Cassie ought to be told point-blank rather than wonder, because it was obvious something was going on.
I cleared my throat, cursing as yet another damn cough rattled my lungs. I daren’t glance at Della. “We, eh—”
Della cut in. “David and I broke up, and I decided that I’d done enough study for a bit. Taking some time off.” She kept her eyes averted as if ashamed to tell Cassie that we were together. Then again, ashamed wasn’t the right word. Worried, perhaps? Afraid? “Ren kindly agreed to take me travelling for a while.”
What the hell?
I could kind of understand omitting the truth, but outright lying?
That would spiral out of control and fast.
“But you love school.” Cassie pouted. “And sorry about David.”
“I’m not.” Della smiled. “He was never the one.” Sneaking me a quick look, she focused again on Cassie, but Cassie’s attention had fallen on me. The way she studied me said she figured out something was different but couldn’t understand what.
Giving me a soft smile, she said, “You look even better than you did the night you left, Ren.”
I flicked Della another glance, assessing her level of acceptance and how I should respond. I nodded. “You, too.”
Even in her grief, she blushed. “That’s kind of you to say. I can’t believe it’s been so long.” Jostling Della’s arm, she whistled under her breath, brushing aside whatever tension had sprung up between us. “And you, little lady. You were thirteen when you kissed, um, well, when you guys left. I know you sent me pics, but you’re stunning, Della. All grown up.” Pecking her on the cheek, Cassie sighed. “Can’t believe we’re not all kids anymore.”
I wasn’t opposed to reminiscing, but there was a time and place, and dawn on the driveway, a few hours before Patricia’s funeral, was not it.
“Liam home?” I looked at the farmhouse, not seeing any lights on in the bedrooms. “John?” I missed that old farmer. I wanted to offer him my condolences and thank him again for all he’d done for us.
“Dad isn’t doing so well. I think he finally had a sleeping tablet last night after the doctor said he’d fall sick if he didn’t rest. And Liam, he’s okay. He lives in town now with his girlfriend, not here. You’ll see him at the funeral.”
A fresh wash of tears filled Cassie’s eyes, and she smiled brighter. “Anyway, sorry. I’m sure you guys have travelled a long way. I mean, look at you, almost as dirty as the day you first arrived.” Laughing at her joke, she let Della go. “Go on. Your room is still made up. Feel free to shower, and I’ll bring one of Dad’s suits over for you, Ren, and you can borrow one of my dresses, Della. Once we’re all dressed, we’ll have breakfast, and then…we’ll go say goodbye to Mom.”
* * * * *
Stepping back into our old one bedroom off the stables filled me with nostalgia and claustrophobia.
Nostalgia for all the precious memories I had of hugging a tiny Della, of telling her stories, of holding her when she was sad.
And claustrophobia for all the feelings I now had on top of those innocent ones. The memories of thrusting inside Della, of her cries as I made her come.
So many ways I knew her, and sometimes, it felt as if I knew too much. That I didn’t deserve to know what she looked like as a ten-year-old as well as twenty. That I wasn’t meant to hear her childish laughter blend with her adult chuckle.
Crossing the room and shrugging off her backpack onto her old single bed, Della was quiet as she stared at the dresser where we’d kept our things. The ribbon box from her first Christmas present Patricia had given her, and the willow horse I’d carved, still rested together.
A time warp to another era.
This room might’ve had guests stay in the years since we’d left, but it still smelled of hay dust and summer sunshine of our youth.
“Oh, wow.” Della kicked off her boots and padded in her socks to a little shelf by the bathroom door. Picking up a silver photo frame with ducks waddling on the bottom, her voice wavered with tears. “It’s us.”
My temper wasn’t exactly calm, thanks to Della refusing to tell Cassie the truth about us, but curiosity got the better of me, and I headed to where she stroked a time-bleached picture.
Looking over her shoulder, something reached into my chest and squeezed. Something pure and innocent and young.
I didn’t remember John or Patricia taking a lot of photos around the farm, and this one had been taken without our knowledge, capturing a moment of utter simplicity that only made it all the more perfect.
“You’re so pretty,” I breathed, drinking in the sight of young Della with white blonde hair, blue ribbon tangled in whatever breeze had danced in her strands, and the yellow daisy top and skirt she favoured. Knobby knees and white sneakers and the most gorgeous heart-warming smile as she hung on the moss-covered gate, staring at me as if I held her every wish and promise.