Page 48 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Joy,” I bite out. The few sips of water start to creep back up my throat.

“On the bright side, it only lasted about forty-eight hours.”

I can’t help it; I let out a little whimper.

“Sorry, Delilah.” The telltale sound of a Zoom call coming in blares in the background, triggering something instinctual in me. I almost reach for my phantom mouse to accept the call. Cameron grunts. “Gotta take this. It’s the Cale Group. Don’t worry about your meetings—I’ll divvy them up among the team for the rest of the week. Take a few days to recover. Oh, and get some ginger ale. It’s the only thing that helped Charis.”

I picture his cute little three-year-old feeling as shitty as I do, and sympathy tugs at my heart.

“Thanks, Cam. Sorry”—I have to pause, exhale slowly, and try again—“for not calling.”

“Don’t sweat it. Just wanted to make sure everything was all right.” The ringing ceases. “Shit. Gotta call them back or Liv will be up my ass for not taking care of our very important client.”

It sounds exactly like something Liv, the VP of our division, would say. I snort half-heartedly, then wince.

“Take care!” Cameron singsongs.

My response isn’t much of one. More of a grunt. I drop the phone back into the sea of blankets as soon as it goes dark, and my head isn’t far behind it. This time as I drift off to sleep, I hear that damn ringtone on repeat till at last I slip away.

Roberta’s hand is rougher the next time it brushes against my temple. Not in force, but in texture. It’s the first thing I think when my brain comes online. Roberta needs some fucking lotion.

“She’s awfully warm.”

Oh. Perhaps I’m not fully online yet after all. Because that was definitely not Roberta’s soothing, melodic voice.

“I haven’t been able to get any medicine in her. Every time I try to wake her, she groans and rolls away from me.”

That’s Roberta. So who the hell…?

A snort sounds nearby. The breeze of it cools my cheek.

“Sounds about right. If you’ll leave the bottle on her vanity, I’ll get her to take some.” Truett’s voice is warm in the middle but laced with sharp edges. Something like concern, if I didn’t know any better.

Truett. Jesus Christ, this bug has taken all my common sense if I couldn’t even identify his voice. I jolt upright, having somehow forgotten my lesson from earlier, just as Roberta places a blue pill bottle next to my sunscreen and mascara on the vanity.

“Whoa, Delilah. Go slow,” Truett says.

“I’m not a horse,” I rasp. But I do pause, letting my equilibrium catch up with the new position.

Tru comes into focus, all sun-kissed skin and soft, golden hair. His smile is turned down at the corners, pinching his dimple. Bronze freckles dot the bridge of his nose, looking boyish compared to the sharp angles of his jaw. His gaze searches my face briefly. Those lips fall and flatten, and his dimple disappears. “You need to take some meds. You’ve got a hell of a fever.”

My brow furrows. “Why are you here?”

Is that sorrow swimming in his gray eyes? They really are slate today. All the crystalline blue that sometimes appears has leaked away, leaving behind solid stone.

“You’ve slept all day.” Roberta peeks around Truett, the nurse side of her checking me over. Even as that persona falls away, her chocolate gaze remains tight with concern. “I’ve got to pick up my granddaughter, but Tru’s gonna take over. Your dad’s fine. His fever broke a while ago, and he’s feeling quite a bit better. Just watching some TV in the living room. But I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself.”

Her voice screams, You poor, pitiful thing. And even though I feel that way, I don’t want Tru to know it.

“I’m fine.” I swallow the spit that rises with those words. Inhale through my nose. Out through my mouth. I’m not gonna be sick in front of Truett Parker.

Never mind that we got the chickenpox one summer as kids and spent a whole week watching Rugrats reruns together while Lucy brought us meds and snacks. That was before Dad started teaching, so he was at school and Mom had work. Lucy, however, was home and more than happy to care for me, too.

Or who could forget the time he gave me mono in middle school. We only had each other for company for a month. Truett’s no stranger to what I’m like when sick. But that doesn’t mean I need his help. Especially not after laying myself bare last night.

“Sure you are,” Tru says, smiling. “But I’ll be here in case that changes.”

Roberta’s gaze flicks from Tru to me, then back. “Okay, I’ve gotta go. Call if you need anything.”

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