“Oh.” My fingers tap my window. “Then let’s not, shall we?”
Kit laughs lightly. “Let’s not.”
Kit is on edge for the rest of the night. He’s still being friendly and chatting with customers, but he keeps glancing around like he’s expecting Garficious to reappear, or he’s expecting the “someone much worse” he mentioned.
A man in a dark overcoat and black fedora (very 1920s mobster vibes) eventually buys the energy ball. He places it in a metal box and marches out of the market holding it as far from himself as he can manage, arms completely outstretched.
By the time the sun peeks through the windows at the topof the building, our table is almost empty of items, save for a handful of crystals. Kit packs the crystals into a paper bag, leaving the duffel bags behind. He gathers his earnings and then exits the warehouse, heading back toward our stolen vehicle. As the sun is now up in the sky, I draw a third line on my chalkboard to mark another day gone. Kit hotwires the car a third time to get it to start. He drives back to the grocery store parking lot, leaving the car there, and walks the rest of the way back to my apartment.
He settles down on the couch and turns on an episode ofFriends. I relax back and watch with him, eyes heavy.It’s the episode where Phoebe’s psychic tells her she’s going to die that week. I chuckle at the ridiculousness, but still, my memories consume me like quicksand, pulling me under and trapping me in the thick sludge of my past, impossible to escape.
fifteen
. . .
Four Years Ago
After August died,I was devastated to discover every morning that it was, in fact, not a dream. My best friend was dead.
Meggie had spent every night and day with me since it happened, but she had a meeting this particular morning that she couldn’t miss. Though, she did offer to miss it anyway. I told her not to.
With my sister out of the apartment, I had nothing to do but go through the motions. As Friends played in the background for nothing more than noise, I showered, did my face routine, brushed my teeth, made breakfast, made my bed. I even went to check my mail. As I climbed the steps back to my apartment door, I noticed flowers sitting beside it. There was no note, but the blank business card stuck in the flowers was from Blanc & Hartman. I seriously doubted Blanc was behind these. My thought was the receptionist, Peggy, or Hudson. I didn’t wonder how they knew my address or found out thatAugust didn’t make it. It didn’t matter. I took the flowers inside and set them on my counter to be forgotten, going back to the breakfast I made and abandoned.
As I sat on a stool in my kitchen, staring into my cereal, watching the milk slowly turn chocolatey as the Os grew mushier and mushier, I heard a clatter to my left. I swiveled quickly toward the commotion to see that a jar of peanut butter had fallen from the shelf in my open-doored pantry. August loved peanut butter. She would eat it by the spoonful, straight from the jar. A tear escaped and slid down my cheek. I didn’t wipe it away. No point when more were bound to follow.
I wondered… No. No, that was impossible. She wasn’t…she wasn’there. It was just a jar of peanut butter that I set on the shelf incorrectly. Something shifted and knocked it off. I believed in ghosts. I had since the first night August and I ghost hunted together. But August was gone and I was grasping for a sign of her. For more time with her. That was all.
I poked at my mushy cereal. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility to think she had unfinished business. She was the one who caused the accident. The other person was all right—walked away with only a few bruises—but did she know that? Maybe once she figured that out, she could move on. Find peace.
Would a séance be such a bad idea? My fingers drummed on the countertop as I considered this. It could help me get some closure, even if it didn’t work. And if it did…I could yell at her. I was so unbelievably angry with her. How could she be so reckless? She ran a red light and took away my favorite person in the whole world: her.
How was I to go on like a major piece of my puzzle hadn’t been lost? It didn’t feel real. I watched her die, and yet it still didn’t feel real. Maybe this would help.
I googled what one needed for a séance—it had been a while since August and I tried to hold one.
A quiet room. My kitchen would do fine. Check. Other people. Not check. No. Meggie would talk me out of it, so I needed to do this before she got back. Basic questions. I had more than a few up my sleeve. Candles, a photo of August, and an object of hers.
Feeling manic, I pulled out every candle I owned, most from Homegoods and Bath and Body Works. At least they smelled good. I practically threw them around my kitchen island. I took a picture of August and myself out of a frame on my dresser, ripping the picture in half so I was no longer in the photo. I slapped the torn photo of her in the middle of the counter. Lastly, I found the necklace she left here the weekend before.
That was a week ago? It felt like a lifetime ago. It practically was. This would be the dividing line in my life. I had my life with August and my life without. I uselessly wiped away tears with my sleeve.
I lit all the candles with my dad’s lighter and then sat down at the island with the overhead lights off and the curtains drawn. I had no idea how to lead a séance—August always took the wheel—and reading up on Google was taking too much of my time. August was here, and I needed to talk to her. It was no different than when we would ghost hunt together as teenagers. I’d just ask questions like we did then.
“August,” I started. “Are you here?”
Nothing happened.
“If you’re here, can you give me some sort of sign?”
Nothing.
“Please,” I croaked. I cried harder as I pleaded, “Please, August. I need you to talk to me. I need you here. I need you back.”
The peanut butter was still on the floor where it fell, and I swear I heard it roll, just slightly, across the floor.
She was here. She had to be.
“I love you,” I said through tears. “Howdareyou leave me. I know it was an accident, but god, August, how could you do this? How could youleave me?Whydid you leave me?”
