Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
LENNON
I forgot my phone charger at home before I drove up to my favorite coffee shop in the city to work. After the battery died at ten a.m. from forgetting to charge it overnight, too, I decided it was the universe telling me not to obsess over whether or not August would text all day.
He usually doesn’t when he’s working.
I had a lot of work to focus on, anyway.
And I was really scared about how shut down he’d gotten after I reacted to him calling himself my boyfriend.
I’d hurt him.
I hadn’t meant to, and he’s so the opposite of Jake. He tried so hard not to make his hurt my problem. I could tell he was just shutting down right in front of my eyes and I didn’t know how to stop it. Maybe I couldn’t stop it because of his mood disorder.
I spend half the day researching Bipolar Disorder, and I make a note to ask him if he has I or II when I see him next.
I won’t lie. What I read scared me.
But the scary parts also had little to do with the man I’ve gotten to know over the last month and a half. Yes, he’s been high-energy, occasionally runs over with so many ideas and creative thoughts it feels like his mouth can’t keep up, and barely sleeps.
I think what I witnessed last night was the flip of the coin into shut down.
It wasn’t scary, either.
He just seemed distressed, and like he went deep inward, same as the night Jake called the cops, and like forming words became difficult.
It’s not like I’ve never heard of Bipolar Disorder before.
It’s just that it was always in reference to something terrible.
Like back in youth group, there was a girl whose aunt was Bipolar, and she would go on gambling sprees and spend all the family’s money and never hold down a job.
Back then the pastor did talk about mental illness as if it was the world’s terminology for satanic activity.
Which August said was what Kathy believed when she sent him away to that hellish troubled teen wilderness program.
I don’t think I ever believed that stuff. But then again, I stopped attending church with Jake about four years ago when Pastor Sean refused to marry a gay couple that had attended the church for years—they even met there.
I’d believed everyone when they said all are welcome. There was a big banner out front of the church that said so.
It turned out, when push came to shove, it was a lie.
Jake and Kathy kept attending.
Maybe they’d known the truth behind the lie the whole time.
I finally walk over to an electronics store a few blocks away and grab a charging cord, because I can’t stand knowing if August has texted or not.
And dammit, if he hasn’t, I’ll text him, to let him know I’m thinking about him and—
And I don’t know what else. I’m still not sure I’m ready to have a boyfriend or anything official like that.
I signed the paperwork to serve Jake about the divorce. He has twenty days to respond.
The thing is, now that I’ve met August… in spite of my conversation with Mom, as long as there continue not to be any red flags, I can’t imagine him not in my life.
I don’t want to date anyone else.
Certainly not just to “see what’s out there.”
I’m pretty sure I just need to go really sloooooooow. Like, at the speed of glaciers, as far as getting into anything else committed.
Will August understand that?
I feel like he will, if I can just explain where I’m coming from. I know I’ve only known him a short time, but I already feel like I can tell him anything.
I’m just packing my stuff up from the coffee shop where I’ve been working all day when a text pings on my phone.
My breath hitches. August?
But when I grab my phone, I frown.
It’s from an unknown number, but the message preview has me stopping cold in my tracks.
[UNKNOWN NUMBER: August attacked me & is in jail. Meet me at the diner on 3rd & Congress to talk about what we can do. I don’t have to press charges. – Jake]
My legs turn to jelly, and I sort of just collapse, my butt going down to my heels. I just squat there in the early evening, already dark with the city lights on and people walking around me on the sidewalk.
Just a regular Friday night for everybody else.
Oh my god. August is in jail?
What the hell did Jake do?
Because I immediately know it wasn’t August’s fault. Not if Jake was there.
I saw that night when Jake called the cops at the RV park how he can weaponize situations. He must have done something—
Except it worked this time.
Oh my god.
I dial August’s number, wanting to believe Jake’s just bluffing. But it goes to voicemail. I try to suck in some air, but I can barely get any.
“Are you alright?” asks a woman passing by. I guess because I look exactly like what I am—a woman crouched hyperventilating on the sidewalk. She reaches a hand down and I take it to get back to my feet.
“Sorry. I just got some—” I finally manage to suck in a breath to my trapped-feeling lungs. “Bad news.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” asks the kind, worried stranger, her brow furrowed.
“No,” I assure her, embarrassed. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you. Have a great night.”
I start walking so she’ll believe me, even though I am very definitely not fine.
I get all the way to the next street, turn the corner and slam my back against the closest brick building, my mind racing. Oh my God, what if Jake’s not joking? What is happening to August right now? Is he really in jail?
He probably is. Knowing how far Jake and his mom have taken it in the past.
I never realized—
I bend over with my hands on my knees, breathing too hard, too quickly.
Panicking. I’m panicking.
And then I get mad at myself, because how does that help August? However hard I’m taking this, August has to be freaking out a hundred times worse. I don’t know a lot about him or his condition, but I remember him on the ground shaking at even the thought of being locked away again.
Because his family has done this to him before.
I feel rotten. Like somehow I should have protected him, even though I wasn’t with him.
But August hadn’t seen his mom or brother for seven years until he ran into them again because of me.
Whatever they did to him, it’s because of me.
And this message Jake just sent me, from whatever new phone or burner or whatever, since I blocked his number. It’s no doubt some further attempt at manipulation, or a trap.
But what if him texting means he’s trying to negotiate with me… which might mean he’s got a way to get August out of wherever he’s being held?
It’s my fault August got tangled back up with his toxic family. He hadn’t seen his mother for years before me.
This is my mess.
I should be the one to clean it up.
So I force myself to stand tall again, gulp in several deep breaths of the chilly, February Texas air, and text the number back.
[LENNON: Fine. Be there in 15]
I’m at 8th St. and San Jacinto, and I figure I can maybe calm down on the six-block walk down to 2nd. I know I need to face Jake calmly, or else he’ll use my own reactivity against me.
I know his playbook now. Surely that’s got to count for something.
And we’re meeting in a public place.
That helped last time at the RV park when Jake called the cops.
So what the hell happened with August?
I only feel strung tighter by the time I pull open the door to the 24-hour diner and peek inside, only to find Jake sitting at a middle booth sipping a coffee with two menus on the counter in front of him.
Hatred rises like bile in my throat.
I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to another human in my life. I hate him. Actual, honest-to-goodness hate.
His face brightens when he sees me walk in.
“Honey!” he calls out, waving me over.
I freeze by the door, looking at him like he’s delusional. I cross my arms over my chest, barely taking one step closer to him.
“What did you do?” I accuse him.
People in the diner are starting to stare, which clearly annoys him, because he stands up and comes over to me. He starts to reach like he’s going to put a hand behind my back to guide me to the booth, but I jerk away.
“What did you do, Jake?” I accuse again.
“Lower your voice,” he hisses under his breath. “I’m not the adulterer here, so maybe you should watch your tone. Especially if you want your lover out of jail anytime soon. Sit. Down.” The last word is spoken through his teeth, smiling for the appearance of everyone else in the diner.
He’s actually terrifying, isn’t he?
I never saw it because I was so determined to cling to the story of him in my head. I’m married to a good man, I told myself in my head. Set in his ways, sure. Stubborn, but not bad.
Because it was the story I needed to believe.
Not the truth that stood there right in front of me.
I clutch my bag to my chest and sit down in the booth. I’m thankful for the solid table separating him from me.
“What did you do?” All I can do is just keep asking the same question. Because I need the answer.
He scoffs. “Your husband gets assaulted, and all you can do is accuse me?” He shakes his head and his nostrils flare. “That madman you let between your legs threw me through a window. That’s what happened.”
He pulls up the arms of his long-sleeved shirt only to reveal they’re covered with bandages.
That’s when I notice the large bandage across his forehead as he pushes back the hood of his sweater.
As if he was waiting for this exact grand reveal.
Oh God.
“How did it happen?” I ask. “Why were the two of you even together?”
“That’s what makes it worse,” Jake says emphatically, with the whining twinge at the edge of his voice he always gets when recounting a wrongdoing done to him, whether at the office or on the golf course.
“It was at his son’s house. I’d gone by to talk to Priscilla about August’s erratic behavior, and he came over, lost his temper, and threw me through the living room window!” Jake’s eyes are wide, his head shaking with disbelief. “Can you believe it? At his own son’s house.”
“August would never—” I try to interject, but Jake is already talking over me.
“Well he did. And then he fled from the police. Which is going to make this very sticky when it comes to charges. And his upcoming custody hearings. You understand. Priscilla can’t have such a reckless, endangering presence around her child.”
That’s when all the breath leaves my body in one fell swoop—like when you hit a slip-n-slide, full-bodied leap, and there’s no water running. Just whoomp. All the breath knocked out of you and you’re left like a gaping fish.
Jake is going to punish August for dating me by taking his son away from him.
“What can I get for you folks tonight?” asks a cheerful waitress who pops up beside us.
But I can only stare gape-jawed at Jake, the full implications of what he’s done still hitting me in waves.
Oh my God. He’s an actual full-on monster. And he’s turning me into a monster via complicity, unless I go along with whatever he’ll ask of me next.
Because while I’ve only known August for a little under six weeks, I know there’s nothing more important to him on this earth than his little boy.
“We’re still deciding,” Jake says, turning his most charming smile on the waitress.
And then he looks back at me after she walks away. “It kills me to have to step in like this. But he’s dangerous, Lennon. He needs help if he’s ever going to be a real father to that little boy. It takes work to break generational curses. And you don’t want him ending up like our father, do you?”
He asks it with such earnestness. In his church voice. The one that feels so full of care and concern.
He’s been a wolf in sheep’s clothing all along.
Their father died by suicide. Did he just threaten to kill August, if I don’t…?
I finally manage to find my voice. “What do you want, Jake?” It comes out as barely more than a squeak.
A crease appears in his forehead as if full of genuine concern. To anyone looking on, he would look so sincere. “You, Lennon. I want my wife back. In our home. I want everything to go back to normal before any of this nightmare started and you went crazy on me.”
My throat gets thick and I stare at him with horror. “You think we can just… go back? After this?”
“I don’t see why not.” A vein in his forehead pulses. “You’ll repent of your sins and come back home where you belong. Everyone understands a trial separation. Even the best marriages fall on tough times. I know Brianna misses you.”
I choke out a laugh of disbelief.
So I wasn’t the only one writing stories about the marriage.
He’s got an entire fiction going on in his head.
Only problem is, it has nothing to do with me.
Did he ever know me at all?
I guess it’s only fair, since I never knew him.
“And if I come home, you’ll what? Drop the charges? And testify at any custody hearing saying you tripped and accidentally fell through the window?”
Jake puts his elbows on the table and interlaces his fingers with a small nod. “I’d consider it.”
Which lights a fuse of rage inside me so fucking bright, I could burn this entire place down.
I place my palms down on the diner table and glare at him.
“No,” I say with a voice of iron. “You will. You will plead to any and every judge and in every affidavit that it was entirely a misunderstanding and none of it at all was your brother’s fault.
And then and only then,” I raise a finger and point it directly in his stunned face, because he’s never seen me speak so directly or with such force, “I’ll forget I ever met your brother.
You’ll have a wife moved back in your house and smiling at your side at church every Sunday. ”
I shove out of the booth and glare back at him.
“Get it done,” I snap and walk out of the diner without looking back once.