Forgetting August (Lost & Found #1)

by J. L. Berg

  With the memories of our first house still haunting me, I needed someplace safe and easy—a neutral zone where I could let these lingering feelings fade.

  “We’re going to be tourists,” I quickly answered, remembering a day when we did the same years back.

  “Here?” he asked.

  “Well, not exactly here, but in the city—yes. Come on, let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  I didn’t bother waiting for him. I knew he’d follow. Sheer curiosity had him hooked. As I hopped in the car, he followed my lead and jumped into the passenger side.

  My car suddenly felt too small. Like a clown car with forty men stuffed in the back. He was everywhere—his scent, his demanding presence, and I couldn’t find enough oxygen to breathe.

  “On second thought—how about you drive?” I managed to squeak out before pushing open the door and inhaling a large gulp of air into my lungs.

  His gentle voice called out behind me. “Everly? Are you okay?” He didn’t touch me, but I could feel the heat from his body radiating against me.

  I took a step forward and turned.

  “Fine,” I answered. “I just don’t feel like driving—that’s all.” I made a beeline to his car and waited for him to unlock it. He watched me, his hazel eyes full of intensity, as if he was trying to decide whether to call me on my bullshit or move on.

  Thankfully, he chose to move on and unlocked the doors, giving me a way to escape his heavy gaze.

  As he settled into the seat next to me, he placed the camera on the console between us.

  “So, where are we going?” he asked, starting up the engine.

  “Fisherman’s wharf,” I answered, wondering if he’d need directions, but he just pulled away from the curb and headed in the right direction.

  “I’ve been studying maps,” he explained. “That day I got lost and found myself at your coffee shop—I felt so helpless and alone. It wasn’t a feeling I wanted to repeat, so I’ve been trying to relearn the city, bit by bit.”

  I nodded silently and then winced. “Well, I hate to tell you this, but you just missed your turnoff.”

  “What?” he exclaimed, looking up at his rearview mirror. “Shit!”

  I held back my laughter, covering my mouth.

  “You know,” he said, “if you want this to work, you’re eventually going to have to start opening up.”

  “I don’t need to like you for this to work,” I responded harshly. “You want to know about our past—that’s what I’m doing. The sooner we do this, the sooner you can move on. That’s my closure.”

  “Seems like you’ve got it all figured out then,” he replied, his voice trailing with each word.

  We didn’t speak the rest of the way down to the wharf. The truth was, when I was with August I wanted to hate him—and part of me did. The scared, crying, younger version of me that would always remain locked behind that bedroom door would always hate the man who had promised me forever and decided I wasn’t enough.

  But the woman I’d become…she had a hard time resenting a man who brought a camera with him everywhere and studied maps. Those qualities reminded me of the man who’d begged me to never leave…to warm his bed and stay there forever.

  I had him park as close to the water as he could, which ended up being on a hill. I watched as he squeezed into a space meant more for a two-seater than the giant gas guzzler he had, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He even turned his wheels in the right way—a San Francisco must when parking on nearly vertical streets.

  “We both grew up in this area,” I said as we stepped out of the car and met on the sidewalk. I kept a sensible distance between us as we made our way down to the water’s edge. “And one day, as we were strolling along the wharf, eating ice cream or something like that, we realized that neither of us had actually done anything ‘San Franciscan.’”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “When you travel, what is the first thing you do?” I asked.

  He stopped and looked at me blankly.

  “Okay, if you were to travel, what would be the first thing you would do?” I rephrased the question. I crossed my arms over the edge of the wooden rail that lined the dock. Several boats were docked in front of us advertising fishing and whale watching cruises for hire.

  “Go online and Google things to do?” he guessed.

  “Exactly. But this was about ten years ago, and I was less technically savvy back then, so I probably would have picked up a travel guide—but it’s the same idea. We realized we’d never done the ‘to-do’ list for our own city.”

  “So you did?”

  “Yep,” I answered, remembering my excitement for the idea. “In one day.”

  “How did you manage that?” he asked. “Don’t people plan weeklong vacations here?”

  “We were very speedy,” I explained. “Which is why we need to hurry!”

  I took off on a run, toward the wharf, knowing he’d follow. There would be no holding his hand through this adventure. We were reliving a memory, but that didn’t mean I needed to rekindle the emotions that went with it.

  Our first stop was bread. Sourdough bread, to be exact.

  No, it wasn’t exactly one of the top things to do on a Google search, but the second you stepped into Fisherman’s Wharf, you knew exactly why Boudin Bakery had been feeding tourists pounds of sourdough for decades. The bakery took up an entire block, and as soon as we stepped on to it, that savory pungent smell that is unique to sourdough flooded my nostrils and I was in bread heaven.

  Bread Heaven—it was a real place.

  And I wanted to live there. Forever.

  Boudin’s had a restaurant, so you could sit down and enjoy a meal with friends and loved ones. For us, though, takeout seemed the most logical. Spending an hour making small talk with my ex didn’t exactly sound like a ragging good time, plus we had other stops to make on this grand tour.

  As he followed me through the store and we waited in line, I watched him curiously as he looked around, taking in the giant loaves of bread shaped like animals and sports emblems, and the many knickknacks scattered about.

  “Is this what we did—originally?” he asked as we stepped up closer to the register.

  “Uh—no, we actually ate—up there,” I said, pointing through the glass toward the restaurant. “But I figured we wouldn’t have time.”

  He just nodded.

  We ordered a loaf of bread and coffee and made our way out of the store. I didn’t waste any time breaking into the loaf with my bare hands. Good bread didn’t need butter or condiments. It could be eaten plain and still be amazing.

  I reluctantly handed over the bag to him to share and we made our way toward some of the other shops. I had one more thing to get before we moved on.

  Saltwater taffy.

  No self-respecting tourist would be caught dead without a bag of saltwater taffy, and I needed to make sure August got his before we left. So, after a quick trip through another store, I selected several different flavors and colors for him, even ones that made his face distort with displeasure, and handed over the bag as we exited.

  “One perfectly mixed bag of saltwater taffy. Start eating,” I instructed.

  “Now?” His eyes widened.

  “Yep. We are only tourists for the day, so it has to be gone by the end of the day.”

  “I’m going to die.”

  “Giant baby.” I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t you know tourists gain like ten pounds during vacation? It’s a rule or something.” I grabbed a few out of the bag. “I’ll help. Okay, let’s go.”

  He stuffed a few pieces of taffy in his mouth as we walked back up toward the car, and I watched him cringe as the orange and root beer mixed together. I should have warned him not to mix flavors. That was a rookie move.

  “So where to now?” he asked, his eyes full of curiosity and excitement. He’d stopped beside his ruby red behemoth of a vehicle but I just kept walking.

  “Follow me,” I called out over
my shoulder, digging my legs into the pavement as I climbed the steep hill. My breath quickened and my lungs burned as we made our way up several blocks. I took a moment to turn and appreciate the new view. The wharf stood below us, the water sparkling under the sunny glow of the midday heat. It was a beautiful spring day—much like the day we’d spent together here so long ago.

  And yet today was so different.

  So vastly different.

  I crossed the street, seeing his shadow out of the corner of my eye. “We’re going to ride the cable car,” I explained, as we followed the tracks that led to a long line of people waiting to do the same thing.

  “Along with the rest the city?” he chided, as we took our place in the back of the line.

  “Would you rather I just tell you what happened that day, or do it this way?” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest in frustration.

  His eyes briefly slid down my body, but quickly turned away as he took in the street artists and view of the water. Still feeling flustered and annoyed, I tried not to think about his mesmerizing hazel gaze and the way he looked at me with such intensity.

  Waiting for the cable car took time—time we probably could have spent doing other things, like visiting Ghirardelli Square or driving to the Golden Gate Bridge. But I wanted to try and mimic the original day as much as possible, and on that day…we rode the cable car.

  “August! Look at that line…we’ll never fit everything in! We still have a bunch of things left to do today,” I whined.

  “But this is what tourists do, Everly…they stand in lines!” He laughed, grinning so wide his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “Okay, but if I don’t get chocolate by the end of the day because of this stupid cable car, I’m blaming you!” I shouted as he pulled my reluctant hand across the street toward the long line of eager tourists waiting their turn to ride a real San Francisco cable car.

  We slowly made our way to the front of the line, listening to random conversations around us. Foreign languages, different accents—there were even locals like us making a day of it. People were out enjoying the city, and yet I couldn’t find two words to string together to say to him.

  So I just watched.

  Observed as he walked away and clicked pictures of random buildings, people and scenery. This was something I’d grown used to years ago, when his photography hobby had really blossomed. He’d just wander off and I’d happily wait while he got stuck in the moment, finding ordinary things that seemed to captivate him in extraordinary ways: the way a finial on the gate curved at just the right angle, or how a woman carried her child down the street. He’d always seem to capture just the right moments.

  But those were the photos he never printed. Those were the ones he never focused on.

  The boxes and boxes he filled were of us.

  Always just the two of us.

  Eventually, the camera had been locked away and forgotten, like everything else, and life moved on.

  Or it tried.

  And yet, here we were, back in line on a warm spring day, waiting for a cable car as I watched him snap photos down the street. Life had a way of circling back around. What else in my life would I find repeating itself?

  “Looks like we’ll be next,” he said, walking back to stand next to me.

  “Yep,” I answered quickly, having been so deep in thought I’d barely noticed he’d returned.

  “This wasn’t what we were supposed to do today, was it?” he asked suddenly as we quickly bought our tickets and stepped up on the car, choosing to stand rather than sit. I took hold of one of the bars above to brace myself before we started and he did the same.

  “Why would you think that?”

  He shrugged. “Seemed like a strange place to meet if we were going to head down here. Why didn’t we just start down here? I just doesn’t seem logical and—”

  “No, okay,” I answered finally. “This was not what I’d originally intended for the day. Okay? Are you happy?”

  His eyes searched mine until I looked away. The cable car chose that moment to come to life. Children laughed and squealed with glee and it began moving along the track. The conductor said something over the loudspeaker but I couldn’t make it out.

  “What we’re going to do?” August asked, taking a step closer. I knew it was to avoid yelling. We’d waited a long time and for some of these people, riding the cable car was a once-in–a-lifetime experience. My anger was not an excuse to ruin that.

  I just shook my head.

  “Please,” he begged, his body nearly touching mine.

  “That street,” I said, finally giving in. “We lived there.”

  He froze as his gaze drank me in. “Why didn’t you want to show it to me?”

  I swallowed, my throat too dry—the cramped space suddenly too small.

  “It’s too much,” I admitted. “There are too many memories there. I’m not ready.”

  “Okay,” he acknowledged with sad somber eyes, taking a step back as I felt the air creep back into my lungs. The deafening sounds of the cable car returned as well, and I suddenly realized how focused on August I had been; the outside world had completely melted away.

  He didn’t press further as we rode the cable car down the loop, until it came to a stop about midway through its run, stopping to let passengers off and on. I chose this moment to flee.

  August followed close behind.

  “I think I’ve had enough sightseeing for the day,” I commented as I looked around. Hopping off on a random street corner wasn’t the best idea, but we were still in the tourist area of the city, so I mostly knew where we were—it just took me a minute to get my bearings.

  “We need to turn down here,” August said, pointing in the opposite direction to where I’d turned.

  I looked around, realizing he was right, which only frustrated me further. I said nothing as I walked past him down the street toward where we’d parked earlier.

  It was going to be a long walk.

  A camera clicked behind me, and I turned to see August quickly pointing the lens across the street, taking a quick succession of shots of several row houses.

  “Where do you think you’ll be in ten years?” he asked as we crossed another street in our trek back to the car.

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, you said you’re focused on the future—not the past, so surely you have some sort of plan…an idea of where your life is headed. I know you said it didn’t matter anymore, but it obviously does, otherwise you wouldn’t be engaged, or planning a life with someone.”

  He’d caught up to my quick gait and now we were walking side by side, our shoulders nearly touching. I took an obvious step to the right. With a gulp of air, I answered, “Well, I guess I see children. And a house full of laughter—simple things, I guess.”

  “And is that different from what you wanted before—” he asked.

  “No, not entirely. Just—”

  “Different,” we both answered.

  Silence followed as we crossed another street, and another.

  Finally the roads began to slope, signaling we were returning back to sea level once again. As we crossed another street, August pointed to a corner sign. “Isn’t that Ghirardelli?” he asked, as several people stepped out of the famous chocolate store.

  “It’s one of them, yes. The one that everyone always goes to is down a bit farther, or down the stairs, if you go inside there,” I pointed, remembering how badly my feet had hurt the day we’d walked nearly every inch of the city in our quest to be the best damn tourists San Francisco had ever seen.

  “You didn’t forget!” I exclaimed as we turned a corner and the huge lit up Ghirardelli sign filled up my vision.

  “Of course I didn’t. When my woman demands chocolate—I deliver.”

  Jumping into his arms right there in the middle of the street, I wrapped my arms around him like a lovesick teenager and said, “My hero.”

  He’d always be my hero.

&nb
sp; “So, do you want to stop in and get something?” he asked, pausing by the entrance.

  I looked up at the sign, just barely visible at this angle and then back down at him. Closing my eyes briefly, I shook my head.

  “No,” I answered. “I think we’ve relived enough today.”

  And then I walked away.

  He was my hero, no longer.

  Chapter Eighteen

  August

  I’d watched her pull away from the street corner ages ago.

  Our street—or at least it used to be. We hadn’t said a word to each other since she’d walked away from me at Ghirardelli Square. I’d rushed after her, only to find her waiting silently by the hood of my SUV.

  She was done, and I guess at that moment I had been, too.

  I didn’t know what I’d done—or not done, to cause her so much pain in that moment, but I was tired of hurting her. My presence alone angered and upset her and as much as I knew this involvement between us was supposed to be mutually beneficial, I couldn’t help but feel like I was to blame for everything.

  If I could just move on.

  Let go.

  I glanced up at the street—a place that should hold so many happy memories in my life. Instead, it looked like any other San Franciscan road—cramped, tight little houses all lined up in a row. Not an inch of grass, but plenty of concrete and a nice path to walk a dog or push a stroller. Driveways were a thing of dreams here, and the only parking was on the street. It was city living at its best and you paid top dollar to live it.

  Owners dressed up the area with flower boxes on the windows and pretty plants by the doors. I wished I knew which door had been ours—which house had been our home.

  Shaking my head, I started the engine, and noticed the bag of half eaten saltwater taffy on the passenger seat.

  We hadn’t finished it like she’d wanted. Just another failure to add to the day.

  Pulling away from the curb, I drove around the neighborhood, taking it all in—the buildings I would have passed on a daily basis, the restaurants I would have most likely dropped by after work to pick up takeout.