Page 62 of For Lila, Forever

I hug my sides and let my lungs fill with the cool breeze.

Suddenly this house feels like so much more than a house to me. Standing on the porch where I used to lounge with a book while my daughter ran around in the back yard, I can think of a hundred other memories just as ordinary and precious.

I wipe the tears that start to fall and compose myself in record time before heading back in.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” MJ asks. She’s standing in the middle of the kitchen. “Why were you outside with no coat on?”

“Change of plans, sweetie,” I say. “We’re not visiting Grandpa today.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll tell you later. I promise. I just have a few things I need to take care of. You want to play with Lucy today? I can call her mom and see if you can go over for a few hours?”

MJ hops up and down, her face lit and vacant of the concern that filled it a second earlier. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“All right. Go change into some play clothes,” I say as I call my friend, Taylor.

I met her the year we first moved here. The two of us were the only single moms at the parenting seminars the local hospital held for pregnant women, so we ended up pairing up and then we promised to be each other’s birth coaches, even though neither one of us had ever done it before.

She ended up having Lucy three weeks before I had MJ.

We were there for each other then, and we’ve been there for each other ever since.

“Tay,” I say when she answers. “I need a huge favor …”

“Of course, anything,” she says.

I begin to talk, but my throat constricts. My voice is going to be shaky and she’s going to ask me what’s wrong, and I’m going to lose it and I don’t want MJ to see me like this.

“Delilah?” she asks.

“Yes, sorry.” I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “Can MJ come over today for a few hours?”

I keep my voice light and upbeat. I’ll tell her everything later, when I’ve had a chance to sort through all of this.

“Oh, God. Yes. Send her over. Lucy’s been begging for a playdate all week.”

“Thanks, Tay. I’ll drop her off in a few.”

I load MJ into the car a few minutes later and run her across town to Taylor’s house. I wait in the car as I watch her go inside, and I wave to Tay and Lucy from the driver’s seat before backing out and heading home.

Halfway there, I stop at a home improvement store to pick up as many cardboard boxes as I can. We might have to stay in a hotel for a while, but I can put the important things in these and keep them in my car.

Last I checked, we had a decent amount in savings that should get us through these next few months. For several years the three of us had saved up quite the nest egg, but between Grandma’s sickness and subsequent stint in a nursing home and Grandpa’s Alzheimer’s and the insane cost of keeping him at Willow Creek, we’ve blown through a depressing amount of it.

I pull into my driveway a few minutes later and start carrying the empty cardboard boxes to the house. Across the street our long-time neighbor, Ms. Beauchamp, is pruning her flowers.

“Hey, Miss Delilah!” she calls, waving with a garden-gloved hand.

“Hi, Ms. Beauchamp,” I say, giving a nod because my arms are full.

She pushes herself up before waddling across her lush green yard and making her way across the street.

“How’s Ed doing? I’ve been meaning to ask, but I haven’t seen you around much. We must keep missing each other.” Her bushy gray-blonde hair bounces in the breeze and there’s a smudge of dirt on her oversized red sunglasses. There’s something carefree and effervescent about her, and I’ve always loved that.

“He’s hanging in there,” I say. “Taking things one day at a time.”

“Well, it’s just so sad,” she says. “I watched my own mother suffer from that horrible disease, and I know it isn’t easy. Is MJ doing okay?”

I nod. “She is.

Kids are amazingly resilient, but I’ve always felt that MJ was a notch above average in that department. Sometimes I think she’s stronger than me.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” she says, waving her garden shears. “Looks like you’re about to embark on a little project or something … are those moving boxes? You’re not moving, are you?”

“We are,” I say. “Unfortunately. Our landlord has asked that we leave by tomorrow.”

“And you’re just now packing? Oh, dear …”

“Well, his request came as a surprise to us,” I say before realizing she’s going to assume we’re being evicted. “He was an old family friend.” I hate referring to Bertram as a friend, but in this case, it’s just easier than explaining what he truly is: a monster. “He bought the house for us when we first moved here, but our families have had a recent falling out so he’d like us to be out as soon as possible.”

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