She spins around, finding a business card in a plastic holder and a pen situated by the guy’s computer. She leans over the counter, her hair falling into her face, and jots down her digits. She prints her name beneath the numbers with curly letters and a swirl looping off the end of the t. I guess no name is complete without a small heart at the end.
She’s adorable.
August hands it over, then reaches back for one more card. “Your turn,” she says.
I step forward and scribble my name then my number beneath. To be funny, I finish with a little heart, as well.
“Aw, how cute, you like to write down your information with hearts too,” she teases.
“Only for you,” I reply.
I like the way I can make her cheeks red with the simplest statements.
Chapter Twenty-Four
August
A Week Later
It’sa little easier to breathe now, and each day should be a little less painful, but they’re not. After the lake incident last week, I took a break from my attempt at binge drinking, but when I stopped consuming whiskey and the thoughts of whiskey, the pain settled in. It sits at the bottom of my gut, gurgling like I ate something rotten. There’s an ache behind my ribs, from not eating enough, but when I put a fork near my mouth, the desire to gag follows.
I don’t know life without Keegan, and I wish that weren’t the case, but I’m only now seeing the extent of how much I sacrificed for him. It’s a struggle to figure out who I am; August, not August and Keegan.
I’ve been at work for a little over two hours, busy with some paperwork for an incoming child. We’ve had one space available in the house for about a week, which is the longest we’ve gone with an opening.
This child is seven, and a neighbor found him home alone. The mother took off two weeks earlier and never came home. The child suffered from severe malnutrition and dehydration, so he was in the hospital for three days. There is no trace of his mother or any family for that matter, so we’ll be taking him in at least for the time being. Jeremy Hill. Poor little guy.
After signing off on a couple of papers, my phone buzzes in front of me, and a smile creeps across my cheeks before I have a chance to read the text message.
Chance: Why can’t someone’s nose be twelve inches long?
Me: What?
I chuckle because he has been sending me the cheesiest jokes just to get my attention so he can not-so-casually check in on me.
Chance: Because then it would be a foot.
Me: Wow. ...
Chance: I know. You don’t have to say it. I’m the funniest person you’ve ever met.
I roll my eyes and wait for the next message because after receiving his messages from last week, I have come to find that he’s a creature of habit. First, a joke, then a general, “How are you?” followed by, “How are you feeling?”
The questions won’t stop until I tell him I’m okay and still on the mend. I’m sure he doesn’t know what I mean by my vague response, but he seems relieved.
I haven’t seen him since the phone store, but only because I stopped going to Kenny’s. So, unless we make plans or magically run into each other again, I’m not sure what comes next, if anything.
Me: Will you be at Kenny’s tonight?
I’m not planning to drink, but it would be okay to get out for a bit.
Chance: I’m there every night, darlin’. Why do you ask?
Me: Just wondering.
Chance: You want to join me for a dry, dark burger?
Me: Maybe ;).
