23. Delia
Twenty Three
Delia
I ’m lying in bed writing when my bedroom door opens.
I cannot bear the brunt of my bitter ends and broken nights much longer. I feel like I’m drowning under the weight. If my mother can walk away and leave me, the whole world deserves to be set on fire and burn. Nothing is right in it.
I’ve never been scared of the dark, but since Mom’s gone, sleep doesn’t come and the house makes the strangest noises in the dead of night. My words don’t scream loud enough for anyone to hear. Certainly not mom. No one understands me.
Heath tiptoes around me like I’m a cracked porcelain doll, sure to shatter at the slightest jostle. I’m swept away by the wave of her goodbye. I spend my nights in sorrow and loneliness. Sometimes I’m scared at night. The fall wind roars outside and a draft seeps in through the window frame and rattles it. Everything has fallen to pieces. I have fallen to pieces.
“Langdon’s here,” Gramps says. I look up from my journal.
“Why?” My voice is gravelly from disuse. From lying here all afternoon, alone.
Gramps shrugs. “You coming down or not?”
I shake my head and pull the covers over me.
“Suit yourself,” Gramps sighs.
I listen to his footsteps fade away and return to my anger and irritation and sadness. I wallow in my abandonment. The door creaks open again and I kick my legs like a five-year-old having a tantrum.
Tossing the blanket off my face I spit out, “What?”
“Hi.” Langdon stands at the foot of my bed and gives a shy wave.
He sits beside me in bed. I tuck my journal under my pillow.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Heath and my mom said you need a friend. My mom said I should check on you, too.”
“Good lord! Why won’t this town leave me alone? I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry about…” the words catch in his throat, and he doesn’t finish the sentence.
“Please don’t speak,” I complain.
Langdon chuckles. “We don’t have to talk. We can just lay here.” He lies back stretching out next to me.
I groan. “I have no intention of getting up. Ever.”
“Cool. We can lay here until summer comes again.” I huff and pull the covers over my head again. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
“I thought we weren’t talking,” I whisper.
“Right,” he says.
“Do not tell a soul about this,” I say.
He adjusts himself until his thigh is pressed against mine and my body reacts with little shudders of pleasure. It feels wrong to have any feelings of pleasure given the state of my life.
“My lips are sealed.”
“Good,” I say. I’m exhausted and cold. But less cold now that Langdon’s in the bed next to me. I’m still so tired though. I just can’t seem to fall asleep lately.
“Good,” he repeats.
I peek out from the blankets at him. He has his hands under his head and he’s staring at the ceiling, a small smile on his face. He’s irritatingly attractive. I put the blanket back down.
We don’t talk and I don’t know how much time passes, but I don’t feel as alone. I don’t feel as desperate and broken as I did. Langdon’s breaths are steady and rhythmic. I like it. I don’t mind him when he isn’t talking. I don’t mind lying next to him like this. My thoughts become less about Mom leaving and more about Langdon and why he’s here and what he wants and how warm he feels.
** *
I wake to my alarm. I slept all night? Stretching I stare at the ceiling, feeling mildly more myself than I have this week. I glance out the window. Sunny. Looks warm too. Tossing the covers off me I hop out of bed and get ready for school. A pang of grief hits me as I brush my teeth, but I shove it into the depths of myself and carry on.
Heath has a freshly baked muffin waiting for me. What time does this guy wake up?
“What’s the over-under on today? I have a doctor appointment this afternoon,” he asks. It might be the most words he’s spoken to me all at once this week.
I stare at him briefly hit by an overwhelming moment of kinship. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe.
He waves a hand in the air. “Just need to know which way my day is going is all. Nothing to be sorry about.”
I sling my backpack over one shoulder. “I’m going to stay today and go to work—if I still have a job.”
“Viv’ll be happy to see your face. Don’t worry about that.” He leans a hip against the countertop.
I don’t want our connection to end. Since mom left he tiptoes around me. Barely speaks. Stares at me awkwardly when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
I shoot him a disbelieving look. “Yeah. I’ve just magically been granted three days off.”
He looks at the kitchen floor. “You better get used to the people here. That good things happen and that grace exists. Now hurry up. Bus’ll be here in five.”
I smile at Gramps. It hurts my cheeks. I haven’t smiled all week. It feels wrong to have this little moment of okay-ness together—without Mom. “Thanks. For…”
He puts up a hand and smiles. “Better go.”