Chapter Seven
Demi
My sister takes my hand as we pad down the halls of Rixton Falls Memorial Hospital that morning. I’m not sure if she’s trying to take some of my strength or trying to give me some of hers.
“He’s in pretty bad shape,” I say before we get to his door. “Be prepared. You’ll hardly recognize him.”
She inhales and meets my gaze with glassy eyes. “I’m ready.”
Delilah hated Brooks at first. She thought he was pretentious and arrogant. But she doesn’t tend to immediately like most people she meets. Sometimes she comes across as cold and unfeeling, but I’m convinced she’s filled with stuffed animal fluff and candy hearts on the inside. Once she warms up to someone, she’s usually loyal until the end.
Which is why I’m so hesitant to drop the bomb on her just yet.
Delilah loves Brooks.
Almost as much as she once loved Royal.
We step into his room, and I hear her gasp from behind me.
“Oh, my God.” She steps past, kneeling at his bedside and taking his IV laden hand in hers. Delilah sniffs. “It doesn’t even look like him.”
She presses her cheek against his lifeless fingers.
“What are the doctors saying?” she asks.
“Nothing new since we last talked.” I take a seat in the corner and let Delilah have her moment. “Mostly just waiting for the swelling to subside.”
“Oh, good. You’re here.” Brenda Abbott hurries into the room in full hair and makeup. I’ve learned over the years that an Abbott never leaves the house without looking their best, regardless of the situation.
“There’s no excuse for looking like a slob,” Brooks once said to me when I attempted to leave the house in sweats and a t-shirt.
I was going to put gas in my car.
Brenda rushes to my side, kissing each of my cheeks before turning her gaze to her battered son.
“Good morning, Delilah.” Brenda offers a warm smile with a side of pained eyes. “Back from school?”
“I flew in last night,” Delilah says. “As soon as I heard, I booked the first flight home.”
“Such a sweet girl.” Brenda places her hand over my sister’s. “If only I had another son to marry you off to.”
Delilah tucks her face away, acting flattered. She’s not the marrying kind, but Brenda doesn’t know it. I’ll kind of be surprised if Delilah ever marries, and I dare anyone to so much as attempt to tie her down.
Brooks’s heart beats, providing a constant soundtrack for this entire exchange. We’re just three women, slapping smiles on our faces and pretending, for each other’s sake, that everything’s going to be okay.
I cross my legs and stare out the window. His room has a nice view of Meyer’s pond. In the warmer months, hundreds of ducks like to gather there. We used to walk the path and toss them torn pieces of stale bread. Brooks used to like to watch them fight over them. He’d throw a tiny piece into a group of several dozen and let them go at it. I would always chuck my pieces to the back, to the apprehensive ducks who kept their distance. They deserved the bread just as much as the others.
Looking back, it’s hard to tell where everything took a detour. Despite each of our flaws and imperfections, I think we were happy once.
Maybe he sensed my distance? My indifference? Maybe he could tell I wasn’t fully vested and decided to jump ship before it was too late? Maybe all of this is my fault. Maybe I was the undoing of us.
We were supposed to marry the weekend of Valentine’s Day. The holiday falls on a Sunday this upcoming year, so our wedding would’ve been on the thirteenth. I insisted thirteen was an unlucky number, but Brooks refuted my insistence. He thought I was being cute. And then he accused me of trying to postpone the wedding for the third time.
I was.
“Sweetie, did you hear what I said?” Brenda Abbott stares my way from across the room. Delilah too.
“I’m sorry.” I clear my throat. “What was that?”
“The Rixton Falls Herald would like to interview you for this weekend’s front page.” Brenda slicks her hand along her ebony bob. The cut looks fresh. “I spoke with a reporter this morning, but they’d like to speak to you as well. I told them I’d ask, and that it would only happen if you’re ready.”
“I’ll go with you.” Delilah rises. “You shouldn’t have to talk about this alone.”
“Oh, um.” My eyes flit between both of their stares. It’ll be impossible to give an accurate interview when I’m still sorting through my own emotions, but I can’t say no. “Sure, yeah.”
“Oh, my sweet angel.” Brenda rests her hand on her chest and tilts her head. “Thank you. This will mean the world to Brooks to know we refused to lose hope.”
“Where’s the reporter now?” I ask.
“She’s in the lobby, next to the vending machines on your way in,” she says. “Green blouse. Long blonde hair. Her name is Afton, I believe. Very nice young lady.”
“You must be Afton?” A few minutes later, I approach a woman in the lobby in a silk blouse in a muted shade of moss. It’s tucked into a black pencil skirt, and when she rises, she towers over me in patent leather heels. A diamond broach in the shape of two interlocking Cs is attached to her lapel, and she extends her hand with a tepid smile like she’s afraid of me.
Maybe she’s not good at this sort of thing? I imagine she was coached not to appear overly excited, which is understandable, given the subject matter of this interview.