Forgetting August (Lost & Found #1)

by J. L. Berg

  How? I still had no fucking clue.

  After several walks like this, I’d discovered the rich didn’t water their lawns and talk gossip over their rose bushes like I’d seen on the sitcoms in the hospital, nor did they allow their children to play basketball in the driveway.

  Everyone kept to themselves. It was eerily quiet.

  Which was both a blessing and a curse.

  For moments like right now, when I needed to clear my head, it was perfect. I could simply step outside my door and not have to worry about walking into a single soul. I imagined my self-indulgent neighbors were either too busy making or spending money to worry about anyone but themselves, so I had the entire neighborhood to roam away my cares.

  But when it came to seeking answers…well, it flat-out sucked.

  No one knew me. Hardly anyone had even noticed I was gone. I’d made the mistake of trying to introduce myself to the guy next door—a musician of some sort—only to be politely asked to leave. Turns out he didn’t know who I was and really didn’t care.

  So much for being neighborly.

  After an hour or so, I made my way back to the house and stopped to check the mail. Bills had found their way to me once again, including ones from the hospital and my new therapist.

  At least someone knew where to find me.

  As I fumbled through the junk and a handful of bills, my eyes fell upon a familiar-looking envelope. My fingers caressed the words as I remembered where I’d seen the handwriting before.

  August and Every…2005

  Everly’s handwriting. Forgetting everything else, I raced inside and dropped the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter. I had no idea what to expect, but I felt exhilarated from anticipation alone. I knew nothing of our past, knew we had no chance of a future, but the mere sight of my name written by her hand did something to me.

  And I had no idea why.

  Could the heart remember what the mind couldn’t?

  This was something I contemplated as I pulled the letter out and fell back into my spot on the sofa—the only place free of boxes, photos and dust. There was no greeting—no pleasantries or how do you dos. Just a simple listing of dates and the milestone or event that corresponded with each:

  June 8th, 2001— Graduated from San Marcos High School, Santa Barbara

  May 14th 2005 — Graduated from Stanford University, BA Business Management

  Many other dates were listed, included my birthdate, my parents’ birthdates and the date of their deaths: February 10th, 2003. In parentheses, she’d noted the cause. Car accident.

  No other details.

  My eyes blurred as I finished reading through everything she’d given me, which was more than I deserved.

  I should have been happy. I should have felt elated. This list was my start—my step into finally figuring out what all this shit sitting in my living room meant. But instead, all I felt was loss.

  Loss for the parents I’d never know. Loss for a life that had to be written on paper instead of remembered and lived.

  As much as I hated to admit it, perhaps the quack doctor at the hospital hadn’t been too much of a nut after all. Maybe it was time for me to look at this as a second chance rather than as a recovery.

  After all, I couldn’t recover what I didn’t know, and I definitely didn’t want to be a man everyone hated. So now I just had to figure out who the new me was and go from there. Perhaps one day I could become someone Everly could be proud of, even if she didn’t know it.

  Yeah, that sounded easy enough.

  Looking around the chaos of the room, I knew without a doubt that I was already screwed.

  Chapter Nine

  Everly

  Secrets.

  Secrets have a way of digging their way into your soul, into your mind until all you can think about is that one simple thing you omitted from a conversation or the tiny white lie you told to keep the peace.

  Secrets.

  Everyone had them.

  Mothers, husbands, priests, even. We all walked around carrying them on our shoulders like lead weights, smiling and going about our lives as if nothing was amiss.

  Yet on the inside—we were screaming.

  I had secrets and they were literally burning a hole in my gut.

  I’d told myself to learn from the sins of those I’d watched before me. Never keep secrets from those you love, and god, I’d tried. Over macaroni and cheese, I’d come clean to Ryan, spilling the details of my uncomfortable afternoon with August to him because I knew that keeping it from him would only tear us apart.

  Because with secrets and lies always came trouble.

  I should have known better, and in truth—I did. I’d seen secrets tear people apart, so why hadn’t I chosen a different path?

  I’d known better when my shaking hand had reached for the pen in our desk drawer so late at night. I’d known better as I wrote each date out neatly, one by one, on the sheet of paper as Ryan slept soundly down the hall. I knew I was causing deceit and turmoil in my near-perfect relationship when I dropped that letter to August into the mailbox the very next day.

  But I did it anyway.

  Why?

  I still didn’t know.

  A part of me knew it was my need to help—that part of me that couldn’t turn away from a wounded bird or an abandoned puppy—but I knew that wasn’t all.

  Deep down, the part that wasn’t willing to admit it knew I wasn’t ready to let go of that part of my life.

  And that was the biggest secret of all.

  * * *

  A warm hand slipped around me, pulling me from my dream. The dark room came into sight as my eyes focused and I felt August’s hard body pressed against mine.

  “It’s late,” I said, rubbing the sleep from my tired eyes.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” His fingers dug into my hip, and even though I was angry at him for leaving me here, my body responded, arching into his as his heated breath moved over me.

  “Did you eat the meal I left for you? I had it brought in from that restaurant you love. And the wine, it was imported from France.”

  “You mean the restaurant I never get to go to anymore?” I asked pointedly.

  “Don’t be angry Everly,” he whispered. “You know I can’t stand the thought of you out of this house—unprotected.”

  “Protected from what?”

  “Shh—just let me love you,” he begged, dipping his hands between my quivering thighs.

  * * *

  My eyelids fluttered, and the distant sound of running water tugged me out of a dream.

  Not a dream, but a memory.

  The first rays of morning light cascaded into our quiet bedroom. The last remnants of my dream drifted away, leaving my body quaking with need as I remembered exactly how it felt to be loved by August.

  I could hear Ryan humming in the shower as sweat dripped from my pores. Every movement, every twist of the sheets left me reeling. I was writhing; still trapped in the holds of a memory I couldn’t escape.

  Even now, August still owned me.

  Would I ever escape?

  My eyes darted to the half-open bathroom door as my hand traveled the length of my body. As Ryan continued to hum, completely unaware in the bathroom nearby, I gave in to myself.

  Parting my slick folds, I rubbed my clit long and slow. My head fell to the side as a moan escaped my lips. Needing this release more than my next breath, I clamped my mouth shut and plunged two fingers deep into my core, knowing I wouldn’t need much more to send me over.

  As my fingers worked in and out, I flicked my clit once…twice, and I came. Hard. Curling into a ball, my body shook over and over as the waves of my orgasm spilled out around me. I heard the water shut off and slowly pulled the covers over my head and hid as tears streamed down my face.

  I didn’t move a muscle as Ryan moved around the room getting dressed for work. I lay there in my sweat and tears, the weight of my guilt overwhelming me until I thought I might drown.


  * * *

  “Son of a bitch!” I cursed as the simple white envelope fell to the floor. I’d just gotten home from my shift at the coffee shop and had stopped at our mailbox to pick up our daily dose of magazines and bills when I found a letter addressed to me from the bank.

  Normally this wouldn’t have really piqued my interest much, except for the fact that it wasn’t from my normal bank; it was from the bank August and I had shared—the bank I no longer did business with. Like many things I’d shared with August that connection was in the past. No more big bank accounts and investment portfolios. Nowadays, saving for a new couch or a vacation could take years.

  But, my money was all mine and I earned every single penny.

  As I held the check in my shaky hand, I looked down at the amount one more time.

  Yep, there were really that many zeros attached that that three.

  Shit.

  I looked at the letter one more time, hoping it would give me some answers, but it was just a formal greeting and statement about what was enclosed. No reason, no justification for why a man who’d just came out of a two-year-long nap would suddenly decide to send his ex-girlfriend half of his entire estate.

  I needed to sit down.

  While most people would have likely jumped up and down, run up and down the block and then proceeded to the nearest Audi or Cartier dealer, I felt nothing but rage.

  Absolute blinding rage.

  Who did he think he was, and what the hell was the purpose of this? Guilt money? Did he think he owed me something? Because I had words for him and they definitely did not include “thank you” or any other form of praise. Grabbing my keys off the counter, I didn’t bother changing out of my coffee-soaked clothes. This needed to be done now and, as I looked at the clock, before Ryan got home.

  Secrets.

  They definitely had a way of worming their way into every facet of your life.

  As I hopped back into the car, I thought about the letter.

  That stupid, damned letter.

  Had I not sent it, would I still be in this mess?

  I knew without a doubt the answer was yes. I’d shown August a kindness, and now in his own weird way he was showing me one in return. Only, he could never fully understand what this money meant to me—because he didn’t remember. Anything.

  My mind whirled, spiraling into the past as I flew down the highway toward the home I’d once shared with August. Toward the life I’d once had—one that had started out like a beautiful fairytale only to end in misery. But despite everything I’d gone through, I’d picked myself up, dusted off the dirt, nursed my wounds, and come back stronger than ever and no one, especially not him, would ever drag me back to that hell.

  * * *

  “It’s just a party, August,” I urged, putting the finishing touches to my makeup. I’d spent hours getting ready, making sure I looked perfect for him. Over the past few weeks, I’d barely seen him and when he was home, he was always locked away in his office, shouting and barking commands at some poor peon on the other end of the phone line. As proud as I was of him and the rapid success he’d gained over the past few years, I secretly did miss the tiny house we’d shared on the other side of town. It had been drafty and cold during the winter and sometimes the stove didn’t work, but no one ever yelled.

  Life had been much simpler.

  “I don’t want you to go, Everly,” he replied sternly, his eyes meeting mine in the vanity mirror.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to keep me at home, but I’d always won out in the end.

  Turning, I met his stare, but when I’d usually see him soften, now I saw nothing but hard edges and cold lines.

  Where did you go, August?

  “But I’ve spent hours getting ready.” I faked a pout, giving him a coy smile that was sure to melt his grumpy attitude.

  But he didn’t budge.

  “Oh, come on, August,” I said, standing so I could slide my arms around his shoulders. He didn’t reciprocate my movements and held his posture rigid. So I tried harder, pressing my body closer to his. As my breasts molded against his chest, I felt his breath hitch. His head turned toward mine, and for the briefest moment his nose touched my neck, inhaling the scent of my perfume before he pushed me away.

  “You will stay here, Everly,” he said firmly and then he was gone.

  And I was left alone.

  * * *

  I don’t know how long I sat in front of his driveway, staring at the massive house, holding the steering wheel of my old beat up Kia like it was a symbol for the new life I’d forged out of the ashes of the one I’d left behind.

  Wiping a tear I hadn’t realized I’d shed, I picked up the check lying on the passenger seat and took a deep breath.

  No time like the present, I told myself.

  Pushing the door open, I stepped out of the car and took several sure strides toward the door, hoping that the rage and anger I’d felt back at home would resurface as I stepped closer and closer to his doorway.

  Tears weren’t allowed at this gathering.

  Pressing the buzzer, I wrapped my hands around the folded piece of paper and waited, trying not to notice the brass knocker and how it so beautifully displayed our intertwined initials.

  A housewarming gift from his partner. The man who’d made all his dreams come true.

  Or so he’d said.

  Prior to landing the job of the century, August had worked at a large, well-known firm. He’d interned there during his senior year and been offered a job before graduation. He earned a base salary and decent commission on sales. It had been a nice life for the two of us. Nothing compared to the drug-induced haze of the stockbroker life depicted in the movies, but we were happy.

  Or we were until August became reacquainted with his old friend Trent. Trent and August had been fraternity brothers, and from the moment I met him I knew Trent was trouble.

  He was slimy. There was no other word to adequately describe him, and the longer I knew him, the better the word fit.

  He managed to pull August out of his quaint little job and lure him into bigger, greater possibilities. Suddenly, August and Trent were partners, working night and day on the start-up company Trent had founded just a year prior.

  I’d never been one to believe in the old saying, “If it’s too good to be true, it generally is,” but when our bank account starting doubling, and we were celebrating crazy deals with champagne that cost more than a month’s rent, I started to get worried.

  August assured me everything he was doing was legal, and I believed him—at first. But the money just grew and grew, seemingly without end.

  Along with my panic.

  I tried to ask him to be cautious.

  That’s when our open line of communication had ended. Much like everything else.

  The door flew open, severing my thoughts of the past.

  “Everly,” August said in surprise. I said nothing. Just stared. Stared because speech was impossible. The man looking down at me was a ghost and I was stumbling back into history.

  Just let me love you. My dream came roaring back, along with every ounce of guilt. Suddenly I felt ill, weak, and nauseous all at the same time.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, taking my elbow, only to feel me yank it back. I reached out toward his face, wanting to grasp a piece of his hair, but stopped myself short. I couldn’t touch him. I would not touch him.

  He watched my movements in fascination and smiled. “Oh, the haircut?” His hands raked through the neatly trimmed locks. “I figured it was time to get rid of the hobo look and try something a bit tamer. Do you like it?”

  Still no words, so I merely nodded. He looked just like himself now. Like the old August. Neatly trimmed hair, vibrant hazel eyes. It was hard to look at him and yet I couldn’t turn away.

  “Would you like to come in?” he offered, motioning toward the hallway.

  I simply stepped forward, clutching the check in my hand, tellin
g myself I just needed a moment to collect myself before handing it over. Just a moment to stop the hammering in my chest and I’d leave.

  The house still smelled the same. I didn’t know how that was possible after all this time, but each time I’d entered since he’d returned, I could close my eyes and still smell the hints of lavender and the soft tones of vanilla tempting my nose. I had always loved the combination.

  Now it just made me feel more nauseous. And guilty.

  We rounded the corner into the living room, and I was surprised to see the living room had been cleared. The boxes and stacks of paper were gone, leaving nothing but the warm, inviting space I’d decorated years earlier.

  Taking a seat in the paisley blue arm chair felt warm and inviting. It suddenly made everything about this wrong. Sitting here, in this house…with him…was wrong. Completely wrong.

  Nothing about the two of us together could ever be right. Before, he’d looked different and acted different. It was easy to compartmentalize what had happened and to almost treat him as if he were another person.

  But he wasn’t. He was and always would be August.

  Cold, unfeeling August.

  Memories or not.

  “I just wanted to stop by and return this to you,” I said calmly, placing the now wrinkled check on the coffee table. I slid it toward him, keeping my posture stiff and unyielding.

  Sitting across from me, he bent forward, grabbing the check and quickly scanning it.

  “But why?” he asked as our eyes met.

  “I can’t take your money.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, it’s our money, Everly. I thought it was only fair.” He shrugged, leaning back once more against the plush sofa cushion. So casual. So relaxed.

  “Nothing about that money is mine. We were never married. I don’t want a single penny of it.”

  “Look, I’m just trying to get a hold on my life—or at least what’s left of it. I will never need that much money. Ever. I thought you might enjoy starting over with your future husband. But if I’ve overstepped my bounds, please let me know.”