Page 59 of When Sky Breaks

“Mom, it’s me. You need to hold still. We have to check your head.”

She opens her eyes, the blue irises bleary and red as she focuses on the man in front of her. “Auggy?”

I hide my small smile as I rifle through the kit for some alcohol pads. I remember him hating when anyone called him that. What was it that Phoebe called him? Gus Gus. He definitely hated that one too.

“I’m here. Let Sky look at you. She’s a nurse, and she knows what she’s doing.” He’s never even seen me in action, yet he’s confident in me all the same.

My chest warms at the sentiment as I bend to my knees and ease her hair out of the way. She watches me, almost crossing her eyes, but then immediately hisses as I pull hair from the sticky wound.

“I’m sorry,” I say, wincing at her discomfort.

Once the alcohol is applied, she groans some more and clutches tightly to August through the pain.

“Mom, can you tell me what happened?”

A tear leaks down the side of her face and into the groove near her chapped lips. “I, I don’t really know. I know I drank too much, and then I couldn’t stop thinking about your dad, and then I needed to see you to say sorry for treating you so horribly as a kid. I didn’t think, I just started walking through town. I-I think I fell somewhere. There was some glass. I don’t know, baby, I don’t know.” She heaves in a breath, and my ribcage squeezes as I appraise her raggedy appearance and obvious anguish.

The gash leaks more blood, and upon further examination, it’s deeper than I’d like. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Moore, but this is going to need stitches. There might be some glass in it. It really needs to be checked out at the hospital.”

Tears form again in her eyes, and she drags in a labored breath before blowing it back out. Her breath smells heavily of alcohol.

“Do you have any water back here?”

August points me toward a mini fridge. When I grab a bottle and open it for her, August is up on his feet, his back to us, clutching his neck with his hands.

I step away from his mom once she’s sipping on the water and join him. Tightening my fist before releasing it, I gently place it in the center of his back. The warmth seeps through his shirt into my palm, and I resist the urge to wrap my arms around his waist.

He flinches, but I leave it there, wrestling with my own feelings as I comfort him.

“I don’t know how to help her,” he whispers, looking at his feet.

“We just take her to the hospital, and they will stitch her up, nice and easy.”

He spins, and I let my hand fall. “No, it’s not just that. She’s, she’s, look at her.” He holds his hand toward her. “She’s a mess, and I’m so ill-equipped to handle this.”

I spare a glance behind me. She’s wearing an expression I know well. I inhale deeply before meeting August’s tormented eyes. “Grief isn’t singular and looks different to everybody, but it hurts all the same.”

He pulls his lip under his teeth and watches his mom as she cries soft tears before tracking back to me. Understanding washes over his face, and his pain becomes my pain. “You’re right. Fuck. I’m sorry. This probably isn’t?—”

“No, please, it’s okay. She needs help and I’m here, so let’s get her up and get her to the hospital. She can sober on the way.” I stop August from whatever he was going to say because I need this moment of purpose to stave off the emotions seeing his mom could surface for me. The questions about Dannie she might have answers for. How she’s drowning in her grief, much like I drowned in my hatred for the last thirteen years over a woman she knew.

History aside, I can’t leave him to deal with her by himself. He needs me.

After we order an Uber, since taking her on the bike is out of the question, August and I lift his mom underneath her arms to steady her on her feet. She can at least stand, and I take that as a good sign as we shuffle toward the door to the store.

Luckily, the store is empty of customers. Alex opens the front door so we can sit on the bench until our ride arrives.

Out in the sun and crisp air, his mom perks up, sobering even more as she drinks the rest of the water I gave her. She shifts on the bench, caught in the middle of us. She pats his cheek, and he twitches his lips, eyes facing forward.

I can imagine this is hard for him, considering their tenuous relationship. But then she turns to me, and I’m struck by how similar she and August look. Same cheekbones, same nose, same piercing eyes.

She watches me before slanting her head, wincing as her cut pulls under the bandage I applied.

“Try to keep your head still. It won’t hurt so bad,” I say.

“You’re Dannie’s daughter, aren’t you?” She leans in closer, and I pull back a fraction.

August stiffens and I swallow. “Was Dannie’s daughter.”

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