Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Delilah
Felix Crow opened the aptly named Crow Bar in 2007, when I was barely old enough to register the disgruntled rumblings it started among my neighbors. Mostly the church ladies, in line at Sunshine Grocery on Sunday afternoons getting a bucket of fried chicken to bring home from the deli. Dad would scoff and smile down at me, whispering, “ Their husbands would all be first in line to patronize the bar if their wives would allow it. Instead they settle for lukewarm beer they keep hidden in their garages, and ibuprofen to dull the headache from all the complaining. ”
I didn’t really know what that joke meant back then, but as I walk into the dimly lit bar with an industrial-style exposed ceiling and neon beer signs lining the walls, I find myself laughing at it with a renewed sense of perspective. Small-town people with their small-town secrets, so afraid that if word gets out that they, too, have vices, they’ll never be forgiven.
Felix glances up from behind the bar. He’s in his late fifties, with tattoos lining each arm that have faded into a mess of gray ink, and a beard in a matching shade. His bald head is polished, belly stretching the limits of an AC/DC shirt. When he sees us, he smiles, and it softens all those hard edges at once.
Tru laces our fingers together, tugging me through the small crowd of people already gathered this early on a Friday night. “What do you like to drink?” he calls over his shoulder.
“Oh, I shouldn’t?—”
A body slams into me. When I turn, alarmed, I’m met with Alicia’s wide gaze. “Surprise!”
“Alicia!” My gaze cuts from her to Truett and back again. “What are you doing here?”
“Your boyfriend invited me.” She pinches my shoulders, then moves her hands to cup my face. Her brows nearly hit her hairline. “And it sounds like I swooped in just in time. I know you weren’t about to say you shouldn’t drink. We’re cutting loose tonight!” Her gaze rolls to meet Truett’s. “Right, Parker?”
Tru releases my hand to slide his arm around my waist. His fingers thread through my waistband, and he pulls me into him. The movement is natural, like it’s the millionth time rather than the first.
He offers Alicia a cheeky grin. “Exactly.”
“Perfect.” Another face-splitting smile from Alicia. “Oh! This is my husband, Destin, by the way.” She steps to the side and gestures to the booth a few feet behind her where a man sits, watching her with bright-eyed admiration. He’s got dark hair, shaved to the skin at the sides and left slightly longer on the top. What looks like an old scar splits his right cheek down the middle. He startles when he notices us staring, and a closed-lip smile stretches his lips as he waves. That scar disappears; pain erased by joy.
“He thinks he’s not dancing tonight.” Alicia turns back to us and winks. “But he’s wrong.”
Tru leans in and kisses my temple. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. But if you want to, I’ve got you.” His lips brush my skin with every whispered word, sending a shiver down my spine .
As he pulls away, I glance up and smile. When was the last time anyone had my back instead of the other way around? Too damn long ago.
“I’ll take a margarita on the rocks, if you don’t mind.”
Pride flashes like lightning in the storm cloud of his eyes. “Don’t mind at all.” He points at Alicia. “You or Destin want anything?”
“I’ll second Delilah.” She glances back at Destin, who’s nursing a beer in his fist. “You want another, babe?”
“I’m good, thank you.” His voice is deep and smooth. Decisive. He doesn’t offer more, and Alicia doesn’t wait for it. He seems quiet, which is good, because Alicia has always been anything but.
“Two margaritas coming right up.” Truett’s hand slips from my waist. I didn’t realize how much I loved his warmth until I lost it. I catch myself pouting. Pouting. Like I’m a toddler rather than a grown woman. Pathetic.
“You’ve got it bad, ” Alicia taunts, poking me in the side. Her smile falls to a thoughtful shrug. “I’m glad things are going well. Tess will be proud.”
“Where’s she at tonight?”
Alicia tosses an arm around my shoulder and starts guiding me toward the booth where Destin sits. “Working. I think this time it’s as an instructor at a fitness class? I never can keep up. The woman has a million odd jobs. She can’t stand still to save her life.”
Trying to keep her mind busy, I’m sure. I don’t know Tess very well, but I feel a kindredness with her that I can’t explain. Not quite that we are the same, but that we will be someday, whether I like it or not.
“Destin, this is Delilah. Delilah, my husband.” She says the word husband like it’s a lollipop she’s licking. When her gaze falls on him, I cease to exist for a heartbeat or two .
I slip into the booth opposite the two of them. “Hi, Destin.” I offer my hand over the table, and he takes it. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Alicia says you’re a doctor?”
“Yes.” He casts a sideways glance at her. “Well, I’m still in residency. But yes.”
“More of a doctor than I’ll ever be,” Tru interjects. He passes a margarita to Alicia and sets one down in front of me, then plucks a beer bottle from his back pocket. “Though I have delivered a baby.”
“Really?” Destin asks, brows raised.
“A calf,” I clarify.
Tru shrugs. “Cow baby.”
“Hey, if it looks like birth and smells like birth”—Destin wrinkles his nose—“it counts.”
“Hear, hear.” Truett offers his beer, and Destin clinks his against it.
“Disgusting,” Alicia says.
Truett laughs and Destin joins in with a breathy chuckle. It’s lost to the thrum of music coming from the jukebox in the corner of the room. There’s a pool table beside it, illuminated by a single swaying overhead lamp. Two women that look to be a few years younger than us pass a vape back and forth while making commentary on the pool game of the men they’re with. The dance floor is a humble ten-by-twenty-foot expanse of hardwood on the other side of the bar, where a single couple shimmies slowly despite the quick tune bouncing through the speakers.
“How’s your dad doing?” Alicia asks.
Their gazes all find me in turn, until despite the noise filling the space, my head goes quiet.
“Okay.” I find myself glancing at Destin, searching his face for any sign that Alicia has given him the rundown. I don’t want to rehash my father’s condition. Not here. Not on a happy night.
Destin’s gaze is kind. Undemanding. It reminds me of Roberta and the way she always seems to know without ever having to ask. The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’m glad you’re getting out. Living your life. I did an elective rotation in geriatrics and saw time and time again that the caregivers were neglecting themselves because they thought it was selfish to do otherwise. But it’s not. The best thing you can do for your family member is take care of yourself.” He blinks, then glances at Truett. Back at me. “Sorry, you asked for none of that. Please ignore me.”
“No, it’s okay. Really.” I’m grateful for the loud music. Hopeful that it hides that my voice is breaking. I take a long pull from my margarita and lick the salt from my lips. “I think I needed to hear that.”
Alicia strokes a hand down Destin’s bicep and smiles when he turns to look at her. “Destin doesn’t usually out-talk me, but if there’s one thing he’ll lose his voice over, it’s his patients.”
Her husband ducks his head, bowing to the compliment.
“How’d you decide to be a doctor?” Tru asks.
Destin runs a finger over his scar absent-mindedly. “I was attacked by a dog as a kid. The doctor who did the reconstructive surgery on my face made a really scary situation a lot less intense.” His hand drops to the table, and Alicia lays hers over it. “I guess I liked the idea of being able to do that for someone, too.”
“So will you go for plastic surgery then?” I ask.
He nods, and Alicia chuckles. “Yeah, once he’s practicing, I’m gonna make him give me implants.”
Destin chokes on a sip of beer. His cheeks flush red. “Jesus, babe.”
I raise a brow. “Can we get a two-for-one deal on that? Or is it four-for-two.”
Alicia throws her head back, laughing. When she finally sucks in a lungful of air and blows it out with a high note, she offers me her glass, and I clink mine to hers. We both finish off our margaritas and slam down our glasses.
The arm Truett had been resting on the back of the booth falls to my shoulder and tugs me into him. His lips find my ear, and his tongue slips out to tease the shell of it. “Don’t you dare, Temptress. Your tits are perfect the way they are.”
His comment courses through my veins. Hot and pulsing. It settles between my thighs, leaving me squirming beneath the table.
“We’ll go get another round,” Alicia offers, a coy smile playing on her lips as she glances from me to Truett.
“Thank you,” I say. It comes out breathier than I’d like, which only makes her smile harder.
As soon as they’re out of earshot, I smack Truett on the thigh.
“Ouch!” He removes his arm from my shoulders so he can rub the sore spot. “What was that for?”
“You can’t say stuff like that to me in public!”
An impish grin sweeps over his face. “Or what?”
I glance past him to verify our friends are still well out of earshot. When my gaze lands on Alicia, she makes an obscene hand gesture that Destin pretends not to notice. I giggle and bring my gaze back to Truett. “Or you’ll have me all turned on in public with no way of getting off.”
His eyes catch flame. I feel his hand move to my thigh, heated against my bare skin. It snakes higher, higher, until his fingertips are kissing the hem of my jean skirt. “Are you saying you’re turned on right now?”
I don’t honor that with a response.
One brow shoots up. His hand dips beneath my skirt now, and my clit throbs at the proximity. “You know I could easily tell…”
I should stop him. Smart, responsible me would do just that. But I’m not her tonight. I’m the me who knows what Truett looks like on top of me, inside me. I’m the me with a margarita already lightening her limbs, softening her vision. I part my legs ever so slightly, an invitation that Truett senses the moment it’s given.
The tips of his fingers brush my pussy through the thin fabric of my panties. I nearly arch off the booth but force myself to remain still. Any second, Alicia and Destin will return, and we’ll be caught red-handed. I should stop this before it goes too far.
But there’s a part of me that wants just a little bit more.
He tugs my underwear to the side and slips a finger through my wet center. “So wet for me already. It’s almost like you enjoy me talking about how much I love your tits. So perky, with pretty pink nipples that I love to play with almost as much as your pussy.”
I gasp. He leans into me, nestling his face in the crook of my neck where he bites me lightly, then sucks. His finger slips inside me then, curling to stroke the place that drives me crazy.
Then, just as quickly, he retreats. He sucks the remnants of me off his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips. Lips that find mine and open, pleading with mine to open too. I do. And his tongue moves against mine, tangling and unraveling again and again, till I’m convinced I’m going to have to beg him to take me home and fuck me right now.
I pull away, and the world is hazy. All except Truett, who exists as he always has for me: in Technicolor. “Tru?—”
“I brought shots!” Alicia’s holding two up over her head. “Well, for Delilah and me at least. Beer for the gentlemen per Destin’s request.”
I blush scarlet. Alicia and I have just gotten close again, but she said it herself. She’s always been able to read me like an open book. One look at me and she’ll know I’m guilty as sin.
She places one shot in front of me. It’s clear, likely vodka since there’s no lime. My stomach burns at the sight of it, but when our eyes meet and she gives me a knowing wink, I decide even the worst shot in the world is better than facing her right now.
“Cheers!” She holds hers out. Destin passes a beer to Truett, and they both join in as well. “To good health. Old friends. And forever loves.”
“Cheers,” Destin echoes.
I swear Truett nudges me as he chimes in.
Finally I echo them all and down the shot before I can hang too much hope on a simple toast.
“Okay, now I promised you dancing”—Tru slides out of the booth and reaches back for me—“so dancing is what you shall get.”
I giggle. I’m doing a lot of that tonight, despite not being a particularly giggly person. Before I know it, my hand is in his and I’m floating across the room to the little dance floor. “It’s Your Love” by Tim McGraw spills from the jukebox, whether on purpose or by sheer dumb luck. I grin up at Truett, who sweeps one arm around my waist and uses the other to take my hand in his, and shake my head. “How did you know it’d be a slow song?”
“I have my ways,” he says, then glances over my shoulder. I follow his gaze and find Alicia has managed to get Destin out here after all. When she catches us looking, she shimmies her shoulders and offers a thumbs-up.
“I love her,” I say, sighing. The room is spinning, probably because we are too. But it feels good. Light and carefree in a way I haven’t been in years. Or ever.
“I’m glad you have her.” Tru steps away from me and guides me under his arm, capturing me as I spin away from him and lowering me into a dip.
“Truett Cole Parker, since when did you learn how to dance so well?”
He looks at me, eyebrows raised .
I raise mine too. “What? You’re the only one who can whip out middle names?”
He snorts. We’re moving in tune with each other as though we’ve done this a thousand times. He retreats; I follow. He pushes in; I let him guide me away. When our gazes meet again, he says, “Yes, I can dance.”
“Some other talent you picked up while I’ve been gone?”
Something sad flashes in his gaze, but it’s gone before I can hyper-analyze it. It’s replaced by a simmering heat so visceral I’m right back in that booth in a second, his fingers inside me, thinking I’ll make a fool of myself by coming from his touch alone.
“I’ve got so many talents I’ve been saving for you, Delilah.”
The music fades out, leaving us locked in this breathless embrace, his hard length pressing against my stomach and a responding warmth spreading through my limbs.
In the brief silence before another song loads, I hear an alert come through on my phone. I’m about to ignore it when another follows suit. Truett’s brow furrows. “You might wanna get that.”
“Already on it.” I pluck my phone from the back pocket of my jean skirt and glance at the screen. “It’s Roberta.”
Alicia and Destin step into our orbit as Truett asks, “Is everything okay with Henry?”
“Is your dad all right?” Alicia adds.
I squint at the screen, trying to make it make sense in my alcohol-induced haze.
Roberta
I hate to interrupt, but your dad isn’t doing well. Very agitated and confused.
Roberta
It may be best if y’all come home .
“He’s not having a good night.” I glance up at Tru. “I’ve gotta get home.”
“But he was fine earlier?” Tru holds my shoulders as he peers down at my phone. “I wonder what’s got him upset.”
I try to think through all the events of the day. His mood. Possible triggers. My brain is lagging, running on a terrible signal. “I-I don’t know. I thought he was doing okay.” I glance up at Alicia. At Destin, who’s holding her close and studying me with a sympathetic gaze. “I shouldn’t have come out. I’m sorry, guys.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault,” Destin offers.
Alicia reaches for me, but I’m already moving, albeit clumsily, toward the door. I hear their voices but don’t really listen. Hear the voice on the jukebox but not the words. Truett’s footsteps thunder behind me, one after the other, and then he’s ahead of me, opening the door to let me out into the night.
The moon is a sliver, leaving the world blanketed in darkness. Gravel crunches underfoot. We reach the truck in mutual silence, and Truett opens my door. Offers a hand to guide me in. I sit, staring blankly ahead, as he strides around front and climbs inside. The engine rumbles to life, settling my fears inside me like a lullaby.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Truett offers.
I bite at my lip. “You don’t know that.”
For Roberta to ask, it has to be bad. We both know that, deep down. I feel myself bracing before we’ve even left the parking lot.
Silence. We roam dark streets. His headlights strobe the overhang of branches and occasional twinkling yellow gaze in the brush. The metal fence lines and dust-coated mailboxes. Mile after mile, minute after minute. So much of it is monotonous. Enough to get lost if you don’t know your way .
“You know it’s not your fault. This didn’t happen because you took time for yourself.”
To that, I have no response. Because I don’t know. How could anyone say with confidence it isn’t my fault, that my absence isn’t what upset him? Maybe I could’ve noticed, redirected, prevented. If only I’d stayed home, I could have protected him from this.
When we arrive at the house, I hear my dad shouting the minute I open the truck door. The house is old; the walls are thin. It’s a shocking sound, one I never heard before his diagnosis. I take the front steps in twos and I’m at the door, pushing inside in the time it takes Truett to call out my name.
“I don’t wanna go!” Dad shouts. “I don’t know you!”
He’s wearing an old Alabama football jersey and slacks, with house slippers and his robe on top. He glances up as I enter the room and holds up a hand. In it, he’s white knuckling his wallet. “You can have it. Take it. Just don’t hurt the baby!” He throws the wallet and runs down the hall.
I briefly meet Roberta’s gaze before following after him. He slams open my bedroom door and gasps. “The baby! She’s gone!”
“What baby, Dad?”
He turns to me, shock and confusion and horror all warping his features into someone I barely recognize. “I’m not your dad. I’m hers.” He points to the wall, where a photo of me as an infant is hung in a gilded frame. “Where is she?”
“I’m right here, Daddy.” Tears spring forth. I can’t stop them any more than I can stop his confusion. Any more than I can make him remember. “It’s me. Delilah. I’m your daughter.”
Roberta’s hands cup my shoulders. I start, spinning around to find her holding up a phone.
“We need to get him to the hospital. Usually with a sudden shift like this there’s something medical going on. If nothing else, they can give him something to calm him down.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Truett appears just over her shoulder. I can’t look at him as I say, “I can’t drive him. I’ve had too much to drink.”
Shame twists my stomach, and I’m certain I’m going to be sick. The only virus I can blame this time is my own selfishness.
“Stop it! You all need to leave!” Dad yells from behind me. “I’ll call the police.”
“Henry, it’s okay. We’re here to help. We wanna find your baby, too,” Roberta says sweetly. “We’re going to call the authorities and they’ll help.”
“You will?” Dad asks, disbelief breaking his voice.
“You will?” I whisper, glancing at the phone in her hand.
“Yes. In his state, it’s not wise for any of us to drive him. We’d get in a wreck,” Roberta says to me, her voice low. She grabs my hand and pulls me backward. Turning to Dad, she says, “We’re going to call them now. This is Truett.” She pats his arm when he’s within reach. “He’s gonna stay with you while we call.” She peers up at Truett and smiles, though there’s tension tightening her gaze. “We’re gonna step into the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
I bring myself to look at Truett, and I wish I hadn’t. There are tears spilling from his eyes, which are trained on my dad. He nods. “I’ll stay with you, Henry.”
“Do I know you?” Dad asks, squinting.
“You do,” Truett says, stepping closer. “We’re friends.”
Dad nods, slowly at first and then so fast I’m afraid he’ll have whiplash. “They took my daughter. I can’t find her anywhere.”
“We’ll find her,” Truett says. He glances back at me as I’m pulled around the corner, his last words echoing in my ears. “I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.”
“Hi, yes, I need an ambulance at 211 Sowell Mill Road.” Roberta glances up at me to confirm, and I nod. “I’m an in-home care provider for a gentleman with dementia. I believe he’s having an episode of delirium and needs medical attention. ”
I listen to her rattle off the details. To Truett on the other side of the wall calmly helping my dad search for a baby he’ll never find. I cry, cry, cry for that baby, because all she wants, all she needs in the whole world is her father. And with every moment like this, he slips further away.
How unfair. How unnecessarily cruel.