Forgetting August (Lost & Found #1)

by J. L. Berg

  I could see it.

  Life with Everly.

  Despite everything, I could imagine it. Her in my life, in my bed.

  It would be as easy as taking my next breath.

  Swerving to the right, I took the first empty spot on the side of the road I could find and put the car in park, killing the engine. Lowering my head to the steering wheel, I took a long deep gulp of air.

  If my mind could forget everything—every memory I’d ever had, then surely I could train my heart to do the same.

  Starting right now.

  Feeling determined, I glanced up and spotted the first restaurant I could find—a small bar and grill that was advertising a festive happy hour that had just begun.

  Perfect.

  I knew just about two people in this city. Three if you counted the redheaded waitress I was currently trying to avoid. It was time I ventured out and met new people.

  Tried new things.

  And moved on. For good.

  * * *

  Having declined a table, I took a seat at the bar instead and restlessly tapped my thumbs against the grained wood, waiting for the overworked bartender to appear.

  The restaurant, one of those fusion places that mixed a million different cuisines in an attempt to create something new, was decently busy for a weekday. The place was steadily filling with locals arriving after work. Mostly coming in in twos or threes, they filled up the tables around the bar and kept to themselves, but every so often a group or a single like myself would take up a couple spaces at the bar.

  It didn’t take long to order a drink, and once my order for a nice microbrew Brick had got me hooked on had been placed, I continued my people watching until I was bored stiff.

  It took less than five minutes.

  This was why men ate peanuts and watched TV at bars. We didn’t people watch—that was a chick thing.

  “You look familiar.” I turned to my right and saw a beautiful blonde a few seats down, leaning toward me, trying not to shout over the noise.

  “Do I?”

  “Yes,” she continued, grabbing her drink and moving closer. “Have you been here before?”

  “Maybe,” I answered with a grin. She seemed to take my answer for flirting and she responded with a giggle. I was just being honest, but I liked her smile.

  And her laugh. At least I could make someone laugh.

  The bartender arrived at that moment with my drink and I offered to buy her another. “Another gin and tonic,” she said to the man behind the counter. He nodded and stepped away.

  “Hmm.” She took the remaining sip of her drink. “Oh, I know where I’ve seen you!” she said. “Did you used to work at Joey’s bar down the street?” she asked, her eyes wide with excitement, like she’d just put the final piece to a very complicated puzzle together.

  Honestly, I didn’t know what to say.

  Everly hadn’t ever mentioned me working in a bar, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t.

  Would it be likely for this woman to recognize me from a job I might have had ten years ago?

  Not really.

  “Uh—” I started, but she cut me off.

  “It’s Mike, right?” Her hand fell to my arm, and I looked down at it briefly.

  “August, actually. But I bet I’m better looking than Mike,” I grinned.

  She laughed, covering her mouth and turning away. “I could have sworn that was you. But no, you’re right. Mike had a giant skull tattoo on his forearm. And you?”

  I lifted my sleeve to reveal nothing but the lean muscle I’d been slowly gaining back. My morning runs were paying off.

  “Definitely not Mike,” she said slowly. Her eyes raked over me in an appreciative manner. “So August, then? That’s a nice name.”

  “Thank you, and yours would be?”

  “Magnolia,” she answered with a shrug, before adding, “My mother was a florist.”

  I liked the way she covered her mouth when she laughed, as if she was embarrassed or befuddled. It was sort of cute. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

  Her drink arrived and we spent the next few minutes getting to know each other. She worked in the area and liked to stop by occasionally for happy hour. Her coworkers had bailed on her, which explained her current single status. My part of the conversation was slightly awkward.

  “I am retired,” I explained.

  “Retired? How old are you?” Her eyes widened.

  “Thirty-one,” I answered, with a grin.

  “How does one retire at thirty-one? Because I’d really like to do that.”

  I chuckled, trying to figure out how I was going to explain that. I wasn’t ashamed of my situation, but it wasn’t one I wanted to tell just anyone.

  “I was really good at my job. So good that I made enough to retire—much earlier than expected. So I did, and now I’m just deciding what to do next.”

  She placed her hand under her chin and just looked at me with wonder. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

  “It’s actually sort of boring,” I confessed. “But I think I’ve found something I’m really into.”

  “Really? What?” Her enthusiasm was genuine and it felt good to be interesting for a normal reason.

  “Photography. I used to do a bunch when I was younger and kind of fell out of it, but now I have the time to pick it back up. I’m loving it.”

  “That’s great. Really great.” She smiled, and tiny creases formed at the corners of her eyes. “It’s rare to find something you’re truly passionate about.”

  “I agree.” My eyes locked with hers. “Hey, do you want to grab some dinner while we here?” I asked, realizing I didn’t want our conversation to end.

  Her expression lit up once again, and I felt her hand touch mine.

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “So would I.”

  And even though it wasn’t as easy as breathing, I took that first step and got a table for two, because I needed to move on. I needed a new path that didn’t include coppery redheads and little cramped houses.

  I needed a new life.

  * * *

  The Haight, or the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco, was like stepping into a kaleidoscope. Every walk of life seemed encapsulated in the two hundred-some acres of space, from wide-eyed tourists wanting to take home a one of a kind treasure to the aged beatnik who’d spent every day of his life here, playing the same song, never regretting a thing.

  Things had changed since the crazy days of the sixties—the arrival of new generations and styles, but the vibe was still mostly the same—different was beautiful and creativity was celebrated.

  It was no surprise that this was the place Brick had chosen for our next meeting. As soon as I spotted him sitting at the little café, cradling his cup of coffee to his lips, wearing a crazy flowered shirt and khaki shorts, I could see how at home he was here.

  “Are we ever going to meet at your office again?” I asked, taking the open seat across from him.

  “You didn’t talk much in there,” he shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee, “And besides, the coffee is better here.”

  The mention of coffee had me thinking of Everly. Had she worked this morning? Was she behind that counter greeting customers and making cups of coffee just like the one Brick held?

  Would she greet me the same way, or give me the same cold shoulder?

  I let that thought go and ordered an espresso and a blueberry muffin since I hadn’t had breakfast. Sitting back in the cozy chair, I allowed myself a minute to enjoy the warm sunshine and cool California breeze before diving into conversation.

  People milled about down the street in front of us, many on their way to brunch or in hopes of some early morning shopping. It was early Saturday afternoon and soon this place would be bustling with tourists.

  Turning back toward Brick, I asked, “So, are you ever going to send me another bill?”

  I’d begun to notice, now that I had a firmer grasp on my finances, that h
e hadn’t sent me a bill in over a month.

  “I haven’t really decided yet,” he answered with a slight grin.

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Anything to do with the new choice of meeting location, or perhaps the fact that you went out of your way to contact Everly on my behalf?”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “No to the first part—I really do like the coffee here, and I do find you open up more outside an office setting. I would be doing this regardless of…other things. In regards to the second half, well…that was out of the norm, even for one so out of the box such as me. I acted more as a friend than a counselor or therapist, which is why I stopped charging you as one.”

  “So, I guess if this all goes south, I won’t be able to sue you?”

  He chuckled, shaking his head at my comment. “No, but you will have me around—as a friend—to put everything back together again.”

  “And if it just happens to go well?”

  “My bill will be in the mail,” he joked with a chuckle.

  “So much for friendship.” I rolled my eyes. My coffee and muffin were delivered at that moment and I dug in, feeling famished. Brick was right; the coffee here was right on and their muffins weren’t all that bad either.

  “Your Everly makes a good cup of coffee,” Brick said as I polished off the last of my muffin.

  “She’s not mine,” I muttered.

  “Sorry; you know what I meant. She made me a cup or two that day I visited her. Real nice, very sweet.”

  “To everyone else,” I answered.

  “Still giving you the cold shoulder?”

  My silence was answer enough for him.

  “She just needs time, August.”

  “Time for what?” I blurted out. “Time to realize I’m not the same guy…because I’m not. I’ve showed her that over and over, but no matter what I do, I’ll always look just like him and that’s something I can’t change.”

  “Time,” he simply repeated.

  Time. Such a funny word for me. It was something I’d lost—so many memories and years gone in a single moment. And yet, here I was with nothing but time stretched out before me to do whatever it was that I chose.

  It seemed my entire life always boiled down to that one word.

  But what was I holding out for? What would giving things time bring to me at the end of all this with Everly? She’d never be mine…and why did I want her to be? Why did I feel such a pull to this woman I didn’t remember?

  Looking at the people passing by, I watched them disappear into little boutiques and funky shops. Men would buy their girlfriends and wives tiny trinkets, a necklace or a pretty scarf to remember the special day. If I wandered into one of those shops, I wouldn’t know the first thing about Everly—what to get her and what she might like.

  And yet, every time she was in a room, I had to be near her.

  Why?

  Were they feelings left over from a life already lived or did I truly love this woman?

  I guess I would never really know.

  “Have you seen Magnolia again since I last spoke to you?” Brick asked, pulling my attention away from the busy street.

  “Date number three is tonight,” I answered.

  “So things are going well, then?”

  I nodded. “She’s beautiful. Nice to talk to. What isn’t there to like?”

  “Have you slept with her yet?” he asked out of the blue.

  “Jesus, Brick.” I choked on my coffee. “Give a guy some warning. No—she has one of those five-date rules.”

  “And you see yourself sticking around until lucky date number five?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, why?”

  “Just curious. That’s all.”

  And now, so was I.

  What did the good old shrink have up his sleeve?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Everly

  Here’s to Sarah and her ballerina twirling, leap-flipping hard work!” I shouted, thrusting my wine glass up in the air as the three of us cheered and toasted my incredibly successful friend.

  It had been a long time coming, but we’d eventually figured out a date when all three of us could sit down and have a celebratory dinner in Sarah’s honor. The delay was mostly due to Sarah’s crazy work schedule, not ours. But we’d figured it out and here we were.

  My two favorite people in the world, several bottles of wine and a house full of home-cooked food.

  It was marvelous.

  “That was horrible,” Sarah laughed, covering her mouth with her petite hand. “We really need to work on your understanding of ballet.”

  I shook my head as I took a large gulp of merlot. “Nope, I’m fine. And that toast was amazing, thank you very much! It was from the heart!”

  We all laughed as we settled into dinner. I’d really gone all out this time, making all of Sarah’s favorites—even though I knew she’d only eat a bite or two from each.

  If that.

  She might not be a purger anymore, but she was and always would be a ballerina first. Her weight was paramount to her career and she took it very seriously. Fatty foods were the enemy and only consumed on occasion, and I knew she would be spending tomorrow in the gym or on the ballet floor working off the extra calories she’d consumed. The fact that she was even drinking tonight meant that it was a special event. Usually she had was Diet Coke, black coffee, or water. It was a dedicated life, and she was dedicated to it one hundred percent.

  “You’re trying to kill me, Ev,” she pouted, looking at the table full of food.

  “No, if I was doing that, I would have made a chocolate cheesecake,” I grinned.

  “You didn’t!” she warned, jumping from the table to run to the refrigerator, where I’d hidden the tempting dessert.

  “You evil bitch!” I heard her mumble behind the refrigerator door. She reappeared, licking her finger, and I saw her eyes roll back slightly in her head.

  Ryan chuckled. “I think her understudy may need to do the next show.”

  “No,” she answered, coming back to the table to pour more wine. “That psycho has been gunning for my spot ever since the first rehearsal. I will be limping onto the stage before I let her have the satisfaction.”

  Ryan and I looked at each other, our eyes wide with surprise.

  Wow, dance drama. Who knew?

  “Okay, well…that sounds frightening. Anything else going on at work, babe?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I met a guy,” she grinned, a goofy happy grin I hadn’t seen in ages. Not since she’d dated a short-term coworker of mine who’d turned out to be married. That didn’t end well.

  It did explain why he never saw her outside of work, though. I always thought that was strange and slightly awkward. The rest of us at the shop never knew what we’d be walking into when going for supplies in the stockroom. She thought he was just scared of commitment—turns out she wasn’t far off the mark there.

  “Who is he? I must know everything!” I said, demanding the details every best friend must have.

  “I actually don’t want to say quite yet,” she explained. “It’s really new and different…and I don’t want to jinx it.”

  “So you’re just going to announce that you have this new guy in your life that makes you all gushy and weird and then what? Nothing? What’s with that?”

  “Come on, Ev, give her some slack—she’ll come around when she’s ready.”

  “I will,” she agreed, turning her head to his in agreement. “I just want it to be real before I tell you anything.”

  When did they become so chummy?

  “Okay, I can live with that,” I said resignedly, taking a bit of risotto from my overfilled plate.

  “Besides, I want to talk about you,” she continued. “I’ve been so busy with my performance schedule that I feel like we haven’t had any time to talk about everything that’s been going on with you.”

  I looked up at her, not really knowing what to say. The time I spent with August f
elt private somehow. We were reliving past memories. I was sharing a part of myself with him, a piece of me I’d buried away. It wasn’t something I really wanted to discuss over dinner and wine with my best friend and fiancé.

  “I don’t really know what to say,” I answered awkwardly, taking a sip from my glass.

  “I know it must have been difficult—spending all that time with him. Why do you keep doing it?” she asked, rather bluntly.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but found no words.

  I didn’t really know why I kept going, other than the fact that I just did. I felt some string pulling me toward him, linking us together, and until I figured out how to cut it loose, I would continue to go. And I felt strangely protective of that. Why did I need to explain it?

  “Honey.” She grabbed my hand from across the table. I looked up at her, meeting her warm gaze. Ryan was silent as he watched the exchange. “You know you don’t have to do this—any of it. Just walk away. Come back to us and forget all of this nonsense.”

  I blinked once, and then again, feeling like I was in some sort of staged intervention. Both of them were staring at me with sad, round eyes that were meant to be comforting but offered nothing of the sort.

  “No one is forcing me to do anything,” I answered, yanking my hand back from hers.

  “We know. We just worry that you put too much stock into what this Dr. Abrams said—that this is the only way for you to move on. I think you just need time to adjust, to get used to this new normal. That doesn’t have to include August.”

  Everything she said was lost after the first word left her mouth.

  “‘We?’” I asked through my gritted teeth. “Since when are the two of you a we?”

  She shot a hesitant glance across to table to Ryan. “Ryan was worried about you,” she explained, while Ryan said quietly next to me, “We both were.”

  “So you just decided to talk about me behind my back?”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “Honey—it wasn’t like that. We were just concerned.”

  “So concerned that you didn’t think to involve me in these little chats?” I was already rising from my seat, my appetite gone. The need to flee grew by the minute as the room turned into a giant vacuum, sucking all the air right out of its center. I couldn’t stand it—the thought of the two of them talking about me, like I was some weak little child.