Spells for Forgetting(73)

He leveled his gaze at me, his voice turning cold. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? Emery’s the same desperate whore that Lily was, looking for someone, anyone, to climb into bed with her.”

I pressed my tongue to the back of my teeth, watching the glint in his eye. Before I could change my mind, I stalked past him, headed away from the truck. I wasn’t more than a few steps away when he started laughing again.

“You’re right. You were gone, August. And I didn’t even have time to be pissed at you about it, because all I could think was, I can finally fuck Emery Blackwood.”

I stopped mid-stride, watching my breath fog in the darkness before me.

“And I did. Over and over and over again.”

I was already walking back toward the truck, the beat of my footsteps inaudible over the sound of my racing heart. I couldn’t hear it when I took hold of his shirt and drove him backward. I couldn’t feel anything as I watched him stumble and hit the ground hard. I lifted my fist into the air and brought it down across his face, sending a flood of something hot through my veins. When I hit him again, I recognized it—that steady rage that coursed through me when I dropped the lantern.

I hit him again. And again. It wasn’t until his face was covered in blood and my fist slipped over his skin that I finally stood up off of him, the sound coming back into my ears. I blinked and the world came rushing back. The engine running. The woods. The pain in my hand.

I stepped backward until I was past the truck, eyeing the still shape of Dutch on the road. The headlights beamed over him, painting the road white, where only his boots were visible. And without a single feeling inside me, I turned and left him there.





Forty-Three


    EMERY


I flicked on the lights and the buzz of the bulbs in the old outlets hummed in the still air. The pub smelled like ale, oiled wood, and freshly baked bread. Half of my childhood had been spent helping my dad serve beer to the tourists by day and to the residents of Saoirse by night.

After the orchard closed and the last ferry left, this place came alive with amber light, music, and laughter. In many ways, it was still my sanctuary. But I hadn’t seen my dad in days, and I hadn’t dared come to the pub when I knew he’d be here. After tonight, I doubted he would want to see me, either.

The ferry horn sounded in the harbor, followed by the call of seabirds hunting in the high tide. I willed myself not to look at the door. August hadn’t said if he was coming, I only hoped he would. If he didn’t, it meant that he was on that ferry to Seattle. That he was gone.

I didn’t have the letter, and for all I knew, it was blown out the open door, into the rain that night. But I did have the folder from the bottom drawer of my dresser. And I figured I’d leave it up to fate to decide whether I ever gave it to him. If August showed, I’d tell him what I knew. If he didn’t, I’d let it die with the rest of the secrets that strangled this place.

The door opened in a gust of wind, and August appeared against the dark backdrop of the street. His hair was windblown, his boots muddy, and I couldn’t manage to pretend like it didn’t matter. I was so happy to see him that I could feel the ache of it under my skin.

“Hey,” I said, coming around the bar to take two clean glasses from the shelf. I had butterflies in my stomach.

“Hey.”

“What’ll it be?” I lifted my chin to one of the empty glasses with a smirk, reaching for the brass tap. I was trying to make light of the moment, and August looked relieved by it. We were both tired of hard conversations.

“Lager.” He played along, making his way through the tables to one of the barstools. But the sight of him sitting there didn’t fit the images of the sometimes-awkward teenager I had filed away. He was a man now. Comfortable in his own body.

I picked up the glass and tilted the tap down, watching the white gold liquid fan against the side. When it was filled, I set it down in front of him. “Remember when we used to sneak in here and steal beer?” I said, before thinking better of it. As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to pull them back in.

August smiled, but it fell a little, as if that particular memory stung when recalled. I knew that feeling. “I remember you puking off the edge of the dock in the middle of the night and having to hold on to you so you didn’t fall in.” He laughed suddenly, and the sound of it made me feel like the air was being sucked out of the room. I loved that sound.

“We were stupid,” I said, filling my own glass.

He nodded, picking up the beer with his left hand and taking a drink. “Yeah, we were.”

I let the quiet of the empty pub fall between us.

“Didn’t know if you would come,” I said.

“Me, either.”

My eyes flicked up, meeting his. He really did look so much the same as back then. His jaw was squarer and covered in a thicker scruff, but in his eyes, he looked just the same. I didn’t know why I hadn’t really been able to see it then—that pain that seemed to live there. He’d done a horrible thing, but I had the feeling that this was the first time I was seeing August Salt clearly.

I searched for something to say. I could feel the clock ticking down, and when August left Saoirse again, he wasn’t coming back.

“I guess you have to get back to your classes?”