Free Forgetting August (Lost & Found) by J. L. Berg

front of you as fast as you can and the art of learning to re-wear clothes several days in a row without anyone noticing.
    Maybe it was something hardwired into my DNA—the same reason I wanted to save every kitten and stray dog that I saw wandering down the road, or why I felt the need to give every spare dime I had to the old man on our street corner even though he reeked of alcohol.
    Whatever it was, here I was—driving down the road toward the cliffs.
    In a car with a man I loathed.
    Ryan would kill me if he knew what I was doing. This definitely did not fit in with our status quo plan. It didn’t fit with any logical plan—at all. Yet, here I was, driving my psycho ex who had just been discharged from the hospital after waking up from a coma that no one had ever thought he’d recover from.
    And that’s when it hit me. He might never remember anything. Not a single kiss, a happy sigh or night spent in bed. The good, the bad—it was all gone.
    Guilt hit me square in the gut as we drove, and my fingers loosened slightly as I tried to relax and calm myself.
    Status quo , I reminded myself.
    Looking over at him, I tried to feel sorry for him. I tried to feel remorse.
    But all I saw was the man who’d locked me up.
    And here are the days of our lives, folks.
    Yeah, so much for simple and carefree. My life was totally fucked up.
    My palms suddenly grew sweaty as we turned down the block, closer to the ocean. A salty mist blew through the winter air, reminding me of lazy evenings spent eating dinner out on the spacious patio, where the view seemed to go on for miles. Long ago, I’d thought we’d raise our children in that house.
    I’d thought a lot of hopeless things back then.
    Turning into the driveway that was no longer mine, I put the car in park, not bothering to kill the engine.
    “Well, here you are,” I said, averting his gaze. I couldn’t look at him. Not here. Not with the flood of memories that were threatening to assail me.
    “Thanks,” he answered, moving toward the door. He paused briefly as if he had something more he wanted to say, but then seemed to decide against it and stepped out. The door shut and I felt air rush back into the small compact space.
    I took one huge gulp, then another—willing myself not to cry.
    August Kincaid would not make me cry.
    He was awake, but he would not rule my life.
    Not ever again.
    Looking up, my gaze settled on the glove compartment—the place where I hid the key to my past. The key to this place.
    What had been a mere duty I’d carried on in his absence now felt dirty and shameful.
    The key was my last physical connection to him…to this place. I needed to get rid of it. Now.
    I ripped open the glove compartment, pulling out manuals and registrations for years back.
    Wow, I needed to clean this thing out.
    Finally I found it, in the very back where I had shoved it the last time I’d visited—when he’d first awakened. Feeling resolved and settled, I jumped out of the car and stomped toward the front door, intent on my decision.
    He opened the door even before I had the chance to pound on it.
    That was a little disappointing—I had some pent-up frustration to let out.
    “Sorry, I was watching from the window. I wanted to make sure you got out of the driveway safely. It’s steep,” he said lamely.
    I rolled my eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “You forget I used to live here.”
    “Right,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Stepping back, he motioned for me to enter, which I hadn’t planned on. Hell, it was the last thing I wanted to do, but before I had the chance to decline he was gone—disappearing around the corner toward the living room.
    “What the—” I huffed as I quickly followed him. Had he forgotten manners during his two-year slumber as well?
    “Listen, I’m not here to hang out. Believe me—that’s the last thing I want to do with you. I just wanted to give you my key.”
    As I rounded the corner to catch