“Do you live here or something?” August snaps at me. I hardly got a word out.
“Doyoulive here?” I retort. Anytime I’ve been here in the last week, she’s been here too.
“Obviously not,” she says.
“Well, it’s obviously not obvious.”
“You’re cute,” May says, punching her dainty knuckles into my arm.
“No, he’s not,” August argues. “Go away, Chance.”
“You know him?” May asks.
“No,” August answers.
“Seems like you do,” May mutters, raising her brows and lifting the bottle to her lips.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” I continue.
“Well, you are,” August snaps, her lips wide but pressed against each other in a flat line. Her dimples show, making a face like that. She sure is cute when she’s mad. Who knows what she might look like when she doesn’t hate the world?
“Can I make a recommendation?”
“No, you cannot,” August says without skipping a beat.
It’s a good thing because I didn’t have a recommendation. I was checking to see if August might talk to me tonight. She’s in trouble, and it doesn’t seem like anyone can help her. Her sister is too close to the subject, I’m sure.
“Luke, one more drink before I hit the road, please,” August shouts across the bar.
“You sure now?” Luke questions. Another mistake on his part.
“Do you question all your patrons, or just me?”
“Just the ones that seem like they’re looking for trouble.”
“I’m not looking for trouble. I just need something to make the pain go away. That’s what alcohol is for, right?”
Who can argue that comment? Sure, people drink for the taste and to socialize, but most people in this society have a drink or two to take the edge off the day—whatever kind of edge that may be.
I’m sure it’s with reluctance when Luke brings August her so-called last drink of the night. Four glasses of whiskey. That’s a lot for a small woman. I’d sure as hell be feeling like shit tomorrow if I drank that right now.
She still has a pinched squint to her eyes as she drinks the whiskey down as fast as her throat will allow.
“You’re sick, August,” May tells her. “I’m taking you home. Let’s go.”
“Not yet, I’m not,” she replies.
Chapter Ten
August
I’ve been dreadingthis moment. I doubt anyone looks forward to a funeral, but sometimes people find closure or comfort in companionship and sympathy.
I don’t want any of that. But I must be strong in front of Keegan’s family, which I don’t want to do either.
Selfish or not, I just want it to be over.
Every Time I’ve attended a funeral the weather has been windy and cold or rainy. Today, though, the sun is shining without so much as a breeze. It seems like an anomaly. I always thought the world was sad when losing a soul, bidding a farewell with a gust of air and teardrops falling from the sky. Now, I must wonder if the world or whatever higher power controls the weather feels any sadness for Keegan. Maybe the world doesn’t respond when someone decides on their demise.
