Page 35 of When Sky Breaks
Energized with something I can’t articulate, I hurry to my car and follow August. Nervous energy bubbles to the surface, fighting for space with the desire to sprint in the opposite direction.
This is stupid and childish.
No. I have to do this. I can’t move on or move forward until this happens. I can’t be stuck any longer.
August leisurely rides his bike and I remain a healthy distance from him. Can’t have him seeing me in his side mirror and crashing.
That might be giving myself too much credit.
He’s probably on his way to a girlfriend’s house for lunch break. Ginger may be wrong and he’s not single. Not sure why I care. I’m mad at him. Plus, there’s Johnny. I can’t forget about him.
You can be mad at someone and still love them.
I almost careen off the road. Love? It never occurred to me I could still be in love with August. If so, it’s buried under the rubble of my broken heart, under the dust of anger coating my life.
As August rides on, I grip the steering wheel tightly, cursing my stupid fucking heart.
It might be better if he is seeing someone. Then there’d be no expectations, no unresolved feelings to deal with. If he’s happy, then I can be happy. I can forgive him and ride off into the sunset as a happy girl.
Lies, and you know it.
August pulls into the parking lot of the florist and my heart rate ticks up. He is seeing someone. Why else would he need flowers?
My stomach plummets once he exits the store with a pretty bouquet of mums. This was not what I envisioned when I came back home—getting my heart smashed all over again. But I can’t stop myself from following him once he leaves the florist, the flowers tucked in protectively on his lap.
She’s probably beautiful and gets to have all the good parts of August I thought were only meant for me. Likely had a perfect childhood and no lingering trauma or scars holding her back. Probably doesn’t obsess over everyone else’s well-being in place of her own and can love him freely.
Before this line of thinking derails the whole situation, the little cemetery where Chase rests comes into view. My breaths come out in short bursts as he parks his bike and slides from the leather seat. I pull off onto a side street and will myself to calm down.
Did someone die?
After a few minutes where I ping-pong between staying and leaving, I get out and walk down the sidewalk along the short metal fence separating me from the cemetery.
The last time I was here, I spent an hour on my knees apologizing to Chase for what happened. I begged for his forgiveness, and here I am contemplating offering it to his… I can’t even say it.
August isn’t that. He’s not an actual murderer.
My hand clutches my throat.
I can do this.
Of all places for a reunion, it had to be here.
My breath stutters.
I can do this.
One foot in front of the other, I push past the gate slowly so it doesn’t squeak—the iron ice cold beneath my fingers.
It’s not until I’m beyond the large tree in the middle of the neatly trimmed grass that I see him. He’s crouched near the ground, placing the flowers on top of a site marker.
One I know very well.
His fingers brush lightly over the metal marker, murmuring words I can’t hear. Not sure if they’re necessary.
He’s talking to Chase. A little boy he never met. A little boy who would’ve adored him. Loved him like I loved him.
The wind lifts his words as I get closer, and my heart squeezes as they meet my ears. “Hey bud. Sorry for the pink mums. It was all they had left. Usually, I choose the wildflowers your sister loves so much, but I’m late getting to you this year.”