Page 113 of The Cost of Forgetting You

The ceiling is painted with strokes of light. I glance at it, trying to find reason in the shapes. Make a world where there can never be one. “Are you really going to keep the calf?”

“Yes.” He says it like there was never another choice. “Of course I am.”

I smile at nothing. “Can we call him Beau Vine?”

With anyone else, that would shatter the moment. But Truett melts into the laughter just as he melts into me, body slung over mine in the midst of his rumpled blankets. We’re slick with sweat and so breathless our laughter is more rasp than music, but we’re happy.

At least, I know I am.

“We can call him anything you want, as long as I can make love to you again.”

I nod a little too eagerly. “Deal.”

When his lips find mine, I forget about our parents and all the unknowns that still surround them. I forget about first kisses and losing virginities and all the things I thought would matter so much when I was seventeen. I even forget about the fear of what’s to come, if only for a moment. As his mouth slants over mine and his tongue slips between my lips, it all falls away and there’s only this. It’s my first time feeling a want like that—the kind that makes you feel like you’ll combust if it isn’t satiated.

It’s the best kind of first. One that promises a next.

Chapter Thirty

Henry

September 5th, 2013

The asphalt glimmers in the late afternoon sunlight, causing me to squint against oncoming traffic. I rap my fingers on the peeling leather steering wheel, half because it’s hot and resting my hands for too long leaves them scalded; half because Delilah’s anxiety is making the air too thin to breathe.

“I could fry an egg on the nervous tension in here.” I lick my finger and hold it up in the air. “I mean, it really is palpable.”

Delilah’s brow furrows. “That makes zero sense.”

“Neither does you being nervous. You’re going to kick ass tonight.”

“You’re obligated to say that because you’re my father.” Her shoulders sag, and her eyes search my profile like my expression might tell a different story than my words. “What if I don’t kick ass, Dad? What if I suck?”

I click my tongue and offer her a shrug. “We’ll sell you to a convent.”

That earns a throaty groan. At least her leg has stopped bouncing.

The classic rock station that plays in the background succumbs to static. We both wince. I reach forward, spinning the dial to mute it. “I’m serious, sweet pea. You’ve got this. And I’ll be there to cheer you on the whole time, in case you forget how amazing you are.”

She smiles softly, letting her head fall against the seat. She’s petite for her age, still growing into her lean limbs and delicate frame. But there’s a spark in her eyes that never existed in mine, something I’m not even sure she knows she has yet. I’m grateful for its presence. For the hope it gives me that she’ll be a fighter in this life rather than a mere observer.

“Why isn’t Mom coming?”

Her words cut through me. My throat grows as dry as the brittle grass turning brown along the shoulder of the road. Whoever called it Alabama the Beautiful didn’t stick around to see everything die off at the end of summer, long before fall sweeps in to paint the world in a palette of oranges and reds. Still, I love it.

Still, I don’t know how to answer my daughter.

I roll my bottom lip between my teeth, nibbling on the truth. Or what I suppose it is. I know what Kimberly said. The noise of a crowd in the gymnasium drives her crazy. Nothing, not even her daughter’s first volleyball game, is worth that suffering in her opinion. But a part of me suspects that it’s something else. She’s never really cared for the ancillary parts of parenting. The parent-teacher conferences, the field days, the award ceremonies. The doctor’s appointments and driver’s permit tests. And while I love that it’s time I get to share with Delilah, I know it’d mean the world to her if her mother showed up for once.

It’d mean the world to me, too.

For years I assumed that what we lacked in a relationship before our marriage could be built during it. And damn it if I haven’t tried. It seems like the more I reach, the more she retreats. I feel so helpless to fix it, both for myself and our daughter.

I sigh, swiping a hand over my face. There’s a tractor holding up traffic at the one intersection in town, and I take advantage of it to turn and look at Delilah. She’s growing so fast, becoming an adult before my very eyes. It’s still my job to protect her, though. I want to hold on to her innocence a little bit longer, even if she doesn’t.

“She gets those migraines, you know. The noise in the gym can be a bit too much for her.”

Delilah’s lips flatline, and her stare hardens. “I’m not stupid, Dad.”

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