Chapter 11
August
I stepped back from the curtain.
Through the gap in the sliding door, I watched Margaux drop her shoulders and lean against the railing. She looked out at the water. She looked like someone who had just won something.
She sells flowers, Margaux. She is not a threat to you. She’s a nobody. Just let her live her life.
And then Margaux had asked him —you mean that?
And Fletcher had said —yes.
He meant it.
Every single word of it.
I just sell flowers.
I am a nobody.
I walked back into the living room. The rug was still there. The blue one with the cream border that I had always liked. The vodka bottle was still in the middle of the circle. Callie and Poppy were on the sofa with a deck of cards between them and Poppy looked up first and her face changed before I had taken two steps.
I opened my mouth.
My feet went out from under me.
The vodka had been doing its work quietly all evening and it chose this exact moment to remind me of that. I stumbled forward and then Fletcher was there — he had come through the sliding door right behind me — and his hands caught my shoulders and I grabbed onto his arms and then my knees just stopped.
They gave out. Completely. Like a phone going from ten percent to zero.
I went down.
Fletcher went down with me. Both of us on the rug, his hands still on my arms, his face very close to mine.
“Hey.” His voice was quiet. Careful. “Hey. Are you okay? I think you had too much to drink.”
I didn’t say anything.
I looked at him.
He was right there. His eyes were right in front of mine and his hands were holding my arms. He was looking at me the way he always looked at me, the way that had made me believe for five years that I was not imagining something.
She’s a nobody.
Tears came up fast. I felt them before I could stop them. They didn’t fall. They sat right at the edge of my eyes and burned there and I looked at him. He looked back at me. I watched his face try to figure out what he was seeing.
“I’ll get her some water.” Callie announced and Poppy followed her to the kitchen.
“August.” Fletcher’s voice dropped even lower. “Hey. Talk to me.”
My lips started shaking.
I pressed them together. I told myself — not here, not now, not in front of him. Not in front of Margaux who was two seconds behind him on the other side of that door. I heard heels on the patio tiles.
The sliding door opened.
I pulled back from Fletcher. I got my hands flat on the rug and pushed. I was up before he could help me and I stepped back. Poppy was there with a glass of water and she put her small hand on my arm and stood next to me like she was planting herself there on purpose.
