Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Miss Graft? Hello.”
Opening my eyes, I sit up, throwing off the quilt. “Shit.” I cover my mouth. “Sorry.” Standing up, I say, “I’m August Graft,” Speaking to whom I assume is the real estate agent.
She smiles sweetly, her eyes showing her age. “Hi. The door was open. I’m Mrs. Williams. It’s nice to meet you. And I’m sorry it’s on these terms.”
I give her a tight smile and fold the quilt, needing to busy myself, not wanting to see her pity.
Cutting right to the chase, I ask, “Do I need to show you around? Or would you like to look on your own?” I don’t know how these things work. I live in an apartment with five hundred neighbors.
“I’m familiar with this cottage, but I’ll take a look around, measure, and take pictures. You said you wanted this up immediately?”
My eyes squint at her words, but I answer her, “Yes, please.” Needing this fast and not painful. Leaving her in the house while I sit on the front porch.
I always pictured myself here when I was older, living out my days.
I listen to the waves as they crash against the shore.
My heart speeds up with the sounds, my mind trying to take me back to that night.
The night it all changed. That night made me different.
Walking into that ocean, those waves baptized me and spat out a whole different August.
My finger rubs my lips, like they can still feel the ghost of his on them. Forever haunting them and me. “Get a grip, August.” I push off the rocking chair, needing to occupy my mind. This place brings up the past, and I don’t want it or need it.
As I turn the corner on the wraparound porch, I spot Mrs. Williams stepping out of the house. She smiles at me, her attention on me and not the steps in front of her. I reach out my hand, like I can stop her. Her face twists as her body tries to fight gravity, missing the two steps.
“Oh, shit.” I run to her. She’s sprawled out on the wooden porch; her left leg twisted under her. I grimace. “Are you okay?” I ask, knowing she isn’t by the look on her face.
“I think my ankle is broken.” She voices her worries, her words clipped. I look down at her right ankle. It’s not supposed to twist that way.
I stand up, panicked. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No. Where’s my phone?” Her head swivels, and I see it across the porch, grabbing it and handing it back to her. She has the number dialed and the phone to her ear before I could straighten back up.
My eyes scan her, not knowing what to do to help her.
“I need you to come and get me. I think I broke my ankle.” She tells the person on the other end of the phone before she pauses, listening to them. Without another word, she hangs up, closing her eyes.
“I can take you wherever you need to go. I suggest the hospital.” I tell her.
Her lips tighten in a thin line. “My soon-to-be son-in-law…” she says those words like they’re sour, “is off the island at another listing, and I know my daughter can’t be bothered.”
“It’s okay, I can help you.” I feel bad for her because it is my house that broke her ankle.
“Here.” I bend down, letting her use my arm to hoist herself up, as my free hand grabs her around the waist. She lets out little cries as we slowly hobble to my car.
She falls into the passenger seat, panting.
Slamming the door, I run to the back porch, picking up her scattered items, before getting my keys.
I don’t lock up, just slam the door behind me.
Jumping in next to her, she pushes her head back into the headrest and closes her eyes. “Where should I take you? Is Doctor Jen still in town?” I have no clue who the doctor is anymore.
Mrs. Williams pries one eye open to look at me. “I don’t know who that is, but you can drive me to the clinic, and I’ll get myself fixed up.”
I nod and fight the gravity of climbing up the hill to the main road.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her because I don’t know what else to say.
“You need to get that fixed. Especially for prospective buyers viewing the property.”
“I will.” I add that to my mental list. All I want to do is be in and out of here.
The ride into town is quiet as she’s on her phone. But my eyes want to roam on their own, just wanting a glimpse of him.
The different-colored shops moved by at a snail's pace as I made my way down the main two-lane road through town. Memories play like a movie with each passing storefront.
Fourth of July pops into my mind, each side of the road lined with families, smiling faces, red, white, and blue as floats made their way down.
He and I took his father's float late that night and had our own little parade of just the two of us.
We got into trouble, but we were seventeen, living the life on Driftwood Bay.
I smile and immediately wipe it off as I pull up to the clinic. This town is trying to penetrate my mind and heart once again.
Throwing the car into park, I hop out. In a hurry, I find a wheelchair inside the clinic. Gently helping Mrs. Williams into it, I maneuver her inside.
“August,” she calls my name as I turn to leave.
“Yeah?”
“My son-in-law will be by tomorrow to finish up, so we can list.”
My heart sinks hearing those words. I open my mouth to tell her I can’t stay but immediately shut it. I need to get this done. What’s one night? “Okay.” I give her a weak smile. “Again, I’m sorry.” My eyes pan down to her ankle.
She gives me a wink. “Hey, maybe this was God's way of telling me I needed to slow the hell down.” Her shoulders pull up to her ears.
As the nurse comes out of the back, that’s my cue to leave.
Walking outside, I stand on the sidewalk, breathing in. The scent coming from Sea Shack makes my mouth water, my taste buds remembering.
On instinct, I walk the few doors down, entering a place I’ve been craving for the last eight years.
Everything is still the same. The colors and the décor. A few old booths with a walk-up window. The music plays softly, inviting, the smell of seafood lingering in the air.
In the summer, this place always fills up, and Driftwood Bay counts lobster rolls as a main staple.
“Hi, what can I get for you?” The cashier looks up from the register, and I know as soon as we make eye contact, she recognizes me because my soul recognizes her.
“August?” Baylee Marshall’s eyes harden at me, her smile slowly fading. All pleasantries disappear when she sees my face.
Baylee, the best friend I had since I was nine, the one I left here and never reached out to, even though she tried so many times. Another piece of my past I let sink into the ocean when I left.
I give her a weak smile because what else can I do? “Hi, Bay.”
She doesn’t reply as she turns around and calls my order into the kitchen, knowing what I came here for.
Spinning back around, she hands me a cold Diet Coke. “That’ll be thirteen dollars.”
My hands shake when I take the money out of my pocket, uncrumpling a twenty. “Keep the change.”
She gawks before sliding me back eight dollars.
“No thanks.” Her face shows a bit of age; her smile lines around her eyes are now noticeable.
Her once long, red hair is now cut into a bob, but still as bright as the day I met her.
Reaching for the money, I notice her ring finger; a pearl surrounded by diamonds sits perfectly on it. And a little piece of me breaks inside.
The order-up bell sounds, yanking us both out of our thoughts, and letting her know my lobster rolls are ready.
Handing me the bag, she smiles sadly at me. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
Her mouth opens to speak more, but I cut off her words, “Thank you.”
Grabbing my to-go bag, I hurry out. My chest feels like it’s caving in.
The hurt I caused her all those years ago is still there.
I saw it when she saw me. I walk as fast as I can to my car and head back to the cottage, needing to get as far away as I can from this town and the memories it’s invoking.
I don’t even go into the house but sit on the back porch and watch the waves as I pull out my food.
The smell makes my mouth salivate. The lemon is strong; the lobster meat is cooked to perfection.
That first bite explodes in my mouth, and I can’t help the moan I release when I taste the Old Bay seasoning.
The one comfort food that I haven’t let myself taste since I left here.
Is it stupid that I feel tears come to my eyes?
Maybe, but this is way more than just food.
It was home; it was Driftwood Bay. It was who I am… Was.
Letting the lobster Roll fall into the to-go container, my head tilts back, looking up to the bright blue sky, no cloud in sight. I feel like I’m going to choke on the food I’m trying to swallow.
“Why couldn’t you take care of this? You knew,” I whisper to the sky, as if my dad is going to answer me.
He knew I never wanted to come back here, and I wish he would have just taken care of this. He had time. I pause, getting angry at myself for being upset with my dad. This was the last of his worries, and I know that.
“Let’s get this done.” I try to hype myself up. Since I’m stuck here, might as well pack up the important things. Everything else is staying; I’m selling it as is, furnished and all.
After tossing my leftovers in the fridge, I go through the junk drawer, throwing away random packets of expired ketchup and other condiments. Nothing to keep lays inside it, so I dump the whole drawer in the trash.
Stopping in front of the icebox, my eyes roam, once again, over all the pictures from years past. I don’t let myself think; I just start taking them down.
They’ve been there for so long that the marks of the past are stained around where they sat.
I make a pile of things I’m keeping in the middle of the living room, but I leave the living room for last, since I decide that’s where I’ll sleep tonight.
There is no way I can sleep in my old bedroom, and sleeping in my parents' just feels weird. Who am I lying to? I probably won’t even be able to fall asleep.