Autumn by Sierra Dean Page A

seen the coyote. Through the twined boughs of the trees overhead the light was dim, making it seem darker on the road than it had been in town.
    He pulled over as far as he could, his truck tipping towards the ditch but still planted firmly on the road. There was enough room for a small compact to pass but little else. Cooper didn’t expect to see anyone else on the road though.
    He got out and stumbled, slipping halfway down the slope and ending up with his shoes full of stagnant water. After climbing up the opposite side, he found himself standing between two thin-trunked trees whose bark was covered in damp, spongy moss.
    Ducking under a branch, he made his way deeper into the woods, soon losing sight of the road and his truck and lapsing further into darkness.
    “I know you’re here,” he bellowed, once he was certain no one else was around. Anyone overhearing him would go from thinking he was a waste of space to assuming he was out of his mind. Maybe he was crazy, considering he was out in the middle of nowhere yelling into the trees.
    Creeping forward quietly a few steps, he took several short breaths through his nose, sniffing the air. He froze on the spot when he realized what he was doing, his whole body going cold, and not from the temperature in the air.
    He’d just smelled for a sign of the coyote.
    The tree behind him served as a suitable rest to hold him up when he slumped backwards, bracing his hands on his knees and taking several deep breaths to calm himself.
    “I’m supposed to have more time,” he whispered, this time speaking to no one but himself. The wind muttered soothing, meaningless words into his ear, and he matched his breath to its tempo, urging himself to calm.
    When he righted himself, the coyote was there, standing in the woody duff, staring at him with shining brown eyes. It yipped, a short, high sound that was similar to a dog’s bark yet totally unique. It wasn’t sitting like it had on the road, but it stood in place, regarding him like an old friend.
    Cooper straightened, and where a normal animal would have run off at the sudden movement, the coyote only tracked him, keeping a watchful eye on the motions without budging an inch itself.
    “You shouldn’t be here,” Cooper said.
    The coyote shook his head and made a huffing sound like a sneeze. Then he sat back on his haunches and his tongue lolled out as if he were nothing more than a wiry, happy dog.
    Cooper wanted to move forward. He wanted to embrace that stupid furry beast as if he were still the person Cooper once knew. It wasn’t until that moment, meeting the warm brown eyes he would recognize anywhere, that he was really willing to admit that his own fate was sealed.
    He slid back down the tree until he was sitting in the damp leaves, and resisted the urge to cup his face in his hands. He didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to risk the coyote vanishing. It had been a long time, and Cooper had given up any hope of ever seeing him again.
    “Oh, Jer,” he said, his voice loaded with sadness.
    The coyote yipped.
    His brother was saying hello.

Chapter Twelve
     
    Once Lou saw Cooper’s taillights vanish around the bend, she reversed her track and walked away from the house, back towards the road. It wasn’t as bright as it had been when she’d made her way to the football field earlier that day, but town wasn’t far, and the late-summer light would linger a bit longer.
    She hoisted her bag up on her shoulder and plugged her iPod headphones into her ears, turning up the volume on Priss’s mix tape. The Cars started singing “Just What I Needed”, and Lou couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Cooper. What was that boy doing to her? The more people who told her to stay away from him—himself included—the more she wanted to get closer.
    When he’d taken her hand in the front seat of his truck, she thought she was going to choke on her own heart. It would have been easier to blame the nerves on that