by J. L. Berg
“Well, feel free to visit more often, August. Much more often,” she purred.
“Will do. And I’m sorry,” I said, turning my attention back to her. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Trudy,” she answered, blushing.
“Nice to meet you.” I gave her a wink before Everly tugged me away.
“I’m going to take my lunch break. I’ll be back in an hour,” she said as we made our way toward the door.
“Okay, hon. Enjoy!”
We stepped out into the fresh air and began walking—no place or destination in mind. Just mindless, silent walking.
“So, do you think you could get me Trudy’s phone number?” I finally asked, the bitterness clear in my tone.
“Just stop.”
I froze on the street corner, anger radiating through my veins.
“You’re angry at me?”
“Yes! Why didn’t you call or tell me you were going to stop by?” she yelled.
“Would that have made it better, Everly? Would that have given you time to make up a better story about who I was or why some guy other than Ryan was coming to take you out to lunch? Because that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You haven’t told them?”
“It isn’t any of their business,” she said softly.
“It isn’t any of their business or it isn’t worth telling anyone? Because I remember you telling me you and your coworkers were pretty damn tight, so if you can’t admit what’s going on to them, who can you tell? Have you told anyone?”
Silence followed, telling me exactly what I wanted to know.
“Is this a joke to you?”
“What?” Her eyes grew wide. “No, August. God, no.”
“Then why do I feel like the biggest idiot in the world right now, Everly?”
Her arms wrapped around me and as confused as I was, I sank into her warmth. “I’m sorry. It’s still all so new. I’m still working through what to say—what to tell everyone. No one knows about that part of my past. I don’t know how to explain you.”
“Then don’t. The world doesn’t need to know every detail. But, I do want to exist in yours. I want to be able to show up at your work and be recognized as your boyfriend, not some guy your coworkers can possibly hook up with.”
“I’m not sure the status update will change Trudy’s opinion on that.” Everly gave a hesitant laugh, her eyes filled with dread.
“I want to matter in your life,” I said.
“You do. You always have,” she urged, wrapping her arms around me. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to tell everyone.”
I pushed back in frustration, the back of my hand running across my forehead. “You mean you don’t know if you’re ready to tell them about me?”
“August—please try to understand. I was engaged two weeks ago. I—”
Taking a step back, not wanting to hear another word, I held my hands up to stop her. “I understand plenty.”
“August! Please don’t leave!”
But I couldn’t stop my feet from fleeing.
Maybe it was time she saw me walking away for a change.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Everly
My leg twitched up and down nervously as I sat alone in the snug little waiting room. It was late in the afternoon and I knew I must be her last appointment of the day. She usually didn’t take patients after four, and it was just past that when I saw the door to her office crack open as she ushered out her last client.
She’d made a special appointment for me. She’d extended her day because she knew I’d probably chicken out and avoid coming if I didn’t get in today.
She was right.
Damn woman was always right.
That was a classic avoidance technique I’d mastered.
What I called running or my tendency to flee, Tabitha called avoidance. When conflict entered my life, I solved it by avoiding the situation altogether.
Ryan and I argued about my future job prospects? I needed to go on a walk, or take a long drive.
August went into a long-term coma? I avoided the entire situation for years and acted like nothing had happened until it all blew up in my face like a giant atomic bomb.
Yeah.
Avoidance sounded like a good term.
She said her good-byes, waiting until the door settled back into place before greeting me. Tabitha worked solo—no assistant or receptionist. Every appointment was made and handled through her, which was why she kept her patient list so small. Even the waiting area was nothing more than a few chairs and a scattering of magazines.
“Are you ready?” she asked, turning to me, ready to give me her complete attention for the next hour.
“As I’ll ever be,” I answered, taking a deep breath.
“After you,” she said, giving me the lead. I entered the small office, taking in the familiar surroundings as I found my favorite spot—an old red velvet sofa with mismatched flowery pillows that I always held in my lap. Tabitha never said anything about this little nuance of mine but I’m sure plenty of therapist-related stuff had been written down in her notes about me.
I snuggled down in the couch, grabbed the lumpy pillow I favored and crossed my legs beneath me, ready to talk. I’d gone too long—spent too much time avoiding this place. Being here always felt right, even when I didn’t want to admit it. Tabitha helped center me. She brought out the emotions and feelings buried below that surface that I was always unwilling to face.
Admitting to myself that I needed to be here was sometimes difficult. No one ever likes to admit they need help, but I was thankful I’d stumbled upon someone as patient and understanding as she was. I’m not sure every therapist and counselor out there would have stuck by me through everything.
I was kind of a pain–in-the-ass patient.
Hence the reason she was seeing me after hours.
And staring at me as if I was in trouble.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” she commented, looking through her notes as if she needed them to confirm exactly how long it had been. We both knew, without having to check dates, that it had been too long. I’d chickened out, calling to cancel my appointments during the daytime when I knew she’d be with patients just to avoid having to explain why I couldn’t make it. Her voicemail was always very understanding.
The reason I’d been avoiding this sacred space? If I came here, suddenly everything that had happened over the last few weeks would become very real. And up until this afternoon, I’d been happily living in my bubble world, ready to live out my existence there for the rest of eternity.
“My life is a mess,” I stated with a heavy sigh.
She gave me a warm smile. “Every life is a mess, Everly. It’s what we do with that great big mess that truly matters.”
“Ryan and I broke up,” I said, squeezing the pillow between my arms.
“I know,” she answered, nodding.
“How?” But then I realized before the word had barely left my lips. “Sarah?” I asked.
She shrugged, and pointed to my left hand. “You’re not wearing your engagement ring. First time in months I haven’t seen it on your finger.”
I shook my head, refusing to believe she’d figured it out so easily. “How is Sarah?” I pushed.
“You know I can’t answer that,” she said, unwilling to break her patient confidentiality clause.
“I know. I just miss her,” I replied.
“Then you know what to do.”
I nodded. “But that means telling her about August. What if she doesn’t ever want to talk to me again?”
“Why don’t you start by telling me about August, and we’ll go from there?”
“Okay,” I agreed.
Over the next thirty minutes, I told her the story of August and me. I relived the pain of Ryan leaving me and the anger I’d felt, blaming it all on August. How my anger had turned into something entirely different and somehow in the midst of all those unresolved feelings, I�
�d realized I still wanted him.
Not for a night, or even a fling.
“But what about your past?” she asked, knowing everything I’d gone through to get over him the first time.
“It’s something I struggle with. But it’s getting easier. The more time I spend with him, the less I see him as the man I left in the hospital two years ago.”
“And who do you see instead? The old August? The one you fell in love with all those years ago?” she asked.
“Bits and pieces,” I answered. “But he’s also different. Completely new—and I like that just as much. Learning new things about him…I didn’t think it was possible, but it’s almost like starting over. He likes his coffee black now, and he loves vanilla ice cream.”
“You seem happy,” she said.
“I am—I think.”
“Then why would Sarah hate you for being happy?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I spent the last few years painting this man as the worst possible villain on the planet. Even though I didn’t give her detailed explanations, as my friend—she still hates him. I just don’t know if she’ll ever trust him.”
“Do you trust him?”
I nodded, “I’m beginning to.”
“Then she will learn to as well.”
“Why are you always so supportive of my decisions? Do you ever want to shake me like a rattle and holler and scream at me for making these decisions?”
She laughed, her bright smile lighting up her tan skin. For a woman in her late forties, Tabitha was stunning. Golden blond hair and still fit from years of yoga, I’m sure she was still turning plenty of heads anywhere she went.
“Sometimes,” she answered honestly. “But it’s your life—not mine. These are your decisions to make. I’m here to help guide you, and support you, like you said. But the decisions? Those are yours alone.”
“Well, damn. It would be a hell of a lot easier if someone else could make them.”
“That’s the truth for us all, sweetheart,” she sighed. “But then, we wouldn’t get to enjoy the chaos we make along the way. Time for you to go enjoy yours.”
* * *
After our very public fight on the streets near the café, I had no idea what type of atmosphere I’d be entering when I got home. I had lived with two very different types of August over the years.
The August before money and the August after money.
These years could also be described as the good years and bad years, although we did have a few good years after the money flowed. It was when the money had gone to his head that life truly became unbearable.
August became unbearable as well.
During those years, we didn’t fight. I tried in the beginning, but quickly learned that arguing with him only got me a fast pass to the bedroom, and the click of the lock sooner. Honestly, after a while, there wasn’t much to argue about anyway. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to leave the house anymore, and he wouldn’t explain. Once that was established and no answers were given, it seemed like a moot point. I’d hoped by being cordial and acting more like my old self, he’d ease up on the restriction, but he never did. In fact, the more time that passed, the worst the obsession became.
“I can’t bear the idea of you leaving this house, Everly,” he said in a blind panic. “Please, just do as I say and stay in this room until I get back. I need you stay here.” His hands shook as he tried to smooth his hair in the mirror and straighten his tie.
“Okay,” I whispered, feeling defeated once again. “I’ll stay.”
And I did.
I always did.
I don’t know why I never left. I could have. So easily.
It’s not difficult to pick a lock or break open a door. God knows the things you can learn on the Internet. If I’d had the drive…the true need, I could have found a way. I could have left—if I’d wanted to. I’d always told Ryan and Tabitha…even August himself, that he’d held me prisoner in that room. But really? I think the only person who had truly held me prisoner was me.
Even if I hadn’t realized it then, I’d chosen to stay. I’d chosen to remain with a man I said I’d once hated until everything boiled over.
I’d since learned it’s better to fight than to hold it all in.
Good things never come from bottling everything inside. But as I turned the doorknob and stepped inside the house, I felt the trepidations of the past following alongside me.
What type of August would greet me?
Would this new August be like the one I’d left behind? Firm and frightening—unwilling to budge a single inch? Or would he be more like the August I remembered, who’d fought as my equal—working through each problem as a partner rather than a ruler?
I seriously hoped the latter, because I was no longer someone’s helpless pawn to be played.
“August?” I called out, peering down the hall for any sign of him.
What if he wasn’t here?
“In here,” he answered. I followed the sound of his voice to the living room, where I found him lighting several candles around the room. The entire space was aglow in a soft light, the light from the wicks of the candles dancing along the walls and ceiling. It was beautiful and romantic—the complete opposite of what I’d expected when I walked through that door.
Our eyes met from across the room and I saw the apology before it touched his lips.
“I will never walk away from you in the middle of a fight again,” he promised, walking toward me. “I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head. “It’s me who should apologize. You deserve an explanation and I did a terrible job of it today.”
“No,” he stopped me. “I understand I threw your life into chaos. I know it will take some time to adjust.”
“You did,” I smiled, “throw my life into chaos. But I was reminded today that sometimes chaos is exactly what our lives need. Ever since I left you in that hospital, I was hell bent on living the most simple, safe life I could. I think that’s why I gravitated toward Ryan. He was gentle-natured and I knew he’d never hurt me. But love is so much more than that, and unfortunately he realized that sooner than me.”
“Do you think you would have figured it out sooner or later?” he asked.
I blew out a deep sigh, “I don’t know. I tend to avoid the obvious, if you didn’t notice.”
He grinned, chuckling under his breath. “No, I never actually noticed that.”
I nudged his shoulder, as he brushed a stray piece of hair out of my face. “Even if you’re the most stubborn woman on the planet, I’m glad you’re mine. Besides, I don’t mind kissing the sense into you every now and then,” he said with a wicked grin.
“That was unfair and you know it.”
“All’s fair in love and war, babe,” he said with a laugh. “And in that moment, I couldn’t resist you for another second. You were so angry—so full of passion and fire. Deadly combination.”
“I’m pretty sure I bit you,” I smirked, remembering that first night. “And possibly drew blood? Hey—do I smell French fries?” I asked, getting a sudden whiff of fried food.
His deep laugh filled the room as he kissed my forehead.
“Food never gets by you, does it?”
“Definitely not French fries.”
“I’d hoped to have everything set up by the time you got home, but you beat me to it…so everything is still in bags,” he explained, turning to point to the several bags on the coffee table.
“Oh, good. You didn’t cook,” I said, making a grand display of wiping my brow in jest. He rolled his eyes as we walked to the brown bags and I took my first peek inside.
“No. I did not cook. I wanted you alive afterward.”
Rubbing his back, I soothed his battered ego. “Don’t worry. One of these days, I’ll teach you to cook—something, I’m sure.”
“Thanks. Grilled cheese, maybe?”
“Ooh, I don’t know. That involves the stove. Are you sure you’re up to that?”
“Smartass. Why don’t you grab some of the food? I know it’s your favorite. Or at least, I think it is.”
I looked at him in surprise, my eyes darting back to the coffee table with curiosity. “Cheeseburgers and fries? It is one of my favorite meals. How did you know?”
He pointed to the cardboard box by the TV as we grabbed food and sat down on the couch. “When I got home today, I was pretty angry,” he said. I bit my lip in regret. “I didn’t understand why you would want to keep us—me—secret. And then the more I thought, the more I realized how often since I left the hospital I’d just wished someone…anyone…could understand what it was like to be me. To know what it was like to walk a day in my shoes—to feel what it was like to have all of their memories ripped away from them. I mean, shit—I don’t even remember losing my own virginity. No memory at all.”
“Sharla Newman. You were sixteen,” I interrupted with a wry grin.
He turned to me mid-fry and chucked it at me. “Not the point, but thanks. I’ll be sure to look her up on Facebook.”
I snorted, taking a bite of my burger as he continued.
“Anyway, as I was saying—so many times I wished someone was there to get me. But had I ever stopped to truly understand anyone else? I was so angry with you, but had I taken the time to figure out why you might have omitted what was going on in your life with your coworker’s? I’d been sitting around silently screaming for someone to walk a day in my shoes, but hell if I was willing to do the same.”
“So, you went through the box of pictures?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “Brick brought them back and I figured if I wanted to understand you better, it was a good place to start.”
I smiled, looking over at the box. “And what did you discover?”
“You love the redwoods. And hamburgers. Every birthday picture for several years was taken at the same burger joint. I sat there for hours, trying to see if I could figure out what place it was, but I couldn’t decipher it.”
“It closed down a few years ago,” I said sadly. “We stopped going there when you—the old you—decided birthdays should be celebrated more extravagantly.”