Page 129 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Shit.”

Dad stirs, rolling toward the sound of my voice with a grimace and a moan that plucks right at my heart. I hold still until he settles once more, and then take the phone and the water cup into the hall, closing the door behind me with a soft click.

Me: Sorry, it’s been hectic. We can’t have visitors, unfortunately, but thanks for offering.

Truett: I understand. I can drop them off but not stay, if you’d like. Bring some warm food for you?

Me: I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.

I find the nurse’s station mostly abandoned save for a woman in her midforties with long braids gathered in a knot at the nape of her neck and a stern expression aimed at the computer in front of her. When I set the cup on the counter, she glances up, that tightness melting into a gentle smile.

“Everything all right, sugar?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I offer my best smile in return, but it feels pained. I can only imagine how it looks. “I was wondering if I could refill my dad’s water cup?”

“Absolutely. It’s right this way.” She stands and navigates around the U-shaped desk to meet me where it opens into the hall. There’s another opening a few feet later, which she guides me into. It’s a hallway connected to their station from a center juncture, with a sink, some cabinets, and a water and ice machine. She pops the cup under the ice maker with one hand while retrieving a second cup from a nearby drawer. To my raised brow, she says, “We can’t have you getting dehydrated in this dry hospital air, now can we?”

I smile, more genuinely this time. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” She hands me both cups. “I’m Judith. You call if you or your dad needs anything, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. Then, when she glares, “Er, Judith.”

“There you go.” She shuffles toward that juncture and turns. By the time I walk back by the counter, she’s tucked back into her chair, gaze locked on the computer once more. Our moment falls by the wayside, a drop in the bucket of her day.

When my phone vibrates again, I slip both cups carefully into the crooks of my fingers on one hand and retrieve it from my pocket. He’s calling again. I watch it, forcing myself to bear witness to my undoing until his contact disappears.

Only to be replaced by a voicemail.

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. It is not lost on me that this all started with a voicemail. And here we are, ending it all with one, too.

I can’t be what Truett needs. Hell, I can’t be what Dad needs. So what’s the point in any of this? In dragging someone along toward my own unhappy ending?

From my spot outside Dad’s door, I can barely see the corner of the nurses’ station. I anchor myself to it. A point in the distance. A reminder that what I’ve done is not the end of the world; it’s only the end of us.

I press play and drag the phone to my ear.

“Delilah, I know you’re awake. Hell, you’re probably staring at the phone as this call comes through and biting that pretty little lip of yours while you wait for me to give up and stop calling. News flash, Temptress. I’m never giving up.”

I tip my forehead into the textured wallpaper and press the foam cups against my heart. Something like ice for a fresh bruise. Only this isn’t a bruise, it’s a fucking massacre.

“You’re running, and I get it. You’re scared and feeling like you let your dad down tonight. I know because I’ve been there. But here’s the thing, Delilah. You can turn tail and run all you want, but I’m not the same scared boy you left behind nine years ago. The one who sat back and let you go without a fight. I’m all grown up. I’m the man who will come for you. Who will find you and bring you home as many times as I have to until you finally realize I’m not giving up on you.”

Sobs rack my body. Through the blur of my tears, I catch Judith peeking around the corner. Whatever she reads on my face keeps her from coming closer. I’m left alone in the hospital corridor, but I’ve never felt less lonely. Truett’s words offer comfort I haven’t earned—which is honestly the kind I struggle to accept the most—but he knows that. Knows me. And he offered it anyway.

I’m trying to see the blessing in that, but it’s so damn hard. Nothing feels clear anymore. Nothing feels guaranteed.

I lock my phone and slip it back into my pocket, then use my free hand to wipe my face clean. I take a moment to tuck this all away so I can go in there and be strong for my dad, even when I don’t feel it.

Even when I’m too afraid to let Truett be strong for me.

“I should’ve known.” I push the orange chunks around my fruit cup, searching for any remaining pineapple I might’ve missed. “How did I not see he was sick?”

Roberta sits with her chin resting on interlocked fingers, watching me thoughtfully. I’m glad she’s here, even if I feel guilty for inviting her. I told Truett we couldn’t have visitors, but really I just couldn’t handle him. Couldn’t trust myself to stay focused with him around.

A twinge of pain turns my stomach. I drop my fork.

Roberta’s gaze tracks the movement. Her eyebrows pull together. “Do you remember that night you and your dad got the stomach flu?”

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