Page 94 of The Edge of Summer
This is a blatant attempt to provoke her. Delilah was insistent that her eyes are grey when I mentioned them being blue one time. She doesn’t see what I see. When I piss her off, they’re a steely grey. But when she looks at me like maybe I’m somewhat worthwhile, all I see is blue.
I want her amused gaze on me. I want to see the ocean in her eyes. I want her to know that she isn’t alone, even though she convinces herself she is. Maybe I can’t be exactly what she wants me to be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about her. That I don’t want her in my life.
Slowly, she pulls back. She isn’t touching me anymore, and I instantly miss her body close to mine.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Tell me what’s wrong so I can help.
She offers me a watery smile. “You can’t fix this one, Luke.”
“I can try.”
She shakes her head. “I just found a picture of my parents when I was getting ready for the exhibition. I accidentally knocked it over and…” Her hand extends, gesturing toward the mess of glass on the floor. “But I’m fine.”
The words leave her lips, but I am entirely unconvinced. The pain in her eyes is palpable. She told me once that she didn’t owe me her pain. That’s true, she doesn’t. But I think Delilah deserves to have someone listen anyway, and I don’t think she realizes that I’m willing. She rarely talks about her parents and maybe that’s by design, but I’ve seen the way that bottling it up hurts her.
“I know it’s the anniversary.”
She looks away, and fuck, I hate that I’m causing her any pain at all. But she’s lying to me and she’s lying to herself, and I can’t watch her do it anymore.
I reach out and extract the frame from the pile of glass. I shake it off, expelling the extra shards, and then turn it over. A younger version of Delilah stares back at me. She couldn’t be more than eight or nine. Her hair is the same dark colour, and her eyes are a perfect mix of baby blue and stormy grey. On either side of her, a man and woman stand, their arms over her shoulders. They wear proud smiles.
“Tell me something good,” I say. Tears still cling toDelilah’s lashes. She swipes at her eyes as she turns away from me. I take her chin and turn her back to face me. “Don’t hide from me. Please.”
Reluctantly, she nods. “Something good?” she reiterates.
“About your parents. Where were you when this picture was taken?”
She takes the frame from me and stares at it for a moment. A trembling finger reaches out and brushes over her mother’s smile. Delilah’s lip quivers. “The library was holding a contest for kids to enter their art,” she says. “I really wasn’t any good at art or photography or anything.” She lets out a quiet laugh. “Actually, I was really bad. I didn’t place in any of the categories I entered. But they were proud of me.”
I stay silent, just letting her say whatever comes to mind. I want to hear it all.
“Some days I don’t know if they would still be proud of me,” she continues. “They would probably see my relationship with Parker and be so disappointed with how I’ve handled it.”
“I disagree.” She looks at me sharply. I point to the photo in her hands. “Those two people don’t look like the kind of parents that would hold something like that against you. You’re doing your best, and they know that.”
“And it’s still not enough.”
“You are more than enough, Delilah.”
I see the question in her eyes. The pain, too.Enough, but not enough for you, they say. She looks away. This time, I let her hide. Because I am a coward who doesn’t have a good response to that.
We sit in silence, letting it settle over us. She studies thepicture in the frame. The more she looks, the more her breathing evens out. Her eyes don’t well with tears and her hands don’t shake. A soft smile even plays on her lips.
“What are you doing here?” she eventually asks.
I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Parker was worried when he hadn’t heard from you. He called me.”
Delilah gasps. “Oh my God.” She breaks free of me, rising quickly to her feet. “I can’t believe I let that happen. I-I have to go.”
I take her elbow, stopping her from flying out of here. “Slow down. You’re in no state to get behind the wheel. Let me drive you.”
She shifts, her arm falling from my grasp. “I’m fine.”
My jaw clenches. “Try a different lie. That one doesn’t work on me.”
Her eyes harden. “You know what? I don’t really give a damn what works on you. We’ve already had this discussion. I’m not yours to be concerned about.”
