Remembering Everly (Lost & Found #2)

by J. L. Berg

  But if I didn’t, Trent would do his best and try, and the last thing I wanted was his slimy hands all over this precious family, muddling up their perfect little world. Or worse, putting his hands all over Magnolia.

  She deserved better than that—they all did.

  Hell—they deserved better than me, but at least I wouldn’t leave them destitute, and I was slowly re-learning my skills. I might even be able to do right by them, rather than take them for everything like Trent usually did.

  “August, care to join me outside? I was about to start the grill and figured you might enjoy the fresh air,” Paul offered as he stood from his place on the sofa. I gave Magnolia a quick sideways glance and her amused grin told me I was going to get the special talk.

  The “what are your intentions with my daughter” talk.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  “Sure,” I answered, feeling like a worm on a hook, about to go airborne into a lake full of ravenous minnows. Currently there was only one minnow I was worried about, and truthfully, he was looking more like a shark.

  Walking through a large sliding glass door, we stepped out onto the expansive deck. Standing here, I could see why Mr. Yorke would want to retire in a place like this. Perfectly sloped green hills, sparkling blue water—it was like a little slice of paradise. With a little bit of golf thrown in.

  “Magnolia tells me you had an accident a while ago?” he asked, a blatant attempt for information. I watched him walk around the deck, taking in the panoramic view he’d probably memorized by now as he waited for me to answer.

  “Not really an accident, sir—” I began, before he interrupted.

  “Call me Paul.”

  “Okay,” I replied, before continuing. “I was mugged,” I said, going with the original story. No need to elaborate. “I suffered a head injury and was in a coma for over two years.”

  He nodded, as if this was information he already knew. “That’s a long time.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re still missing bits and pieces?”

  “More than bits and pieces,” I clarified. “I’d say the majority is still lost.”

  He didn’t ask any further questions, but I could see them on the tip of his tongue as he wandered around the wooden path of the deck.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” I finally said.

  He turned to me, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his tan chinos. “Oh?”

  “You wondering whether I’m stable enough to handle being around your daughter. Whether I’m going to break her heart in a matter of months because I’m too wrapped up in my own mess to focus on anything else.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

  “And I wish I could give you answers, but honestly they’d all be bullshit. Right now, I’m just taking it one day at a time, and Magnolia knows that.”

  “All right.” He nodded.

  “Letting me off the hook that easily, huh?” I asked as I joined him at the railing overlooking the Pacific.

  “Magnolia isn’t a little girl anymore—as much as I’d like to deny it. She’s a grown woman who makes her own choices and I trust her. If she’s chosen you as someone to spend her time with, I’ve got to believe you’re worthy of it.”

  A lump formed in my throat.

  “Thank you, Paul.”

  Guilt ate at me, gnawing at my gut like maggots.

  I wasn’t worthy of anything.

  * * *

  “Her first cotillion, she showed up with mud on her tights and dirt in her curls. All the other girls looked at her like she was an alien from outer space,” Lisa joked as we dined over grilled salmon and fresh asparagus on the deck.

  “Well, who was the one who told me cotillion was on Saturday, when it was actually on Friday?” Magnolia argued, sticking her tongue out toward her mother. “She showed up in my room that night all flustered with a pink dress in hand, words coming out of her mouth so fast I could hardly understand. I think Daddy went out and bought you a palm pilot or something equally ridiculous the next day to try and keep you organized. You were always getting appointments mixed up.”

  “Still is,” Paul muttered under his breath with a laugh.

  “Oh shush, both of you. I figured it out, eventually. And you made it to cotillion on time, didn’t you?”

  “With dirt in my hair!” Magnolia laughed.

  Lisa waved her hand in the air, dismissing the comment as everyone settled.

  “Paul, the salmon was fantastic,” I commented, placing my napkin down beside my empty plate.

  “I’ll be sure to get you the recipe before you leave,” he offered, leaning back in his chair. His arm relaxed on Lisa’s shoulder, playing with the stray hairs that had fallen out of her bun.

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’d hate to destroy a perfectly good memory. I’ve been told my cooking skills are quite terrible,” I replied as Everly’s laughter filled my head from when she’d tried to teach me to cook.

  “Something you and my daughter have in common then,” he said. I looked to my side, trying to shake the memory loose.

  Stay in the present, I reminded myself.

  Magnolia just sat there staring at the ceiling, pretending not to notice the increased attention.

  “Magnolia can’t cook?” I asked, remembering the riot act I’d received when I’d arrived late to a dinner date and botched her perfectly planned meal.

  “Last I’d checked, she couldn’t even boil pasta.”

  “Oh Daddy, that’s not true!” she huffed before crossing her arms in protest. Her eyes darted over toward me before scurrying away.

  “Magnolia?”

  “Oh, fine! I ordered out!” she admitted. “I can’t cook for anything.”

  Everyone at the table burst into a fit of laughter, including myself. I leaned over and rubbed her shoulder as her eyes met mine.

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to stick to takeout.”

  “I order a mean takeout,” she said with a wink.

  “Just don’t let her anywhere near a stove,” Lisa joked.

  Magnolia rolled her eyes and chucked a napkin at her mom. These were the typical antics of a happy family, and it made me long for more memories of my own mom and dad. So far, very little of those had surfaced—a few fleeting flashbacks, but nothing concrete. I’d spent hours…days…trying to figure out a pattern to how the memories came back, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason.

  Part of me wondered if it was our house that brought back certain memories of Everly and our life together, which was why I refused to leave it. But often I just believe it was chance or longevity, and that eventually everything would find its way back if I waited long enough.

  There was no waitstaff in the Yorke house. Lisa and Paul did all the cooking and tidying themselves. For anyone else, this seemed like no grand miracle, but for most who had the means to do so, a butler and a maid would have been high on the list of must-haves.

  Simplistic billionaires. What a concept. It was something I thought about on my way to the kitchen as I helped Lisa with the dishes and leftovers. Magnolia disappeared into the game room to find a deck of cards. Since I’d never heard of gin rummy—or at least didn’t remember hearing of it—she was determined to teach me.

  A soft silence settled around the two of us as we worked through the lunch dishes. Lisa rinsed while I piled them in the dishwasher. I made neat rows of plates and bowls and slowly began to wonder if I’d ever done the dishes like this with my own mom.

  Would I ever remember it?

  “Magnolia tells us you have your own house over the water?” Lisa said, interrupting the quiet.

  “Yes, although there isn’t a golf course,” I said with a smirk.

  “Hmm, I might like your house a bit better,” she laughed.

  “Not a fan of the golf life?”

  “It’s all right. It makes Paul happy and he’s worked so hard all these years, he definitely deserves it. And the vie
w isn’t bad.”

  I agreed with a single nod as I began stacking a few wine glasses in the top rack.

  “Do you miss your old house?”

  “Of course, but it’s just a house. The memories are all right here,” she said, pointing to her heart, rather than her head.

  “A home isn’t about the building, or the wood required to construct it. It’s about who’s with you inside it. My home can change a hundred times over, but I know those two out there will never change. They’re my home, whether we’re in a shack or a palace.

  “Do you have a home, August?” she asked, turning to me as she dried her hands on a towel.

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  “Well, it’s about time you started figuring it out.”

  My eyes caught Magnolia as she danced into the living room with her dad, and I smiled as a part of me died inside, thinking of Everly walking down the aisle today as a bride.

  “I think you’re right,” I answered. “I think you’re right.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Everly

  We’re on a plane,” Sarah said, nearly bouncing up and down on the seat next to me.

  “Yes,” I replied, avoiding her bubbling expression.

  “We’re on a plane, and we are going to Paris!” she exclaimed, so loud that the couple in front of us turned and gave us an amused expression.

  “Yep.”

  When I still hadn’t jumped on her happiness bandwagon, she then resorted to grabbing my arm and shaking me violently.

  “Everly!”

  “Ouch!” I laughed. “You’re rattling my teeth!”

  “We’re going to Paris!”

  “I know, you’ve told me a hundred times since this morning,” I exclaimed, pushing her shoulders down so she’d stay seated. A hundred times might be a little shy of the true number, but it wasn’t far off. Our flight was departing from San Francisco around noon, but little Miss Overeager had decided to wake up at five in the morning.

  Five in the freaking morning.

  She’d also decided that she needed company at that god-awful hour. Even after I explained to her that we had the longest flight in the history of flights ahead of us, she was still jumping around like a lunatic, talking about the Eiffel tower and the Hunchback of Notre Dame and pastries. Oh, the pastries.

  Hey, I was excited, too, but a girl needed her beauty rest.

  And I was starting to believe I wasn’t going to catch a wink of it during this entire transatlantic flight. How much was it to upgrade to one of those fancy first class seats in the front? The ones that reclined fully and came with a three-course meal? I watched as a flight attendant slowly pulled the curtain to the first class area closed, and I caught a last glimpse of the fancy life. Real plates, fancy glasses…leg room for days. It probably cost more than my entire bank account held at the moment. Or ever.

  “Tell me you’re not excited?”

  “I’m not excited,” I tried to say with a straight face, but my lip began to curve into a giant smile as my head fell back against the seat cushion.

  “Liar! This is going to be the best week ever! Thank you so much for not getting married! I’ve always wanted to go on a honeymoon! And I didn’t even have to pledge my undying love to do it!”

  My eyes slanted sideways to give her a dirty look as she made a sour face.

  “Oops, sorry. Was that too soon?” She scrunched her nose as if the air had suddenly gone sour. I shook my head in disbelief.

  Nudging her shoulder, I replied, “You’re welcome, butthead. But you better not complain about a single calorie the entire time we’re there.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but I caught her mid-breath.

  “Not one single word, ballerina girl.”

  “Fine,” she pouted. “But don’t ever call me ‘ballerina girl’ again.”

  “Okay.”

  We were cruising somewhere over the Midwest now. Drinks and meals had been consumed and everyone was quieting down. Many had snuggled into their airplane blankets to watch a movie, while others were reading or sleeping. My airplane partner was still staring at me like I was her sole entertainment for the next eight hours.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Talk to me,” Sarah whined.

  “About what?”

  “Anything. Come on, I’m bored!”

  “Didn’t you bring anything to do? Books, magazines? What about a movie?” I suggested, pointing to the little screen in front of her. “There are like a million of them.”

  She scrunched her face in an unpleasant manner. “I don’t want to watch TV. I want to talk!”

  “Okay, fine,” I relented, setting my Kindle down in my lap. I’d been just getting to the good part of the book, too.

  Her face brightened and she turned her body to face me, leaning against the window of the airplane. Her knees bumped mine due to our tight quarter of the coach seating and her extra-long legs, but I didn’t mind.

  “So, how are you—really?” she asked.

  “Good…fine,” I answered, using that word that she and Tabitha hated. She gave me an exasperated look until I finally caved, rolling my eyes in an overly exaggerated fashion.

  “Honestly? I’ve been better. There are times when I feel good—like really good. Relieved, you know? But then, I begin to miss him. And then I start to regret everything. It’s wrong, Sarah, so wrong because I know, deep down, I didn’t love him the way I should have, but—”

  “You still loved him.”

  I nodded. “And it’s weird not having him around. Like, this morning, when I woke up and remembered today was the day we were leaving for Paris, the first thing I wanted to do was turn to my side and wake him up and tell him. But he wasn’t there. He was my best friend—besides you, and now I don’t know how to act. When we were packing everything up, things seemed great—easy. But I haven’t spoken to him since. What if I never do?”

  Good Lord, apparently I did need to talk.

  “You will. You both just need time, Ev. You were engaged—to be married,” she stressed with an impish grin. “It’s going to take a little bit of an adjustment period to go from almost being husband and wife to just being friends.”

  “You’re right. As always. It’s just—God, when did my life turn into such a soap opera?” I moaned, burying my head in my hands as we both began to giggle.

  “Right around the time your ex-boyfriend woke up from a coma. Oh my gosh, you are living a soap opera! Watch out for kidnappers on this vacation!” she joked.

  “Hey, you’re in my life, too. You could be roped into this crazy circus at any time, too,” I warned.

  “Oh, hell no. I’m keeping my distance.”

  “I know, I know. You and your mystery man.”

  Her smile resembled that of a cat who’d licked an entire bowl of cream completely clean—full and contented. “Yes. Me and my man will stay far away from you and your drama, thank you.”

  “Well, that’s probably a good place to be,” I commented with a frown, as memories from my bachelorette party began to resurface.

  “What did you do?” she asked.

  “What?” I said, looking up at her with a curious gaze.

  “The way you just said that—you did something stupid, didn’t you?” she prodded, poking me in the ribs.

  “Ow! I always do stupid things—isn’t that why we’re on my honeymoon—without a groom?” I feigned innocence.

  “No, this is different. And you’re turning red. You always turn red when you’re lying.”

  “I’m pale. I turn red all the time,” I defended myself, knowing it was no use. She’d just keep poking and pinching and doing whatever else she could until I confessed.

  “Spill it,” she demanded.

  “I hate you.”

  “Uh huh. Out with it.”

  “Fine,” I finally caved. Wringing my hands in my lap, unable to look at her, I whispered softly, as if the people around me would care, “I may have called August the nigh
t of my bachelorette party.”

  “You didn’t. Everly Adams, how dumb are you?”

  “Apparently really dumb,” I answered, finally meeting her gaze.

  “What did you say?”

  “See, that’s the thing. I don’t quite remember. There were a lot of shots in between my two glasses of wine. But I seem to remember yelling at him, so that’s good, right?”

  “You shouldn’t have called him at all. What does that even mean?” she questioned, looking at me for answers.

  Good luck with that.

  “I have no clue!” I replied. “I’m out supposedly celebrating one of my last nights on earth as a single woman, and what do I do? I called the one person I shouldn’t.”

  “Do you still love him?” she asked, which resulted in me giving her the death stare. “Okay, wrong question. Do you want him back?”

  “No,” I quickly answered. “I mean, hell—I don’t know. I know a part of me will always want him. How big that part is? That’s the question of the century.”

  “So, what are you going to do now?”

  I took a deep breath, letting my eyes briefly close.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m going to go to Paris with my best friend, and eat pastries and macaroons until my pants don’t fit, and then when I get home, I’m going to finally learn what it’s like to be a grown-up. All by myself.”

  I’d been dependent on others, especially men, for far too long.

  I was taking back my life.

  But as we settled down into our separate activities for the duration of the flight—Sarah becoming lost in selection of movies and me finally able to read my book— I knew part of me was retreating back to my old ways.

  Because as much as I wanted to find myself—break free from the dependency I’d developed over the years—I knew it was just a front to cover up the real truth.

  I was running. Again.

  * * *

  “Whoa,” Sarah nearly whistled as our tiny taxi pulled up to the hotel Ryan had booked for our Parisian honeymoon.

  Besides agreeing to the location, my involvement in the planning process of our honeymoon could be compared to Ryan’s involvement in our entire wedding. Or lack thereof.

  When had we stepped on that plane? Early that day…or evening…or yesterday? I was so turned around and jet-lagged, all I knew was that when we left the States, we were to give an address to a suited gentleman who held up my name on a large sign at the airport. From there out, I had no clue where this adventure would take us.