His chest rises for a moment. Even at eighty-five, it’s amazing that he still has his wits about him, still has his broad shoulders and barrel chest, even if he moves a little slower these days.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. I’ve got a work emergency,” I say to my mother when I pass through the kitchen. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Is everything all right, lovey?” she asks as I give her a peck on the cheek.
“Yeah, no need to worry,” I say before making my rounds and giving everyone a quick goodbye. “I’ll be back in a couple days. Three max.”
I grab my suitcase by the door and head to the boat dock, dialing a local guy I know to see if he can come get me as soon as possible.
I offer him three hundred dollars cash to get me off this God-forsaken island.
He tells me he’s on his way.
Forever is a promise.
Love is a promise.
Someday, too, is a promise.
I’m a man of my word and no amount of time or distance, no amount of unanswered questions will ever change that. She’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted.
I won’t rest until she’s in my arms again.
Chapter 30
Lila
“He’s refusing to eat again.” A nurse from Grandpa’s assisted living facility is on the line. “And this morning he attacked one of our dietary aides. She had a pitcher of coffee and was making her rounds at breakfast and he grabbed her arm. Wouldn’t let go. That could’ve ended very badly.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, burying my face in my hands. “He’s on a wait list at the Alzheimer facility in Northrup. They say it could be a few more months still.”
“Do you have time to come in today? He always seems to calm down after he sees you.”
I glance at the mile-long to do list I scribbled onto a piece of yellow legal paper. I’d planned on running a million errands today, getting caught up on laundry and the like, and I was going to visit him after dinner, but family comes first. Always.
“Give me a half hour,” I say.
I take a quick shower, throw my hair into a wet ponytail, and change into leggings and a t-shirt before hightailing it across town to the Willow Creek Care Center.
I’m stopped at a red light at 5th and Vine when I happen to look over at the car beside me—a red sedan of some kind. For whatever reason, the driver reminds me of Thayer. Same mussy brown hair, same strapping shoulders. But he’s wearing sunglasses and I can only see him from the side, so maybe it’s wishful thinking.
I laugh at my delusion.
Thayer would never be in Summerton.
And who knows … it’s been almost a decade since he last saw me.
I’m probably nothing but a faded memory by now.
Chapter 31
Thayer
I stop at a little coffee shop on the square in downtown Summerton. I’m running on adrenaline and a total of four or five intermittent hours of sleep, but I refuse to slow down.
My flight arrived early this morning, but I had to wait until the rental kiosk opened at five thirty so I could grab a car.
I order a coffee. Black. And take a seat at the bar next to a sweet-looking elderly couple drinking hot tea and sharing a cranberry scone.
“And here you are,” the barista, a woman who looks to be in her late twenties, slides the coffee cup and saucer in my direction.
According to Google, Summerton’s population is around twenty thousand. The odds of this woman knowing “Delilah Hill” are slim to none, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask.
“Excuse me,” I say before she gets too far away.
“Yes?” She comes back, dark brows arched. Everything about her is harsh. Penciled brows. Pencil-lined lips. Pointed features. She looks nothing like the kind of person I’d picture hanging out with Lila, but you never know.
“Do you know anyone by the name of Delilah Hill? She lives around here.”
The woman looks me up and down, skeptical almost. “You’re not some crazy stalker ex-boyfriend, are you?
“No,” I laugh, though I realize in a way there’s very little difference between me and a crazy stalker ex-boyfriend at this point in time.
“Delilah Hill, you said?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Never heard of her. Sorry.” The woman struts to the cash register to help another customer.
I’d be disappointed if I weren’t already accustomed to having my hopes dashed.
“I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re looking for Delilah Hill,” the woman-half of the elderly couple beside me swivel in their bar stools, facing me.
“Yes,” I say. “I am. Do you know her?”
The woman places her hand over my arm and smiles. “We sure do. We were friends with her grandparents for years. We got to know Delilah and MJ quite well.”
“MJ?”
“Her daughter,” the woman says. “Adorable little thing.”
The idea of Lila having moved on, met someone new, and started a family with them is a shock to my system, and for a second everything around me fades out as the woman continues talking. Over the years, I’d always known anything was possible, but hearing someone confirm one of my worst fears? She might as well be ripping my heart out sans anesthesia because I’m feeling it all right now.