Chapter 13 Gwen
GWEN
Everything was old, a bit dingy, but of course it was. Why would Rhiannon waste money renovating auditorium chairs or outdated carpet when she could build another apartment complex? This place wasn’t about glitz and glam. It was about saving people.
I showed Delilah the back rooms we used for therapy. One was decked out in children’s toys for child sessions. Another was where we sat each Wednesday night for group. There were a few more for private therapy.
From there, we ventured down the stairs on the edge of the building to the community closet.
We called it a closet, as if it didn’t encase a warehouse worth of clothing and home essentials.
There was nothing special about it either.
At some point, Rhiannon had put up drywall and laid sheet vinyl, but otherwise, it was just a room that looked never-ending, filled with clothing, furniture, and other necessities.
Delilah hesitated to take anything. On my first day, I had too. Simone pressured me to grab a few more pairs of pants, a couple extra pairs of shoes, and an espresso machine, after having learned how much I loved coffee.
I wasn’t sure what Delilah was passionate about just yet, but I filled the cart with jeans and shirts to fill the closet in her apartment and enough hygiene items to last a month.
She didn’t need the teakettle and makeup I put in her basket, but she was excited to brew herself a pot when we got back to her apartment later.
Before we headed back into town, she asked if I minded waiting a few minutes while she covered up the bruise around her eye with the new makeup.
Obviously, I didn’t. Honey enjoyed scoping out a new territory as well.
By then, it was pushing 4 o’clock. That meant that I had my lesson with Lizzie in an hour. Still some time to kill.
Delilah had seemed interested in the greenhouse, so that’s where I took her next.
A good trip, too. The smile on her face when I told her to pick some hydroponic-grown strawberries warmed my heart.
She’d even tossed on some gloves and tended to every wilted limb she came across.
I couldn’t relate to her green thumb, but I started to understand why Simone liked introducing the newbies.
Watching Delilah question everything she’d been taught about life, seeing her relax into a world that made her feel safe, and simply watching her smile, burned my eyes with tears.
Were they tears of joy? Or were they remnants of what I’d done?
And why I felt justified in it?
That feeling lasted well past Rhiannon’s call, letting me know that Lizzie waited for me in the rec center. Delilah asked to come along, and I didn’t object. Just said we’d have to make sure Lizzie didn’t mind her sitting in.
Couldn’t say I was a mind reader but judging by the way Lizzie bellowed out Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish, she had no problem with a crowd.
She played it damn near perfect each time.
Damn near, because she added a few artistic flares.
A rubato in the opening verse, followed by some pedal nuance, and some interpretative tempo swells.
All things a novice wouldn’t dare attempt in a lesson.
Lizzie wasn’t just a good pianist. She was excellent.
For a moment, I questioned why I was even here. I would’ve paid to see the kid perform. Delilah applauded after every set.
As our lesson wrapped up, Sebastian walked in, stuttering and stammering like he had the other day.
And those damn butterflies flapped heat across my cheeks.
Damn it, I had to address it. I had to ask what we were doing here. Not right now, but after I felt it out a bit more. By the end of the night, I would know for certain what the hell this was.
Lizzie smirked at the two of us together before hopping off the stage. She locked Delilah’s elbow with her own, and said, “I’m meeting my friend Aubrey at the dining hall for dinner. How about we walk together? You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
Delilah agreed, and the two all but skipped off. Not before Lizzie gave us a shit eating grin over her shoulder.
Was she playing little miss matchmaker? Had it all been a setup because she was tired of her uncle being single?
Or had she noticed tension between the two of us and knew Sebastian needed a good excuse to ask me out?
Was that language she used with her teacher a short-tempered moment of teenage angst, or had she intentionally thrown the tantrum so she could beg Sebastian to ask me to teach her, then walk him through exactly how to make a move from there?
If so, I respected her conniving nature.
If not, I was doing what I always was. Overthinking.