Forgetting August (Lost & Found) (5 page)

I
should have gone straight home.

Ryan was a worrier and I could see him now, pacing an uneasy path back and forth through our worn carpet as he counted down the hours wondering when I would return home safe and sound.

I’d woken up this morning nervous and agitated, wondering what I was doing and why I’d made such an enormous, stupid decision like this one. I wanted to cave—to dive under the tranquility of my covers and live the rest of my life from the safety of my bed.

It was a legitimate idea; I doubt I was the first female who’d considered it. Beds were safe. Beds were understanding and never neglected you.

Rather than talking me out of the decision I’d made, Ryan had pulled me out of bed, made me French toast and the one thing that always cheered me up.

Coffee. Blessed, wonderful coffee.

As I’d sat down, wondering how I’d managed to find a man as wonderful as him, he’d solidified my faith in him even further.

“You can’t back out now,” he’d said. “You’ll regret it. You’ll always wonder what life would have been like if you’d taken this chance. So, even though I hate the thought of you being in the same room as him—go. You’ll be better because of it.”

I sat there in awed silence, staring up at him, amazed by his supportive nature, until he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on my lips and reminded me my breakfast was getting cold. I’d quickly slathered my French toast with peanut butter while he made gagging noises and grimaced as I’d poured half a bottle of maple syrup on top of the peanut butter.

“That’s seriously disgusting.”

“No,” I’d corrected him, “It’s delicious.”

He’d dodged and weaved my attempts to airplane feed him a bite and instead made himself a plate of “normal” French toast, which consisted of plain butter and syrup. So boring.

We ate in enjoyable silence and got ready side by side. I listened to him hum top forty songs off-key in the shower.

When it had been time to go, he’d given me a kiss and said he would be here when I got home.

“But you have to work,” I’d argued.

“I’ll work from home until you get back.”

I knew he probably hadn’t worked a single productive minute since I’d left for the hospital, which was why I felt incredibly guilty as I went in the opposite direction, toward the coast, rather than taking the freeway home.

The traffic congestion lessened and the houses grew larger as I drove closer to the cliffs. Each street I passed reminded me of the life I’d once had. The little organic market where I’d had once picked up a particular kind of juice every week…just because August loved it. The smell of the salty air reminded me of long walks on the beach when life had been simple and sweet—before everything had come crashing down.

I pulled up the driveway and parked. Hidden in the very back of my glove compartment, in a tiny manila envelope, there was a single key—one I’d hidden years ago when I’d walked away from this place and my life with August. It had been my responsibility to take care of our home, to nurture it and keep it flourishing in his absence.

Two months after he went into a coma, I handed everything over to his attorney with directions on maintenance and financial care, and walked away.

And yet, here I was. Again.

I should have tossed the stupid key over a cliff years ago.

Standing in front of the house, I felt small and insignificant before its high walls and grand exterior. The first day he’d brought me here, I had been blindfolded. There had been a giant red bow wrapped around the front, just like in a movie. At that moment, I’d been so sure he was my happy Hollywood ending.

“Are you serious?” I squealed as the blindfold fell to the ground and I got my first glimpse of the colossal house standing before me.

“Very,” he answered with a devilish grin.

“We can’t afford this, August. It’s too much! Shit,” I swore, “I don’t think Oprah could afford this.”

His arms wrapped around my waist and up I went, spinning in circles, laughing as he captured my lips with his own.

“We can afford anything we want now,” he whispered. “I promised I’d always take care of you—give you everything you desired.”

“All I ever wanted was you,” I answered softly.

A cocky grin tugged at the corner of his lip. “Now you have both.”

Slowly, I walked up the flowered pathway, grateful for the landscaping service that kept up the vast outdoor maintenance required of the property. It meant I never had to feel guilty that this magnificent house had fallen into disrepair because of me. Because of us.

It still looked as beautiful as the day I first saw it. The sprawling driveway gave way to a beautiful garden and entryway. The color of the flowers had changed since I’d last been here, but it all still felt the same. At first glance, you’d never know no one had lived in it for years. Yet as I grew closer and peered in the windows, I could see the white sheets scattered throughout the first floor, covering and protecting the expensive furniture we’d spent months picking out. The house resembled the Spanish architectural style California was known for, with rounded windows and doors that reminded me of field trips to old missions along the El Camino Real, and an ornate red-tiled roof that gave it character and charm. The multi-million dollar view of the Pacific didn’t hurt either. That view was what made this area of the city so sought after. The waves crashed below as the sun set over the crystal blue water. Each and every day. It had been a life most people only dreamed of living, and one I’d run away from long ago.

My hand shook as I held the key up to the lock in the large wooden door, and as its first tooth locked into place, I stopped and took a hesitant step back. The key fell from my fingers, clattering onto the stoop, and I fled, my heart pounding in spades. Quickly unlatching the gate to the backyard, I ran. I ran until my lungs burned and my cheeks reddened from the gusts of wind rushing over the jagged cliffs. The house faded into the background as I stood there and let the roar of the ocean drown out my thoughts and memories, pushing back the sobs that were threatening to force their way out.

I would not cry over this man.

Not again—not ever again.

And I would not allow his presence to ruin my life.

“This weeks of not seeing each other thing? It has to stop—you’re my best friend and I feel like I barely know you. It’s been ages…ages, woman! So, come on with the details. Tell me, how are you?” Sarah asked, her words all strung together like the chaotic strand of pearls she wore wrapped around her neck. Every color imaginable, without rhyme or reason. That was Sarah. A hurricane wrapped in pink ballet tights.

We settled into the cozy corner booth at the local coffee shop I’d been working at for the past two years. I unwrapped my apron, which resembled a large burlap sack, and sank into the cushions a few more inches. My feet hurt from standing all day and sitting felt like the most amazing luxury in the world.

“It hasn’t been ages. Stop being so damned dramatic. And I’m fine,” I said, waving her off as I stretched my aching back.

Her critical brown eyes searched mine. “If I had a dollar for every time you said the word ‘fine,’” she said, raising her eyebrow in challenge. I ran my tired hands down the front of my plain white shirt, a stark contrast to the vibrant flowery dress she was wearing. Sarah’s personal taste was a tad diverse. Having formerly been a perfect ballerina the majority of her life, dressing in whatever she was told to wear from frilly tutus to sparkling tiaras, she now tended to steer clear of anything that had crinoline or lace and hovered closer to the outlandish.

“I know. Tabitha would have my head if she heard it, too. She hates the word ‘fine.’ She says people use it far too often and it generally means the opposite of what it’s used for.”

Sarah placed her strong arms on the table and bent forward, her lean muscles bulging from years of training.

“So, is that what you’re doing then? Saying you are fine when you’re actually not?”

“No. Yes. Maybe,” I said all at once, hating that she saw underneath all my protective icy layers. It was impossible to lie to her. I don’t know why I tried.

“That’s better.” She grinned. “Confusion is at least an emotion.”

I shook my head as my coworker Trudy brought over our coffee and I checked my watch. I still had most of my break left. Trudy gave me a quick wink before running back behind the counter, her way of telling me to take my time. She didn’t know how badly I suddenly wanted to get back to work.

Talking about my feelings seemed to be the highlight of everyone’s life lately. Except mine.

“I know you don’t have much time, so start talking. I want to know everything.”

“Everything? Starting where?” I asked, trying to appear cool and levelheaded. Because I was definitely anything but.

“The beginning,” she said, stirring a packet of zero calorie sweetener in her plain black coffee, but adding nothing else. She’d come far since her purging days, but she still watched every calorie she put into her body and probably would until the day she died.

Some habits were hard to shake.

Much like my past—it just sat there, over my shoulder, reminding me of my failures and regrets. Knowing it would always be there if I let it, I took a deep breath and decided to tell her about the phone call and Tabitha’s words of advice.

“She was right, you know,” Sarah said between sips. “It might help you move on.”

“Let me finish,” I said. “This is the part I left out from our phone conversations. I guess I was still coming to terms with it myself.”

Her face fell as worry took over.

“He wants you back.”

“No,” I shook my head. “Or at least I don’t think so. I already went to the hospital.”

“And you’re just telling me now?” Her voice rose and then fell again as she looked over her shoulder, suddenly remembering where we were.

“What happened? What does he look like—I bet the fuckwit isn’t nearly as threatening with his ass hanging out the back of his robe!”

“Sarah! Would you focus for just one second and listen! He doesn’t remember me. He came out of that coma and doesn’t remember a damn thing.”

Her expression remained neutral as she slowly stirred a wooden stick around the edge of her mug. The silence started slowly driving me insane. Sarah was never quiet and hardly ever kept her opinions to herself for long. As the wooden stick went round and round, I began to regret even mentioning August’s condition.

Of course she would have seen through that, too.

“He’s lying,” she stated, knowing just what kind of man August Kincaid was—or had been. She may not have known me when I was with him, but she’d been there for the aftermath. Tabitha and Sarah and been there for me when I picked up every single scattered piece of my life, but unlike Tabitha, there was still much I hadn’t shared with Sarah.

She had enough burdens without being weighed down with all of mine.

“I thought so, too, but then he asked me what kind of man he’d been in his past life to deserve such treatment.”

A snort escaped Sarah’s lips as she shook her head.

“So I told him exactly the type of man he was.”

“And?” she asked.

“It was like watching a mountain crumble. As his face fell, I saw the life drain from it as well. That wasn’t something that could be faked, Sarah. The old August isn’t there anymore, or at least not right now.”

She studied me for a moment or two, trying to gauge my expression before replying. “Could he come back? Will the memories return?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. It was something I’d been thinking about a lot lately, as I lay in bed, too restless to sleep, too tired to get up. What if that monster did return one day? What happened then?

“Wow, Ev, I don’t know what to say. How is Ryan handling it all?” she asked as her warm gaze met mine. She leaned forward to take my hand.

Looking down at our joined fingers, I smiled, grateful to have Sarah in my life. She always brought me out of my tortoiselike shell. “Like he always does—in stride. First he was shaken a bit by the news, and then he went into defense mode, figuring out the best way to keep us secure. You know how logical he gets in situations like this.”

“And what did he come up with?” she inquired.

“He said we should just keep the status quo. Go about our lives like usual—ignore August. And if the time comes that it becomes a problem, we’ll deal with it.”

Her eyes met mine and as usual, I know she saw more than most.

“And what do you think? Do you believe in the status quo?”

As much as it pained me to admit it, I shook my head.

“No,” I answered honestly. “Not with August back in our lives.”

I saw him again.

This time he was bending down to tie his shoe. His short brown hair fluttered in the salty sea breeze and my lungs began to burn and soon I was gasping for air. No, it wasn’t him, couldn’t be him. The build of his body was all wrong, the shape of his nose was different—and yet I faltered, all because of a stupid pair of shoes. Shiny, black—expensive. Exactly the type August would have preferred.

There once was a time when he hadn’t cared about the type of shoe that covered his feet. Shoes, clothes…none of it had mattered. Back when things had been simpler—easier.

Happier.

The man who wasn’t him turned slightly, his face catching the light from the sun high above us as he rose, the untied laces now fixed, and went on his way down the street while I still stood unmoving, cemented to the ground.

Lost in a memory.

“How is he today?” I asked the maid as she quietly shifted around the room, trying not to disturb me as she set the morning tray beside the bed.

Her troubled eyes met mine and I knew instantly that it was another bad day. There had been a string of bad days that bled into weeks now. There had once been a time when he would confide in me—ask me for advice when it came to his life, no matter what the cause. We had been a team—a strong partnership.