Page 129 of August Lane
She launched herself into his arms. He picked her up and she pressed her face to his neck to hide her tears. Everyone was watching. Musicians. Press. Volunteers. He ignored them all as he walked out slowly, whispering reassurances in her ear. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
August had been through so much, part of him thought of her as invincible. Or maybe he’d thought that she’d mended so much of herself already, there was nothing left to break. It was hard being so wrong. She’d always fought her tears before, but these streamed in rivers down her face, formed pools on her neck. He couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Nothing but hold her hand.
She claimed she was fine to walk once they got home. Luke hovered, because she still seemed unsteady. She spotted his guitar on the couch and sat beside it, then started randomly plucking strings.
“I was relieved,” she finally said, her lost voice a whisper rubbed withsandpaper. “When they said she wasn’t coming, it felt like I’d been set free. How can you want something your whole life and be happy when it’s taken away?” She took a breath. “Does that mean I never wanted it? That I put you through hell for nothing?”
Luke thought about packing up his old house with Ethan. How good it felt each time he closed a box or took a trash bag out to the curb. “My little brother came home,” he told her. August’s eyes widened, and before she could bombard him with questions, he said, “We’re selling the farm. Ava’s gone, and I don’t know if I’ll ever speak to her again. And I’m thrilled. I’m happy.”
It surprised him how easily the word slipped out.Happy. He finally was. “One thing I had to learn in therapy was that being abused wasn’t my fault. I know how that sounds. I was just a kid. But I’m still a kid when those memories come for me. I’m in that closet convincing myself it’s fine. I’m being slapped and spit on and taking it all instead of fighting back because I’m always the problem. Never her.”
August nodded as he spoke. “That’s how I feel when she leaves me. I’m eleven years old and shouldn’t have asked for a bike at Christmas. I’m fourteen and kicking myself for a bad joke. I’m eighteen, singing to impress her, thinking it’s the only thing she could like about me, then getting embarrassed and wishing I hadn’t.” She took a breath. “This whole week I’ve been waiting for another rejection. And when it came today, I thoughtfinally, the wait is over. But I’m not a child who needs her approval. This is the only life I have. I don’t want to waste it like this.”
“Wait here.” Luke retrieved some pens and paper, plus the copy ofThe Bones of Us. He returned and put it all in front of her. “Packing the house made all those memories start to feel like the past. Maybe it was because we were literally putting everything in boxes, but I felt sorry for that little boy I was for the first time in my life. I’m also proud of him, too, for surviving.”
She flipped open the book and read the dedication. Fresh tears filled her eyes.
“You taught me to use memories to tell a story.” He grabbed a pen and offered it to her. “I think it’s time to tell ours.”
“The Bones of Us”
Song by August Lane and Luke Randall
Verse 1: August
I hear she grabbed lightning from the sky
That’s why thunder calls my name
But she don’t tell that story and won’t say why
That’s fine
I don’t want her eyes, anyway
Always staying where no one wants me
Don’t sound country
I’ve given up trying
That venom tastes like how she raised me
Won’t know it’s poison ’til I’m dying
Chorus
Can I be more than just these bones
Your bones
Our bones
Your pretty words don’t soften these blows
That break
My bones
