Page 70 of The Cost of Forgetting You

Chapter Twenty-One

Delilah

“Since when do we have places this cute in Fly Hollow?”

Alicia turns to look over her shoulder at the room. The News Room was once someone’s house, now turned into a cozy cafe. It has the original creaking floorboards and framed news clippings from the local paper on the faded olive walls. In what used to be the kitchen, a lanky teenager took our order and grumbled our total to us, which Alicia insisted on paying. I couldn’t talk her down, so I bought two biscuits with chocolate gravy while she collected our coffees, to make up for taking two weeks to answer her invitation.

Two weeks spent mulling over what Truett had said, both on the road home from the school as well as at his house. Two weeks spent wondering if I could forget how it felt to be so close to him again, to have his lips brush mine, this time knowing full well it wasn’t for practice.

If what he said was true—if he’s always wanted me—why wait until now to admit it?

I can’t make heads nor tails of it. But he was right about one thing: I’m not immune to mistakes. Nearly allowing myself to kiss him, to ruin the fragile arrangement we have for my dad by giving in to a temptation with no chance of a future? I’m proving the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And if I want to believe I can be better, then I have to believe Alicia can, too.

Her gaze slips from the closest news story, meeting mine with an amused spark. “A few years back the local government allotted grant money for any business plans that would improve the town and bring fresh blood to Fly Hollow. Since then we’ve cycled through a couple cupcake shops, one Italian restaurant that lasted a single summer?—”

“Let me guess, no one wanted food they didn’t know how to pronounce?”

“Listen, Delilah, speziata just does not roll off the tongue with an accent this strong.” Her expression is mock serious as she takes on an affected drawl. “They’d honestly do better if they stuck with a classic. I’m thinking McDonald’s, KFC, et cetera.”

I divert my laughter into my cheeks, puffing them out. “Have they tried a Dollar General? That’d drum up some interest. I think this might be the last small town in America that doesn’t have one.”

“Not yet.” She sags in her seat, suddenly listless, and swipes a hand dramatically over her forehead. “But a girl can dream.”

I snort, then hiccup, choking on the sip of coffee I’d been in the middle of taking. “Dream a little bigger, Alicia.”

She grabs a napkin from a nearby table and passes it to me. “But anyway, through all those failed businesses, this one is the only to have thrived so far.”

I finish wiping the coffee spittle from my chin. “With good reason.” I spear a bite of biscuit with my fork. “Their food is delicious.”

Her gaze drifts up the walls, settling on a framed clipping featuring a photo of a man and his son in black-and-white, tilling a small garden. The headline reads, “Local family starts vegetable garden for the needy.”

She smiles. “I think it’s because it feels like home.”

She’s right. And not just because it is one. It’s all the things I loved about this town, once upon a time. Even the surly cashier knew Alicia by name and cracked a smile when she asked him about joining concert band in the fall. There’s a group of white-haired women gathered in the corner, holding a gossip counsel they’ve disguised as a book club. Each story on the wall celebrates an achievement, like the ground breaking for a park near the town square, or the year Renee Holt turned one hundred and five. The big and small wins that make up a life.

I know my mom always found it stifling. Since leaving, I’ve tried to convince myself I do, too. But Truett was right. A fact I’m afraid to look too closely at, lest it apply to other things.

“So how’ve you been? How’s your dad?”

“He’s all right.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and bite the corner of my lip. “His meds keep him calm, and he’s altogether pretty alert most of the time. Nights are hard. Talking is getting harder for him now. It takes him a while to find words once he forgets them. The doctor recommended a speech therapist, so he starts there on Monday.”

Her normally serene face crumples with pity. “I’m so sorry, Delilah. I hate that you guys are having to go through that.”

Her words settle over me like a balm to a wound I didn’t know I had. So often I think of this as something my dad is going through that I’m simply bearing witness to. But she’s right. I’m going through it, too. Losing your parent is never easy, I imagine, but how cruel of the universe to make me do it day by day, hour by hour for however many years Dad has left. Wouldn’t it be better to lose him all at once, rather than waking to find pieces of him have disappeared in the night, never to return again?

“It’s been really hard,” I whisper, my voice fracturing. I suck in a deep breath. My lungs ache with the pressure of holding it. “He’ll be fine all day, and then it’s like a switch turns, and he panics. Or retreats into himself. I’m not sure which is worse.”

“But you have help?”

I nod. “His caretaker, Roberta, comes during the week. And Truett—” I cut myself off, pressing my lips together. My eyes burn. Even with me avoiding him, he hasn’t wavered. He checks in on Dad a few times a week. Brought the mower by on Monday. He even texted me instructions for starting it and cutting the engine off so I wouldn’t have to ask for help. He’s giving me space when he could so easily force his way in. He showed his hand, then left it up to me whether I want to play.

Alicia tilts her head. “And your mom?”

I flinch, and she clicks her tongue.

“I suppose I could’ve guessed as much.” Her hand, smooth and scented with vanilla lotion that wafts up to my nose, settles over mine. “I’m glad you’re not alone in this. And I’m here if you ever need anything.”

My responding smile is wafer-thin. “Sorry it took so long for me to get back to you on making plans.”

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