Page 2 of Tell It To The Waves

My hand rubs the wood railing, the initials of my mom and dad forever etched into it, and that’s when the tears come. And I let them freely escape, rolling down my cheek and into my mouth.

I miss her. My mom. She’s been gone for nine years; it feels like a lifetime and not all at once. The grief comes at random times; it never truly goes away. And now, they're both gone, and I’m truly alone in this world. I don’t care if I’m thirty; I still need my parents. God had jokes, I guess.

Turning around, I lean on the railing, looking at the cottage that watched me grow each summer. Forcibly wiping my face, I stand up straighter. “We’re here to do one thing, August, and then we’re going. Never having to look back,” I promise myself, knowing that’s exactly what I need. All the memories this place is stirring aren’t healthy for me.

I walk back into the house and fall onto the sofa, curling up under my mom’s old quilt to wait for the real estate agent.

CHAPTER TWO

“Miss Graft? Hello.”

Opening my eyes, I sit up, throwing off the quilt. “Shit.” I cover my mouth. “Sorry.” Standing up, I say, “I’m August Graft,” Speaking to whom I assume is the real estate agent.

She smiles sweetly, her eyes showing her age. “Hi. The door was open. I’m Mrs. Williams. It’s nice to meet you. And I’m sorry it’s on these terms.”

I give her a tight smile and fold the quilt, needing to busy myself, not wanting to see her pity.

Cutting right to the chase, I ask, “Do I need to show you around? Or would you like to look on your own?” I don’t know how these things work. I live in an apartment with five hundred neighbors.

“I’m familiar with this cottage, but I’ll take a look around, measure, and take pictures. You said you wanted this up immediately?”

My eyes squint at her words, but I answer her, “Yes, please.” Needing this fast and not painful. Leaving her in the house while I sit on the front porch.

I always pictured myself here when I was older, living out my days. I listen to the waves as they crash against the shore.My heart speeds up with the sounds, my mind trying to take me back to that night. The night it all changed. That night made me different. Walking into that ocean, those waves baptized me and spat out a whole different August.

My finger rubs my lips, like they can still feel the ghost of his on them. Forever haunting them and me. “Get a grip, August.” I push off the rocking chair, needing to occupy my mind. This place brings up the past, and I don’t want it or need it.

As I turn the corner on the wraparound porch, I spot Mrs. Williams stepping out of the house. She smiles at me, her attention on me and not the steps in front of her. I reach out my hand, like I can stop her. Her face twists as her body tries to fight gravity, missing the two steps.

“Oh, shit.” I run to her. She’s sprawled out on the wooden porch; her left leg twisted under her. I grimace. “Are you okay?” I ask, knowing she isn’t by the look on her face.

“I think my ankle is broken.” She voices her worries, her words clipped. I look down at her right ankle. It’s not supposed to twist that way.

I stand up, panicked. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No. Where’s my phone?” Her head swivels, and I see it across the porch, grabbing it and handing it back to her. She has the number dialed and the phone to her ear before I could straighten back up.

My eyes scan her, not knowing what to do to help her.

“I need you to come and get me. I think I broke my ankle.” She tells the person on the other end of the phone before she pauses, listening to them. Without another word, she hangs up, closing her eyes.

“I can take you wherever you need to go. I suggest the hospital.” I tell her.

Her lips tighten in a thin line. “My soon-to-be son-in-law…” she says those words like they’re sour, “is off the island at another listing, and I know my daughter can’t be bothered.”

“It’s okay, I can help you.” I feel bad for her because it is my house that broke her ankle. “Here.” I bend down, letting her use my arm to hoist herself up, as my free hand grabs her around the waist. She lets out little cries as we slowly hobble to my car. She falls into the passenger seat, panting. Slamming the door, I run to the back porch, picking up her scattered items, before getting my keys. I don’t lock up, just slam the door behind me.

Jumping in next to her, she pushes her head back into the headrest and closes her eyes. “Where should I take you? Is Doctor Jen still in town?” I have no clue who the doctor is anymore.

Mrs. Williams pries one eye open to look at me. “I don’t know who that is, but you can drive me to the clinic, and I’ll get myself fixed up.”

I nod and fight the gravity of climbing up the hill to the main road.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her because I don’t know what else to say.

“You need to get that fixed. Especially for prospective buyers viewing the property.”

“I will.” I add that to my mental list. All I want to do is be in and out of here.