Page 137 of The Cost of Forgetting You

It’s not judgment I find swimming in her brown eyes when I glance up. Understanding wells in her gaze. It hugs the downward curve of her lips. Everywhere I look on her face, there grace is, just waiting to be found.

“Have you ever considered that it’s not that you aren’t capable of this, but rather that you’re capable of so much more? That your dad sees it, and wants it for you? A life he was never willing to take for himself but has the chance to offer you instead.”

I drop my gaze to the laptop. To my hands, trembling against the keys. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could afford it. Truett helps pay for Roberta as it stands.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want to ask him for help with a facility…?”

I shake my head before the words have finished falling from her lips. “No.”

She shrugs. “What other options do you have?”

“Sell the house, I guess. That was the plan they had before I came home, at least.” I glance up at the wooden beams above my head. The same ones I’ve sat beneath since I was a little girl, and my dad before me. It’s not that I want to live here forever. I just never imagined losing my childhood home like this, with no time to prepare for that particular goodbye. Tears prick at my eyes. My laugh is a wild animal, equipped with claws that rake my throat. “I thought about calling my mom to ask about the money my grandparents left for my wedding one day, but then I remembered my mom would rather die than help my dad in any way.”

It’s not like I need the money for its intended purpose. The only wedding I’ve ever been able to imagine for myself involves Truett and I eloping in one of his fields, wildflowers tucked in my hair and my father’s arm looped through mine. And I’ll never have that. So why hoard money away that could be better used to help me now?

Compassion creases Alicia’s features. “I could sit with you while you call her, if that would help.”

My lips flatten. I imagine Alicia overhearing the kinds of things my mother says to me on a normal phone call, let alone when I ask her for money to help her ex-husband get the care he needs. Shame climbs the column of my throat and lodges itself there, immovable against the pull of me swallowing.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? No mother should ever speak to their child in a way that they’d be ashamed for others to overhear. In a way that completely rewrites the voice in their child’s head for the worse. I can’t remember when my inner monologue became colored by my mother’s chastisements. All I know is when I suspect I’m failing at something, it’s her voice that confirms my worst fears. Hurls them back at me with a few extra concerns added on for good measure.

I know she’s wrong for being that way, and yet I can’t help but want to protect her—and myself—by hiding these ugly truths away.

“There’s no point,” I whisper. “It’s not like she’ll listen.”

Alicia’s frown deepens.

I quirk a brow. “What?”

She leans forward and rests her hand on my knee. “Maybe that’s because no one ever made her.” She catches my gaze, daring me to disagree. When I don’t—can’t—she nods and reclines back against the armrest. “Listen, as someone whose mother will also walk all over her if not put in her place, I get it. But you’re not a child anymore, Delilah. You get to decide how people treat you. Talk to you. You may think it’s some kind of failure to let others help you, but there’s power in that, too—in who you choose to lean on when times get hard. And times are really fucking hard right now.

“If your mom won’t be someone you can depend on, then fuck her. I know that’s harsh, but I mean it. You deserve better than the bullshit hand you’ve been dealt, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say so. Sorry that I ever played a part in making you feel like you’re less than, or lacking, or that you only have your mother so you have to put up with that kind of treatment lest you be left alone.” Her voice grows hoarse. She forces herself to pause and swallow, but the pain remains like a heartbeat in her gaze. Steady. Life-giving.

“But you’re not alone. Not now. You have me. Your dad. What’s the caretaker’s name—Roberta? You have her.” She tips her head toward that farmhouse on the hilltop, one eyebrow raised. “Truett, if you’ll let him.”

Tears spill down my cheeks. More and more, they are becoming the language for a type of pain that English simply doesn’t cover. I realize that’s probably why my father loves music so much, even now. It’s a language that conveys what spoken words cannot. Grief that pours out from his fingertips, while mine leaks from my eyes.

“You’re right. I know you are.” I shrug flimsily, my shoulders suddenly too heavy to lift. I’m weighed down by so many decisions that I wish weren’t mine to make, by burdens I don’t know how to let go of. My gaze meets Alicia’s through the watery mess of my tears, and I tell her the honest truth. “But I don’t know how to be anybody else.”

“Not someone else. You.” She smiles. “Just less of an island. More of a peninsula, maybe, to start with?”

I crinkle my nose. “Was that a geography joke? I thought you were a music teacher.”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” Her laughter reminds me of the wind chimes that once hung from the rafters on Tru’s front porch, their music summoned by the slightest breeze. She lets it fade, the wind gone still, as her gaze levels mine. Her legs sweep to the floor as she sits up, reaches over, and slips my laptop from my grasp. “Call your mom, Delilah. Get whatever answers you need. Then we can decide how to proceed. No matter what she says.”

We can decide. It shouldn’t mean so much, that little pronoun, but in this moment it might be the most beautiful word I’ve heard in my entire life. My chest deflates even as fear pebbles my skin with goose bumps. When all you’ve had is yourself for so long, it’s scary to risk depending on someone else. But it’s scarier to face everything alone.

So I reach for Alicia. Hold her hand as the phone rings through to my mother, who answers the call with a heavy sigh and a distracted, “Delilah, I’m a bit busy right now.”

I swallow back the bile coating the back of my tongue. My hands tremble, but Alicia doesn’t let go of the one she’s holding. She squeezes it tighter.

“I need to talk to you.” I draw in a shaky breath, forcing the fist clasping my lungs to loosen its grip. “It’s important.”

“You’ve been ignoring me for weeks, and I’m supposed to drop everything because you’ve decided you’re ready to talk? That’s very selfish, you know that?”

I bite down so hard I’m afraid I’ll shatter my molars. I have to force each muscle to relax, one by one, until finally I can speak again. “I… Well, Dad, he’s… He’s ready to go into care, Mom. He wants to.”

“Well, that’s great news!” The immediate cheer in her voice grates on my ears. “So you’re coming home?”

---