40. Langdon
Forty
Langdon
K aeli and Hailie have essentially morphed into one personality. It’s actually really irritating. But Campbell digs it because as soon as I told Kaeli I had zero interest in her, she moved on to Campbell who immediately said hell yes.
My friends, with the exception of Niko, are rubbing me the wrong way lately. Maybe it’s just that Delia is so different. She doesn’t do drama—punching Hailie excluded. Delia’s intelligent and independent. I don’t think she needs anyone as much as I need her. Falling in love feels like jumping off a cliff. Scary and painful. And I think I’m falling.
When we’re together it doesn’t feel contrived or fake. She takes in the sun or the sky or the rain and absorbs our conversations like the atmosphere absorbs the weather .
We’re leaving work. Which has been slow lately and also strange. We used to spend a lot of time together in the greenhouse but Viv has her up front in the shop most days so I don’t get to spend as much time with her. I miss the playful banter and flirting. The greenhouse without Delia is straight-up boring. My body likes it though. Lots of lifting heavy bags of soil and huge potted plants has my arms ripped. I flex my bicep to check it out.
“Did you just… check out your arm?” Delia laughs.
I bite my lip while my face tinges red with embarrassment. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Oh, that’s how you want to play this?” she quips.
I smirk and open the passenger door for her. Delia glances up at me through her lashes and shakes her head.
I jog around the hood of the truck and slide into the driver’s seat. The maple trees are lit-up orange ombre fireworks as we drive toward the cabin. When we get to the bridge, a chill dances up my spine. I try not to think about the accident. I try not to look at the rushing water below or the new section of guardrail that’s shinier than the other sections.
Delia’s hand lands on my thigh and my head snaps to her.
“You okay?” she asks.
I nod, throat too tight to let words pass. And just like that, we’re on the other side—safe. I let out a rush of air I was holding in my lungs and loosen my grip on the steering wheel .
I make a right followed by a left onto a dirt road that winds and bumps. Delia’s eyes are locked on the road, scanning our surroundings each time I slow.
“Almost there,” I tell her. Her hand, still on my thigh squeezes gently. I’d hold her hand if there weren’t so many damn potholes and ruts to navigate.
It only takes another minute or two and we arrive. I pull into the driveway which is really just a dirt patch and put the truck in park.
“This is it?” Delia asks.
I take her hand in mine and nod. She begins to cry. Panicking, I unbuckle and scoot closer to her.
“What’s wrong?”
She sniffles. “It’s so depressing.”
I blow out a breath. “Yeah. I remember the first time I came here. I thought the same thing.”
“I don’t know what I expected, but I thought it’d be more than a shack. I mean, this might have been my life. My home. When Mom’s journal said he was building a home for them, a cabin, I just… imagined more.”
“Please don’t cry. Do you want to go?”
She shakes her head, releases my hand, and wipes her eyes. “No. Is it okay to peek in the windows?”
“I can do you one better than that. There’s an unlocked window. I can let you inside.”
Her watery eyes meet mine. “Really?”
“Yeah. Go to the front door. I’ll let you in.”
Jumping out of the truck I jog to the back of the house. I’d found the window unlocked years ago. I never told anyone that I went in and I never locked the window. But sitting among the few things Daniel had after Olivia died had made me feel better for some reason. Even though I didn’t know him. Even though he couldn’t save her.
I lob myself through the window making a thud against the floor as I do. Brushing off the spider webs and dust I walk through the main room. The room has a small kitchen along one wall and a small table to eat at, as well as a couch and chair near a fireplace. There’s a bedroom and a bathroom and that’s the entirety of it.
There’s not really anything else as far as stuff goes. Someone cleared out most of the things before I started coming. I swing open the door to Delia. Her eyes are wide and she doesn’t move. Her head swivels, looking around me at the interior.
“It’s okay. You can come in.” I reach out for her hand. She takes it, letting me pull her across the threshold. We stand, hand in hand, in the main room. Her eyes sweep over every detail, every nook and cranny. “Do you need a minute?”
She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and nods. I release her hand and step out onto the small front porch. I hear the floorboards creak as she moves around. I close my eyes and wait. I know when she’s found the photo of her mother and Daniel. The creaks stop and an audible inhale ring out in the silence.
“Langdon, look,” she says. I make my way to her. “Look at my Mom. Look at him. They look so in love.” She holds up the picture for me to see. I’ve seen it a million times.
“I’ve seen it. I never knew it was your mom though. Hit’s different somehow now.”
Delia cleans the glass with her shirt and places the photo back on the shelf. I rub her back gently. She turns into my chest. Wrapping her arms around me she cries.
“I’m having a hard time believing someone lived here like this. Like, this might have been where I would have lived. It’s just…”
“Three rooms. I know. After Olivia, I used to come here. I wanted to know about the man who died saving or…trying to save my family. It used to make me so sad thinking we had so much space at home and things and that this guy had practically nothing. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t need anything. He was willing to give his life saving others. I don’t think he was sad here. Look around. I know it’s not much but when you really look…I think he liked the simplicity and quiet.”
Delia peels herself away from me. I wipe the tears from her cheeks. She runs her finger over every surface. There are little whittled figures, the couch and chair are well-used and comfortable (although very dusty from disuse). There are a few photos, a throw blanket, and small conveniences. But the real treat is out the kitchen door. Delia unlocks, then opens the side door and steps out. The river runs through the property a mere hundred feet out. It’s an incredible view.
“Let me show you the path.”
I take Delia’s hand and tug her along behind me down a small path at the end, is a small cleared swath at the water’s edge. In it, two large stumps and one small stump huddle together looking out over the water. Two adults and a kid. I never understood why there were three seats but now, I understand.
“These were here?”
“As long as I’ve been coming.”
A sob rips through her. I take her in my arms and sit on the largest stump to let her cry. My own eyes water, knowing how many times I came here alone to mourn. She clings to me tightly. It feels nice to have someone here with me for once.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“For what?” I peel away to look at her.
She sniffles. “I didn’t think I’d be this emotional. I didn’t think I’d feel this way.”
I shrug as she crawls off my lap and sits next to me, staring out over the river.
“I’m glad you came with me,” she says.
***
When I drop her at home, she’s managed to collect herself and her emotions enough that by the looks of her, you’d never know what a mournful afternoon she had.
Before we locked up and left, she took the photo of Daniel and her mother and then promptly had me slam on the breaks so she could return it—which had made me laugh.
On my drive home, I’d kicked myself for not kissing her goodbye. For not having the balls to ask her out—which I desperately want to do. I want Delia to be mine. I don’t want Danny to have her. I don’t want anyone else to go near her.
Anderson is watching some YouTuber with an annoying voice at ear-shattering decibels in his room across the hall. Mom’s clanging pots and pans around prepping dinner.
Everything’s too loud. I’m wrecked by indecision about calling her. Breathing deeply, pacing my room, I finally find the resolve to call and formally ask her out on a date.