Page 130 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Yeah. He was a little confused, but nothing like this.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean.” Her chest rises and falls around a deep breath. She’s measuring her words carefully, which is how I know to lean in and listen closely. She nods when I do, like she’s acknowledging that I’m ready. “Think about that night. Before you went to bed, how did you feel?”

I try to think back without dwelling too much on the endless vomiting or the man who pulled my hair up when I was too weak to do it myself. I purse my lips and shrug. “I guess I felt normal. Nothing crazy or out of the ordinary.”

“Exactly.” She thumbs her nose and shrugs. “Sometimes illnesses are like that. The symptoms were so minor, if they existed at all, that your dad didn’t really have the awareness to call it out. But then it got so bad it disoriented him. It happens a lot. You had no way of knowing.”

I think of the stomachache he complained about during our card game and wince.

Roberta misses nothing. Her gaze flickers over my face, and her lips turn down at the corners in a rare frown. “Do you wanna talk about what’s really bothering you?”

A different version of me would say, Absolutely not. She’d clamp her lips shut and insist on taking care of everyone else in order to keep the spotlight off herself, even if it meant leaving her bruised and battered heart unmended. But I’m exhausted, ashamed, and more than a little desperate for comfort. And maybe Truett’s on to something, whether I like to admit it or not. Perhaps it’d be nice for someone to find me for a change. To see me, in all my brokenness, and tell me I’m not too far gone to be saved.

I may not be ready for Truett, but Roberta feels like a safe place to start.

“I couldn’t even drive my own father to the hospital because I’d been drinking.” I stare at the fruit cup. The cheap plastic table. The cuticle sticking straight up on my thumb. Anywhere but at her. “So fucking irresponsible. I’m supposed to take care of him.”

Her hand covers mine. Rings glint on every finger, a mix of silver and gold. They catch the fluorescent light as she rubs my knuckles softly. “You’re twenty-six years old, Delilah. You’re allowed to make mistakes. To be the child in the relationship. This disease takes so much. It doesn’t have to take your whole life, too. Your dad wouldn’t want that. He doesn’t. He’s told me as much, not just now but long ago when we watched Truett walk through the very same ordeal with his mama.

“You two are such good, kind children. You love your parents a whole awful lot. Anyone can see it. But Delilah…” She tilts her head to capture my gaze and offers a smile that’s meant to be reassuring. “You’ve gotta love yourself too every once in a while, you know?”

No, I don’t know. And I’m not sure how to tell her that. To make her see all the obligations, the sense of fealty that weighs on me so heavily. That in all the gaps between who I am and who I should be, I find myself lacking. Unlovable.

That it feels impossible to trust Truett to feel something for me that I can’t even feel for myself.

I clear my throat. “I should go check on him. They said he could be discharged soon.” I rise, gathering my trash in my hand. “Thanks for coming by, and for bringing the car.”

“Always. I was happy to help.” Roberta stands and reaches for my forearm, pulling my gaze to hers. “You two are family to me, Delilah. And I meant what I said that first day. I’ll be here through it all. I promise.”

It’s too early in the morning for mercy. And I’m not quite sure I deserve it, anyway.

I duck my head, studying the scuffed tile at my feet. “Thanks, Roberta.”

She pulls me into one of her million-dollar hugs. I’m two seconds from collapsing and begging her to stay, to make all these decisions for me. To take this immovable burden from my shoulders, if only for a second so I can breathe without the weight of it compressing my lungs.

Before the words can tumble out, though, I extricate myself from her arms. Take two steps back. Breathe in, then out. I allow myself one more glimpse at the compassion in her face. File it away for a time in the future when I can look at it and believe I’m worthy. It’s not everything, or even a lot, but it’s as much hope as I’ll allow myself here in this sterile place where the reality of my father’s condition looms so much closer than it ever does at home.

“See you later.”

Her lips stretch into a feeble smile, but her gaze is strong. Determined. “Call me when you’re home.”

I wave a hand by way of response. She’s still watching me with that same intensity when I turn the corner toward the elevator and disappear from view.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Delilah

Antiseptic still burns my nose as our house comes into view. It stings with each lungful of air, reminding me where we spent the last forty-eight hours. Even though we’ve left the hospital, the hospital hasn’t left us.

“Can we go see Lucy? Just for a few minutes?”

I white knuckle the steering wheel over a new pothole the latest summer rain must’ve carved from the road. I brace myself, my tired, weary brain snapping to attention, as I say, “I don’t know if that’s the best idea, Dad. Lucy is…”

Busy? On a road trip? I want to lie, to spare us this conversation, but my mind won’t compute a solid answer.

“Damn it, I know she’s dead. I’m not stupid.”

I blink back tears and wonder absently if it’ll ever get easier to convince myself he doesn’t mean these things. That it’s not really him.

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