I’m shocked when August reaches the toe of her shoe toward the rocks. She’s actually getting out of the driver’s seat, so I take a step back to give her space to move. I shouldn’t have done so because her heel catches on the tread-lining of the door, and a shriek squeals through the air as August takes a nosedive. With a quick lunge forward, I catch her arm before she crashes into the rocks.
“If you had just let me stay in the truck, you wouldn’t have had to catch me,” is the first thing she thinks to say.
“You’re welcome,” I offer in return.
“August?” A woman calls out, followed by the sound of gravel and rocks crunching beneath shoes. “Is that you?”
I can already tell this isn’t going to end well.
August presses her hands into my chest and pushes off of me, trying her best to regain her balance. “Diane, hi,” she says, sweeping her hair behind her ear, making a small effort to make herself look like less of a disaster than she did fifteen seconds ago.
Diane is a middle-aged woman with a lean figure, artificially tanned skin, and long blonde curls. Her dress isn’t quite funeral attire, possibly appropriate for an evening out to a jazz club, but the short laced black veil she has covering her eyes says it all. She must be family to Keegan.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here today,” she says, sounding troubled by August’s appearance. “After all, we hadn’t heard from you.”
“I came to pay my respects,” August replies, slurring subtly, but enough that this woman might not notice.
“Out here, in the arms of another man?” she questions. “Doesn’t that just figure?”
“Ma’am, I think you have the wrong idea,” I interrupt. “August nearly fell out of the truck. Her shoe got caught, and I helped her.”
“Mmhm,” Diane hums through an accusatory mutter.
“No, Diane, I know this man. He’s a friend. He’s also the first one to hug me since Keegan passed away, so please, excuse me.”
My head is spinning with confusion. I somehow went from August’s worst enemy to a friend in a matter of seconds, and she’s calling my good-catch before she face-planted into the rocks, a hug.
“Oh, you must be going through so much turmoil,” Diane says, accentuating the pout of her bottom lip. “Please, if there is anything we can do to lessen your pain after losing our poor son, let me know, dear, won’t you?”
“Our son?” August questions.
“You just met Keegan what, four years ago? I didn’t realize that would grant you the entitlement of being his mother, of whom I knew long before you came into the picture.”
“It all makes sense now,” Diane mutters, scanning August from top to bottom as if she is a piece of trash on the side of the street. “I’m not sure I’d have much reason to live if I were with you either.”
“Whoa, whoa, with all due respect, ma’am, this is not the time or place for angry words,” I tell Diane, stepping between her and August. “Come on. I’m sure you have somewhere better to be right now.” Better might not be the right word in this situation, but this won’t get any prettier if she sticks around.
Diane rolls her dark beetle-like eyes and walks away toward a shiny white Mercedes, dripping with upgraded exterior accessories.
I’m not sure what to expect from August after listening to an accusation like that, but I know well enough about family drama, and it’s far too easy to make assumptions based on exchanged words.
While turning back to evaluate the damage to August, I’m not surprised to see an unblinking stare at the lone cloud in the sky. Words like she just heard would cause anyone a lot of pain, but turmoil doesn’t seem evident.
“Take me to Kenny’s,” August says, speaking clearly, her words crisp and stern.
I don’t want to take her to the damn bar, but I’m starting to piece this puzzle together, and if the bar is where I knew Keegan from and that’s where she keeps going, there’s a reason. “We can leave his truck here for now.”
August takes a few steps forward, and I gently place my hand on her back, guiding her to my truck a few spots down.
The minutes feel more prolonged than usual as I cruise along the back roads, peering over at August every minute or so, wondering what thoughts are going through her head—wondering what thewholestory is.
We pull into the back-alley parking lot of Kenny’s, and August slips out of the truck before the key is out of the ignition. She’s walking along the brick edifice, sweeping her palm along the ridged texture. I assume she’s looking for balance, walking through the dirt in heels.
I follow but keep my distance, knowing she’d be loud if I get too close. We’re moving into an alleyway filled with dumpsters and side-exit doors. Trash litters the pavement between the blue bins, and the smell is similar to the bar’s bathroom after midnight.
August doesn’t seem aware of her surroundings as she continues at a steady pace toward the corner where Kenny’s is situated.
The wind of the wooden door blows into my face, closing before I’m near enough to catch the backward swing. The hollow crash echoes as I grab the bronze door handle, pulling the weight against the passing breeze.
