“Do what?” I question.
“Follow me like I’m a lost puppy dog.”
“I would have checked your tags by now if I thought you were a lost dog,” I tell her. Maybe I should have kept that joke to myself, but sometimes saying something stupid is better than saying nothing.
She stops walking down the cement path and glances at me from over her shoulder. “Do you always make jokes at funerals? Is that why you’re here?”
“Do you always walk out of funerals before they’ve begun?” I retort, with haste.
This time, August spins around, pointing her finger at my chest. “Look, I get the sense you think you know me because we’ve sat at the same bar a few times, but you don’t know anything about me, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t pretend like you do.”
I inhale and hold it for a moment, then cup my hands around her pointed finger. “I know you’re hurting. I know Keegan did this to himself. I know you’re probably angry and trying to feed that anger so you don’t feel the pain buried beneath. I know you’re probably feeling pretty dang lonely right now too.”
I’m not trying to insult her. I’m trying to understand.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tells me.
“You’re right,” I agree.
“That’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me,” she says, turning back toward the parking lot. I debate whether I should follow her or let her be. Everyone grieves differently, but her eyes have been screaming for help since the first day we unofficially met. “Don’t follow me.”
I stop walking, stop following. Instead, I watch August walk away. I watch as she trembles across the loose rocks in the lot, trying not to fall over in her heels. She unlocks Keegan’s truck and slips inside. Something shiny or metal reflects against the windows and mirrors. Then I see her take a swig from a flask.
And another.
The next swig turns into gulps as the flask remains upside down, the contents pouring down her throat.
The engine rumbles, and I move without thinking.
I’m across the lot, standing next to the driver’s side door in a matter of seconds. I rap my knuckles on the window even though I know she sees me.
Her cheekbones are rigid, her eyes wide but narrow in the corners. A cluster of sweat covers her forehead and collarbone. I try opening the door, relieved it complies. I gently wrap my hand around her arm and tug, willing her out of the truck. “I’ll drive you where you need to go.”
“I told you to leave me alone,” she says, trying to hide a slight slur in her speech. “You told me not to follow you,” I remind her.
“I’m fine,” she argues.
I release her arm and lean against the open door. “See that over there,” I point toward the entrance of the lot.
August twists in her seat and looks over to where I’m pointing. “The sheriff escort?”
“What if he just saw you drinking out of that flask?”
“I’m guessing he’d be over here by now if he cared.” She seems to have an answer for everything, but I doubt she’s made it this far in life, acting the way she is now.
“Let me drive you to wherever you’re going.” I try to add the sense of plea into my words, hoping to coax her out of the driver’s seat.
“What if you’re a murderer?”
“What if you end up being a murderer today … taking the life of an innocent pedestrian walking on the street?” As sincere as I’m trying to be, I can’t control the arch of my eyebrow. She’s more likely to kill someone than I am today.
“How will you get your vehicle later?”
“I’ll call an Uber,” I tell her.
“You have an answer and a solution for everything, don’t you?”She’s one to talk.
“If you want to give me that much credit, I’ll take it.”
