Forgetting August (Lost & Found) by J. L. Berg Page A

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, telling 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.”
    Gritting my teeth, my words barely audible, I said, “You overstepped, August.”
    His eyes rounded as he leaned forward. “What did he do to you?”
    It was the first time he’d referred to his former self as someone else. For a moment, I almost fell for it. Had it not been for the new haircut and the fancy clothes I guessed he’d pulled out of his old closet, I probably would have broken down right then and there, allowing him to hold me as I told my story through tears and sniffles.
    But I couldn’t. Not with those eyes looking at me.
    “Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Kincaid, but I will have to decline.”
    Rising to my feet, I walked briskly to the door and turned to see if he’d followed me.
    “Have a nice day,” I managed to say before turning the handle and