Page 83 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“What about tomorrow?” Truett presses, not swayed by his dad’s tangent.

“Another time,” Lucy replies, reaching out to tousle her son’s hair. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing lots of Delilah now that we live next door.”

Delilah grins ear to ear, her gaze cutting from Truett to Lucy. “We can ride the school bus together and everything!”

“I don’t ride the school bus,” Truett says. “Mama drives me.”

“I’m a teacher now, so he rides with me to work,” Lucy explains.

“I told her she didn’t have to work, but she insisted.” Waylon rolls his eyes, leaning in toward me like we’re conspiring on the conversation. “Once the farm’s up and running, I’m sure she’ll change her mind. I’ll get her barefoot and pregnant again in no time.”

“How do you do that?” Delilah asks, nose wrinkling.

“I’ll explain later,” I reply, bracing a hand on her shoulder while shooting daggers at Waylon.

“I worked really hard to get my degree while raising that wild son of yours. Not giving it up anytime soon,” Lucy chides, pride sparking in her words. I feel it too, unfurling in my chest. I’m glad she stands up for herself, even in this small way. “You should consider teaching, Henry. Music teachers with talent like yours are hard to come by around here.”

I can see Waylon’s neck reddening, his gaze sharp, so I quickly speak up before he can cut her down. “Is that what you do? Teach music?”

“No,” she says, laughing, “English. Though I do piano lessons at the church a couple nights a week if you’re ever interested, Delilah. I’m sure your dad’s already taught you everything he knows, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve, too.”

“I have a keyboard!” Delilah says. “Well, it’s Dad’s. But he lets me play it sometimes.”

“All the time.” I haven’t played it in ages. Haven’t had time to. I squeeze her shoulder and smile. “She’s a natural.”

“I bet,” Lucy says. Her eyes are lost in memory even as she’s looking at my daughter. I wonder if she’s seeing what could’ve been.

I know I am.

“Well, we’ve gotta get going on the rest of this.” Waylon slaps a nearby dresser strapped to the trailer. “See y’all around?”

“Right. Yep. We’ll let y’all get back to it.” I capture Delilah’s hand in mine and take a step toward home. “See ya around.”

“Good luck with your mom,” Lucy says. Her gaze is laced with sympathy, hands folded at her hips. “We’re here now, if you ever need anything.”

“Thanks, Lucy.” I smile. It’s the closest to the real thing I’ve done in months. I just hope it’s convincing.

Waylon grabs a chair and starts heading toward the door. “Grab that other one, would ya, Luce?”

She frowns but says, “Yep. Coming.” Then, glancing down at Truett, “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, love?”

“Bye, Delilah!” He waves, a spot of dirt marring his palm, then follows after his dad.

“Think about what I said, Henry. You’ve got time to follow your dream.” She shrugs. “We’re still young, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Her hair dusts her shoulder as she hoists that chair up, turns back toward the house, and leaves my daughter and me standing together, holding hands. Leaves me feeling at once ancient, because so much time has passed since I last let myself consider the possibility of music, and at the same time impossibly young. I’ve spent five minutes with the woman, and already I feel like I’ve turned back time. Become the seventeen-year-old I was when I loved her.

I try to recall the exact moment when I stopped. It feels fuzzy. Just out of reach.

“They were so nice,” Delilah sighs as we make the long trek home. “I think he’s gonna be my new best friend.”

I smile. “I’ll bet he is.”

Kimberly is bent at the waist, peering into the refrigerator when we return. A fuzzy bathrobe hides most of her shape, but I still find myself pausing to admire her. For all our problems, my heart still stands still when she straightens, glancing down at our little girl who’s come up to hug her thigh.

“I made a friend, Mama!”

Kimberly smooths a hand over the crown of Delilah’s head. “Isn’t that nice? Wish I could make one.” Her eyes move to meet mine, sharp as barbs. “Just don’t seem to have the time these days.”

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