Page 52 of Until August

I leaned my head against the seat cushion and stared at the ceiling. Earlier it had been spinning, but now it wasn’t, so I guess that was progress.

Did I want to talk about it?

August had confided in me about Sasha and his son and how he ended up in prison.

He had loved and lost, and of all the people I could confide in, I thought he would understand more than anyone else could. Not because our situations were even remotely similar. But because we were both trying to rebuild our lives and figure out how to move on.

I clamped my lip between my teeth, debating how much to tell him. “My husband isn’t dead,” I said finally. “And he didn’t leave me. Not in the way you might be thinking.” It sounded like I was talking in riddles.

August lowered the volume on the TV so it was white noise and wouldn’t compete with my voice. “I’m listening.”

Guess we were doing this.

And for some reason, I found myself wanting to tell him.

So I took a deep breath and started from the beginning. “It happened two years ago. Cruz and his younger sister, Frankie, were diehard Lakers fans, so Cruz bought courtside tickets for her birthday. Frankie had spent the day with some friends in LA, so they met at the stadium.”

I stared blankly at the coffee table while I recounted the story. “After the game, Cruz FaceTimed me while he was walking Frankie to her car. When he made sure she was safe, he walked a couple blocks to the lot where he parked.”

I could feel August watching me, probably wondering where this story was going. But I stared straight ahead and spun my wedding band around and around with my right thumb and index finger.

“I heard the locks beep when he got to his car, and then I heard shouting. Cruz must have dropped his phone because the screen went dark. But I heard everything.” I swallowed. “They demanded that Cruz turn over his keys.”

“He didn’t turn over his keys,” August said quietly.

I shook my head.

The last words I ever heard Cruz say were, “Over my dead body, asshole.”

“My husband wasn’t a fighter in the sense that he never used physical force to get his point across. But for some reason, he decided to fight for that car. It was a brand-new BMW. He’d just gotten it the month before. Growing up, Cruz didn’t have a lot, and when he started making his own money, he spent most of it on Frankie. He wanted to make sure his little sister had everything he never did.”

“He sounds like a good man,” August said.

I gave him a grateful smile. It was such a kind thing to say. “He was.” I’d slipped into the past tense, but if August noticed, he didn’t let it show. “He never wanted to spend money on himself, but I persuaded him to buy it.” I sucked in a ragged breath. “I know he loved that car, but I’ll never understand why he chose to fight for it. I was shouting into the phone, begging him to just give them the damn keys. But it was too late.”

August let out a breath but didn’t say anything.

I remembered hearing the sickening crack when they bashed his skull with a tire iron.

I remembered hearing them laughing.Laughing. As if it was all fun and games for them.

The tires squealing as they drove away.

And then… nothing.

My voice cracked. “I later found out they were junkies. One was armed with a baseball bat, the other with a tire iron. And they left my husband for dead in a parking lot. All because of a stupid car.”

August cursed under his breath.

I blinked back the tears and steeled myself for what was to come. I wasn’t finished with my story, and I needed to tell it in its entirety.

I needed forgiveness. Absolution. A way to fix this and make it better.

August couldn’t give me that. Nobody could. I had to do it for myself, but maybe talking about it would help.

I cleared my throat. “I did something really stupid,” I confessed, my eyes on my clasped hands. “Really… terrible. I called Cruz’s sister, and I asked her to go and check on Cruz. She was alone in LA, it was late at night, and I sent her to the crime scene.” I squeezed my eyes shut as if it would erase the mental image. “I didn’t know how bad it would be,” I admitted. “She found her brother lying in a pool of blood with a fractured skull. And I just….” I let out a ragged breath. “I’ll never understand how I could have done something like that to her.”

“Nicola,” he said quietly. “You had no idea what she’d find.”