Page 143 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Have a good life, Henry.” She shrugs, a biting laugh piercing the air around us. “Or don’t. The great thing is, either way, it’s not my problem anymore.”

When she walks away, I don’t bother watching. All those years ago, I didn’t see her coming. There’s no need to watch her leaving now.

Instead I keep my gaze trained on our daughter. I track their progress over every pothole, past every live oak, till they disappear behind a thicket of holly, too tall for me to see over from here. I continue to watch even as the movers close up the truck and follow Kimberly’s Honda Civic down the dirt road. I don’t stop even when the sound of the truck’s engine fades into the afternoon, or when the afternoon fades into the evening.

I don’t know when it gets dark out, only that it does. Only that I’m afraid the light will never come on again. Not for me, anyway.

That’s when Lucy arrives. She’s wrapped in a quilt, wearing a tight white T-shirt over pajama pants that she’s tucked into cowboy boots. Her hair is mussed, her eyes red from crying. She pauses in front of me, head tilted in question, and squeezes the quilt a bit tighter around her shoulders.

“I’ve been on our front porch for the past hour, and I haven’t seen you move a lick. I figured I’d come check if you’d turned to stone.”

I suck in a breath, shocked to find my lungs still remember how to hold it. “She’s gone.”

“Kimberly?”

“Delilah.”

Lucy’s expression freezes. Slowly, tears begin to stream from her eyes, polishing her irises till they shine. I want to join her, but I don’t know how. I want to put this pain down, but I’ve no idea where to set it.

“I’m so sorry, Henry.” She steps closer, a question opening up her gaze. When I don’t react, can’t, she opens her arms and embraces me. Rocks me when I finally start to weep. “She’ll come back. I know she will. You’ve just gotta give her time.”

I press my chin into the curve of her neck, trying and failing to regulate my breathing. “How do you know?”

“Do you remember when we were kids and you dreamed of running off to Nashville to make a career as a musician?”

I rise to my full height and glance down at her, one brow raised.

She goes on like she hasn’t just thrown me for a loop. “Let’s say you did do that. You even made it big. Spent ten, twenty, even thirty years touring with a band. What would you have done at the end of all that? Where would you have gone?”

It’s not even a question. “I’d have come home.”

“And so will Delilah. She loves it here, even if these last few weeks have made her think otherwise.”

My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

Lucy grabs my hand and nods toward the porch. I follow her, albeit slowly. My joints are stiff from standing in one place for too long. We take our time climbing the steps and settling onto the swing. The wood is cold even through my clothes. A shiver courses through me, and Lucy scoots closer till her body warms mine from proximity alone.

“The kids at school have been…none too kind to her since the news got out. Truett, too, but not nearly on the level of Delilah. He told me last night. I imagine because of this.” She gestures toward the driveway.

I stare in that direction, unblinking. “I had no clue.”

“Me neither. A bit too distracted by the comments made in the teachers’ lounge when I go to microwave my lunch, I suppose.” She laughs, but there’s an edge to it. Her chin drops, and along with it her gaze. “Maybe I should resign, too. Make things easier for everyone.”

“You can’t, Lucy.” I grab her hand, which brings her gaze back to me. “You worked too hard for this.”

“So did you,” she whispers.

“But I can work anywhere. I’ve got an interview at the music school in the city next week.”

She squeezes my hand. The corners of her mouth tug downward, and my heart goes right along with them. “I’m grateful for what you did. For leaving, so that I could stay. I never would’ve asked you to do that, though, Henry. You’ve got to know that.”

“I know.” I clear my throat. “But it was the right thing to do. I’m the one who started all this.”

Her lips form a flat line and she nods. “Waylon’s gone, you know. Even my dad supported him. Told him he deserved a godly woman, and I’d clearly proven I was not one.” She snorts softly, shaking her head. “Only time I’ve ever been grateful for Dad’s misogynistic advice.”

“How’s Truett taking it?”

A smile blooms on her face. “He’s relieved. The minute Waylon walked out that door, I swear a light came back on in Tru’s eyes that hasn’t been there in years.”

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