Page 155 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“What’s happening?” I say, not recognizing the desperation in my voice.

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”

“I’m scared,” I admit.

He rises in front of me, offering a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay, Henry. I’ve got your back, remember? You had mine, and now I have yours.”

When did he get so grown? I study the man before me, remembering when he was just a little boy, chasing Delilah around my yard.

Delilah.

I don’t realize I’ve said her name aloud until Tru’s gaze narrows, an incredulous brow raising. “Do you want me to call her? I didn’t…I mean, I thought you two didn’t really talk, you know?”

“We don’t,” I say, my throat constricting around the words. “You have to…to…”

“Anything, Henry.” He cups my shoulder, ducking his head to meet my gaze head-on. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll take care of it.”

“That,” I say, lifting a finger to his chest. “Take care of Delilah. Promise you’ll take care of Delilah.”

His gaze softens at the edges. A dimple that makes him seem so young hollows out his cheek when he smiles sadly and nods.

“I promise.” He draws an X over his heart. “If there ever comes a day when you can’t, then I promise I’ll take care of our girl. Now let’s get you to the hospital and get you feeling better, okay?”

“Okay,” I relent. I let him guide me to his truck. Help me up, and buckle me in. I’m lost in another world. Another time, when Delilah was a child, and her grandmother lost so much more than her earrings.

She lost her memories, and now I’m losing mine too.

I know it before we even pull into the doctor. Before the tests that follow, over the course of the next few months. Before the diagnosis lands in my lap, and Truett closes his eyes to hide his devastation. I know that I’m going to forget, and this angry cycle will go on repeating itself if I don’t do anything to stop it.

So I take the meds. I do the therapies. And I put the plan in place, so that Delilah never has to choose between her life or mine. So that when I call, when I break the news, the wheels will already be in motion. Her life can go on without a hitch, while mine slowly winds toward the inevitable end.

It may be too late for me, but I’ll be damned if I let my daughter follow in my footsteps. I talk to the lawyers. I start to make plans. All of it while I still can, with a little help from Truett. I’m confident I have time, until I find myself in a ditch with the hood of my car caved in. That’s when I call Delilah, because the end seems closer than ever.

I listen to the phone ring while Tru sips coffee at my table, a carefully passive look painted on his face.

It goes to voicemail, which I expected. Am grateful for, really, because I don’t want her to think I’m asking anything of her. Pressuring her to change her mind and come home. She made her decision, and I’m so proud of her. I want her to put herself first. To truly live a life with no regrets.

To be better than me, in every way. Starting with this one.

The dial tone sounds, and I open my mouth, hoping my love for her laces every word. Hoping I can somehow convey, in the boundaries of a voicemail, just how much I love her. How much I dream for her. That I hope she’ll be something that happens to this world, rather than letting this world happen to her, the way I always have.

I picture her listening on the other end of the phone. But in my mind she’s fifteen and in the passenger seat of my car, gazing up at me with wide hazel eyes, a quiet demand on her lips.

“Don’t call me Delilah, okay? No matter how old I get, I’m sweet pea to you. Promise?”

I promised her then. And I keep my promise now.

“Hi, sweet pea. It’s Dad.”

Epilogue

Truett

The day of our wedding, I climb the hill to visit Mama before the festivities get started.

It won’t be a huge affair. That’s not Delilah’s or my style. Ollie, Jason, and Emmett are coming, towing along their families. Alicia and Destin. Tess and her new boyfriend. Roberta and her husband. Even Delilah’s mom made the drive, arriving yesterday with a pinched smile and a passing comment about our choice in florals—wildflowers plucked from the north field—that Delilah nipped right in the bud.

My girl doesn’t take that kind of shit from anyone anymore, and I couldn’t be prouder.

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