May cannot handle vomit. She's known to vomit when someone else does. She has a weak stomach, so I don't expect her to do much. Not that I need help because I can't even help myself at the moment, but to my surprise, a hand rests on my back, and she pulls my hair away from my face. "Shh," May soothes me. "Let it all out."
"I'm okay," I tell her after I'm able to take a breath. "You don't have to stand here. I know you—"
"My eyes are closed, and I'm not breathing through my nose. You're my sister, and I'm taking care of you."
"I love you, May."
"You need to worry about loving yourself right now."
I'm on my hands and knees in a pile of dirt, and all I can focus on is the dirt covering my clothes. A car flies by, spraying us with rubble.
"Come on," May says. "The clouds are rolling back in. We're getting more rain today."
Is this why they say, "When it rains, it pours?"
"I guess so," May responds. She sounds disappointed in me. She's never been this way, not with me.
"Are you working today?"
I shake my head. "I'm on a temporary leave of absence."
"What?" She cries out. May knows how important my career has been to me.
"I'm having trouble adjusting," I admit. Though, that isn't the reason I'm on leave. I'd rather keep that part of the truth out of this conversation.
"You need to take care of yourself, August. Get a pedicure or get your hair blown out. Please do something for yourself. Have you been running?"
"I can't," I tell her.
"You have to," she says, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "Look, I'm not letting you fall by the wayside. I know you don't like it when I hover, but I'm hovering until I know you're okay. So, if you don't like this, start trying to help yourself. You understand?"
When did she grow up? When did I become so pliable?
"Yeah, I got it."
We settle back into her car. She pops open the dash and reaches for a packet of Wet Ones. "Clean yourself up."
We arrive on the street where I left my Jeep, and I find three parking tickets pinched between my windshield and wipers. "Two-hour parking," May says, pointing to the street sign next to my Jeep.
"Yeah, I forgot about that."
May sighs. "August, goodness."
"Thank you for helping me," I tell her. I know I owe her more than that right now, but I have nothing else to give.
"No problem. That's what sisters are for."
"Love you," I tell her.
I slide into my Jeep and buckle my seatbelt, feeling a load of guilt and worthlessness. I have nowhere to be. I have no one who wants me to be with them, and if I'm honest with myself, I don't even want to be with me right now.
I want the pain to stop.
I want the anger to subside.
I want the thought of having a drink to make me feel like there's hope—the same kind of hope Keegan felt when he thought about having a drink.
With nowhere to go, I remain parked in my illegal spot, watching the clouds roll in.
