Page 96 of The Cost of Forgetting You

She manages to hold the expression long enough to make me uneasy before bursting into laughter. “I’m just picking on you. And besides, my siblings would probably agree with you.”

I take a seat at the piano bench and peer up at her. “What are they all up to now?”

“Cyndal moved out to California. Something about becoming a scriptwriter. I’m lucky to hear from her on holidays and birthdays. Always a text, never a call. Colton swore off God and everybody after he graduated and hasn’t talked to any of us in years.”

“Wow, I’m really sorry.”

Her gaze flutters to the carpet between us, lashes brushing her cheekbones. “Can’t say I blame them. Dad is nothing if not overbearing.”

My eyebrows lift. She glances up.

“What?” she asks, a little wrinkle forming between her brows.

“Nothing,” I say, shrugging. “I’ve just never heard you be critical of your dad before. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Oh, I can be critical. I just keep most of it in my head.”

“What a wild place that must be to live.” I smile, my gaze traveling over her face.

The creamy skin on her neck flushes crimson. Her gaze flits past me to the piano I’m sitting at, and the corner of her mouth twitches. “I’m really proud of you for doing this, you know. You have a real gift. The world deserves to witness that.”

Nerves unravel in my stomach. “I don’t know if I’d call Fly Hollow the world.”

It’s her turn to shrug. “It’s our world.”

I click my tongue. “Right you are.”

“Whether that’s a sad thing or not is still up for debate.”

I groan, tipping my head back. “Now you sound like Kimberly.”

Lucy doesn’t reply. When I lift my head to face her again, her expression is guarded.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out.” I run a hand through my hair, then drop it onto my thigh. “Do you feel like your life here is sad?”

Her gray eyes are storm clouds, building toward an inevitable downpour. She blinks, clearing the clouds, but the memory of them is there. The smell of rain. “Not sad, really. How could it be when I have Truett?”

“I say the same thing about Delilah.”

She smiles. “Delilah is one exceptional girl.”

“I’d be inclined to agree.”

“You know, last week she helped me bake ten dozen cookies for the church fundraiser. I didn’t even ask her to; she saw me making the dough and told Tru they needed to help.” Her gaze sparkles in the dull classroom light, her hands moving as she talks. “She’s good for him.”

I think of the way Truett brings Delilah out of her shell. Helps her live in the world I always worried would be too tough for her. “He’s good for her, too.”

Lucy closes the distance between us, walks around the opposite side of the bench, and sits facing the keys. It’s a simple spinet piano, but it’ll do for now.

“Sometimes I get so caught up in thinking about how life would have turned out, if only one little thing had gone differently. If I’d married someone else.” Her gaze nearly meets mine, then darts away at the last second. “If I’d gone away to school. But then I wouldn’t have Truett. And a life without him is a life I never want to see.”

I’m toeing a line here. Lucy and I have been friendly over the years. We’ve had to be, with kids as close as ours. But I’ve always kept it surface level. Refused to stray too far. Looking at her, with that forlorn expression painting her face melancholy, I know exactly what question I want to ask. I also know it’s not my place.

“He’s a lot like my dad.”

“Truett?” My brow furrows. I’ve never thought of the kid as anything like the pastor. He’s kind and confident, a little wild but so good-hearted. Nothing like the man I know his grandfather to be.

“Not Truett. Waylon.” Her gaze finally meets mine. “That’s what you were going to ask. If I was happy with him, or some iteration of it.”

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