Page 33 of What August Heard
Margaux came in.
She looked at the floor. She looked at me. She looked at Fletcher. She put her arm through his and tilted her head.
“Oh no,” she said. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” I looked at Margaux. I said it loud enough for the room, loud enough for Fletcher. “I think I may have had too much to drink.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Margaux looked at me with her eyes full of something that looked like concern and wasn’t. “I’m so sorry. I should have known that vodka was too strong for you. It’s the real thing. Very authentic.”
“Please excuse me.” My voice came out steady. “I think I’ll go to my room.”
“Yes.” Margaux nodded. “That’s a very good idea. You need rest, darling.”
Fletcher pulled his arm out from Margaux’s.
He took a step toward me.
I didn’t look at him. I looked at Callie, who was already at my side, her hand on my back, and I let her steer me toward the hallway. I heard Fletcher take another step behind us. I kept my eyes forward and I walked.
The hallway was quiet. The stairs were quiet. Callie’s hand stayed on my back the whole way up.
We stopped outside my room.
“Babe.” She kept her voice low. “What happened?”
“I had too many shots.”
“August.”
“My head is hurting. I’m really tired.”
“Something happened.” She said it the way she said things she already knew. “Between the living room and the curtain. Something happened.”
“I’m drunk, Callie. That’s what happened.”
She looked at my face for a long moment. She had known me for eight years. She knew the difference betweenI’m fineand the specific version ofI’m finethat meant — please do not make me say it out loud in this hallway or everything is going to come out right here and I cannot let that happen yet.
“Okay,” she said. “Get some rest. I’ll bring dinner up.”
“I won’t eat.”
“August—”
“I’ll see you in the morning. I promise.”
She stepped forward and put her arms around me. I hugged her back. I pressed my face into her shoulder and breathed through my nose, slow, even, deliberate.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she said into my hair.
I pulled back. I found the smile. It was not a good one. It was the best I had. “I’ll be fine. Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She looked at me one more time. Then she went.
I went inside. I closed the door.
I stood in the middle of the room.
The dahlia was on the windowsill in its glass of water. The Café au Lait one. I had changed the water that morning, and trimmed the stem a little.
