8. Delia
DELIA
I saw him through the lobby glass before he saw me.
He looked wrecked. I’d never seen Grant look wrecked before.
Seven years and I’d never once seen him look like he hadn’t slept, like he’d forgotten to eat, like something had gotten under his skin and stayed there.
His shirt was pressed but his face wasn’t.
There were shadows under his eyes I could see from twenty feet away.
Roz saw him at the same time I did.
“Oh, hell no,” she said.
She was already moving. I caught her arm.
“Roz.”
“Delia, I swear to God?—”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t get to just show up here?—”
“I know,” I said again. “But it’s mine. I’m handling it.”
She looked at me. Then she looked at him. Then she looked back at me and I watched her decide.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m right here.”
“I know.”
I let go of her arm and walked to the door.
He straightened when I pushed it open. Like he’d been waiting for me to notice him but hadn’t been sure I would.
“Delia,” he said.
His voice was rough. Tired. I’d heard him tired before but never like this. Never where I could actually hear it.
“Not here,” I said.
I turned and walked back inside. I didn’t look to see if he followed. I could hear his footsteps behind me.
I led him past the rink, past the benches where parents were starting to gather for the ten o’clock session, past the skate rental and the vending machines and into the hallway near my office. It wasn’t private but it was quieter. The boards muffled the sound from the ice.
I stopped and turned around.
He looked worse up close.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I waited.
“I should have been there Thursday. I should have called you back. I should have—” He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About what I’ve been doing. And you’re right.”
I still didn’t say anything.
“I talked to the city,” he said. “Yesterday. I can have the Ashbury transferred outright by Friday. Deed in your name. The guarantee removed, my name off it entirely. It’s yours. No lease, no city involvement, just yours.”
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“I’ve already started the paperwork,” he said. “Frank’s handling it. It’ll be done by the end of the week.”
“Grant—”
“I know it doesn’t fix everything,” he said quickly.
“I know that. But I want you to have it. I want you to have the thing you’ve been working for.
And I want—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I want you to come home. Sunday. We can talk then. Really talk. I’ll clear the whole day.
And we can go away in February. A week. Anywhere you want. I’ll make the time.”
He looked at me like he was handing me something.
Like he’d solved it.
“Just give me six weeks, Delia,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
The words hit me like cold water.
I’d said that. Almost exactly that. I’d said those exact words to him and he’d said no.
I looked at him and I knew he didn’t hear it. Didn’t recognize the shape of his own answer in his mouth. He thought he was giving me something.
He was. That was the worst part. He was giving me everything he had.
It just wasn’t the right thing.
“You don’t see it,” I said.
“See what?”
“The building was already mine, Grant.”
He blinked. “I know. I’m making it?—”
“It was already mine,” I said again. “I’ve been saving for three years. You signed the guarantee nine years ago. I’ve been running it for seven. It’s been mine the whole time. You’re offering me something that was never yours to give.”
“Delia, I’m trying to?—”
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
I felt something crack open in my chest. Something that had been holding itself together for too long.
“The centennial,” I said. “Do you remember the centennial?”
He frowned. “Of course.”
“Corinne told me my building was a beautiful little building. She said it was wonderful the city kept something like that going for the neighbourhood. She said it must be so satisfying, work like that. No pressure at all.”
I watched his face.
“She said it in front of people,” I said. “And I said your name. Out loud. Once. And you didn’t turn around.”
“Delia—”
“Thursday,” I said. “Six a.m. The good ice. I told the kids you were coming so they came early. Connor asked me whether my husband was still coming. Do you know what that felt like?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Friday I sent you a message,” I said. My voice was shaking now but I didn’t stop. “I said I wasn’t angry. I said I was scared. I asked you for one hour. I said please. I said for me. Do you remember what you said back?”
“I had a working session?—”
“With Corinne,” I finished. “You had a working session with Corinne and a call with Frank and the close was in eleven days. You’d call me when you could.”
I was crying now. I didn’t try to hide it.
“And the folder,” I said. “You went into my study. You used the spare key and you went into the one room in that house that was mine and you put house listings on top of my notebook. Three years of my savings and you didn’t even look at it. You just put listings on top of it and left.”
“I thought?—”
“You thought you’d find us something better,” I said. “I know. But you didn’t ask. You didn’t ask about any of it. Not once. Not ever.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
“Corinne never had to ask,” I said.
The words hung there.
“She said one thing about my building and you thanked her for being thoughtful,” I said. “She needed your time and you gave it to her. She needed you to listen and you did. And when she said my life was small, you agreed with her.”
“I didn’t?—”
“You did,” I said. “You defended me but you agreed with her. You let her set the terms and you argued inside them. And that’s the part I can’t?—”
My voice broke. I made myself finish.
“That’s the part I can’t get past,” I said. “Not that you were with her. That you agreed with her.”
He was staring at me like I’d hit him.
“I’m not buying you off,” he said finally. “That’s not what this is.”
“I know.”
“Then what do you want me to?—”
“You’re giving me line items,” I said. “The building by Friday. Home by Sunday. A week in February. Six weeks and the close and deliverables and milestones. You’re treating this like a deal. Like something you can structure.”
“I’m trying to give you what you want?—”
“You’re trying to schedule me,” I said. “The same way you’ve been scheduling me for years. And I’m telling you I don’t fit on your calendar any more.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I don’t want the building because you bought it,” I said. “I don’t want a week away in February. I don’t want six weeks. I don’t want a cleared Sunday or a working session or a call you’ll make when you can. I don’t want any of it.”
“Then what do you want?”
His voice was raw. Desperate.
“What would fix it?” he asked. “Just tell me. What would it take?”
I looked at him. At his wrecked face and his pressed shirt and his hands that didn’t know where to go.
“After all these years,” I said quietly, “you should know what I want without having to ask me about it.”
I stepped back and opened the office door. Held it.
He stared at me.
“Delia—”
“You don’t have a key to this building,” I said. “And I need to get back to work.”
He looked like I’d taken something from him he didn’t know how to live without.
Maybe I had.
But I wasn’t the woman who’d been on Roz’s floor four days ago. I wasn’t the woman who’d begged for an hour. I wasn’t asking for anything any more.
I was just standing in the doorway of my building, holding the door, waiting for him to leave.
He left.
I closed the door behind him. Stood there for a second with my hand on the handle. Then I turned around and walked back toward the ice.
The next session was warming up. Maya was working on her crossovers. Lily was stretching at the boards. Connor waved when he saw me.
I waved back.
Then I picked up my clipboard and went to work.