Page 5 of The Cost of Forgetting You

The only grocery store and gas station in town, Sunshine Grocery—where Dad and I would grab breakfast sandwiches from the deli on our way to school each morning—appears up ahead on the right.

“How could you do this to me?”

I veer into the cracked asphalt lot and throw the car into park. Here, the sound of cicadas and people chitchatting over the gas pumps nearly drowns out the memory of my mother’s voice in my head.

Nearly.

As if on cue, my phone vibrates with another text from her. This time I swipe to delete it without sparing her words a glance. It’s my version of boundary setting. Something else my former therapist tried to teach me.

The music, a quiet rhythm under the cacophony of small-town life, cuts out with an incoming call.

Mom’s picture pops up on the screen. My skull thuds against the headrest. Maybe things like private letters and boundaries work for other people, but I’m beginning to think that therapist was out of her depth with a woman like my mother. If my grandparents weren’t already gone, I’d recommend they get their money back.

Finally the call drops. Before the music can resume, though, I cut the engine.

Heat in south Alabama is a living thing. When I step onto the pavement, it embraces me. I stretch my legs out in front of me, leaning against the wheel well for support. Nine hours of driving has my whole body spent. My mind, however, is wired.

I’m ten minutes away from my father. My father, whom I haven’t seen since junior year of high school. My sick father, whom I didn’t even warn I was coming. Goose bumps prickle on my forearms despite the relentless sunshine overhead. My mom was right; this was a terrible fucking idea.

I push my hands through my hair and shake it out. When they drop back to my sides, they’re trembling. Being here, in this town that holds so much of my hurt as well as my joy, is too much. The sprawling fields and undulating curves of the river, which seemed endless to me as a child, now feel impossibly small. I’m suffocating, but I’m surrounded by open space.

A bell jingles, drawing my attention. The front door of Sunshine Grocery swings open. The man who steps through it is about my age, with shaggy blond hair cut in a grown-out mullet. Harsh sunlight illuminates his five-o’clock shadow–ridden face as he glances in my direction, and my breath stalls in my lungs.

Time folds in on itself. Suddenly I’m seventeen again, walking through the tall grass of a field.

Trucks are parked in a loose semicircle ahead, their headlights illuminating a cluster of kids from school who stand around a bonfire, sipping from plastic cups. Their shouts and laughter carry over to me on the breeze. I rub my forearm, regretting the decision to wear short sleeves. It’s colder than I thought it would be.

Kyle Miller glances over his shoulder at me, pausing mid-laugh to scan my body as I approach. I wore this shirt because of the deep V-neck, hoping it would be sexy enough for someone with his experience. Heat fills my cheeks. I’ve never tried to be sexy before. The only guy I ever cared about impressing has seen me traipsing through fields of cow manure in boots and loose-fitting jeans. Dressing up for Truett was never going to change how he saw me.

Of course, after everything that’s happened these last few weeks, impressing him is no longer an option. Speaking to him is no longer an option. He made sure of that.

Kyle, on the other hand, has never been on my radar. He’s good-looking enough, with tightly cropped blond hair and brown eyes that are approximately 70 percent cacao. As our school’s star tight end, he’s certainly sought after by the other girls. I’ve been so busy pining after my best friend, though, that Kyle never managed to make it out of my peripheral. Not until yesterday, when he invited me to this party.

When he sought me out during the loneliest period of my life.

Which is how I find myself here, trying to impress him with no idea how to do it. I tug at the hem of my shirt and hope this V-neck and what little bit of makeup I have on are enough to make me something more than the unremarkable person I’ve always been.

Kyle’s lips stretch into a wide smile. “There you are, Delilah.”

“Here I am.” I shift my weight and glance around at the crowd, noting the familiar faces. In a town as small as Fly Hollow, it’s impossible not to know everyone. It’s also impossible to keep your business to yourself. Especially when your dad decides to conduct that business on school grounds.

So when I catch Emily and her best friend, Katelyn, casting sidelong glances my way before closing ranks with their shoulders and dissolving into laughter, I suddenly wish I were anywhere but here.

“You look beautiful,” Kyle says.

My gaze cuts back to him. Despite my anxiety, I find myself preening at his compliment. Have I ever been called beautiful?

Not by anyone but my dad, I realize. Pathetic.

Perhaps that’s why I lean into Kyle when he opens his arms for me. Aligning my body to his, I can feel every muscle, every contour. I lace my arm around his waist like I know how to do this. Like my experience goes beyond a few stolen kisses in the shade of a willow tree with my best friend.

Like said best friend didn’t just arrive and grab a beer from a group of guys ten feet away, without ever bothering to acknowledge my presence.

Ignoring him takes every ounce of my strength. When I finally pry my gaze from the back of Truett’s head, Kyle’s friends are looking at me expectantly. I realize I’ve missed what was just said.

I clear my throat and fix my face into the friendliest expression I can. The least nervous. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Kyle’s hand slips an inch down my waist. Tension crawls into my spine, but moving away from his touch only brings me closer to his side. He takes it as a good sign, hooking his thumb through my belt loop and squeezing.

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