Spells for Forgetting(74)

“Not until next semester. I took a leave of absence when my mom got sicker.”

I ran a finger along the groove in the wood countertop. They’d still taken care of each other up until the end. “What exactly do you teach?”

He smiled, as if he was amused by the interrogation. “I have two classes right now. ‘Early Medieval History’ and ‘Archaeoscience and the Rise of Capitalism.’?”

“Archaeoscience,” I repeated. It wasn’t what I would have guessed he’d end up doing, but somehow, it fit.

“What?”

“It’s just funny. I was the one who wanted to go to college.”

“Yeah. I think maybe that’s why I went.”

My hand slipped from the lip of the glass. I didn’t want to know what he meant by that. “Are you…” I wasn’t sure how to ask it.

“Married?”

I nodded.

“No. I don’t have anyone serious in Portland.”

I wanted more details than that, but I didn’t have the nerve to pry. I’d noticed the first day I saw him that he wasn’t wearing a ring.

“What made you stay?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

It was a sad answer, but it was true. There was nothing I could tell him about my life that he couldn’t guess, and the thought was embarrassing. I’d never had the reasons for leaving that he did, but I’d wanted a life that was my own. I’d wanted one with August.

“I guess when my mom got sick, I just stopped thinking about leaving. I felt like my dad needed me, but that’s probably just what I told myself because I was too scared to go.”

The words were more honest than even I’d expected. When he didn’t press, I was grateful.

He reached for the glass again, and my eyes focused on his right hand that was still tucked into his pocket. When he caught me staring at it, his jaw clenched.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I gave him a knowing look and he gave in, reluctantly pulling it from his pocket. My mouth dropped open when I saw it. The back of his hand was busted up, his knuckles bloodied.

“What happened?” I reached for him, pulling the hand toward me and spreading the fingers across my palm.

But when I looked up, August wasn’t listening to me. He watched my face from inches away, his eyes trailing down to where my hands were wrapped around his.

“What happened?” I said again, this time angrily.

“Dutch.”

I leveled my gaze at him, tilting my head to one side. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

When August didn’t answer, I dropped his hand on the counter and he winced as I turned on my heel, pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen. I pulled a clean towel down from the shelf and turned the tap to warm, soaking it.

“Guess you heard then,” I called out.

August stayed quiet.

I wrung out the towel and went back out to the bar, where August was draining his glass.

“He’s not a bad guy, you know,” I said.

“I know.”

I wasn’t sure why I’d felt the need to say it. Maybe because I knew what I’d put Dutch through. But I’d always been clear about what we were. He just hadn’t wanted to really believe it.

“Here,” I said, holding my hand open.

August hesitated a moment before he set his into it again, and he watched as I wiped the blood from the skin and inspected each finger. I felt the bones one by one, making sure they weren’t broken.

“He was drunk,” he said finally, as if that was some kind of explanation. “It didn’t go well.”

Of course he was. “He was angry you told me about Lily. I guess I should have warned you.” I dropped the rag on the counter.

We stared at each other, the ease that had been there between us a moment ago gone now. August lifted his empty glass between us.

“Can I get another or was that last call?” He was wearing a stiff smile.

I almost laughed. Now he was the one trying to make light of the moment. “Sure.”

I refilled his glass and came around the counter to take the stool beside his. I couldn’t help but notice that for the first time, it didn’t feel like we were strangers.

“You said you have something to show me?”

My mouth twisted to one side. I stared into my glass, asking myself one last time if I was sure. It took several seconds for me to reach inside my bag and finally pull the folder free. I dropped it between us with a slap and picked up my glass, gulping until my eyes watered. There was no going back now.

“What is this?”

“Something you should see before you go.”

His expression changed, eyes dropping to the folder for a moment before he picked it up. I watched as he opened it, reading over the words.

It was the deed to Salt Orchards.

He looked up at me again. “Where did you get this?”

“The records office,” I answered.

August leaned onto the bar, waiting.

“I went after your grandfather died to look at the will. I thought maybe there would be an address for you and Eloise or something.”

His mouth tilted as what I’d said sank in. I’d gone looking. He had to already know that, but it made me feel empty and naked before him.