Page 16 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“What do you do for work?”

My fingers pause, hovering over the keys. It’s such a mundane question that swinging my brain in that direction after trudging through the pain of my memories gives me whiplash.

Truett sits on the edge of my bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. I squeeze my thighs tighter.

I can see him in my peripheral, staring at me expectantly. Even if I couldn’t, I feel his gaze on me like a spotlight. Or a target.

So not the silent treatment, then. I sigh. Maybe the only way out is through.

I shift in my seat, rest my left forearm across the back of it, and level him with a pointed stare. “I’m a Client Relationship Manager.”

A wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. “A what?”

My finger twitches, desperate to smooth it out. I curl my hand into a fist. “I work for a company that sells a product called a CRM, or customer relationship management tool, and it’s my job to teach the people who buy that product how to use it.”

He stares at me blankly.

“I hold training calls, answer questions, send tips via email, help reset passwords…”

“Oh, so you’re like customer service.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, but I can feel the heat blanketing my face. “Sure, Tru. If that’s all your Neanderthal brain can understand, then I’m customer service. Now can you leave so I can service this customer?”

As soon as I say it, his eyes go wide. Embarrassment knots my throat.

“That’s not what I meant?—”

He removes his hat, his sweat-darkened locks sticking out in every direction, and presses it to his chest, which is shaking with laughter. “Well if it isn’t our temptress, living up to her name after all.”

I bristle. Suddenly all the pent-up frustration I’ve been biting back comes rushing to the surface. And not all of it may be related to him or remotely his fault, but a lot of it is. That’s my defense for losing my carefully managed cool and surging out of my chair, finger pointed at the door.

“Get out.”

“Aw, come on, Delilah, you know I was just joking.” He sighs out the remainder of his laughter, his face falling to a more serious, thoughtful expression. His gaze makes a pass over me, and he sits up, folding his hands together on his lap. Whatever he sees in my face dulls his amusement. He shakes his head softly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I’m sorry if it struck a nerve. What Kyle did?—”

“Get the fuck out of my room, Truett.” The prickling anger has turned to full-blown rage. “I understand you and my dad have a close relationship, and for his sake, I’ll put up with it, but we don’t have to talk. In fact, don’t talk to me unless it’s about my dad’s condition and care. Got it?”

He stands and takes a step toward me. “I said I was sorry, Delilah, and I meant it. Just let me explain?—”

“No,” I interject. My tone is firm, my shoulders squared. I may be a solid six inches shorter than him, but I’m not backing down. “We don’t need to talk about it because we aren’t friends. Not anymore. You’re just the son of some woman my dad had an affair with. That’s it.”

Pain ripples across his face. “Actually, about my mom…”

“I don’t want to talk about Lucy.”

He presses his lips together, holding back whatever retort he had planned. Good. I didn’t want to hear it anyway.

“Now, as I said, I have a meeting. So go.”

His lips part like he’s going to speak, to defend himself, to do whatever people like him do. But then he thinks better of it or decides I’m not worth the fight, I’m not sure which, and turns on his heel to face the hall. In two strides he’s through the door, one hand on the knob as he lets his gaze fall to mine a final time. He winces when our eyes meet, but he doesn’t look away.

Instead it’s me who ends it. Who turns, cutting him off. He shuts the door softly without another word.

Chapter Five

Henry

October 1st, 1996

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