August and Everything After

by Jennifer Salvato Doktorski

  “It’s not that simple,” I say.

  “Yeah, Liam. Sometimes people need to decide what they’re willing to sacrifice for a relationship,” Kiki says. “She’s got her own life, you know.”

  Liam reaches for Kiki’s hand. “Malcolm would owe Q big time. He knows that.”

  Kiki leans over and kisses him on the lips. Something tells me these two need to be alone.

  I stand. “I’m going to get more sticks for the fire.”

  Liam keeps his eyes on Kiki when he talks. “I think we’re going to take off, Q.”

  Good. Saves me the “get a room” speech.

  We hug over the dying embers.

  “I hope I see you at Malcolm’s on Tuesday morning, Q. But if not, I’ll see you at Keegan’s in three months.”

  “Godspeed,” I tell Liam.

  Kiki gives me a squeeze. “Night, Quinny. We’ll hang out next weekend if you’re around.”

  I watch them leave and sit back down, not bothering to throw another log on the fire as I put up the hood on my sweatshirt and watch the paper lanterns strung up overhead bob. They’re rising skyward like giant fireflies bound together, trying to take flight.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Alone in my room after everyone has left, I’m too wired to sleep, so I unearth my carry-on-sized luggage from the closet and begin to pack. I start with every pair of panties I own, because while I’m fine with recycling jeans and an occasional tee, clean underwear is non-negotiable. I throw in my combat boots and the Virginia Woolf book, which I still haven’t finished, then look at the clock. It’s after one. I zip the suitcase and leave it on the chair beside my bed, and open my closet, pulling out a sundress. After a quick change, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and swipe on some mascara before tiptoeing barefoot down the steps, carrying my flip-flops.

  I’m rounding the corner toward the kitchen and the back door when Mom’s voice beckons me from the couch.

  “Quinn?”

  I walk over and sit on the coffee table beside her. Reggie is hunkered down at her feet.

  “Tell Malcolm I said ‘hello.’ I’m glad I got the chance to meet him at your gig. He seems like a good guy.”

  “He is, Mom. For once.”

  “You deserve it, baby. I know you thought I was too hard on you about the others, especially that creeper of a teacher, but I wanted more for you. It hurt me to see you pursuing people and things that would hurt you.”

  “I know that now.”

  “Have you made your decision?”

  “I think I have.”

  “Text me when you get to Malcolm’s.”

  “I will.”

  She sits up and gives me a hug, squeezing me tighter than necessary, but I don’t mind. I could get used to it.

  “You’ll call me tomorrow?” she asks.

  “Yes. And every day after that. Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too. More than you’ll ever know. Be safe.”

  My mind and body are on autopilot as I drive across the bay bridge toward Malcolm’s place. When I find myself in front of the garage tapping in the four-digit code, I barely remember getting here. As the garage door slowly rolls open, I see the space has been cleared of all music gear in anticipation of the house sale. I walk to the spot where my borrowed drums once stood and then look toward the kitchen door. It’s open.

  My heart breaks a little wondering how many nights he left it that way for me.

  I walk up the two steps and into the kitchen. The nearly empty house is quiet as I draw closer to the enormous flat screen that glows silently and casts shadows on the family room ceiling. I find Malcolm there, in the exact position I knew he would be in—reclining on the couch, our couch, with headphones on, staring intently at the screen. When I step between him and the TV’s glow, he whips off the headphones, stands, and walks toward me. He’s shirtless and wearing the gray sweat shorts he usually sleeps in. I notice fresh ink on the inside of his bicep and brush my fingertips along the three words I can’t understand.

  “It’s Latin,” he says, reading the quizzical look on my face.

  I’m about to ask him what the words mean, but instead he wraps his arms around my waist and we fall into a kiss. The second his lips touch mine, deciphering his tattoo becomes the furthest thing from my mind. I dig my fingers into his bare shoulders as he leads me toward the couch in a slightly awkward waltz while we continue to kiss. Neither of us wants to let go, but I finally pull away, resting my hands on his chest and pushing him down gently, until he’s seated on the couch. I remain standing before him, watching the way his pupils have dilated. He runs his fingers along my bare thighs, and in one swift motion, I slip my dress over my head and kick off my flip-flops.

  “Cat’s Eye,” he whispers. “Is this happening?”

  I answer his question by removing what’s left of what I’m wearing. He wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my stomach, and then, without hesitation, I press his shoulders until he is on his back. I lay my body beside his, knowing that if this is our last night together, this is exactly how I want our story to end.

  We move together wordlessly, our bodies alternately in tandem and in sync, responding to each other’s movements like a perfectly orchestrated song. The patio doors are open, and I swear I hear music in the wind coming off the bay. It’s a tune so personal and familiar that I don’t know why it takes me so long to realize that it’s coming from inside me.

  Afterward, Malcolm cradles me in his arms and I lay my head on his chest, listening as his rapidly beating heart slows to its normal tempo. He plays with my hair and we both fight sleep, neither of us wanting this night to end.

  “I love you, Quinn,” he says right before I fall asleep.

  I lift my head and kiss him.

  “I love you too.” I lay my head back down, close my eyes, and start to drift away. “Goodnight, Malcolm,” I whisper, but what I really mean is “Goodbye.”

  I’m up before Malcolm the next day, awakened by the sounds of morning stirring outside. I slip out from under his arm and leave him sleeping, stepping into my sundress and grabbing a throw blanket before walking through the patio doors and down to the dock. The air is chilly and still, the bay like glass. The crickets are fading and the birds’ song grows louder. It won’t be long before I see the sun.

  On the dock’s edge, I dangle my feet over the water and wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The water laps gently against the pilings and I keep my eyes on the horizon, which is capped with pale light. When I hear footsteps behind me, I’m not surprised. I knew it wouldn’t take him long to find me. We are connected forever, he and I, bound together by the guilt and sorrow that nearly shattered us and the one summer that made us whole. I know I’ll never feel this way about anyone ever again, but that’s okay. Sometimes that’s how it’s supposed to be, right? It’s like what Malcolm said all those weeks ago when I rescued his drunken ass from the boardwalk: People come together for different reasons at different times. It doesn’t mean you’re destined to stay together forever. But if you’re lucky, you’ll leave each other in a better place.

  I let the blanket drop from my shoulders and he sits down behind me, wrapping a leg on either side of me. I lay back against him, and he encircles my shoulders with his arms.

  I feel his warm breath against my hair. His voice hums inside me when he speaks.

  “You aren’t coming with me, are you?”

  I shake my head and lay my cheek against his bicep, pressing my lips to each inked word.

  “A new day,” Malcolm says.

  Neither of us says another word as we wait for ours to begin.

  FORTY-FIVE

  (CODA)

  It’s less than a month until Halloween, and I’m sitting on a barstool at Keegan’s reading a book as I wait for the first band to start their sound check.

 
I’ve helped Caleb spruce up the place with a mixture of black garland, orange lights, and some well-placed pumpkins and gourds, which I painted black and gray to ensure the club looks edgy, not like a marriage between a seafood restaurant and farmer’s market. I even lit some tea light candles along the bar.

  “Quinn!” Caleb calls to me from the stage. “These guys are ready!”

  I close my book and keep it with me as I walk toward the board. Virginia Woolf might be the death of me, but I refuse to give up on To the Lighthouse and Auntsie’s reading list, even though I started college classes this week and my life just got a lot busier. There’s homework, Reggie duty, my jobs here and at Atlantic Trax, and Sundays at the shelter, where Auntsie and I continue to do God’s work. I’m not complaining. I need to keep busy. It makes me forget who’s missing.

  “Hey, guys,” I say to the band. “Let’s hear some guitar first.”

  A dude in skinny jeans and a gray tee strums a few chords, and I make some minor adjustments.

  “How’s that?” I ask.

  He strums some more and frowns. “Can you turn me up some more?”

  Diva, I hear Liam say. It’s only been a few weeks, but I miss that old douchebag. Of course, I miss Malcolm more. We agreed not to talk or text while he’s on tour. It would be too hard. We’re still tethered together, but the threads of that connection are stretching and fraying with every mile. I’m both welcoming and dreading the day when I stop thinking about where I am now in relation to the distance between us.

  I’ve been good about avoiding the band’s social media feeds. It helps that I’d already abandoned all my accounts after the unfortunate tree branch incident, but I do welcome my almost daily updates from Kiki and Liam. How else would I know that, as expected, Malcolm’s label made him an offer? They want to sign him as a solo act to record a full-length album with Ricky at his Nashville studio. Any future tours will be with a backing band of the label’s choosing, not Malcolm’s, which works out for a variety of reasons. Specifically, Liam’s determined to start Rutgers in January, and Travis is turning out to be a bit of an asshole.

  Don’t worry though, Q. Malcolm’s got it under control and I’ve got his back, Liam texted me.

  I knew Liam would.

  I signal to the drummer to start sound check, and he pounds the kick drum a few times.

  “Good. Now give me some hi-hat.” I’m about to have him move on to the snare drum when someone taps me on the shoulder.

  “Need any help?” asks a male voice behind me.

  I turn to see a guy in a green wool beanie that clashes with his auburn hair. He has eyes shaped like crescent moons and a slight gap between his front teeth that make his smile imperfectly perfect. He looks familiar, but I don’t know why.

  “Quinn?” he asks.

  “Yeeeah,” I say slowly.

  He offers me his hand, and I take it, surprised by how it warms me with a familiarity that makes me want to hang on a little longer.

  “Andrew Clark. I wasn’t sure if it was you. Liam said you wore…glasses.”

  I laugh. “He said ugly glasses, didn’t he?” I keep forgetting to tell him I’ve gone back to contacts. I haven’t worked on improving my wardrobe though.

  “You know him well,” Andrew says.

  “And I feel like I know you.”

  “Same here. Glad I finally got to meet the infamous Q.”

  It’s nice to hear my nickname again.

  Andrew points to my book.

  “Hey, To the Lighthouse! I did my senior thesis on Virginia Woolf. I’m practically an expert on that book.”

  “Really?” I say, mulling over the possibilities.

  “So, do you need any help?” he asks again, nodding toward the board.

  “With sound? No. Woolf? Maybe.”

  He laughs. “Cool tat, by the way.”

  My hand moves reflexively to my wrist. Auntsie’s favorite artist had a cancellation and was able to squeeze me in. A Celtic knotwork design now covers my scar.

  “Does it mean anything?” Andrew asks.

  “Forgiveness,” I say.

  I have no idea if that’s true, but that’s what it means to me.

  “Cool.” He points over his shoulder. “Well, I’ll be over by the bar if you need me.”

  I pat my book. “Maybe we can talk about this later?”

  “Sure. I’m not going anywhere. In fact, I was hoping Caleb would give me my old job back. I may be around for a while.”

  My heart tugs skyward when he says that, like the string of paper lanterns straining in the wind. I embrace the sensation and turn to face the band.

  “Play me a song,” I tell them. The drummer clacks his sticks to count them in…one, two, three, four…and when the music starts, all at once I feel my heart break free.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Every day, ninety-one Americans die from opioid overdoses, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

  Since 2000, opioid overdoses have killed more than three hundred thousand Americans, and the epidemic has touched nearly every community in the United States. Ocean County, New Jersey, where August and Everything After takes place, has been hit particularly hard by the opioid addiction crisis.

  Too often, opioid addiction begins with the misuse of prescription pain medications like morphine, oxycodone, or an acetaminophen like Vicodin. A 2014 National Survey on Drug Use and Health (NSDUH) showed that fifteen million people in the United States misused or abused prescription drugs that year.

  The opioid addiction epidemic continues to be a national problem, but help is available.

  If you or someone you know is battling an addiction to prescription pain medication, heroin, or any other opioid or controlled substance, here are a few of the many resources.

  • The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) has a twenty-four-hour, year-round helpline, which provides referrals to local treatment facilities, support groups, and community-based organizations.

  Call 1-800-662-HELP (4357) or visit samhsa.gov or samhsa.gov/sites/default/files/ssadirectory.pdf for a direct link to state-funded treatment facilities.

  • The National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence (NCADD) provides information about addiction and treatment and operates a twenty-four-hour Hope Line at 1-800-622-2255, or you can visit ncadd.org.

  • DrugAbuse.com provides information on addiction and rehabilitation and connects people with treatment facilities by state. Visit the website or call the twenty-four-hour hotline at 1-877-629-0265.

  • The Partnership for Drug-Free Kids helps families struggling with a child’s addiction. Reach them at 1-855-DRUGFREE (1-855-378-4373) or visit drugfree.org.

  • Narcotics Anonymous offers information about support and helps addicts find local meetings. Visit na.org.

  • The Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) operates twenty-four hours a day and helps put callers in touch with the nearest local crisis centers. Visit suicidepreventionlifeline.org.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  “Who run the world? Girls.” I know it’s true in my corner of the globe, where books for teens and kids thrive thanks to many talented, dedicated women. As further evidence that Beyoncé got it right, I present the following list of ladies who contributed to this book in ways both big and small:

  Lauren Bjorkman, Patty Blount, Julia Bognar, Kerry Millerchip Bucci, Adriana Calderon, Jody Casella, Bethany Crandell, Margie Gelbwasser, Theresa Festa Giles, Theresa Berano Goldberg, Kristen Hart Haddock, Jackie Hong, Noelle Kocot-Tomblin, Lori Mallari Lynch, Jen Mann, Becky Osowski, Lisa Ryden Paccio, Tija Pavlovic, Jen Post, Rebecca Post, Lisa Reiss, Kim Sabatini, and Diana Rose Verbeck. Thank you for caring enough to make my work better!

  Thank you to Kerry Sparks and Annette Pollert-Morgan for seeing something worthwhile in my early w
riting and sticking with me. Your continued support means everything. Three is the magic number! Thank you to Dominique Raccah, Todd Stocke, Cassie Gutman, Sarah Kasman, Nicole Hower, Danielle McNaughton, Stephany Daniel, and the entire amazing Sourcebooks team.

  To my ridiculously supportive family and friends, especially Mom and Dad, Melissa and Anthony Collucci, and Mom D. and Dad D. Your love and encouragement make anything possible.

  To my husband, Mike, a talented bass player who I interviewed more than two decades ago when he was a guy in a band and I was a minor rock journalist. Without him, my musical knowledge would be limited to “Soft Sounds of the ’70s.” (Just one of the many ways my life became infinitely better when I walked into the Budapest Cocktail Lounge, an old-man bar turned indie rock club.) To our daughter, who inspires me every day with the thoughtfulness, intelligence, tenacity, and heart she brings to everything she does. It’s no wonder Ravenclaw is the house for you. I love you both so much. You are my heart.

  Thank you to YA Outside the Lines, the East Brunswick Public Library Adult Writers’ Group, and my favorite librarians, Melissa Hozik and Jessica Schneider, for giving me a forum for my books.

  Thank you to the Original Ben Franklin 5 & 10 Store in Lavallette, New Jersey, and the Shore and More General Store in Seaside Park, New Jersey, for allowing my books to take up counter space.

  Thank you to the many talented bands and musicians who create with their music the kind of connections that bring people together and make the world seem less scary and lonely.

  Finally, to our dear friend Eric “Ricky” Kvortek, a talented musician and recording engineer who lost his brave fight with brain cancer in 2017. My knowledge of the recording process came from Eric, who is most certainly hard at work auto-tuning the angels. Rock on, my friend. You are loved and missed.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jennifer Salvato Doktorski is the author of three other YA novels, How My Summer Went Up in Flames, Famous Last Words, and The Summer After You and Me, a YALSA Teens’ Top Ten nominee. She lives with her family in New Jersey, spending her summers “down the shore,” where everything’s always all right. You can find out more about her at jendoktorski.com.