Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Delilah
Awareness floods me with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and something so masculine it makes my stomach clench. Rain splatters against nearby windows. There’s an ache running the length of my cheekbone, up to the shell of my ear. I try to pull away from whatever firm, flat surface I’ve knocked out on, but that surface has arms that tighten when I put the tiniest bit of effort into moving.
“Back to sleep,” Truett groans, his voice thick. “Too early.”
This time when I yank backward, he lets me go. I prop my palms on the hard plane of his chest, arching my back to create space between us. I orient myself, blinking the blur of sleep away to find my father sitting at the table sipping his coffee. He glances up at me and smiles like it’s normal that I’m sprawled over Truett Parker on our living room couch, a spot of my drool seeping through the front of his shirt. Like yesterday never happened.
For a moment I wonder if it did. But if it hadn’t… How else would Truett be beneath me now?
The front door creaks open. Roberta doesn’t knock anymore. Lately her absence is felt more strongly than her presence. That’s how integrated she is in our family. How necessary. I don’t know how I’d make it through the long days without her. How I’d have survived yesterday and calming Dad down in the aftermath, if I didn’t have Roberta.
If I could go back in time and talk with the version of me who thought she could do this alone, I’d laugh in her face. Gently.
Roberta kicks off her rain boots on the porch and steps inside. When her gaze lands on the two of us, an easy smile spreads over her face. “Well, don’t you guys look cozy.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I scramble the rest of the way upward and over, till I’m sitting at the other end of the couch next to Truett’s feet. He grunts when my knee narrowly misses his groin and cracks one eye open. “Careful there; I need those.”
I shoot him a glare. How did I end up asleep in Truett’s arms? The last thing I remember was dragging my blanket out here at half past midnight, telling him I couldn’t sleep for fear that Dad would slip away in the night unnoticed. Truett had tucked his legs in, making room for me at the opposite end of the couch, where I planned to sit vigil the entire night.
He’s staring at me now through the narrow slit of his eyes. He wipes a hand over his tense jaw, and it slackens, his mouth parting into a lazy grin. “Morning, Temptress.”
I elbow the soft underside of his foot and he yelps. “How’d I end up down there, huh?”
“Apparently you’re not the only one who’s irresistible.”
“Funny,” I deadpan.
Roberta empties the remainder of the coffee my dad prepared into a cup and passes it to me as I approach, righting my oversize tee where it had slipped off my shoulder. I hear Truett stretch and groan behind me. The pop of his joints fills the room with the sound of firecrackers. “Are you seriously taking the last of the coffee?” he says.
“Relax, I’m making a fresh batch,” Roberta calls over her shoulder. “I gave her that one because Henry let a few too many grounds slip through.”
Truett laughs. Dad glances up sharply. “I did not!” He peers into his cup, grimacing.
I pour a bit of creamer into my coffee and wrinkle my nose. “You did.”
I feel the heat of Tru before I see him. He steps up behind me and peers over my shoulder at the coffee grounds floating in my mug. One of his hands locks on my hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world to touch me like this, to wake up beside me. And in some ways it is. He fits into my mix-and-match family better than I do most days. I peer down at his hand splayed over the hem of my cotton shorts and remind myself not to imagine his fingers slipping beneath that hem, dusting sensitive skin as he blazes a path to?—
“…speech therapy today. Delilah, are you working?”
“Hm?” I pivot and Truett’s hand slips. I miss it so acutely I can hardly take my next breath, let alone answer Roberta’s question.
Truett coughs to cover a breathy chuckle. When I glance up, I find mirth dancing in his gray eyes.
Roberta glances between the two of us and smirks. “I said, Henry and I are going to speech therapy today, then to a doctor’s appointment. Are you working?”
She and Truett are watching me for an answer. Dad continues to stare at his mug with a frown.
“Er, no.” I step out of Truett’s orbit, hoping a little space will clear my mind. Coffee splatters the sides of the sink as I dump it and rinse the mug. “I haven’t told Cameron yet the surgery’s off. Haven’t exactly had the time.” Or the energy. How do I explain what my mom did to my boss? Or to anyone, for that matter. I can’t even explain it to myself .
“Who’s having surgery?” Dad asks, finally glancing away from his coffee cup.
“Mom was. But she’s not anymore.”
He nods, rolling his lips. “Mom.”
“Kimberly,” I explain.
His gaze flits over my face, like the answer to his problem can be found there. “Do I know Kimberly?”
“Yeah, she was you—” I start.
Roberta cradles my elbow as she steps close, and my voice peters out. I’ll never get used to it. How he can be with me one moment and lost the very next. I lean into Roberta, drawing strength from her calm, and blow out a breath. Let the explanation die on my tongue.
Truett busies himself with gathering his wallet from the counter, his flannel overshirt from the back of the couch. But I can tell by the way his head is tipped, his shoulders taut, that he’s listening as intently as we are to see where my dad goes from here.
“Are you Kimberly?” Dad says. He’s squinting at me. “What surgery are you having?
Roberta squeezes my side. “No surgery anymore, Henry. She’s all better.”
He fills his cheeks with air, shaking his head. “I’m glad. I had surgery once. It fucking sucked.”
Truett covers his mouth with his hand. I laugh despite myself, some of the anxiety rattling loose in my chest.
“Jim did it. He’s not even a surgeon!”
Roberta hands me a fresh cup of coffee, then passes another to Truett. I pour creamer in, relieved to find no grounds come floating up from the depths. “What was Jim, if not a surgeon?”
“A damn insurance salesman.” Dad’s eyes are wide and so, so far away. “But get this, he’s not actually an insurance salesman. He just thought he was. He was actually being filmed secretly for this TV show.”
Metal clambers against granite as I drop my stirring spoon on the counter. “You sure his name wasn’t Truman?”
He snaps his fingers and points at me. “You’re absolutely right. Truman. What a strange guy.”
I fill my mind with the memory of my dad’s happy chatter the night we sat and watched The Truman Show till the sun rose and flooded the room with soft morning light. It takes the sting out of this moment, if only for a second.
“Strange indeed.” I swallow past the knot in my throat. “Are you going to be okay going with Roberta today? I can take you, if you’d like.”
“I can drive my truck,” he says, glancing out the window. His brow furrows. “Where’s my truck?”
I’ve never known my dad to have a truck. I’m still stumbling over that question when Roberta shrugs and, without missing a beat, says, “In the shop. But I’m happy to take you, if that’s okay?” She shakes a few pills from his organizer into her palm and retrieves a yogurt from the fridge. “I’ve also got some meds for you. You weren’t feeling too great last night, and these should help.”
His blue eyes lighten as they land on Roberta. “You’re Lucy’s friend.”
She nods, a sad smile playing on her lips. “I am.”
“Okay,” Dad says, accepting her outstretched offering.
Truett and I let out a held breath simultaneously. I try to catch Tru’s gaze, but blond lashes shield his gray irises from view. He dusts an unseen particle off his jeans and clears his throat. The sound is so rough. So full of unspoken pain.
It’s the simplest moments that rip your heart into pieces. This is one of those.
I sigh, trying to push the ache out on my exhale. My phone vibrates on the counter. I don’t even react. It’s probably another message from my mom, and I’m not in the fucking mood. Don’t know if I ever will be. “Okay. Well, if you two are going, I guess I’ll need the mower, Tru. I can come get it or—hey!”
Truett reaches for my phone and flips it over, gaze scanning the screen. The corner of his mouth curves upward. “Relax, it’s Alicia.” He tosses it to me. “I’ll mow. You go make nice with the locals. You deserve a day off. A real one.”
“You are the locals, and I’ve made nice with you,” I retort, ignoring the way his words make my heart stutter and skip. A day off. When was the last time I had a real one of those?
“Yeah, you have.” His expression turns downright scandalous, and I force my gaze down to my phone to avoid meeting his.
Alicia: Going to the News Room with Tess Monroe—you remember her? Couple years older than us. She just got back into town and I’m done stripping the classroom so we thought we’d let loose with some mimosas.
Alicia: Anyway, that was a weird way to phrase it, but I’m inviting you. I can pick you up in an hour, if you’re not busy?
I glance at Roberta, still too warm in the cheeks to face Truett, and lift an eyebrow. “She wants to go to brunch, but I can totally say no?—”
“Go, Delilah. Have fun.” She smiles softly, an expression meant only for me. “Live your life. That’s why I’m here.”
My teeth clamp down on the inside of my cheek. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. And I’d commit to it before that one changes his mind and makes you mow.” She points over my shoulder with the teaspoon she was using to dump sugar into her coffee.
Tru swallows the sip of coffee he’d taken and smacks his lips. “Now that you mention it, it is really fun to watch her spin in circles when she forgets how to steer.”
“That has never happened. ”
“I thought those were crop circles,” Roberta tuts, ignoring me.
“All right, I’m going.” I fire off a reply to Alicia before I can second-guess myself. “But first I’ve got some laundry to fold. Need a shirt, Dad?”
He shifts in his seat. When our eyes meet, there’s gratitude there, replacing the fear of uncertainty. “That’d be great.”
“Good deal. And Truett.” I point at him, and he splays a hand over his heart in mock surprise. I narrow my gaze. “Try to do a better crop circle, I dare you.”
Amusement glimmers in his eyes. “Challenge accepted.”
Tess has already commandeered a table for us when Alicia and I arrive at the News Room. Of all the mismatched furniture in the place, the one she’s chosen is by far my favorite. Chrome edging, white tabletop, with bright turquoise chairs to complete the vintage feel. Tess suits her seat perfectly, like she dressed knowing it’d be waiting. Cat-eye sunglasses hold back her shoulder-length blonde hair, and she’s paired a gingham-print babydoll blouse with flared jeans to complete the outfit. Her face is small, delicate in a way I’ve never been. She glances up as we approach, green eyes flashing with recognition when they land on me.
“Delilah! You came. What a nice surprise.” She stands, encircling Alicia in a tight embrace. Then it’s my turn, and though I’ve barely spoken two words to her in my life, she offers me a hug that’s equally as familiar. “I ordered a flight of mimosas to share; then we can pick a flavor we like and order our own. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.” Alicia smiles brightly. We slip into the chairs opposite Tess, who lifts the paper napkin she left on the table and sits, spreading it over her lap.
What little I know about Tess has me studying her, checking her confident exterior for cracks. She lost both parents in a car accident when she was a junior and we were freshmen. That was in the spring, and we didn’t see her again until fall. Her grandparents had taken her in so she wouldn’t have to change schools. When she returned, she seemed unchanged. She maintained her spot on the cheerleading squad, and when I passed her in the halls, she was smiling and laughing. I didn’t understand how a grief like that could leave someone so unmarked. Now, as I stare down the possibility of losing my own parent, I wonder if pretending everything was normal was the only way for her to make it through.
The same surly teenager who took our order last time we came saunters up to our table and places a water glass in front of each of us, though his gaze lingers on Tess the entire time. “Do you know what you want to eat?”
Alicia and I exchange a glance. Tess answers for us with a cheery, “Not quite!”
He nods and scuttles away. I watch him retreat to the counter, which I can just see through the widened doorway behind me. A line of waiting customers turn to glance at our table, their expressions as confused as I feel.
“How did you get him to bring your order to your table?” Alicia asks.
Tess shrugs. “He offered.”
My brow furrows. “I didn’t think this was that kind of restaurant.”
“It isn’t, unless you’re Tess, apparently.” Alicia snorts. She pops a straw from its wrapper and drops it into her appointed water glass, which is already sweaty with condensation from the balmy summer morning. “How was Colorado? Do anything fun?”
“Mostly spent time with my uncle, Gary.” Tess’s eyes widen. “Still weird to call him that.”
“Tess recently found out she has an uncle she’s never heard of,” Alicia explains. Her gaze flits back to Tess. “How’d you find him again?”
Tess shrugs. “One of those DNA testing kits. Apparently my grandpa knocked someone up in college and she never bothered to share the news. Gary didn’t even know the man who raised him wasn’t his dad.”
“That’s wild,” I say.
“Right? What’s crazy is, it felt like I’d known him forever.” Her gaze softens, the corners of her mouth drooping. “He reminds me so much of my mom.”
“Did he have a wife? Kids? Do you have a bunch of cousins, too?” Alicia asks.
“No, his wife had already passed, and they didn’t have any kids.” Something in Tess’s expression shifts. “Lots of friends who he treats like his children though.”
Alicia smirks. “Including the guy who was determined to woo you?”
“Yes. That guy was a menace.” Tess waves her hand dismissively. “Gotta give him credit for persistence, I guess.”
I snort. “He sounds like Truett.”
Tess’s gaze shifts to me. “Is that your boyfriend?”
The sip I’d taken catches in my throat, and I cough. “God, no.”
“Truett Parker. His family had that cattle farm off Sowell Mill Road,” Alicia supplies.
The waiter returns, buying me time to clean myself up. The mimosas are a myriad of colors ranging from classic orange to an unnaturally vibrant blue. He places them on the table, narrowly avoiding taking out my water glass.
“Ready yet?” he asks, eyes on Tess.
“Sure.” She sighs, passes him a paper menu she must’ve lifted from the checkout counter, and orders with a charming smile that sends him swooning .
Now I see how we got tableside service.
Alicia and I panic-order from memory, which certainly gives her a leg up, since I’ve only been here once before. The cashier-turned-waiter scrawls it all down on the back of his hand, then disappears to calm the masses waiting at the counter.
“I remember Truett, I think, now that you mention it. Blond hair, dimple, painfully attractive?” Tess giggles, unaware that she’s brought this entire restaurant to a standstill with her beauty.
Now that’s what I call remarkable.
Jealousy sparks in my chest, unwarranted and irrational. I take a sip of the bright blue mimosa—artificially sweet but delicious—to bury that feeling.
Alicia shoulder-bumps me. A smirk stretches her vibrant pink lips. “How are things going with him?”
“Ooooooh.” Tess braces her elbows on the table and perches her chin on folded hands. “Gimme the scoop. Is he as dreamy out of those jeans as he is in them?”
“I thought you didn’t know him,” I quip, stalling. Heat creeps up my neck and shoots down my spine. I shift in my seat, but there’s nowhere for that feeling to go. It settles within me, a permanent fixture these days.
Tess laughs. It’s bright and breathy as a summer breeze. I wish I could be like that, all carefree and unaffected. No one meeting her would ever suspect her past is so marred. Meanwhile I carry mine around on my shoulders, a heavy coat even on a sweltering day like this one. People probably note it immediately as out of place. Note me as out of place. And I reinforce it by isolating myself further.
“I’m terrible with names,” Tess explains. “But I always remember a nice ass in Wranglers.”
I scan her features, each one more perfect than the next. She’s all things feminine and yet simultaneously so confident that she commands the room, even from this corner table. I couldn’t compete with a woman like that on my best day, and after yesterday’s events, I am certainly not at my best.
“Relax.” Tess reaches across the table and smooths her forefinger over the skin between my eyebrows. “I can practically hear those gears in your head working overtime. I’m not interested, just an admirer of fine art. Promise.”
“And besides,” Alicia adds, returning what smells strongly like a lavender mimosa to its slot on the board with a grimace, “Truett has only ever had eyes for you, Delilah.”
Tess claps excitedly, wriggling in her seat. “Oh, I love that! Soulmates!”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I caution. “We’re—” What are we, exactly? More than friends but less than a couple, certainly. We have so much history. But how much future is possible when mine is so unclear? So dependent on my dad’s illness. And when Dad is gone? What happens when it’s time for me to go home?
Where even is home for me anymore, if not in Fly Hollow in that little clapboard house with my father?
“…feeling things out?” Alicia offers. “Did something happen with you two?”
I start to shake my head but pause, grimacing. “We kissed.”
“ What? ” Alicia shouts a little too loudly, while Tess wriggles her fingers together maniacally. The few diners sharing this room with us turn to glare, already irritated with us since we got special service. “Sorry!” Alicia whisper-shouts, shrinking into her shoulders a bit. Her gaze returns to mine and widens. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday. My dad had wandered off and emotions were running really high, so I don’t know how sincere it could possibly be.”
It’s a lie, one I sense the moment it passes over my lips. When I close my eyes, I can still see Truett standing in front of me, telling me he’s never going to walk away. The sincerity in his tone, the heat in his gaze… He may not have truly meant never, but he certainly meant for a long while. For as long as I’m here. Right?
Alicia’s brow furrows. “What happened with your dad?”
Tess’s face has gone blank. All the light that seemed to warm her golden skin a second ago is gone, and she’s pale by comparison.
I recognize her grief. I see it in the mirror all the time.
It helps a little bit, to know she’s not immune. Not perfect. It makes it feel like I don’t have to be either.
“He decided to go for a drive and didn’t tell anyone. Took my keys and drove off while his caretaker was in the bathroom. I was in Pensacola, about to fly home for a surgery my mom lied about having, and had to race back to help find him.” I blow out a long, slow breath. “Just a really bad day all around.”
Tess offers an empathetic smile. Her green eyes are glistening with tears.
Alicia sighs. “Are moms meant to fuck us up? Is that their sole purpose in life?”
“My mom was great,” Tess whispers. Her bottom lip quivers, and she bites down on it with shiny white teeth. “Not to brag or anything, but she really was.”
Alicia reaches across the table and smooths a hand down Tess’s forearm. “That’s not bragging. That’s how it should be.”
Tess sucks in a breath through her nose and leans back in her chair, tucking her hair behind her ear with a ring-laden hand. “What’s wrong with your dad, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“He has dementia,” I explain. “He hasn’t really expressed a desire to go anywhere by himself since I’ve been back, so I never worried about him taking the keys. It was stupid of me.”
“Not stupid,” they correct simultaneously.
Our food arrives. The kid drops mine and Alicia’s plates unceremoniously but offers Tess a nervous smile when placing her avocado toast on the table. She barely glances up as she thanks him. He scurries away, but not before I note the sheen of sweat coating his brow.
“You just broke that boy’s heart,” I say, cutting a bite out of my pancakes. They’re nowhere near as good as mine, but I groan as they melt in my mouth all the same.
Tess glances up, eyes wide. “What’d I do?”
“She doesn’t know the effect she has on people,” Alicia explains, waving her fork. “Don’t change the subject. What are you going to do?”
I nod, remembering the plan we discussed in the quiet of my dark living room while I tried to drift back to sleep. “Keep my keys hidden at all times. I’m thinking about getting a doorbell camera or something installed, too. Just so I feel better.”
Alicia swallows a bite of bacon and chases it with a sip of the normal mimosa. “How long is this sustainable?”
My nose wrinkles. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re twenty-six. How long are you going to be able to live like this? Putting your life on hold to be a 24-7 caretaker?” Alicia asks.
Tess studies me, her eyes kind, and offers a sad smile. Alicia goes on eating like she hasn’t just asked the million-dollar question.
I consider telling her I’m not putting my life on hold at all, but the thought immediately rings as untrue. Aren’t I doing exactly that? Making sure someone’s watching Dad when I can’t. Worrying about him at night. Dealing with his outbursts like they don’t chip away at who I am a little at a time. It’s exhausting, and for a moment I let myself feel it so deeply my bones ache, before shoving it back into the box where I keep those kinds of feelings.
I shrug, hoping it comes off as lighthearted. “My parents put their life on hold to have me. It’s the least I can do.”
“Do you really think he’d want that for you?” Tess asks .
My fork clatters on the glass plate as I drop it. My heart stills, bracing for the pain that line of questioning brings.
Tess sets her fork down too, with more grace than I did. “As someone who lost her parents, I spend a lot of time thinking about what they’d want for me. What kind of life, what kinds of choices.” Her gaze is distant, glossy. “Especially lately. Consider that, and be really honest with yourself. Would your dad want the same life for you that he had? Would he want you to make the same choices?”
“I—” I start, but she holds up a hand.
“No need to tell me,” Tess interjects. “Just think about it, okay? Promise?”
“I promise,” I say, working to breathe around the knot my throat has become. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” Tess punctuates the word with a smile, her confidence shifting back into place. “Now, which mimosa do you ladies hate the most, and why is it the lavender one?”