"I was that baby bird once. No one sat with me until I was old enough to fly on my own."
I'm trying to piece him together based on what he's saying. "Were you abandoned once?"
"Yes, ma'am, but sometimes it takes a lonely person to know one."
Chance Miller is not the person I thought he was. "You're lonely?" I question, though, it's not a question. It's evident.
"Every day, but I don't let that define my life, you know? Someday, I won't be lonely anymore."
"I've been lonely for a long time," I confide. "And I was living with—"
"I know," he says, making it so I don't have to repeat Keegan's name.
"Did your parents abandon—"
"They're not alive. Both were in a horrible car accident. I was five, so it's blurry."
I told him he didn’t knowwhat it looks like to be in pieces. How could I have said something so stupid?
I try not to react. People who have survived trauma like that don't appreciate the sympathy the way others do.
I let my head drop down a few inches, silently offering him a moment of my sadness. "Where did you end up?"
His lips quirk to the side. "Group homes, foster care, another group home, then two loving people adopted me at eleven years old."
I can't help but smile with relief. I shouldn't be smiling at this moment, but day in and day out, I wonder what will come of these children I'm with every day. I pray they don't turn out to be like Keegan, but I'm scared I have no control over them, just the same as I didn't with Keegan.
"You're okay?" I ask, swallowing the lump in my throat.
"I'm great. You know, aside from the loneliness, which I've chosen, mind you. I've had many offers—I um—I didn't mean that. I just—I've chosen to stay where I am until things feel right, you know?"
"I understand," I tell him. "I—ah, I'm a social worker at a group home for children—children like yourself or who have been through neglect or abuse. It's a challenging thing to watch."
Chance hiccups softly and presses his hand against his heart. "You don't say?"
"Weird, huh?"
"No ... wonderful."
"Except, I bet you aren't thinking many other wonderful things about me now. Probably even less when I tell you my boss told me to take some personal time to get my act together."
Chance's eyebrows knit together. "No, you can't let that job go. You are doing something amazing, August. The system has a tough time finding people like you. You have to understand that?"
"I understand," I tell him.
"I want to help you get back on your feet. I really do, for selfish reasons, and for the kids in this community who need you."
"I'm not sick," I tell him again.
"Listen to me, darlin'. I know you're not sick, but you're heartbroken, and maybe that's not because you were madly in love with Keegan. You lost a person, a person who was relying on you for everything. Let me help you now."
"I was drinking so I could understand his reason—"
My throat gummed up again, and between the lingering alcohol, fears of almost drowning, and exhaustion, I can't help the tears barreling down my cheeks. They're the first tears I've allowed myself to cry since I found Keegan dead on the bathroom floor. I chose not to give him these tears, but now I think I'm crying for me.
"Shh," Chance says, standing up and switching his seat over to the edge of my bed. "Listen. I may not have you all figured out yet, but I know a good person when I meet one, and you, August, you're a damn good person."
"It was my fault that Keegan killed himself," I quietly cry out.
