Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Delilah
Truett stays until almost two in the morning. I know this because he checks on me every couple hours, even going so far as to bring me homemade chicken noodle soup. I don’t lift my head when he places it on my bedside table—mostly because I apparently cannot trust myself around him while sick—but the moment I hear my door close, I draw it gingerly into my lap. Each sip is deliciously salty and calming in a way that only his mother’s recipe could be. I’d recognize it anywhere.
I lick the last drop that tries to escape down my chin, savoring it. Suddenly I’m second-guessing turning down Tru’s offer for dinner. It’s possible that I’m simply starving, but it’s the most delicious thing I’ve had since coming back to town. No offense to the Grille. Though after the day I’ve had, I’ll never look at their burgers the same.
By the time his face appears in the gap of my open door at one thirty in the morning, illuminated by the soft glow of my bedside lamp, I feel almost human again.
“Look who’s awake.” The line between his eyebrows fades. “You’ve got some color back. ”
I rub the seam of my sleep shirt between pinched fingers. I changed when I got up to go to the bathroom a few hours ago, after enough liquid finally made it through my body to justify doing so. Truett and Dad were sitting together on the couch, talking in hushed voices while the light from the TV transformed their faces with every scene change. Neither glanced up, and after seeing my ghastly reflection in the mirror above the sink, I certainly didn’t want to draw Truett’s attention. I brushed my hair and teeth and washed my face, then slipped back down the hall as quietly as possible.
“Mostly thanks to you”—I point to the empty bowl—“and Lucy.”
A nostalgic smile tugs at the corners of his lips. When our eyes meet, his are lost in a memory. “She’d like that she’s still taking care of you. Even now.”
I swallow past the knot in my throat. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this. I could’ve handled it.”
“Really?” His eyebrow lifts. “Do we need to recap the bra incident?”
I scowl. “That is not to be spoken of outside these four walls. Do you understand?”
A breathy laugh escapes his quirked lips. He leans a shoulder against my doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest. His biceps strain against the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Each swell and valley of his muscular arms is highlighted by the shadows my lamp casts. I tear my gaze away, but it’s too late. That smile is already a smirk by the time I make it back to his face.
“Well, since we’re allowed to talk about it here…”
My breath catches. Holds.
His finger jabs in the direction of my discarded bra. “Do you usually toss those things with such abandon at the end of the day? ”
I groan, falling back into my propped-up stack of pillows. “You would too if you were chained up in one for hours. ”
“You could always go without.”
Blond lashes flutter as his gaze dips to my chest. Only for a heartbeat. A millisecond, really. The responding clinch of my stomach is disproportionately strong. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid, and I’m desperate, apparently. My libido has lost all ability to be discerning.
I glance down at myself. My breasts are small but perky, their outline clear in my baby-blue top. My nipples strain for his attention. Any attention, I correct. I’m tired, worked up, and suddenly very acutely aware of my dry spell.
The blanket scrapes against my sensitive nipples as I drag it up, cutting them off from Truett’s view. I bite my resulting whimper off at the pass, teeth digging into my bottom lip. He sees that too, because of course he does.
He clears his throat, tearing me out of my mental war games. And not a moment too soon.
His broad hand swipes over his face. “Well, I better be going. The guys show up early, and someone’s gotta tell ’em what to do. Your dad is doing good. He’s just not tired after sleeping all day.”
“I can relate,” I mumble.
He cocks his head back. “He’s hanging out on the couch watching a movie. I’m sure he’d like some company if you’re up for it.”
Sympathy laces Truett’s every word. Our gazes hold as a silent message passes between us. He knows how badly it hurt me that Dad wanted his help instead of mine when he got confused. I suspect Tru even senses how useless it made me feel. What he can’t possibly understand is how much I need to be needed. If my parents can get help from someone else, what am I good for? If I’m not taking care of someone, what else do I have to offer?
“Get out of that pretty little head of yours for a second”—his chin dips, eyes darkening—“and go spend some time with your dad, okay?”
Heat flares in my cheeks.
“Okay,” I squeak. My throat is so dry. I drink what’s left of my water and try again. “Be safe driving back home.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve certainly got a long, dangerous trek ahead.” He chuckles. “You need help getting up?”
I shake my head. If I’m going to prove I’m still capable of caring for my father, getting out of bed is probably a great place to start. I swing my legs over the side and rise, swaying a little before catching myself on the headboard.
Tru reaches for me. I hold out a hand to stop him. “I’m good. Just needed a second.”
He watches me warily but doesn’t intervene again, even as I wobble across the room to my dresser and pull out an oversize sweater, donning it over my thin shirt. Our gazes meet. I can feel him appraising me. My spine stiffens. I jut my chin out. “I’m ready.”
After a beat of silence, he nods, then turns to stride down the hall. I don’t watch the lazy swing of his hips or study the way his jeans hug the glorious curve of his ass. Not even a little bit out of the corner of my eye.
And no one can prove any differently.
“Night, Henry.”
“Good night,” Dad replies. “Don’t you get sick, too.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Truett tosses a wave in my dad’s direction. His hand claps his thigh on the descent; then he hooks a thumb in his pocket as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Delilah.”
“Good night, Tru.” I bite the inside of my cheek. My gaze flickers between him and Dad. “Thanks again. For everything.”
The noisy summer night floods the room, overpowering even the opening credits of whatever movie Dad has queued up. Truett nods, one foot out the door, and calls, “Anytime.” Then the door is shut, the chorus of insects and animals once again blocked out, and that tightness in my chest releases.
“How are you feeling, sweet pea?”
My head jerks toward my dad. He’s gazing up at me, brows furrowed. His voice is unusually clear, no hesitation or stuttering as he speaks. He sounds like himself. Suddenly it doesn’t matter that it’s two in the morning. I’d skip sleep forever if it meant getting this version of him again.
I realize I’m still hovering in the middle of the awkward space between our living room and kitchen, body angled toward the door Truett disappeared through. I backtrack, making my way around the chaise portion of the couch, and settle in next to my dad. He’s pale like me, with purple bruises blooming beneath his bright blue eyes, but his smile is firm.
“A lot better, Dad. I’m sorry I left you to fend for yourself.”
He blows a raspberry, and it seems so like him that for a second I forget about the shower incident. About the restaurant. I even forget the doctor’s pamphlets, filing it all away somewhere to remember on a different day.
“I was fine. I’ve been sick lots of times before you came along, kiddo. Besides, Roberta showed up just in time.” His expression softens. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were sick, too. I haven’t felt like myself the last couple of days.”
I think of my blowup at the river. At the drool practically spilling out of me at Truett’s proximity this evening. I huff a laugh. “You and me both.”
He chuckles. It’s breathy and tense, but I’ll take it.
“What are we watching?” I glance at the television. Before he even answers, I know what he’s going to say. Jim Carrey’s face fills the screen, framed out by an artificially blue sky.
“ The Truman Show, ” we say together. Dad smiles and adds, “ This was the first date your mother and I had after you were born, did you know that?”
I nod but don’t interrupt. I like when he tells this story.
“You were a few months old when it debuted, and Kimberly’s parents came to town to finally meet you.” He sighs, shaking his head. “It was so mind-blowing the first time we saw it. That he couldn’t realize it was all a make-believe world and everyone knew it but him.”
My pulse slows. I roll my lips. Stare at the screen rather than my dad. Because it is mind-blowing, isn’t it? Even though Dad is aware a lot of the time, in those moments where he’s not… It's like watching him live in a world outside our own. Unlike Truman, none of us locked him inside. Only his mind. The worst kind of betrayal.
I snuggle close to my dad and try to push the thoughts out of my head, but for the rest of the movie, all I can think about is what the doctor said when he pulled me aside after the appointment and tilted his head sympathetically. “ Enjoy the moments of clarity as best you can. They come less and less as we move into the later stages. ”
I didn’t realize before what a luxury it was to be so unaware of time and the speed at which it passes. Now I can’t look away as each grain of sand slips through the hourglass, marking another second closer to the end.
My eyes are heavy by the time the credits roll. The DVD returns to the home screen, with a still image of Jim Carrey projected on a wall of television monitors. I reach for the remote, prepared to eject the disc, when Dad’s hand lands on mine.
It’s still dark out, but the clock on the oven tells me it won’t be for long. I scan Dad’s expression. His eyes are distant, like he’s seeing me but not really. He smiles softly. “I love this movie. Would you watch it with me, sweet pea?”
I blink. “But we… ”
His gaze cuts to the screen expectantly. “You know I saw it for the first time with your mom. You were a few months old, and Kimberly’s parents came to meet you. It was such a good movie.”
What a strange disease, that he can remember all of that and not the hours we just spent together watching it on this couch.
Another piece of sand slips through the hourglass. I press play.