Page 95 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Yeah,” I reply gruffly. My breath disturbs Delilah’s hair, sending it off on its own wind. “Just hate funerals.”

She nods. Her gaze is wide and knowing, a shimmering slate backdrop for all the words I can see brimming in her mind. But she keeps her mouth shut. After all, Kimberly and her parents are mere steps away.

“They’re more fun from a tree,” Delilah says sweetly. Her hands are folded together at the nape of my neck. She leans back to get a good look at me, holding tightly to her anchor point. “You think Nana minds?”

My vision glosses over. “No, sweet pea. I don’t think she minds one bit.”

“Sorry about your mama,” Truett drawls. Tears well in his eyes as his gaze slips from mine to Lucy’s. “I don’t ever wanna lose mine.”

“No one does,” Kimberly interjects. “Thanks for being here today, Lucy. Truett.” She doesn’t look at them as she says it, only me. “Let’s go home, Henry?” Her voice lifts like it’s a question, but her eyes say it’s not.

“Right.” I swallow past the lump that’s been living in my throat for the past week, ever since we got the call that Mom was gone. I press my lips together. I want so badly to crumble beneath the weight of it all. But I don’t. I can’t. So I wet my lips and nod, turning away from Lucy and her son to follow my wife out of the cemetery, where I’ll leave both my parents behind. It’s the finality of it that weighs like a stone in my gut. I pat Delilah’s back. “Let’s go, sweet pea.”

“Bye, Tru!” Delilah calls over my shoulder.

“Bye, Delilah!” a small voice replies, already muted by the space I’ve put between us.

August 3rd, 2009

I thought the reality of it all would hit the moment I started student teaching. Or when I walked across the stage, diploma in hand, to start this phase of my life. Maybe even when I sat for the state teaching exam.

But it’s not until this moment, when I step into the classroom that will be my own, a box of recorders in hand, that it really starts to sink in.

I did it. I’m here.

I wish my parents could see this.

If Dad were alive, he’d pat me on the back and ask where he gets to put an Alabama football poster. Mom would roll her eyes, then lean in and kiss my temple, leaving behind a smudge of red lipstick. I didn’t get to have many of those moments with them. Dad was gone too soon, and though Mom was so proud of me becoming a father, it’s not the same as this. Being Delilah’s dad is the thing I’m most proud of in the world, but becoming a music teacher? Going back to school when it would’ve been so much easier to keep trudging forward in the life I fell into? I wonder if this is how it felt for Kimberly.

It’s the first thing I’ve done for myself in so long, and I want to revel in it. Soak it all in.

“Knock, knock.”

I turn too fast and nearly drop the recorders as I do.

Lucy’s standing in the doorway, arms intertwined in front of her body. She’s in jean shorts that brush the tops of her knees and a pink T-shirt with a logo I recognize as the camp the church takes the youth group to every summer. Her golden hair is swept up in a claw clip, with a few strands falling softly around her face. She tucks one back, an amused smile playing on her lips. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”

My mouth snaps shut. I shake my head. “No. Just thought I was the only one here other than the custodian… What was his name?”

“Woodrow Pugh. The other teachers call him Woody.” Her nose wrinkles, and she snorts a laugh. “The kids call him Pee-Yew.”

“Wow, kids are assholes.”

She unfolds her hands to point at me. “Watch your language, sir. There could be children listening.”

I make a show of glancing over both my shoulders, then level her with a flat look. “Nope, no kids. Summer is still in full swing for them.”

Lucy sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Yep, for a couple more weeks anyway. I think Tru and Delilah have been down at the river every day this summer. I’m surprised they haven’t shriveled up from being waterlogged.”

“Don’t you miss that? Summer as a kid.” I walk over to the piano and set the box of recorders down beside it. “No responsibility, just playing outside and getting a tan.”

“I was usually taking care of a little sibling or two,” she says, laughing. I hear her footsteps on the tightly woven carpet as she follows me. “Or cleaning the church.”

“Yuck.” I glance over my shoulder. “I mean, no offense to your siblings.”

“But offense to the church?” she deadpans.

“Well…”

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