Delilah
Present Day
Tap tap tap tap tap. My pen hits the paper at an unsustainable rhythm.
I stare at the blank sheet resting on my bent knees, but the words won’t come.
My uterus cramps again so I adjust the hot water bottle, which is now only warm at best. The first day is always the worst—heavy and aching, both physically and emotionally.
Every period I’ve ever had—aside from the very first one—has been a painful reminder of the fact that I’m not pregnant.
Even now, I can’t help but feel that all-too familiar disappointment.
But, if I really think about it, I only feel sad because it’s what I’ve always felt, what I’m supposed to feel.
If I’m completely honest with myself, I’m not disappointed at all.
I’m relieved. Being pregnant right now is the last thing I need.
Being pregnant with Gabriel’s baby—a man who I thought I knew but I’m rapidly learning is not the person I once believed him to be—would be even worse.
The first few times I had to tell Gabriel I wasn’t pregnant he was indifferent.
Next month, he would say dismissively. I started taking ovulation tests, then would initiate sex on my fertile days, ensuring he would finish inside me, just as I was trained.
I would take a pregnancy test as soon as I possibly could, crying quietly in the bathroom when only one line would appear.
Month after month, year after year.
One line.
Negative.
No baby.
Testing.
Inconclusive results.
There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to conceive. Just relax. Take these supplements. Keep your legs up afterwards.
Gabriel only became more and more cruel with each passing year that I didn’t produce him any children. Memories of the times he would insist on having sex with me—even when I was bleeding and cramping—resurface. He never said so, but now I’m wondering if it was his way of punishing me somehow.
I think at some point I became numb to it all. I became the wife with no children. Purposeless. A failure. At least, that’s what I believed until recently. Now, I’m not so sure.
Maverick’s kindness this morning, his gentleness and understanding, only serve to further confuse me.
Instead of treating me like I was a failure, he helped me with the dirty sheets and tucked me back into bed to rest. He reassured me that I’m normal.
He’s the most nurturing man I’ve ever met, and I’m finding that to be an extremely attractive quality.
He takes care of everyone around him with such authenticity, but I can’t help but wonder, who takes care of him?
I clear away any lingering thoughts of the Rebel leader and get back to the task at hand.
Mom, I write at the top of the page. There, that wasn’t so hard.
There are a thousand things I could say, but it would take pages and pages to catch her up on the last thirteen years. So instead, I settle on the most important details.
I’m safe.
I love you.
Delilah
I fold the paper in thirds and write Elizabeth on the front. I have no idea if or how it will actually get to her, but I hope Maverick can find a way. I stand and walk over to the desk, placing the paper there before lying back down in the bed.
It’s been a few months since my last cycle, and I forgot how fatigued it makes me. I close my eyes, allowing myself to rest. I don’t know at what point I started to feel safe here, but my body is undoubtedly more relaxed than it has been in ages.
???
Pine and citrus fill my nose as I feel someone gently caress my cheek. “Mrs. Sinclair.”
I force my eyelids open, still groggy. Maverick’s looking down at me, his brows pulled down in a slight frown. “I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep.”
He pulls his hand back from my cheek, and I find myself disappointed at the loss of contact. “Don’t apologize. Your body needed rest.”
I stretch and sit up, trying to gauge the time by the amount of light coming through the canvas. “What time is it?”
Maverick looks at his wristwatch. “A little after noon. How are you feeling?”
My lower abdomen still feels heavy, but it’s not outright painful like it was this morning. Again, I’m struck by his genuine concern for me. “Better. Thank you.”
“I have someone who would like to meet you, if you’re feeling up for it.”
I try to hide my shock, but I’m sure it’s written all over my face. “Someone wants to meet me?”
Maverick stands from his squatting position and holds his hand out for me to take. “I apologize in advance for any jokes you’re forced to laugh at.”
I reach my arm up and he grasps my hand firmly, pulling me to my feet with ease.
His hand is rough and calloused—so unlike Gabriel’s—and I have the strangest urge to study and trace the lines on his palms. Reluctantly, I force myself to release his hand and cross my arms instead. “Color me intrigued.”
He leads me out of the tent, noticing the camp is buzzing with activity. Around the Hub, people are talking and laughing animatedly. I look at Maverick, who must see the question in my eyes.
“Supply runs always get people excited,” he explains.
“Ah.” I can’t blame them, honestly. Everyone here lives with the bare minimum—maybe even less—so anything new would feel like Christmas morning.
I spot Bec on the outskirts of the Hub, speaking to an older man who I’ve never seen before. She notices me and waves me over. “Della!”
I look at Maverick once again, who jerks his chin in their direction. “Right behind you.”
I weave through bodies and supplies until I get to Bec. “Della, this is Papa Joe.”
Maverick’s dad, I realize. It’s easy to tell now that I’m looking at him closer. They have the same strong jaw and high cheekbones, but Joe has fine lines around his eyes and mouth and his hair is thinning. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I extend my hand toward him.
He shakes my hand gently. “The pleasure’s mine.”
Bec loops me into their conversation. “I was just telling Joe my thoughts on the book I just finished.”
“Oh,” I say, unsure of what else to say.
“Rebecca is a part of my wife’s book club,” Joe explains. “I bring her books whenever I can and she tells me her thoughts to share with the group.”
“That sounds fun,” I offer.
“Anyway,” Bec continues. “You can tell Susan she needs to stop picking books where the author only uses euphemisms for male anatomy. I don’t need to read about manhood or shafts—just say cock, for fuck’s sake.”
I choke on my own spit, sputtering for air. Bec thumps me on the back a few times, laughing all the while. I finally recover, glaring at her. “I’m sorry,” I apologize. “Your wife’s book club reads erotic novels?”
Joe shrugs, his own smile mischievous. “Romance novels,” he clarifies.
Bec nudges me with her elbow. “Aside from the author’s overuse of euphemisms, it’s actually pretty good. I’ll loan it to you.” She winks at me, and my face blushes furiously.
As if my cheeks weren’t already a bright enough shade of red, Maverick chooses this exact moment to appear beside me. “I see you’ve met my father, Joseph.”
I avoid his gaze. “We were just getting acquainted.”
Someone nearby saves me from any further discussion of erotica. “Joe brought the good stuff!” they shout, holding up a bottle of whiskey.
Everyone cheers, except for Maverick, who groans. “Dad.”
Joe shrugs with a cheeky grin. “What? You all deserve to have a night of fun.”
“Last time you brought whiskey we almost set the forest on fire,” Maverick reminds him.
His father waves him off. “Psh. Just don’t start a bonfire this time.”
Maverick gives him a half-hearted glare as Bec wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. He sighs, relenting. “Fine.”
Everyone heads out of the Hub, presumably to start the party, but the tent is a bit of a disaster.
With the promise of a good time, the rest of the unpacking is forgotten, supplies strewn haphazardly all over the tables.
Last time I drank too much I threw up, so I don’t have any plans to indulge tonight.
I start with the nearest table, organizing the new materials into neat piles.
Maverick notices I’m staying behind and locks eyes with me. “You don’t have to do that.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I actually enjoy organizing. It’s relaxing.”
Joe steps up beside me. “I’ve always said the same thing about gardening. It’s nice to get lost in a simple task.”
I look over and offer him a small smile. “Exactly.”
Maverick hesitates, until a loud bang reaches our ears and he rolls his eyes. “I swear to god, these kids need constant supervision.”
Joe chuckles. “Go ahead, son. We’ve got things handled here.”
Maverick looks at me, silently asking if I’m good. Somehow, we’re able to communicate without even speaking after only a few days of knowing each other. The realization fills me with a strange warmth.
I nod, so he turns and jogs toward the group of rowdy camp occupants who are indeed starting a bonfire and passing around the whiskey bottles, not even bothering with cups. I find myself staring at him from afar, admiring his quiet strength, the authority he exudes by simply being present.
“So,” Joe says, startling me. I had forgotten he was standing next to me. “You seem like you’re adjusting well.”
I laugh humorlessly. “I didn’t really have a choice.”
“You’ll return to New Athens, then? To your husband?” he asks, folding clothes and sorting them into piles.
A thought occurs to me: if Maverick and Gabriel grew up together, Joe must’ve known Gabriel too, from before. “Did you know Gabriel when he was friends with Maverick?”
“Of course,” he replies. “They were inseparable as kids. Though their falling out was warranted, from what Maverick has shared with me.”
I swallow. “He told me what happened.”
Joe sighs, a deep sadness in the sound. “Even the best men can fall victim to the allure of power.”
“Maverick didn’t,” I say.
A small, proud smile graces his face. “No. He didn’t.”
“Do you worry?” I ask, my eyes finding Maverick again among the partygoers. He laughs and takes a swig from the whiskey bottle, apparently having warmed up to the idea of a little fun.
“Every day.” Joe’s gaze follows mine. “But I know he’s where he needs to be to accomplish his goal.”
I turn my attention back to Joe. “And what goal is that?”
His eyes bore into mine. “To save as many people as he can.”
I bite my lip. “Can I ask you a question, Joseph?”
He smiles at me. “Fire away.”
“Would you think me a terrible person if I decided not to return to Gabriel?”
“Do you love him?”
“I…” It’s the first time I’ve questioned my love for my husband, but we both know my hesitation speaks for itself. “I’m loyal to him.”
He doesn’t answer right away, instead pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Loyalty is a funny concept, Mrs. Sinclair. Whether it be loyalty to a person or to our country, it demands our undying devotion. But loyalty that’s been coerced isn’t true loyalty at all, it’s manipulation.”
Tears flood my eyes, stinging my nose and throat. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“When’s the last time you had the freedom to make your own decisions?”
I shake my head. “I can’t even remember.”
Joe nods sympathetically. “Choice can be paralyzing. Give yourself some grace.”
I reach over and clasp his weathered hand, feeling at ease. “Thank you.”
He pats my hand with his free one. “Come on, Mrs. Sinclair. Can’t let those kids have all the fun.”
“Della,” I say with a smile. “Call me Della.”