Chapter 4 #2
I thought it best not to comment.
“When did you start going to the grief group?” Delphine asked me.
“Almost a year now. After my friend died, I was … just really sad. He’s not the first of my Navy friends to lose his life that way. Some of us come home pretty messed up. Anyway, I saw the flyer for it at church the Sunday after his funeral. I took it as a sign.”
“And you’ve found it helpful?”
Poe climbed into Delphine’s lap, purring even louder.
I’d never seen him get close to anyone’s lap. He clearly had fallen for her the moment she’d walked in the door.
“I’m still sad, but yes, the group’s helped me,” I said, answering her question. “More than I thought it would.”
“Annie wants to go to the one for teens,” Delphine said.
“How do you feel about that?”
She brought her knees close to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. “If I tell you my initial thought, you’ll dislike me more than you already do.”
“Why do you think I dislike you?”
“If I were you, I’d dislike me.”
“Well, you’re not me.”
She was quiet for a moment, seemingly taking that in. “My initial thought was that I didn’t want people in town to know anything about us or how my husband died. I can’t bear the thought of pity or being talked about.”
“Again, we vow to keep whatever happens in the meeting between us.”
“And you believe them?” Delphine asked.
“I do, yes.” I hesitated for a second, unsure if I should say what I wanted to say. In the end, I decided to go for it. “What these people have been through? The last thing they’d ever do is purposely cause anyone else harm. Guilt’s a major demon for them, as I’m sure comes as no surprise.”
“Why do you feel guilty about your friend? It’s not like you were married to him.”
It was a weird thing to say, but I suspected she was right—losing a spouse would be that much harder.
The more involved you were in their life, the more difficult it would be to see that you were not the reason.
“We were close. In the way guys are that have been through hell and back. So yeah, when I got the call, the first thought I had was—how did I not see this coming? Why did I miss the signs? How could I have been so self-absorbed or busy or whatever that I wasn’t more careful?
I should have visited him more. Got him to talk to me. ”
“Speaking from experience, I doubt that would have helped. My husband battled depression for years before … he died.”
“That must have been really hard.” I said it simply, knowing it didn’t need any embellishment.
“I kept thinking medicine would help him. Or a different doctor. So we’d try another approach, and sometimes it made it worse. He would be in bed for days and days.”
“When was this?”
“From the time Annie was a baby. I was juggling her and work and an artist husband who suddenly couldn’t paint.” She gave Poe one more cuddle before taking him gently from her lap and standing, surprisingly graceful given the height of those heels.
I got to my feet as well. Poe rubbed himself against Delphine’s legs, leaving orange fur on her black pants.
“I should get to work,” Delphine said. “I’m sorry … about blasting you.”
“It’s okay.”
She tilted her head to the side, studying me for a moment. “I guess I just needed someone to be angry at.”
“I understand.”
She leaned in half to pet Poe, almost like it was a long-practiced habit, then noticed the fur on her pants. She dug into her bag and pulled out a lint brush. “You never know when you’ll need one of these, right?”
“Sure.”
She swept the stick brush along the parts of her pants where Poe had left his mark. “What time are the meetings?” She straightened. “The one you go to, that is.”
“Every Thursday at six,” I said.
“Good to know.”
She dropped the lint brush into her bag and glanced at the desk, where the book that caused all the kerfuffle remained.
“Would you like your money back? Or store credit?” I asked.
She reached for the book, holding it for a moment. “I’ll keep it. Maybe I’ll read it.”
“You haven’t read it?”
“No, why?” Delphine asked.
“Because I thought that’s why you were so angry. That you knew the content.”
“I’ve heard enough about it to know.” She lifted her chin slightly, immediately defiant. There was something so attractive about the way her eyes glittered and the proud length of her neck, even though she was intimidating.
“If you read it, let me know what you think,” I said.
She stuffed it in her bag, then gave Poe one last pat on the head. “I’ll do that. Bye, Poe.”
He sat on his haunches, looking bereft. What had gotten into this cat?
“Have a good day,” she said to me.
“You too.”
She strode out of my shop, not as determined as when she’d walked in but still with an edge, perhaps portrayed best by the click of those heels on my hardwood floors.
I watched from the front window as she made her way down the street, head held high, bag swinging from her arm.
She was a proud woman. One who had been through a lot, which meant I should give her grace.
My mother had taught me compassion for anyone in pain.
I couldn’t kill a spider to save my own life, for example.
Not that Delphine was a spider. No, she was more like a heron, still, solitary, and precise.
Beautiful in a way that was more striking than soft.
Certainly territorial if one got too close to her nest. That had been proven today.
One time, my mother and I had been beachcombing and we saw one standing alone in the water. The bird had been so still that I’d asked my mother if something was wrong with it. She’d answered, “No, they have to be absolutely still to survive. The second they flinch, they lose the fish.”
Delphine Delacroix was like those proud herons, certain that, if she flinched or showed any sign of weakness, she would lose it all. It was a sad way to live, but there was nothing I could do for her. Like I’d said to her earlier, it was none of my business.