Page 87 of The Cost of Forgetting You

His lips start to form a smile, but they turn down at the corners. He studies the glistening pavement, one thumb hooked into his belt loop, and sighs. “I’d hoped we’d spend at least a portion of the drive talking about what happened at the river.”

My lungs squeeze like they’ve taken on some of that water I’m breathing. “You didn’t bring it up.”

His gaze narrows on me. “Neither did you.”

I gesture lamely toward the airport entrance, hoping it offers some form of explanation. But we both know I’m avoiding things. It’s my MO, and he’s finally copping on.

He sighs heavily, his gaze cutting past me and then back to my face. He studies me like he doesn’t know what to do with me, which makes two of us.

“Just take care of yourself. I’ll be here when you come back. We can talk then.”

Tears sting my eyes. I blink them away, shaking my head at their presence. He’s so patient with me, and that patience feels a lot like a gift I don’t deserve right about now. “Be careful driving home.”

He nods solemnly. When our gazes meet, that sadness from before is amplified. “Bye, Temptress.”

“Bye, Tru.”

Neither of us moves. We stand on the sidewalk, a foot apart, suspended in uncertainty.

It’s okay to want things just for yourself.

I hear those words, spilling from Truett’s lips over and over again, as I rise up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his warm cheek.

Then I turn away, saving myself from his reaction. From the consequences of wanting what I shouldn’t.

The hard plastic armrest digs into my side. I shift again, still unable to find a comfortable position to read in. The terminal waiting area is nearly full now, and a burly man takes up the armrest on my left while a toddler juts her feet beneath the one on my right. I have to sit at an angle to avoid her light-up sneakers, not that her mom has noticed. Or cared.

After an hour delay, they finally announce that we’re going to begin boarding. I pull out my phone to text Mom and let her know, and it starts to vibrate in my hand. Roberta’s name lights up the screen.

“Hello?”

“Delilah,” her voice is thin, punctuating my name in a way she never has, “please don’t panic.”

I immediately panic. “What’s wrong?”

“Your dad has wandered from the house.”

“He what?” My brow knits together. I lean forward on my knees as though it’ll make her words clearer. “Like he’s on a walk?”

“He took your car keys from the junk drawer while I was in the bathroom. He left his cell phone behind.” She blows out a breath. “We haven’t found him yet, but the fire department has been called and they’re out looking. I’m here in case he comes home or someone calls.”

“He’s missing?”

The burly man’s gaze cuts to me. There’s no sympathy in them, only annoyance that I’ve shouted loudly enough to penetrate his AirPods.

“Yes, but we will find him, Delilah. I just wanted to let you know right away. Truett said your flight was delayed?”

I’m already on my feet, gathering my carry-on and my purse. “Yeah, it was. I’m leaving the terminal. We hadn’t boarded yet. Is he there with you? He should be back by now.”

My heart pounds as I race toward the terminal exit. Passersby give me a wide berth. And who could blame them? I’m running in the wrong direction, away from all the planes. And I’m crying, I realize. Tears pool at my chin and drip onto my white peasant blouse. My leggings are slipping. My carry-on bag has a wheel that’s dragging. And I have no clue how I’m going to retrieve my luggage or get home for that matter; all I know is that I have to go. I have to find my dad.

My dad is missing.

The terror slams into my chest, blowing the sob right out of me. It almost drowns out the sound of Roberta’s reply. Almost.

“He’s still there.”

“He’s here?” I repeat, unsure if I heard correctly.

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