immediately. It’s a small lamp with feet. Perfect.
    With one more bag weighing me down, I plod back to the hotel, anxious to get ready for Hunter tonight. It’s only four, and I still have two hours before his arrival, plenty of time to pamper myself and relax.
    An excitement that I haven’t felt in a while rockets through me as I dump out all of my purchases on the bed. My biggest decision will be what color lingerie to wear tonight. I let out a childish squeal before I skip to the bathroom, filling the marble tub with luxurious bubbles.
    I spend way too much time in the bathtub, my skin shriveling to prune-worthy status, my mind distracted by images of rich, brown eyes, a strong jaw, his velvety cock. My teeth