Page 151 of The Cost of Forgetting You

When his lips finally part, a water droplet hangs from his Cupid’s bow. It falls to the river below, not lost but forever changed.

I know the feeling.

“Henry once told me that when his mom was near the end, she talked a lot about her childhood. Asked for her siblings, her parents. She forgot everything else but that.”

I look up at him, at the face I know as well as my own. He smiles.

“When you think about your childhood, who do you see?”

An odd question. Not what do you see, but who. I close my eyes and allow myself to drift back through the years. I see my dad, pushing me in the swing that once hung from the live oak out front. I see my mom working on spreadsheets at the breakfast nook when I walked in after school. I see the fields dotted with cattle, their bellows the soundtrack that lulled me to sleep.

And in the background of every memory? There is Truett. He’s standing back, waiting for his turn on the swing. He’s right behind me, his foot hitting the squeaky floorboard as we tumble into the kitchen in search of after-school snacks. He’s running through the fields, chasing down a stubborn steer, a wild grin spread across his face.

A tear streams from my eye. I blink my way back into the present, and when our gazes meet, I’m looking at my past and present and future all in one.

“I see you. Always you.”

The pad of his thumb is coarse against my skin. As quickly as the tear appeared, it’s gone. “Exactly. I’ll be with you till the very end, Delilah. And if ever there’s a time where you can’t remember, I’ll do it for both of us. I promise.”

My toes sink into the sandy bottom of the river as I lift up, closing the distance between us. Goose bumps dance on the surface of my skin, and on his in turn. Every touch is electrified by the cold. By the hope. By the beauty and pain of his promise. We embrace each other just as we embrace an uncertain future. Wholeheartedly and without fear.

A breeze filters through the clearing, spurring the leaves on the willow tree to dance. The water ripples around us. Not too far away, a steer lets out a long bellow, reminding us of his presence. Truett’s tongue slips between my lips and caresses mine. Our lives shift, changing for the better, even as the world goes on turning around us.

It’s a memory worth holding on to, so I tuck it into my heart for safekeeping, knowing that if a day comes when I can no longer recall it, Truett will be there to give it back to me. He’ll take care of me.

Always.

Chapter Forty-Two

Henry

December 3rd, 2021

It takes weeks to get a complete picture of just how bad “bad” really is. More blood tests, ultrasounds, and finally, a multiphase CT scan that confirms the doctor’s suspicions.

Pancreatic cancer. Stage four.

It feels almost laughable how many terrible things one person can be forced to face in their lifetime. If I hadn’t witnessed it for myself, I couldn’t possibly believe it. Lucy, the most beautiful, tranquil, deserving person I know…diagnosed with a terminal disease. I cry until I laugh. I laugh until I cry again.

Lucy takes the diagnosis on the chin. The night she and Truett share the news, as we gather around their kitchen island with a spread of her favorite desserts between us, her bottom lip barely wobbles. Her eyes gloss over, but no tears fall. Later that night, after Truett has gone to check on the few cows he suspects will be calving soon, Lucy reclines into the couch beside me. We touch, for the first time in years. A rule we created for ourselves that suddenly seems so trivial in light of everything else.

“I’m not scared,” she says softly. Her voice is raw. I know without asking that she cried her tears where no one could see her. That they’ve ripped her vocal cords apart. When she glances at me, though, there’s a smile curving her lips. A peace settling over her features. “Not for me, anyway.”

My throat is thick with worry. I haven’t been able to take a full breath in weeks. I want to be as strong as she is. But the truth is, I’m absolutely terrified.

“Hey”—she taps my nose—“don’t do that.”

Her thumb dances over my knuckles, a metronome setting the pace of my thoughts. Back and forth. Here, and then in the future, one impossibly void of Lucy’s laughter. Her smile. Her light, in an otherwise bleak world.

“How can I not?” I whisper, not trusting my voice to go higher. A tear slips from my jaw onto the tan suede of their couch, blooming in the fabric.

She shrugs. “Because I said so.”

My eyes shutter as a chuckle scrapes my throat. “Not good enough.”

“I’m serious.”

She reaches up and cups my cheek with her soft palm. I cover it with my own, holding her there. This touch is so precious. So sacred. Why did we deny ourselves of it for so long?

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