Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Delilah
I came to school because I didn’t want to face the hell that is being home with my parents right now. Between Mom spending every second berating my father to me, and Dad holing up in his office, I feel like a soldier conscripted to war. One where I don’t agree with either side fighting.
But school brings with it a different type of suffering. The kind I didn’t anticipate.
My shoes squeak against the polished linoleum. All around me, life ebbs and flows. Lockers slam and fluorescent bulbs buzz. Voices rise and fall over each other. It’s a normal Monday morning, for all of about two seconds.
A beefy arm locks around my shoulders. I glance up. Brody Chamberlain—the resident loudmouth jock I’ve known and detested since kindergarten—smiles down at me with a wicked grin. “Hey, Ridgefield, heard your dad and Mrs. Parker were making their own kind of music after the band concert Friday night.”
A few of his teammates form a huddle behind us. They erupt with laughter like this is the most original joke ever told. I shrug his arm off, scowling as best I can. “Leave me alone, Brody. ”
His eyes flare. “So it is true?”
Any student within earshot falls silent. A good twenty pairs of eyes settle on me, making my skin crawl. My ears and throat heat. Bile hits the back of my tongue, and I turn, earning a collective “ Ooooohhh ” as I slip into the girls’ bathroom.
I slap open a stall door and kneel on the disgusting tile. As my meager breakfast of a boiled egg and some stale Cheerios splashes into the bowl, I contemplate whether the small squares that make up the floor were always brown or if our custodian is just that bad at mopping. Knowing Mr. Pugh, probably the latter.
I wipe my mouth with a wad of single-ply toilet paper, then flush it down the toilet alongside the contents of my stomach. My backpack thuds when it hits the floor. I lock the stall door, collapse onto the toilet, and rest my head in clammy palms. I don’t understand this new version of reality. My dad and Lucy? Of all people, why her? Why did it have to be Truett’s mom?
I unzip the front pocket on my backpack and retrieve my phone. No new messages. I click on Truett’s name, smiling despite myself at his contact photo. It’s a shot I took last summer right before he did a backflip off the riverbank. I called his name and he turned, bright smile flashing, the sun glinting off beads of water on his tan skin. I captured him like that, carefree and bright and looking at me with warm amusement in his eyes. It’s how I always saw him when I closed my eyes. That is, until Friday.
Friday, when we were lounging against the trunk of the willow tree and he told me about his upcoming date with Molly. He admitted he was nervous. That he’d never really kissed anyone beyond a peck during spin the bottle. Even that revelation sent jealousy spearing through my gut. But then he turned to me with a sheepish grin and said, “Will you practice with me?”
Now, when I close my eyes to block out the slew of unanswered messages I’ve sent him since Friday night, that’s the version of him I see. Gray-blue eyes glimmering with hope. Lips pocked with scars where he chews them too much. Nose splattered with freckles. He’s leaning close, a breath away, and I can smell the sunshine on his skin and the scent of his parents’ laundry detergent. Gain Apple Mango Tango. I begged Mom to get it after I smelled it on Truett the first time. Lucy even offered us a coupon. But Mom refused. She said it was too fruity.
I’m about to type out another message, thinking this might be the one to finally garner a response, when the door to the restroom opens. The noise from the hallway rushes in, then just as quickly disappears with the closing of the door. I hear bags slap against the counter. Through the crack in the stall door, I make out flashes of two girls standing at the sinks.
Emily and Katelyn pass a lip gloss between them. Their brunette waves are swept into messy buns, with small tendrils falling to frame their faces. Emily’s brown eyes go wide as she glances at Katelyn in the mirror. “Did you hear what happened with Mr. Ridgefield and Mrs. Parker?”
Katelyn shifts out of my line of sight. “No, what?”
“Jessica Mathias caught them having sex in the band room on Friday night after the concert.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Right?” Emily smirks. “I heard they were doing it on the piano!”
“Ew! They’re going to burn that, right?” Katelyn audibly shudders. “That’s so gross.”
“I mean, Mr. Ridgefield is pretty hot.”
“Yeah, but at school? That’s disgusting.”
They both giggle. I clamp my hand over my mouth to hold back the sob that wants to creep out of me. It’s bad enough hearing the CliffsNotes from my parents. The unabridged version is humiliating.
Katelyn recovers first, asking, “Did Delilah show up to school today? ”
“Yeah, Jessica said she saw her with Brody this morning.” Emily snorts. “Maybe she’s gonna take after her dad and become a skank herself.”
“Oh, come on. You know she’s been in love with Truett since grade school.”
“Oh my God, you’re right! How fucked up is that! Now they’re practically related.”
Katelyn shifts into view, rolling her eyes. “That’s not how genetics work, but all right.” She loops her purse back onto her shoulder and collects her books.
“But, like, imagine if Mr. Ridgefield and Mrs. Parker get married. Then Truett will be Delilah’s brother. ”
They both make mock vomiting sounds. It’s almost enough to send me back to the floor, if I had anything in my stomach left to lose.
“Do you think they will?” Katelyn asks.
The door opens, and any response is lost in the crowd as the bell rings, signaling one minute to class.
One minute to English class. Which Lucy Parker teaches.
Surely she called in a sub, right? Dad did. And in a town this small, God knows what’ll happen in a few days when word gets around to the other teachers. The principal. Hell, the fucking superintendent’s daughter is a freshman this year. Is Dad even going to have a job when all this is over?
I loop my backpack over my shoulder and exit the stall. I try to focus on the hot water rushing over my hands instead of my spiraling thoughts, but it doesn’t work. All I can think about is what Emily said. Are my parents going to get a divorce? If they do, is Dad going to marry Lucy?
Once my hands are dry, I fire off another message to Truett.
Me
I need to talk to you. Right now .
Either he’s truly ignoring all my messages, or he’s turned off read receipts for the first time in the history of our friendship. They show delivered, sure, but he’s not opening them. I growl in frustration, my hands balling into fists. I never understood in movies when people punched holes in walls, but suddenly I’m tempted to slam my fist against this splotchy mirror and watch it shatter. My next breath is more hiccup than inhale. My eyes are red, face ghostly white. I choke on a sob, and that’s the last straw. Tears pour down my cheeks. Snot pools in the valley of my cupid’s bow. I draw in breath after ragged breath, scraping my throat with the effort of it.
The final bell rings, signaling I’m late to class. My hands are trembling when I retrieve my phone from the counter. I send another message, this time to Alicia, letting her know which bathroom I’m in and to come quickly. I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how to do this all alone.
Alicia
Can’t, I’m in class.
Alicia
I’m sorry about what happened with your parents.
Alicia
My mom doesn’t really want me talking to you right now. I’ll get in trouble if she even sees these messages. Sorry, Delilah. I wish I could help.
Me
To me? Why? I didn’t do anything wrong!
My normally blue message bubble comes up green. Like she’s turned her phone off. Or blocked me.
I turn the water on cold and gather a handful, splashing it against my face. It dribbles down the curve of my neck, dampening the front of my shirt. I’m no better for it. My face is still mottled. My breaths still come in short gasps. Now I’m panicking and wet. Perfect.
The hallway is empty save for Mr. Pugh pushing his wide dust broom down one side of the corridor. I move in the opposite direction. Away from the janitor, away from Lucy’s classroom. I turn down the science wing and find the classroom at the end of the hall, my hand landing on its cool metallic doorknob before I think better of it and loosen my grip.
I glance in the window, a tall, narrow pane with black latticework disturbing the view. Even so, I find the desk I’m looking for. Truett is slumped in his seat, a camel-colored Carhartt hoodie covering his messy hair. Mr. Graves must know what’s happened, because he hasn’t forced Truett to put his hood down, and Mr. Graves never tolerates hoods or hats in class.
I’m considering barging in, no matter how crazy it would look, when Truett glances up. Our eyes meet. He doesn’t look the least bit surprised, as though he could sense I was here before he even looked. The way I have always been able to feel him entering my orbit.
My eyes widen, and I do my best to look as desperate as I feel. After years spent masking my emotions around him, trying to cover the fact that I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember, it’s difficult to let the mask slip. But I force it down because I need him. I need my best friend. The only person in the world who understands how I feel right now.
His jaw tenses. He sucks in his bottom lip and bites down, rolling it beneath his teeth. I glance from him to Mr. Graves’s desk and back. The man is teaching chemistry with too much enthusiasm for eight o’clock in the morning. Everyone else is pretending to listen while fighting sleep. But not Truett. He studies me like I’m a problem on the board. Something to be solved—or at least endured, depending on your feelings about chemistry.
Please, I mouth.
He winces like he’s been struck. Those gray eyes harden. I’m watching him retreat right before my eyes, and he’s not even moving. Until he does, and I wish he hadn’t. Because with the subtle shake of his head, he breaks my heart in two.
I don’t bother going to class. One bonus of Dad’s overwhelming guilt is that he let me drive his car since he didn’t come to school today. I leave campus without a word. Instead of going home, I park at the river access point where Alicia and I go sometimes to swim in the summer. I give Truett one last chance. I text him my location and tell him I’ll wait for him. And I do. I wait for hours, till my stomach is hollow and the sun dips low in the sky. Till Mom has filled my phone with missed calls and texts complaining about being left alone in the house with Dad, and Dad has texted to make sure I’m okay, telling me to take all the time I need.
But not a single message from Tru. That day, or any of the days that follow. Not when Emily and Katelyn corner me in the hall the next day for details. Not when my dad resigns from his position. Not when an anonymous note appears in my locker, telling me all the disgusting things the person is going to do to me in the band room if they can catch me alone and force me in there.
So I agree when Kyle shows me an ounce of niceness by inviting me to the bonfire. It’s the first I’ve received since news of the affair broke out. And when even that turns out to be a lie, Truett doesn’t say a word. But this time, neither do I.
When the movers come, I climb into the car with Mom and let myself be driven away. I don’t look back. Not for nine years.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
I glance over at Truett. He’s traded his cowboy hat for a faded ball cap and his normal T-shirt for a loose-fitting flannel button-down. His eyes pick up the blue in it. And even though they’re sad, they’re beautiful.
I try to shake the residual memory. To think of anything else, but my brow furrows. “Why don’t you use that apple-scented laundry detergent anymore?”
His dimple pops as he fights to suppress a smile. “You remember what detergent I used to use?”
I snort half-heartedly. “Technically Lucy used to use it. I doubt you were doing your own laundry back then, Mama’s boy.”
“You’re right.” He shakes his head. “This mama’s boy stopped using it because he prefers easy-peasy Tide pods. No measuring involved.”
I roll my eyes. “There are literally lines marked in the lid to tell you the measurements.”
“You’re just mad because you miss the Apple Mumbo Jumbo.”
“Apple Mango Tango.”
“Apple Mambo Number Five?” He quirks a brow.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
This time he doesn’t fight the smile. It spreads over his face like dawn breaking. I force myself to turn away, to face the scenic view of palm trees mixed with tall pines that line the road leading to Pensacola’s airport. If I don’t look at him, it’ll be easier to remember why everything he said Saturday at the river shouldn’t matter.
I’ve been slipping in and out of the memory of those miserable days following the affair since early this morning, when we left Fly Hollow to head to the airport. Mom’s surgery is tomorrow, and I’m going to stay for a week while she recovers. She’s hoping it turns into more, no matter how many times I assure her it’s not. And true to his word, Truett showed up bright and early in his truck to shuttle me here. He and Roberta are going to trade off staying with Dad while I’m gone. The fact that I was able to pay her overtime with my quarterly bonus fills me with pride, and I focus on letting that emotion take priority. On pushing those lingering feelings of confusion over Truett even deeper into the recesses of my mind.
The drop-off lane is surprisingly empty for a Monday morning. Truett parks alongside the curb, but neither of us makes a move to get out.
He draws in a deep breath, and I force myself to look at him, praying my mask holds.
“Call me if you need anything, okay?”
I smirk. “You gonna hop on a flight to help me give Mom a bath?”
He sucks in his cheeks, then releases his lips with a pop. “Maybe just moral support then?”
“Got it.”
I gather my purse and reach for the handle. The midmorning heat rushes in when I open the door. It’s not so bad here, with the bay nearby to move the air around a bit. But it’s still Florida, and every breath feels like I’m inhaling a bucket of water.
Truett strides around the front of the truck and places a hand on my arm, stopping me from opening the back door to retrieve my bag. “I got it,” he says.
I step back, and he easily hoists my overstuffed suitcase onto the curb.
“Thanks, Tru. For this and the ride.”
His lips start to form a smile, but they turn down at the corners. He studies the glistening pavement, one thumb hooked into his belt loop, and sighs. “I’d hoped we’d spend at least a portion of the drive talking about what happened at the river. ”
My lungs squeeze like they’ve taken on some of that water I’m breathing. “You didn’t bring it up.”
His gaze narrows on me. “Neither did you.”
I gesture lamely toward the airport entrance, hoping it offers some form of explanation. But we both know I’m avoiding things. It’s my MO, and he’s finally copping on.
He sighs heavily, his gaze cutting past me and then back to my face. He studies me like he doesn’t know what to do with me, which makes two of us.
“Just take care of yourself. I’ll be here when you come back. We can talk then.”
Tears sting my eyes. I blink them away, shaking my head at their presence. He’s so patient with me, and that patience feels a lot like a gift I don’t deserve right about now. “Be careful driving home.”
He nods solemnly. When our gazes meet, that sadness from before is amplified. “Bye, Temptress.”
“Bye, Tru.”
Neither of us moves. We stand on the sidewalk, a foot apart, suspended in uncertainty.
It’s okay to want things just for yourself.
I hear those words, spilling from Truett’s lips over and over again, as I rise up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his warm cheek.
Then I turn away, saving myself from his reaction. From the consequences of wanting what I shouldn’t.
The hard plastic armrest digs into my side. I shift again, still unable to find a comfortable position to read in. The terminal waiting area is nearly full now, and a burly man takes up the armrest on my left while a toddler juts her feet beneath the one on my right. I have to sit at an angle to avoid her light-up sneakers, not that her mom has noticed. Or cared.
After an hour delay, they finally announce that we’re going to begin boarding. I pull out my phone to text Mom and let her know, and it starts to vibrate in my hand. Roberta’s name lights up the screen.
“Hello?”
“Delilah,” her voice is thin, punctuating my name in a way she never has, “please don’t panic.”
I immediately panic. “What’s wrong?”
“Your dad has wandered from the house.”
“He what? ” My brow knits together. I lean forward on my knees as though it’ll make her words clearer. “Like he’s on a walk?”
“He took your car keys from the junk drawer while I was in the bathroom. He left his cell phone behind.” She blows out a breath. “We haven’t found him yet, but the fire department has been called and they’re out looking. I’m here in case he comes home or someone calls.”
“He’s missing? ”
The burly man’s gaze cuts to me. There’s no sympathy in them, only annoyance that I’ve shouted loudly enough to penetrate his AirPods.
“Yes, but we will find him, Delilah. I just wanted to let you know right away. Truett said your flight was delayed?”
I’m already on my feet, gathering my carry-on and my purse. “Yeah, it was. I’m leaving the terminal. We hadn’t boarded yet. Is he there with you? He should be back by now.”
My heart pounds as I race toward the terminal exit. Passersby give me a wide berth. And who could blame them? I’m running in the wrong direction, away from all the planes. And I’m crying, I realize. Tears pool at my chin and drip onto my white peasant blouse. My leggings are slipping. My carry-on bag has a wheel that’s dragging. And I have no clue how I’m going to retrieve my luggage or get home for that matter; all I know is that I have to go. I have to find my dad.
My dad is missing.
The terror slams into my chest, blowing the sob right out of me. It almost drowns out the sound of Roberta’s reply. Almost.
“He’s still there.”
“He’s here?” I repeat, unsure if I heard correctly.
“He was waiting until you took off safely.”
I burst through the glass doors, and he’s here all right, tires squealing as he pulls right alongside the curb and leaps from the driver’s side.
“We’re coming, Roberta.” I say it like the wind has been knocked out of me. And then it has, because Truett sweeps me into his arms and crushes me against his chest.
“I’ll call with any news,” she says. Her voice sounds so far away. I feel like I’m in a tunnel. All I see is Truett’s face right in front of me. Everything else is black.
Somewhere in the corner of my mind, a bitter part of me wants to tell my mom, This is an actual emergency.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Truett sees it. Sees everything about me. He scoops the bag from my grasp and tosses it into the back seat of the truck, and then he offers me his hand to guide me up. By the time I remember to reach for my seat belt, he’s already there, buckling me in.
“I don’t know how to get my luggage,” I murmur.
“I’ll call the airline once your dad is safe. Get it shipped to the house.” He closes the door and rushes to the other side. Before I know it, we’re out of the airport and racing past rows of tall palm trees toward the interstate. Toward my dad.
“He’s missing.” The words are on the other side of that tunnel. So far away. It’s still only me and Truett and the dark path between us. “Dad is missing. ”
“We’re going to find him.”
“Why the fuck did I leave my keys where he could get them?” I’m gasping, but the oxygen isn’t helping. The world feels even farther away, my panic looming closer. “What if he’s hurt? He could’ve crashed again.”
“Delilah, listen to me.” Truett’s hand retrieves mine from my lap. Our fingers weave together, and he squeezes once. Twice. Three times. I squeeze back. It’s weak but it’s there, and his relief is an exhale that fills the car with the scent of Big Red gum. “We are going to find him. Henry is going to be fine. He probably went to the store or the post office. Maybe even the school. We’ll find him.”
I bite my lip. Tears blur my vision. The interstate is a swath of gray before us. “How could I be so stupid?”
“You aren’t stupid,” he says through gritted teeth. Like he doesn’t believe it either. And who could blame him?
I gasp, ripping my hand from his as I clamor for my phone in the mess of my belongings Truett tossed in the back.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to call my mom.”
He nods. In my periphery I notice his chin wobble, and it breaks something in me. He’s scared, too. He’s disappointed in me, too.
She doesn’t answer, and after three calls, I decide the next best thing is to let Debbie know what’s going on so hopefully she can get ahold of Mom if I’m busy looking for Dad.
Where on earth would he go?
“Hello?”
“Debbie, hi, it’s Delilah.” I sit up like that’ll help anything, and Truett lifts an eyebrow. I put her on speakerphone, mostly so I don’t have to relay all of this to Truett when it’s over. “I can’t get ahold of Mom. Can you let her know I had to miss my flight? Dad is…” I can’t bring myself to say it to her. It feels too imminent, to o real. “Something happened and I have to go back home and help. I won’t make it in time for the surgery.”
“Delilah, baby, what surgery? What’s going on?”
“For Mom’s ankle.”
Debbie snorts. “For her sprained ankle? That woman is so dramatic. She’s my best friend, so I can say that. But good Lord.”
Truett’s hand finds mine again, and this time I’m certain it’s meant to be an anchor. Because I’m cut off, adrift, and it’s the only thing that keeps me from being carried away.
“What do you mean, sprained ankle?”
“Has she not called you since we got the X-ray results? They couldn’t find a break, thank God. Just a bad sprain. She’ll be all right so long as she keeps it wrapped and elevated for a bit.” Debbie tuts like it’s just another day in the life of knowing Kimberly Ridgefield. And I suppose it is. “Now what’s going on with your daddy?”
“I have to go, Debbie.” All the life goes out of me. All the fight. I sag against the seat and draw a reluctant breath. “Just tell Mom I’m not coming, would you?”
“I’ll tell her,” she drawls. “Hope everything works out with Henry!”
I end the call. My phone slips from my grasp, clattering into the floorboard. I make no move to pick it up.
“Delilah—” Tru starts.
“Just drive.” I close my eyes. The tunnel has only gotten longer and darker. I can’t even see his face anymore. If it weren’t for his firm grip on my hand, I’d be lost entirely. “I want to find my dad.”