Page 114 of Find My Way Down to You

Her words confuse me more. After an exasperated breath, I say, “We weren’t—”

A series of messages cuts me off. One by one, notifications drop down on my screen. All from Max.

Where ARE YOU???

Your mom is worried I’m worried WTF August?!

are you OK? upset? is it because of the anniversary?

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE NOT HERE

The ache spreads through my skull. I can’t make sense of anything Max texts. Why would I be upset? What anniversary? My parents got married in the summer.

“Auggie.”

My mom’s voice rips me from the depths of fog. My breaths come fast, harsh. I stare at the screen.

In a calm voice, she says, “Focus.”

I can’t. The haze thickens. “What the hell is happening, Mom?”

“August.” Her eyes command me to look at her. “Do you know what today is?”

I force myself to think. “Sunday.”

“No.” She exhales, losing patience. “The date.What anniversary is today?”

“It’s—” I blink away the sting behind my eyes. “Today is—”

“The day of the accident,” Mom finishes for me.

Her words blow through me like the wind. The phone almost slides from my weak grip. Suddenly, the fog fades.Reality seeps in, giving the memories root:

Driving through a sleepy neighborhood. Tom Petty’s gruff voice. The flash of another car’s headlights. Glass shattering into a million stars. The hospital.

Standing over London’s dead body.

Gasping, I jolt to my feet. Mom’s voice reaches me, tinny and distant. “Auggie, stay with me.”

“I forgot,” I wheeze out, shivering.

It’s the anniversary. I was supposed to meet my mom and Max at the cemetery. We were going to visit his grave together.

Today’s the day London died, and I forgot.

Mom’s still talking. But my ears are crowded with white noise. The thud of my heart slamming into my sternum.

Two years have passed. There hasn’t been a single day when he wasn’t on my mind. His beachy brown hair. Weird smile. The light behind his green eyes. How he liked his coffee. That moment he was wrenched away from me.

Now it feels like chunks of him are missing. Floated away on the tide.

The thump grows louder. It’s not in my chest. It’s the front door.

I’m not sure how I get there so fast. Or when I drop my phone. Guilt and nausea churn relentlessly in my stomach as I grip the knob.

Cary is on the other side.

Swallowing roughly, I say, “I forgot.”