Page 63 of The Cost of Forgetting You

Dad seems depressed. He was up on and off all night, asking for his mom. I don’t know what to do.

Roberta

Maybe try an activity to get his mind occupied. He likes card games.

Me

I couldn’t find the cards. I tried a puzzle, but a piece was missing, and that made him even more upset.

Roberta

Get him out for some fresh air. I promise it works wonders. :)

My eyes beg to close the entire drive down to the coast. I’m exhausted, but with every mile that passes, Roberta’s advice seems more and more sound. The drive is quiet. More peaceful than the last twenty-four hours in their entirety. Dad’s gaze remains locked on the scene unfolding outside the window. Rolling hills are replaced by sugar-sand beaches. Sunbathers stand in for Truett’s cattle. It’s amazing to me how much the landscape of Alabama can change in a forty-five-minute drive. Another point in the Pro column, though I’d never admit it to Truett.

Dad comes to life the minute his toes sink into that soft, white sand. We play in the waves, laughing like we did years ago on this same beach. We eat more fried seafood than anyone should in one sitting, then watch the sunset pool on the surface of the water before the horizon swallows it whole. We sing along to Dad’s favorite Greatest Hits of the ’90s CD on our way home, and I think how badly I wish I could hold on to this moment forever. The two of us, suspended in time. Before the worst that life has to offer comes back for another round.

As I park next to Dad’s car in the driveway, I note the lights on in Truett’s house, and my stomach clenches. I texted him an invite this morning to prove I’m not morally opposed to friends but got no response. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. It shouldn’t. Distance from him is exactly what I need, after so many blurred lines this past week. But I find myself staring up at those lights anyway, wishing I could explain myself in a way that he would understand. Wishing there was nothing to explain in the first place.

Would I love to simply pick up where things left off with Alicia as though nothing ever happened? Absolutely. Because I wish nothing had ever happened. But it did. And I don’t know how to reconcile all these people—Truett, my dad, Alicia, even Lucy—with the version of them that lives in my head. The version with clear-cut motivations and even clearer consequences. I was comfortable with the slightly pessimistic view I had of the world because I knew my place in it.

But where do I belong in this one? The one where people might have made mistakes because they were human, not because they didn’t care enough about me to do the right thing. The one where Truett and I might not actually be on opposite sides of the playing field but on the very same team.

I hover nearby as Dad brushes his teeth and casually hand him pajamas to change into from the load of laundry I’m putting away. He accepts the help better from me when it’s not obvious that’s what it is. That’s what I’m learning, anyway. And it could all just as easily change tomorrow.

I leave Mom a voicemail letting her know that I’m feeling better and that I miss her. That same sense of being ships passing in the night of that big house has followed me here. I get her texts during meetings and can’t reply. I call when she’s out with Debbie and her other friends from work, so she doesn’t pick up. Late at night while I’m sleeping, she’ll leave a voicemail letting me know how badly she wishes I’d come home. That I’ve done enough for my dad after everything he did to us.

I just don’t know anymore. And it’s the not knowing that keeps me from acknowledging those voicemails. The idea I formed of Dad during all those years when he didn’t call is yet another that I can’t reconcile. That’s not the same man I stayed up all night watching The Truman Show with while he ran a hand through my hair, my head on his lap. I don’t know how to feel about any of it, so I ignore my feelings entirely and focus on anticipating Dad’s needs, toeing the line of ignoring Mom while still letting her know I’m here.

The distance from her has made it clear this ebb and flow of love is a tool of hers, one she wields when she senses me pulling away. I’m so exhausted by it that I can’t be bothered to play along.

In the midst of it all, I find that Truett’s the one I want to talk to most. No matter how illogical. No matter how dangerous it feels for my heart. I think of the way he looked at me in the truck when I lamented about this small town that we both know I love. Like he could see right to my core, and he couldn’t believe I’d deny what was there.

If he’d truly seen past the walls, though, we’d be in much deeper shit. Because he’d know that he’s taking up the largest space in my heart. That he always has.

It’s more than enough reason to keep my distance. Should be, at least.

But the next morning when I hear the rumble of the lawn mower outside my window, I practically tumble out of bed. I rush to slip into cutoffs and a green flowy tee, shoving my feet into my shiny new Keds as I race to catch him before he leaves.

It’s not him who I find walking away from the mower, though. This man is shorter, with thick, dark hair that curls around his ears and a goatee that reminds me of the man Mom dated briefly following the divorce before he got sick of her mood swings. Tony, was it? Hell if I remember.

“You’re not Truett.”

He glances toward me. “Correct. Just the delivery boy,” he grumbles, tipping a brown cowboy hat in my direction. “I’m Ollie. I drew the short stick this morning. Now I get to walk all the way back to the north field.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Is everything all right?”

He nods and arches a brow. “Yep, just having to move some fencing panels to construct a temporary pen for a few of the steers that got too fat on grain. They’re going on a diet.”

“So he sent you to bring me the lawn mower?”

“Apparently so.” Ollie’s dark eyes cut from me to the zero-turn. “You know how to drive that thing?”

I grit my teeth. I enjoy people assuming I’m incapable about as much as I enjoy being incapable. “Truett gave me a lesson.”

Ollie huffs a laugh. “I’ll bet he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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