Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Delilah
“Please remind me never to store spaghetti sauce in a white container again,” I grumble. The soiled Tupperware is the first thing I see when I open the dishwasher. A deep red stain stares up at me defiantly from the base of the bowl. “Or if I do, only let me store it in this container, since it’s already ruined.”
When I get no response, I peer into the living room to find Dad has drifted off to sleep, mouth gaping, with a dark spot of drool forming on the Ridgefield Family throw pillow he’s propped on. I laugh softly, padding across the room to gather the quilt from the back of the couch and spread it over him. Without thinking, I press a kiss to his forehead.
“Night, Dad,” I whisper.
He stirs, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening for a moment, before his face relaxes back into restful bliss.
The low hum of conversation coming from the television accompanies Dad’s muffled snores as the only sounds in the house. The sun sits low in the west field, casting a warm glow over Truett’s land and spilling onto the hardwood floors through the window. There’s still an hour or so till it sets completely, but already there are hints of pink and purple streaking the sky. It’s always been my favorite part of summer, that the days seem so endless. So full of promise.
My phone buzzes on the countertop, dragging my attention away from the fields. A text from Mom pops up beneath a notification that I’ve missed a call from her. I squint, not entirely believing my eyes. Normally her silent treatments last a lot longer than two days. One time, after I chose a business degree instead of attending the flight attendant program for Delta Airlines that she suggested, she made it a whole three weeks. It would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so depressing.
Mom
Call me ASAP. I’m at the hospital.
Panic lances through me. My heart seizes. I glance over my shoulder at Dad, reassuring myself he’s actually asleep, then step out onto the porch, careful to avoid the tattletale floorboard by the door.
Before the first ring has finished, Mom answers, breathless, “Oh, thank God.”
“What’s going on?” I grip the wooden railing to hold myself steady. Breaths come in thin, rapid puffs. “Are you okay?”
“I fell.” Her voice warbles. “I’m waiting on the X-rays now, but the doctor said it looks like I broke it.”
“Broke what?” My mind goes straight to her hips. Though I know she’s only in her forties, it just goes hand in hand. Parents falling equals hips breaking. Next stop, motorized chair lift on the stairs.
“My ankle!” she wails. “I don’t know why I ever let Debbie talk me into that damn hike. I have not been athletic my entire life. Why on earth would I start now?”
“Your… ankle? ”
“Yes, Delilah. My ankle. I fell down a slick spot and twisted it something awful, and now it’s swollen to the size of a grapefruit. I swear. I’ll text you a picture.”
“You don’t have to—” I start, but my phone is already buzzing. Sure enough, her ankle is a gnarly shade of purple and a few sizes too big. But it’s an ankle. My pulse stalls. Heat fills my cheeks. I pull in a deep breath and blow it out. “Mom, I was worried something terrible happened to you.”
For a beat too long, the only sound is a distant monitor beeping and the low hum of chatter in what I assume is the emergency department.
Then, “Do you remember when you broke your wrist?”
I bite my lip, letting a sigh flow through the gap. “Yes.”
“And how did it feel, huh? I seem to remember you were in a terrible amount of pain.”
I wince, pressing the pad of my thumb to my throbbing temple. “I get what you’re saying, but typically when someone says to call them ASAP because they’re at the hospital, there’s been a heart attack or a car accident or…”
“Or a dementia diagnosis?” Her tone is clipped. Knowing. We’ve circled right back to our conversation two days ago, and we’re no closer to common ground. “How come when it concerns Henry, it’s an emergency, but my pain isn’t good enough for you to bother with?”
“I didn’t say that at all.”
She scoffs. “For your information, they’re talking about surgery options. This type of break could put me in a boot for over a month.”
I flop onto the porch swing. The chain groans under my weight. I want to echo the sound, but I bite the inside of my cheek hard, tamping down the temptation. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I hate that this happened to you.”
A low male voice calls her name distantly, and then the sound of a hand muffling the speaker scrapes my ears. I empty my lungs. I try so hard to push the guilt out with it, but it simmers in my stomach, unwilling to be expelled.
She releases the speaker, and the sound of her world comes rushing in. “How soon can you be here?”
My racing thoughts falter, then freeze in place. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll need your help post-surgery.”
“So you are having surgery?”
She goes on like I haven’t spoken. “If I buy you a flight, can you be here Monday morning? You can use my car while you’re here so you don’t have to drive all that way. Unless you’d like to drive. This could be a good time to transition care for your dad to something more permanent…”
“Mom, what are you talking about?” I lurch forward, elbows stabbing into my knees, and bury my head in my hands. “There’s no transitioning of care. I’m the permanent care. And I can’t just up and leave. When is your surgery? How long will you need me?”
“You up and left for him.”
Swallowing takes effort. My throat is dry and sticky, my hands trembling. It’s too much to think about. Too many directions I’m being stretched in. I feel paper-thin. So easily torn. But she’s my mother, and she’s right. I came when Dad needed me. I’m all she has to depend on. How can I offer her anything less?
“I have to work a few things out before I can say for sure, but I’ll try, Mom. I’d need to arrange for someone to stay here with Dad, I think. I have to ask Roberta what her opinion is. Some nights are fine, but I don’t even know how long I’d be gone, and?—”
“You know, when your nana couldn’t be alone overnight, that’s when we started looking for a facility.”
“ He’s not going to a facility. ” The words are finely ground by my teeth. I sigh heavily. She doesn’t need vehemence right now. She’s hurting. What she needs is my help. “I’ll figure it out. Just send me the info on your surgery and I’ll let you know when I have an answer.”
I hear another voice, this one familiar. Debbie must be there with her. Relief courses through me that she’s not alone at the hospital, at least. But Debbie has her own family, with two kids still at home. She can’t stay with Mom and take care of her after surgery. That’s my job. And I don’t wish it wasn’t, I just wish it came at a different time. Or that I could tear myself in two and take care of them both.
It’s one of the few times I’ve wished for a sibling.
“I’ll send you flight options. I’ve got to go; they need my pharmacy information. I love you, baby. I know you’ll do what’s right.”
She ends the call, but her words linger. They’re intentionally heavy-laden, a weapon she’s always known how to wield. It weighs on me, compressing me like a closed fist until I’m standing, gasping for air. I want to be free of it all for just one fucking second. To remember what it was like when the only burdens I carried were my own.
Before I can second-guess myself, I pull up Truett’s contact and send him a message, my thumbs hitting the screen rapid fire. To my surprise, he answers immediately.
Me
If I say I’m sorry, will you allow me access to the river?
Truett
Sorry for what?
I pause, weighing my thoughts. I dole out what feels like enough, without laying it on so thick it’s unbelievable. I am sorry. Sorry that I took things further than I should’ve.
Me
Sorry for making a mistake.
He must pause too, because his next message takes forever to arrive, and I bite off half my fingernails while waiting.
Truett
That spot is as much yours as it is mine, Temptress. You don’t need my permission or forgiveness.
Me
…but can I have it anyway?
Truett
Sure, you little rule follower. You have my permission.
Me
And your forgiveness?
Truett
That too.
Three dots appear and then fade. Appear and then fade. I stare, completely rapt, wishing I could pull the thoughts from him like a loose thread. Like I could unravel all the tension between us so easily.
His message appears, and my cheeks flush.
Truett
Want company?
The image of him, water droplets pooling in the valleys of his abdomen, pops into my mind. I wet my lips, sucking in a sharp breath. I’m not sure if it’s hope or anxiety causing the tremors in my hands when I type out my reply.
Me
Will you keep your underwear on?
Truett
You’ll have to wait and see. ;)
Nervous laughter rattles my chest. I press the phone to my stomach and breathe deep, trying to calm myself. Energy crackles through me anyway. I’m tired. I’m upset. I’m turned on. And underneath it all, I’m still unsure of him. It’s a maddening combination. How do I face him, knowing what almost happened between us last? More importantly, how do I face him if he’s naked?
You could be naked, too, the more salacious part of my brain suggests.
I shake my head. The thoughts are still there, clamoring around, but I force myself to ignore them. To open the door and check on my father. To write him a note letting him know where I’ll be and place it on the side table next to the couch. And when I finally feel at least partially in control, I fire off a reply, letting Truett know I’ll meet him there.
Truett
Need a ride?
Me
No, I’ll take the exercise. I need the time to think.
Truett
About…?
Me
Mom called.
Truett
10-4. I’ll bring drinks.
Me
Bless you.
I’m already to his property line by the time I send the last text. I tuck the phone into my back pocket and lift my head, filling my lungs with hot evening air that’s as thick as syrup. I will it to clear my mind—and my body—of so many unwanted feelings. It’s got about twenty minutes to do its job.
When I arrive in the clearing, sweat pools in all my crevices, leaving me sticky. It doesn’t help that Tru’s shirt is already off. He’s laid out in the shade of the willow tree, using his wadded-up T-shirt as a pillow. His straw cowboy hat covers his face. The sun is fading fast, casting an orange glow through the meadow. It glistens on his exposed chest, slick with sweat and though pale compared to his tanned arms, still golden from days where he works the fields just like this.
Shirtless.
His breath is slow and even. I envy that—the ability to fall asleep so quickly and on just about any surface this earth has to offer. I also envy the light. Spools of gold settle on ridges of muscle where they’ve slipped through gaps in the willow’s branches. A precocious flash of orange illuminates the path of the V-shaped muscles carving his lower abdomen, then disappearing beneath the waistband of his Wranglers. I want to trace them with my tongue. Taste the sweat there. Savor that delicious orange light.
“You’re drooling.”
My jaw slackens. “You’re awake? ”
He sits up, propping himself on two hands braced behind him. It pulls his biceps taut. His hat falls to the side, and I’m left with Truett. Bare and unfiltered. His golden hair falls over his forehead. There’s a smudge of dirt on his freckled nose. A smirk perched on his lips.
You’re beautiful, I almost blurt out. I bite my tongue.
“How was the walk?”
I struggle to remember how to walk, but I do manage. I put one wobbly foot in front of the other, closing the distance between us. “Helpful in some ways.”
“And in others?” One eyebrow pulls up, wrinkling his sun-kissed forehead. He reaches into the cooler beside him and retrieves a beer, which he opens, then offers to me.
“Thanks.” I take a long pull of the ice-cold liquid, letting it soothe the heat rising in me. Or hoping it does. “Turns out, no matter how long you think about problems, they still exist when you’re done.”
He offers a sympathetic frown as he rises to his feet, dusting his hands on his thighs once he’s up. “Yeah, ain’t that a bitch.” He grabs a beer for himself. The cap flies off, lost forever in the tall grass beyond the willow’s reach. “Do you want to talk about it? Or does that fall under the same sad truth, that it still exists even after we’ve dissected it to the bone?”
I weigh my options. Even if that is the sad truth of it all, I realize I don’t want to be alone in my thoughts anymore. “Mom called.”
He nods. “You mentioned that.”
“She broke her ankle, and it apparently needs surgery.”
The bottle stills at his lips. Drops slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she going to be okay?”
“I guess so, but she wants me to fly home to help with her recovery.”
“When’s the surgery? ”
I scrub a hand over my elbow and shift my weight. “Not sure. I don’t think it was scheduled yet. But she mentioned something about Monday.”
His gray eyes settle on me, tracing the lines of my face. I hear his voice in my head calling me remarkable, and heat flares in my cheeks. I can reason away the kiss we shared beneath this tree all those years ago. He wanted to practice before his date with Molly Evans. I wanted to know if his lips were as soft as I’d always dreamed. Friends help friends. But do friends call their friends remarkable? Do they look at them like they are?
“Do you want to go?”
Heat flares in my cheeks. I’d drifted somewhere far off course, and it’s a rude awakening to return. Part of me doesn’t want to. I take another pull of the beer while holding his gaze, then lick the remnants from my lips. Energy hums beneath the surface of my skin when I catch him looking. When he licks his, too.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But I don’t want to think about it anymore. Got enough of that on the walk over.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle. “You know what can help with that?”
I chug the remaining beer, refusing to answer his question. Mostly because I know what I’m hoping he’ll say, and I don’t want that hope to color the sound of my voice.
“That’s right, skinny-dipping. ”
I set the bottle by my foot and then grab another. I remove the cap while looking Tru in the eye. “I’ll skinny-dip on one condition.”
A smile takes over his face, revealing sharp canine teeth in a flash of white against his bronzed skin. “I knew I’d win you over eventually.”
“Aren’t you going to ask what my condition is?”
His hand is already at his fly. “What’s your condition? ”
“Underwear stays on.” I toss back the beer, my throat working to get it down. When it, too, is empty, I discard it at my feet and kick off my shoes.
His gaze darkens along with the setting sun. “What if I’m not wearing any?”
“Truett!” I throw a sock at him, which he dodges easily.
“What?” His hands fly up, the picture of innocence. “You texted while I was out in the field, and I came right here. Not a lot of time to go back for boxers.”
“Why weren’t you wearing any in the first place?”
He shrugs, returns his hands to his fly, and pops the button free. “It’s laundry day.”
“All right, new condition.” I twirl my finger, gesturing for him to turn around. “No peeking.”
He does as instructed. I swallow hard. His jeans are tight against the sinful curve of his ass, the long planes of his muscular thighs. The boots come off, followed by his socks. He loops his fingers in his waistband and tugs it down just enough that I can see his tan line when he stops, glancing over his shoulder. “That rule goes both ways, missy.”
I spin before he can see the look of pure lust on my face.
I make quick work of my clothes, not allowing myself time for second-guessing. A cool evening breeze rushes in to kiss my skin, pebbling my nipples as my bra drops to the ground. I’m left with my thumbs hooked in my underwear, eyeballing the distance from here to the river’s edge. “Hey, Tru?”
“Yeah?”
“How are we gonna get to the river without seeing each other?”
He thinks for a second. A heartbeat, really. And then I hear footsteps thudding against the earth followed by a whoop of joy and turn just in time to catch a glimpse of his bare ass before he disappears beneath the dark surface with a splash .
I scramble to rip off my underwear and follow behind him, hoping I can make it in the time he takes to resurface. My heart is in my throat, pumping so hard my pulse echoes in my ears. I make a running leap. My lungs seize around my last breath. Cool water rushes up to meet me, swallowing me whole.
I come up gasping, giggling, spraying water. “Oh my God, it’s cold! ”
“Excellent form. Ten out of ten.”
My mouth forms a perfect O. I throw water in his direction, which he dodges. “You looked!”
“You wish,” he chides, winking.
That wink does something to me. Or maybe it’s the sensation of water flowing over my bare skin—every inch of it—that has me heating from the inside out. I dunk myself, smoothing a hand through my hair. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. There’s no version of me I could picture doing this. Not the careful, responsible daughter who picked up her life to move back here and care for her father. The same one who is now torn over whether to do the same for her mom. Certainly not the shy high school girl who was in love with the man standing naked in the water a mere ten feet away.
But I’m here. Living my life. Doing something just because I want to.
When I resurface, Truett’s not looking. His head is tilted back, capturing the last purple rays of light on the column of his throat. The sky is already filling with stars, tiny pinpricks of light that flood the darkness in the east sky. I wonder if he’s looking at them. If he’s searching for his mother.
I swirl my fingertips over the glassy surface of the water, disturbing the reflection of that twilight sky. I’m in the deepest part of the river, where the water reaches my collarbones. Tru has remained in the shallow end, looking like a statue in this pose. I’d almost believe he was if it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest in time with his breathing.
“Tru?”
His eyes drift closed. Does he grimace? Or is it a trick of the light? “Yeah?”
“How did you forgive your mom?”
Our gazes meet. Twin wrinkles appear between his eyes, which are wrought with an intensity that pierces my chest. “For the affair?”
I shake my head. How do I explain what I mean? I’m not concerned with the result, but the trigger. Not the side effect or even the medicine that caused it, but the disease it was meant to cure. Like the way my parents were never truly happy. Or the way his dad treated his mom.
“For marrying your dad in the first place.”
His blink is slow. Measured. His voice the same. “I lost her. Once she was gone, all that stuff—the anger at how he treated her, the resentment that she stayed. Even the fact that her choices cost me you.” His throat works over some unseen knot, and I trace the movement with my gaze, unable to look away even for a second. “It seemed so insignificant in the face of losing her.”
And now I’m losing my dad. Is that what makes it easier to forgive the part he played in all this? Or is it because I feel a kinship to him, floating weightless in the river as I fully admit to myself the feelings I’ve held captive for this particular Parker for my whole life. The ones that never really left. Perhaps a weakness for them is genetic. A trait I inherited from my father.
“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” I whisper. “And for almost kissing you.”
He takes a step closer. The water moves around his hips reverently, like it’s an honor to touch him. My heart cries that it would be.
“Are you? ”
“Am I what?”
“Sorry.” He says it flatly, like I should know this.
I blink. “I just said I was.”
“But why? Why be sorry, when we’re two adults who clearly have feelings for each other. What’s there to be sorry for?”
I suck in a breath and hold it till it burns my lungs. Setting it free does nothing to shake the nerves out of me. “You don’t have feelings for me, Truett. You’re just lonely and I’m around and we’re stuck in this emotionally heightened situation together with my dad. But don’t worry. It’ll pass.”
He presses his lips together. “Do you know why I call you Temptress?”
The change in subject tilts me off axis. I adjust my footing, hoping it’ll land me on solid ground. “Because your grandfather being a pastor gave you a complex about Bible stories?”
“No. Because I have always been tempted by you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t be. When you were my best friend. The child of the man my mom cheated with.” His chin dips, and his voice becomes a low baritone. “Even when you hated me. I tried to stay away, to protect you?—”
“To protect me? How?”
“I didn’t want to make things worse for you, start even more horrible rumors. After we kissed… Delilah, I have always wanted you with every ounce of my heart, of my body. But kissing you made it unbearable to keep pretending you were only a friend. And then, because of our parents, a friend was all you could be. But even all this time that has passed changed nothing for me. You’re still so impossible to resist.”
He takes another step closer, and I cannot move. I’m so close to falling off the edge of the only universe I’ve ever known. The one where I want Truett more than oxygen and he’s seen me as nothing more than a friend.
“You can’t say things like that to me, Tru. ”
“And why not?”
My voice registers just above a whisper, so soft I’m certain the chorus of insects filling the night air will drown me out. “Because I might believe them.”
He’s right in front of me now. So close that if I looked down, I’d see everything. So close that I can’t look anywhere but at his face.
“Do you want to know the truth?”
“Yes,” I breathe. More than anything.
His hand cradles my jaw. The soft pad of his thumb brushes my bottom lip. I’m still as a statue, afraid to fracture this moment by taking too deep a breath, by opening my mouth wider to invite him inside.
“I want you to believe them. I want to embed myself in your heart, become as vital to you as breathing. I’m tired of pretending like I haven’t thought about you every day since you left. To pretend I haven’t imagined you exactly like this.” His gaze rakes over my face, and his chin dips closer, closing the distance between us till I can feel my breasts brush against his ribs and we both inhale sharply. Something like a growl resonates deep in his chest. “Delilah, I dream of what it would be like to taste you.”
“You’ve kissed me before.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I’m not talking about kissing you.”
I shake my head. “Truett, I?—”
“I gave you your space.” He swallows thickly, pain flashing in his gaze. “But I needed to let you know how I feel. How I’ve always felt. No more wondering. No more hiding. I said it was a mistake because I knew it felt that way to you, but Delilah? The only mistake I made was not kissing you anyway, Ollie be damned.” He gives me the world’s saddest smile. “There. Now you know everything. The ball is in your court.”
Everything. Everything except how to let go of the hurt that still feels so near to me. Everything except how to be enough for everyone who depends on me, let alone for him.
“I’m getting cold,” I whisper. A shiver runs through me for emphasis. Coarse chest hair scrapes my nipples, stealing the breath from my lungs. I want nothing more than to rise up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. To see if he’s as passionate a lover as his words lead me to believe. But I can’t. Not with so much uncertainty left between us. So much fear.
Shutters close on his eyes. He steps back, and I feel his absence like a knife through my sternum. My lungs burn; my ribs crack. On instinct I reach for his hand. Capture it between mine. He studies me, brow furrowed, as I place his calloused palm over my pounding heart.
“I don’t know how to do this.” My voice is shredded. Stripped down to bare bones. His thumb moves absently over my skin like he can soothe the ache this way. And perhaps he can. “But I’m trying. There are things I don’t know how to let go of. How to forget.”
He smiles, and it’s the saddest expression I’ve ever seen in my life. Upturned mouth, downturned eyes. Parentheticals that could break your heart. That do.
“I can be patient.”
Tears finally spill from my eyes. He doesn’t make a move to wipe them away. He simply lets them exist. Lets me exist. And for that I’m grateful.
“Let’s get you home, okay?”
I nod. “I need to call my mom.”
His expression turns to stone, or a close cousin of it. He glances above me to the tree line. “Whatever you decide to do, I support you. If you need me to stay with Henry, just say the word. You need a ride to the airport, I’m your guy.” His firm gaze returns to mine. “You need me to tell her to fuck off, I’m also your guy. ”
A sharp chuckle cuts from my lungs. “Got it.”
He leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead. I’m surrounded by the scent of fresh water and the wide-open sky and him. I suddenly wonder how I ever breathed another type of air.
“Come on, Temptress.”
This time I don’t correct him.