August Unknown (8 page)

The Mirthful Mermaid. “Your grandmother’s place?”

“Yay!” Jocelyn squealed from the back seat. She released her
seatbelt and bounded out of the car before Geoffrey could stop her.

He turned off the engine and swiveled in his seat. “I’m sorry
if you’re not up for this, but I know she’ll want to meet you right away. She’s
protective over our family.”

August’s mouth soured at the thought. After meeting Derek, she
wasn’t
up for it.

“Don’t worry, her bark is worse than her bite.”

“Oh,
great
.”

He grinned as he released his seatbelt. “Let me get the door
for you.”

Some of her anxiety faded. She let out a long breath as she
watched him walk around the hood, knowing Geoffrey would never let his
grandmother get too fierce with her.

The Mirthful Mermaid was as quaint as could be, its rough-hewn
walls covered with seafaring treasures hanging in old-fashioned fishing nets.
The dark interior created a sheltered feel, cozy and safe. The bare floor
squeaked underfoot, and heavy wooden furniture filled the open eating area. A
long bar ran the length of the left side. Soft country music flowed out of the
jukebox in the opposite corner. The place smelled of a delicious mixture of
hearty food and the salty sea.

A silver-haired woman held Jocelyn in a bear hug. She set the
little girl down and faced them as Geoffrey and August walked over.

“So, this is your mysterious guest.”

August swallowed, trying not to cringe as the old woman looked
her up and down.

“She looks tired.” She scowled. “What are you thinking,
bringing her out the day she’s released from the hospital?”

Geoffrey cleared his throat. August suspected he was trying to
gently put into words that they had left because Derek showed up.

“I had a craving for some more of the New England clam chowder
he tempted me with in the hospital,” August said first. “Even though I don’t
have my memory, I’m certain I’ve never tasted any so delicious.”

“Ah! I like her already. Come, sit over here where nobody will
jostle that arm. Does it hurt, girl?” She reached out, urging August under her
arm. “I broke my index finger once. It was the darnedest thing—I couldn’t blow
my nose worth a damn until it healed.”

She pulled out a heavy wooden chair for August.

“Thank you, Mrs. Barthlow.”

“You call me Millie, and as things progress we’ll see about
you calling me Gran Millie, but do one thing for sure and leave that Mrs. stuff
behind, y’hear?”

August smiled. “Thanks, Millie.”

Geoffrey watched her with a quirky grin playing at his lips.

She stood back and placed her hands on her hips. “Soup isn’t
enough. You’re too thin. What do you like to eat, sweetheart?”

“Anything I can manage with one hand.”

“Then you’ll be wanting my famous pasta with red pepper cream
sauce. I’ll have Roberto prepare it with corkscrew, so you can eat it easily.”

“I want a cheeseburger,” Jocelyn said. “And cheese fries.”

“You’re a cheese-head.” She bent down and mussed Jocelyn’s
hair, and then kissed the top of her head. “For you, grandson?”

“I’ll have the pasta, too.” He cleared his throat again. “And
we should probably take an order to go. Derek’s up at the house.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you bring him along?”

“Er, he was tired.”

“Stoned is more like it. Is that boy gonna clean up his act?”

Geoffrey leaned back in his chair. “He’d better, or you’ll
find him knocking on
your
door. He’s all out of second chances with me.”

“Lord knows you’ve given him more than he deserves.” Millie’s
voice softened. “How are you holding up?”

Geoffrey’s uncomfortable gaze flicked over August. Now she was
sure of it: there was bad blood between them, and not just because of childhood
bickering.

“I won’t lie to you, Gran, I don’t like him being here. But he’s
my brother and I can’t turn him away.”

“Sure you can.” She placed her fists back on her hips after
another twirl of the towel in her hand. “Send him on down here and I’ll give
him the room upstairs. He can wash dishes to earn his board.”

Jocelyn giggled. “Yeah, right.”

Even Geoffrey laughed.

“That pretty boy needs a taste of the real world. Life isn’t
about prancing around in front of a camera. Besides, if he keeps up the
drinkin’ and smokin’ like he does, it’ll ruin his looks faster than a skinned
apple left out in the sun. Then what’ll he do?”

She turned and started away while shaking her head.

“Derek is a model?” August asked.

Geoffrey glanced away. “Something like that.”

“He does Gucci ads,” Jocelyn volunteered. She seemed oblivious
of the thick tension swirling around Geoffrey at the mere mention of his
brother’s name.

A waiter appeared with glasses of water and a basket of French
bread. August drank down two Tylenol with the icy water.

“This, I remember,” she said as she plucked a slice of bread
from the basket. “Seaside eateries always have the greatest sourdough bread.” She
was grateful for a reason to change the subject. She didn’t like seeing
Geoffrey so uncomfortable.

Geoffrey’s gaze snapped over. “Do you like crab?”

She pictured sweet, moist chunks of freshly cooked crabmeat.
“I do. That was a test, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “It appears to have worked. Has anything else come
to you?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She saw Jocelyn buttering a
piece of bread and slid her bread plate over. “Would you help me butter mine,
please?”

Thankfully Jocelyn chattered about her day at school through
most of the meal. Millie’s famous red pepper cream sauce was everything she’d
promised, including spicy. It was the first meal she’d eaten outside the
hospital, August realized. The first real meal she ever remembered eating. With
her stomach pleasantly full and two Tylenol taking effect, August felt better
than she had in days.

She glanced across the room and saw a heavyset man at another
table. His unwavering gaze was sinister, pinning her with such precise intent
August knew without a doubt the reprieve she’d discovered in the hospital was
over.

The man wiped his mouth, dropped his napkin, and leaned over
to remove his wallet from his back pocket, all the while staring at her.

August’s blood went cold. The man rose and headed for their
table. He was huge, taller than she’d first anticipated because he was so round
around the middle. Her heart was pounding so fast she could hear it in her
eardrums. She picked up her glass and took a long, cool drink.

Something about the man was dangerous in a specific way. His
stare had been too deliberate, too knowing. The closer he got, the greater her
fear grew.

He turned his gaze as he moved past the table. “See ya,
Millie. Jenny.”

“Bye, Joe,” Millie responded.

“Say hi to Althea for me!” the young woman behind the bar said
as he left.

August tingled from head to toe as she let out the breath
she’d been holding.

I imagined the whole thing. God, what is wrong with me?

Had she also imagined the suspicion there was something
dangerous about the docks? Did the boats really look familiar, or had she merely
recognized them the same as a person might recognize a Maserati or Lamborghini,
even if they had only seen one in a picture?

“You okay?” Geoffrey eyed her. “You look a little pale.”

She swallowed. Was it possible she’d been ill before Geoffrey
hit her? Her heart continued its frantic pace as she wondered if she could
be...
unbalanced
.

These were paranoid delusions, which might have plagued her
before the accident. The idea made her sick. Could she even be so messed up as
to have multiple personality disorder? That would certainly explain the
gigantic blackout that was her past. She shrugged the thought away and focused
on the question he’d asked.

“It’s hard lugging this cast around. Even though it’s
fiberglass, after a while it gets heavy.” She didn’t want to tell him the body
sling caused more pain than it helped ease.

He nodded. “I can imagine. Is your arm starting to hurt
again?”

“A little,” she lied. It hurt a lot. Though the pain had
dulled thanks to the Tylenol, her shoulder and back were stiff and her fingers throbbed,
hot and swollen.

The idea she might have a mental illness sent chills up and
down her spine. Maybe she suffered from panic attacks. They were innocent
enough, and many people got them. Maybe that was what she was feeling now,
caused by everything that had happened. Maybe this was her first panic attack;
that would explain why she didn’t understand what was happening.

“Can I sign your cast? I write real good,” Jocelyn said.

“Sure. Maybe you could even draw a flower to brighten it up.”
She hoped her voice wasn’t shaking. Slowly her heart rate returned to normal,
but she was left feeling quivery and light-headed.

“How was the pasta?” Millie asked as she set a paper bag on
the table.

“Wonderful as always,” Geoffrey said. “What’s the damage?”

“You know your money is no good here.”

“I also know the rule is we can eat, but we have to pay if we
bring our friends.” He grinned at August. “Ever since I was a kid.”

“How long has the Mirthful Mermaid been here?” she asked
Millie.

“She was built in 1917, and rebuilt again in 1945 after a fire.
She’s been in our family seventy years.”

“So if I were from the area, I would know this is a landmark.”
The very idea caused her spirits to sink. It was so frustrating not knowing a
thing about her past. Was she from Oregon? If not, what had brought her here?

“Don’t let it worry you.” Geoffrey rose and moved around the
table to help her out of her chair. “It’s only been a few days. I’ll bet after
your appointment with Dr. Lohman tomorrow, you’ll feel a lot better.”

The young woman behind the bar looked up as they started
toward the door.

“Hey there, Geoffrey. Hiya, Jocelyn.”

Geoffrey stopped. “Hello, Jenny. I’m surprised to see you
here. When’s your last day?”

“Not until next week. Who’s your friend?” The girl gave August
a friendly smile.

“This is August. August, Jenny.”

August noticed the oversized sweatshirt with UOP emblazoned in
bright white letters. “Nice to meet you. Are you going back to school?”

Jenny laughed. “No, I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby!”

She stepped around the end of the bar and displayed her
rounded belly.

August hardly saw her. It was as if she’d left the room,
transported back to the storm three nights ago.

I’m pregnant
...
I’m pregnant
...

She was arguing with someone, but all she could see was
darkness, sheets of torrential rain, and the flashes of red that were her
anger.

“August?” Jenny’s smile faded.

“I’m pregnant.” The words slipped over her lips.

“What?” Geoffrey and Millie exclaimed in unison.

“Not me,” she clarified quickly. The memory drifted away, and
August felt like she was waking up from a trance.

“I remembered something. Someone else recently told me she was
pregnant, but I don’t remember who. I think it was the night of the storm.”

Chapter Seven

Morning sunlight streamed through the window over the kitchen
sink and landed on a spot of linoleum that had faded to nearly white. It was
almost too bright to bear. The rest of the floor was dingy yellow with faded
pink flowers, a gaudy pattern from the seventies that should have been torn out
years ago.

They had been planning to live here together. Though the house
was only marginally larger than the bungalow Emily’s parents had left her,
she’d said she liked this one, at the edge of the water, better. She’d never
made a single complaint about his father’s neglect of its décor.

Colin looked at the half-empty coffee cup between his hands,
refusing to acknowledge the ringing phone. His father hurried in, but stopped
when he saw that the call was intentionally being ignored. He stepped closer to
peer at the digital face on the unit, as though he needed confirmation of who
was calling.

“You have to talk to them, Colin.”

Colin knew who it was, even without looking at the display.
They’d been calling his cell nonstop, too. He glanced to the white square on
the floor again, something satisfying in the way it stung his eyes.

“They have a right to bury their daughter.”

He squeezed the cup. The cold coffee quivered under his grip.
“There’s no body.”

The phone abruptly stopped ringing, leaving heavy silence
behind. The same silence had been in his head lately, an emptiness that Emily’s
beautiful smile and happy voice had once filled.

“They’re going to plan the funeral without you—”

He surged to his feet, shoving his chair backward. “She might
still be alive! Why are they in such a hurry to write her off?”

Graham shook his head. “You know as well as I do...”

Colin hurled the cup across the room, spraying its remaining
contents. It crashed against a cabinet and shattered.

“Don’t say it.” He pointed his finger. “Don’t. She was wearing
a lifejacket.”

“Colin.” His father gave him a pitying look that Colin wanted
to punch right off his pathetic mug. “It’s been over a week.”

“I don’t care.” Colin whirled away and stalked out of the tiny
kitchen. “No funeral!”

* * *

August awoke aching with longing as the dream slipped into the
foggy recesses of her mind. It had been a dream, but also a memory, she was
sure of it. The first she’d had in over a week.

She flipped the covers off and bolted out of bed, cradling her
cast. The notebook Geoffrey had loaned her sat on the desk, opened to her last
entry. She wrote as quickly as she could, but even still, parts of it were
already gone.