Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
The bumpy, uneven road welcomes me as I’m jostled the whole way down the narrow drive. The view of the ocean is in front of me the entire way down, beckoning me to somewhere I never wanted to be again.
My heart feels like it stops, sending me into immediate panic as I slam my foot on the brake, putting my car into park next to the oceanfront cottage, my head falling to the steering wheel.
“Breathe, August. Just a day and we're gone from here, never having to look back.” I promised myself. Hoping my mind will believe me.
Scooting my forehead up the steering wheel, I peek over it, my eyes homing in on the ocean. “You knew I never wanted to come back here,” I whisper to my father wherever the hell he is.
Looking at the time on my dashboard, I have almost an hour until the real estate agent shows up. I debate just sitting in my car, but I know I need to get out and check the cottage. My father hasn’t been here in over a year, so I’m not too sure what I’m walking into.
Fumbling through my tote, fingers blindly feel for the keychain I know is haphazardly lying in it.
When my finger grazes the rough bark, it brings a timid smile to my face.
I’ve held onto this key for eight years.
Even though I said I would never return, I still held on to it.
My baby-blue-painted nail follows the grooves of the carved words on the piece of driftwood.
The place I was named after, August Cove, this little cottage that sits only yards away from the ocean.
This town, Driftwood Bay, and the cottage were my father’s first love. He spent the first two years of my life fighting to buy it from developers, finally winning and getting to introduce his August Cove to his forever August, me.
Hands trembling as I insert the key into the door lock, I’m surprised at how easily the lock turns, the sea salt being easy on it while my father was away.
Tentatively, I push the door wide open with the toe of my sandal. Not stepping foot inside, just standing on the porch, looking into the very familiar cottage I’d spent so many summers in.
My whole body feels like there is a current flowing through it. Anxiety or sadness, I don’t even know at this moment; they’ve been mimicking each other lately.
With one step, I’m over the threshold and engulfed in the smell of familiarity. Breathing deeply, I smell my dad and the comfort that once existed in this place. It’s soul-shocking.
My fingers roam over the back of the threadbare sofa before walking to the fridge, eyes scanning the twenty Polaroids that adorn the side of the refrigerator.
All of me, in front of August Cove, from two to twenty-two.
My eyes roam over them, me in every stage of life.
My black hair standing out from each picture.
I find the last picture I took here, pulling it off the magnet and inspecting it.
She was a shell of herself, deep in grief and barely living.
Those eyes showing what she wasn’t saying.
My dad is taking the picture; however, my gaze isn't directed at him.
All my attention is on the man that I know is beside my dad, the reason I was trying so hard at that moment.
I toss the picture onto the countertop, knowing that by the time that summer was over, I had lost almost all of myself with it.
Turning down the hall, I smile at the stained-glass window that sits at the end of the hallway, throwing prisms on the hallway floor.
Breathing deeply, my hand turns the doorknob; the door creaks open.
I stand there, not moving. Remembering little August climbing into bed with my mom and dad when storms would roll through.
Walking in, I sit on the bed, staring out the patio door, which gave them a perfect view of the ocean while laying down.
“I wasn’t supposed to have to deal with all this.
” My hands slap on the perfectly made bed.
Anger wanting to erupt from me, but how can I be angry at them?
I feel tears welling up, but immediately close my eyes, forcing them to stop.
Pushing myself off the bed, I walk to the room across the hall… My old room.
The door emits a loud squeak, and I have to use my shoulder to push it wider. The sea salt has swollen the wood, showing that no one had opened it after I left that summer.
Reaching for the light switch, the room illuminates, revealing the time capsule my father kept.
“Really, Dad?” I whisper to the quiet room, walking toward the window, throwing the curtains open. The sudden movement has set off dust particles that are now floating all around me.
Turning in a circle, I take in the room; my vanity decorated with old makeup, seashells, and books.
My finger slides over it, revealing thick dust. Leaning toward the mirror, my eyes take in each picture.
Almost all have him in them, even the ones when we were younger.
My black hair wild and crazy, no cares in the world.
Him always shirtless, tan and tall. Time is a thief.
Spinning on my heel, I head out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Locking those memories back where they belong.
Maneuvering the door lock, I’m able to jimmy it down, releasing the sliding glass door that leads out to the porch and right to the beach.
Minding the two stairs that lead to the porch, I stand there, watching the waves come to shore, getting sucked back in and reemerging again.
It’s hypnotizing, a lull that calls to me and has me stepping to the porch railing.
I haven’t stepped foot in the ocean for the last eight years, and I don’t plan to now, even though it calls to me.
My hand rubs the wood railing, the initials of my mom and dad forever etched into it, and that’s when the tears come. And I let them freely escape, rolling down my cheek and into my mouth.
I miss her. My mom. She’s been gone for nine years; it feels like a lifetime and not all at once. The grief comes at random times; it never truly goes away. And now, they're both gone, and I’m truly alone in this world. I don’t care if I’m thirty; I still need my parents. God had jokes, I guess.
Turning around, I lean on the railing, looking at the cottage that watched me grow each summer.
Forcibly wiping my face, I stand up straighter.
“We’re here to do one thing, August, and then we’re going.
Never having to look back,” I promise myself, knowing that’s exactly what I need.
All the memories this place is stirring aren’t healthy for me.
I walk back into the house and fall onto the sofa, curling up under my mom’s old quilt to wait for the real estate agent.