Page 13 of True Honey
“You will.” An explosion of cheers and chaos came from inside, I pointed to the door, “you should get back inside, I don’t need an answer tonight. Take this,” I said, holding out the first aid kit and my business card. “The offer doesn’t expire.”
She looked down at the card, slow to reach for it, but she took it. I shoved my hands in my pockets and stepped back from her. She stayed quiet, chewing on the inside of her lip nervously as she thought about it. “Why would you do that?” She asked after a moment.
“If I can help, I want to. It’s kind of what I do,” I said to her. I watched her process my words, a subtle shudder passing through her. She slipped the card into the mesh pocket on the back of the first aid kit and excused herself back inside.
When the door slammed closed, I turned on my heel to find Arlo leaning against the brick wall five feet away. I could see the smug look on his face as I approached him, even in the shadowed light of the parking lot it was telling of the lecture to come.
“Why do I always find you wandering around the pound with money burning holes in your pocket?” He questioned.
“She just needed help,” I responded calmly.
“We don’t need any more strays,” Arlo warned.
“Rich, coming from Harbor’s own crazy cat lady,” I muttered, leaning back against the wall beside him. “She cut her hand, I was being a doctor,” I told him after a moment.
“And offering her a place to live?” He questioned, of course he had heard that. “Listen I know you’re desperate to keep the company out of Charles’s hands but Si…”
“Yeah I know.” I waved him off, “just trust me?”
A low grumble formed at the base of his throat but he nodded his head in agreement before he disappeared around the corner and back into the bar. The stupid look on his face was burned into my thoughts and for a split second I questioned all my decisions.
COURTNEY
August shoved his binder into the old backpack, completely ignoring me in the passenger seat. His dark hair was getting so long and I wanted to reach out and play with the small curls like I used to when he was small. He had pulled out a clean band shirt and a sweater I hadn’t seen him wear in a while for school.
“What look?” I turned in my seat and peeked out the window at the massive high school. The lawn was packed with kids and I was just hoping that he’d have a chance to make friends here. He was always so alone and it broke my heart.
“You were reminiscing again or something,” he said, looping his headphones around his neck. “You aren’t already thinking about bailing are you?”
I shook my head instantly to quell his worry but the truth was everything was up in the air. Kayla had been short with me after last night, and I wasn’t even sure I had a job to return to later this evening. My hand was throbbing in my lap and it served as a loud reminder that even when I was trying, it wasn’t enough.
“I’m going to look at apartments today, Auggie,” I said to him. “Hopefully I’ll find a pet friendly one, maybe you can finally get that cat.”
“You say that in every town.” He inhaled slowly and I could feel the disappointment in his voice like a stab to the chest. The older he got the harder it was to explain to him why we moved. He was mature enough to understand that it wasn’t because we had to, but because his mother was a total loser who couldn’t keep a job. But I continued to work hard, trying to be somewhat of a good role model for him even when I didn’t feel like I was one. I couldn’t care less about being stuck in the front seat of my car for the rest of my life as long as I had August.
He made that judgmental face again, the one that his father used to wear around the house after an argument, and I felt the anger seep into my bones. Suddenly he felt a million miles away from me.
“One day at a time,” I said, reaching out to him but I was talking to myself. Reminding my anxiety and depression that it was a process and I couldn’t possibly expect him to understand. He was still a child and I was still a fucking mess.
“For once can it be one year at a time, even one month?” he asked. With his hand on the door handle, I knew I had already lost him and the argument.
“I’m trying,” I said to him as he pushed from the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. I started the car again and drove down the street until I found an empty parking lot and just cried.
My chest heaved in raw sobs that I couldn’t make stop until every self-deprecating thought flowed through me like a tidal wave. I asked myself the age-old question that, no matter how many times it ran through my head, maimed me every time. Should I have left August with his father?
I’d known long before getting pregnant that I was never going to survive it. But Bradley had wanted a child and… I was just trying to be a good wife in the best way I knew how. The guilt set in the day that August was born and I held him in my arms, but there was no rush of undeniable love or protection. Of course I loved him but—
Not in the way that all the books described.
Where was the euphoria, the unconditional thumping of my heart growing two sizes from the sight of him? I would do anything for August, but I had known then like I know now that there was a wall between my brain and the ability to be a good mother.
It only got worse the more time I spent alone with him. All he did was cry, and the more he cried, the more of a failure I felt. Bradley would get angry and yell, it never made a difference. I woke up disconnected and fell asleep at three in the morning feeling hollow inside.
That feeling followed me for years, and even as August grew, the void remained. Bradley got meaner and nothing was ever good enough for him. It made everything heavier, especially with no one to talk to.
I’d tried a therapist, but she referred me to a clinic for postpartum and I didn’t have the time to be a mom to August and take care of myself that way. Two years later, just after August turned seven, we left. Bradley was pissed, but he had stopped being a Dad when he realized his son was into things like cats and astronomy. There was no catch in the backyard or hockey games, no matter how hard he pushed.
We had moved nineteen times since then. August had turned thirteen in February. We had spent his birthday in a diner on the side of the highway with a candle shoved into the top of a stack of pancakes. It wore down on him, I knew that, and I knew that finding somewhere permanent had always been my goal, I just couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to accomplish that.
