My Heart for Yours

by Jolene Perry

  “Come on,” Dad says in his hushed whisper as his arms come around our shoulders, his political smile attached firmly in place. “Let’s give our condolences so we can get out of here. I made reservations at the club tonight, and I’d like to go home and shower funeral off me before we go.”

  My jaw clenches at Dad’s callousness. I glance back and Mom who also has her political face on. Hair perfectly smoothed, shaking hands, giving hugs, but I know her well enough to see that she’s only half here. She’s just had a lot more practice pretending than I have.

  I’m numb.

  I can’t take it anymore—Dad’s callousness, Mom’s fakeness, and Weston’s sweetness. I head for Tobin.

  Unfortunately, a lot of people have gathered around the family.

  “Wait, Delia.” Weston’s right behind me, but I’m not walking up to Tobin with Weston’s arm on me.

  I slide my way through until I’m face to face with him. Messy blond hair. Blue eyes. Everything I thought I’d look at forever, but now he’s tired, weary. Grief is this black mask painted over him.

  I don’t want for Tobin to hold out his hand this time for a shake, and it doesn’t matter that Weston is here with me. I slam into his chest as I put my arms around Tobin and hold on like he’s the only thing that could keep me on the earth. His arms come around me, low on my waist like always. Strong, like always. Protective, like always. I don’t have to open my eyes to know his face is tilted down—I can feel his breath on my shoulder. His eyes are probably closed, and he’s holding me every bit as tightly as I’m holding him.

  I wonder if I can transfer my feelings through this hug. If somehow, he’ll know how much I’m aching to be the one to comfort him.

  We both breathe in at the same time. I don’t know if we’re breathing one another in, or if we’re both trying not to cry.

  “It was amazing, what you said,” I whisper. “I love you.”

  Wait. Where did that come from? No. Wait. It’s okay. Friends say I love you. I do love him. He’s my youth, my growing up, how could I not?

  I back away, but our eyes are now locked, so I only make it back a step. And then Weston’s hand comes out to shake Tobin’s. Seeing them touch brings a wave of nausea over me. Tobin’s eyes only leave mine briefly to connect with Weston’s, then come straight back to me.

  Not only does Tobin hate me for good reason, I still think there’s too much between us, but we might salvage something like friends.

  Weston lightly rests his hand on my lower back as we walk away. I hate that I’m walking away with Weston’s hand on me. I wish I could stand next to Tobin, his broken mother, and his father who’s withering away to nothing.

  It wasn’t that long ago that I was considered part of his family. It wasn’t that long ago that Tobin and I could have had our own family.

  Instead I take a last look over my shoulder to see blue eyes staring back at me.

  I’m wiped. I’m exhausted from Tobin, Weston, and the services. Everything. I’m still in my black dress, lounging on one of the chairs on the screened porch. Dad’s upstairs washing “funeral” off of him, and I’m supposed to put on a happy face for our late dinner at the club. I hate those people.

  Weston steps into the room and takes the lounge chair next to mine, but he doesn’t lounge. He sits. Elbows on knees.

  “I’m so stupid.” Weston sighs.

  “What are you talking about?” I shift my head to see him better.

  “You and Tobin.” He shakes his head. “Your dad told me everything, you know, earlier today, and I didn’t care.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I’m shocked Dad told anyone. I’m like his big, dirty secret.

  “You shouldn’t have cared. It’s all history.”

  “Some people would care that you’d been so involved with someone.” His eyes widen, just a little.

  “What? Having sex? Lots of people have sex before they’re married, Weston.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but my heart’s pounding because I’m probably not hiding how Tobin affects me very well.

  “I thought I could marry you.” His body shifts on his chair to face me.

  “What?” Mom’s words from that morning echo back to me. He’s talked with your father.

  “I mean, I wasn’t sure, of course. But yeah. I’ve thought about it a lot.” He slides his fingers together and stares at his hands for a moment.

  It’s starting to fall down around me—the life I’ve built up since leaving here. I should be sadder about it, but somehow, it comes as almost a relief. Weston’s two years older than me. Twenty now. And still waiting for marriage, he told me. One of the side-effects of growing up with a pastor for a father—well, before he became a senator. It probably says something really special about him that he’s willing to be with someone like me, or maybe it’s just another matter of keeping up appearances, even with just me. It all goes to show that I’m afraid to trust anyone anymore.

  I stare at his face. His smooth cheeks, soft lips, nice eyes. And I take back what I thought earlier. I don’t think I would turn into my mother if I was with him, but could I be happier with someone else? Would Weston still love me if he knew I leaned over the bar in hopes a view of my cleavage would get me a beer, or would he be embarrassed for me? How would he feel if he knew that trading pieces of clothing and running around with muddy feet are some of my favorite things? That I read poetry and love it—only I’ve lost that girl and want her back.

  Damn that Tobin. I’ve been begging myself to think it was just first love, but it’s more than that. He gets me in places no one else does. Even if Weston tried, he wouldn’t understand that sometimes stripping off your clothes and jumping in a black lake is the only way to end the day. That ragged cut-off shorts are the perfect thing to wear on nearly all summer days.

  “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” he asks, his eyes taking me in just like I’m taking him in.

  “I don’t know anything right now.” At least it’s the truth.

  Weston blinks a few times and sighs. “I don’t want to not be with you, Delia.”

  I’m a chicken and didn’t want to be alone. What a crappy reason to be with someone. I’m sure if I was determined, I could forget about that. And also, we’ve had some great times together. Losing him feels horrible, but now, so does keeping him.

  “I’m going out. I’ll be right back.” I stand. Needing air. Needing out. Away.

  “Where are you going?” He sits up a little taller in his chair.

  “I’m going to get some lemonade.” Or just go for a drive. Or see if they’re actually doing a bonfire tonight.

  “I think we should talk.” He stands to face me. “And we have dinner.”

  “When I get back?” I ask.

  “Are you…” he glances down. “Are you meeting up with anybody?”

  “Just ask if I’m meeting Tobin, Weston. And no, I’m not.” I touch his arm, and I beg for that simple gesture to ease away all of my uncertainty, but it doesn’t. It just makes me even more unsure than I already am.

  Weston pulls me into a tight hug, and I feel everything between us. Until I started pulling away, everything with he and I was perfect. Or at least simple. Maybe I was selfish to wish for anything more than that. I should probably be trying to get it back. But I’m not. I just don’t have the energy right now.

  I slide on my heels, and then kick them off in favor of my flip-flops, even though I’m still in my nice dress. I step outside without looking back. I don’t want to know what Weston looks like right now. My best guess is that he will make some polite excuse for me, and he’ll go to dinner with my parents without me. I’m sure I’m horrible for hoping this is the case.

  But getting out will clear my head. It has to.

  Nineteen

  Tobin

  She loves me. I can’t believe she said that. What was I supposed to do, say it back? There, at the funeral? Do I still love her?

  ***

  “Do you love me?” she asked
.

  “You know I do,” I said. I reached over and pushed the tiny strap of her tank top off of her shoulder and pressed my lips to her hot skin. We’d been outside all day, riding four wheelers through the mud that a solid week of constant rain had left behind on our land. It was the first day of sunshine and Delia and I were taking advantage of it.

  “Then you’ll come tonight,” she said.

  “On his birthday? I just don’t know if it’s the best time.”

  Delia pulled on a light cotton button up shirt over her filthy tank top and left it unbuttoned. This was not what I expected when I first got involved with her. I didn’t realize that under the prissy rich-girl (albeit gorgeous) exterior, was one of the most exciting, alive people I’d ever met. Someone who couldn’t wait to see what every new day offered. At least when she was with me.

  “Now is as good a time as any, Tobin. Besides, tonight it won’t be so bad. My dad’s side of the family will be on their best behavior so they don’t offend Mom’s side.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  She laughed.

  “Because Mom’s side has the money.”

  I mulled this over for a second. “Wait, I thought your dad was loaded?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. The house, the cars it all came from old money– Mom’s money. Why do you think he’s so desperate to hang on to everything?” She rinsed her hands in the hose, and then shocked me by taking a big drink from it.

  “Come on, you filthy animal. Let’s go inside and get a proper shower,” I said.

  “Tobin! Your parents may come home, I can’t!” she said, but her smile said, dare me.

  “Hey, if I’m going to this dinner tonight, I’m at least getting you naked first.”

  I slung her over my shoulder and ran toward the house with her squealing the entire way.

  ***

  Its dusk by the time I get out of my house and pull up to the lake. There’s a massive fire going and a sea of smiling people and red plastic cups. It feels good to be out of my house and all of the sadness. Mom and Dad were still visiting with out of town aunts and uncles when I said my goodbyes. I can’t handle anymore today. I did make a stop on the way here. Back to the cemetery. I noticed on my way out earlier that Delia’s grandmother’s grave didn’t have any flowers. I’d been keeping it clean for the last year since they left town. I’d go out month or so and clean the headstone with soap and water and weed-eat to keep the brush from getting too overgrown. I’d leave a couple of flowers for her. Most of the time just daisy’s from our yard, but every once in a while there would be a magnolia blossom on the tree at the end of our property that I’d catch at just the right time and bring for her. No one noticed I did it, but that’s not why I did. I don’t even think I did it for Delia. I did it because it was the right thing to do for a lady who always saw in me what I hoped Delia’s father someday would.

  I reach inside the cab of the truck and start lugging the bags of ice I brought toward the row of ice chests.

  “Let me help you,” Delia says. She came out of nowhere.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Same as you. Here to see some old friends and try to have a good time after today…” she doesn’t finish her sentence. What else can you add to that, right?

  “Where’s the boyfriend?” The words come out before I can stop them.

  “Um, he’s out… With my dad.”

  She looks ashamed as she says the words. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.

  “Right. Okay, well, have fun.” I crack one of the ice chests open, rip a bag of ice and dump it in.

  “Tobin, wait,” she says. “Can we just like, talk?”

  “About what, Delia? Look, I’m sorry about last night, really, but it’s just not the time.” I stare down at my feet. I’m not used to feeling like this. Exposed. Vulnerable.

  “I mean, just, I’d like to explain about Weston being here and stuff. It wasn’t my choice, really. I didn’t even invite him down, it was my dad—”

  I cut her off. “Right. It’s always your dad, Delia. Let’s just leave it alone.” The day we buried Eamon is not the day to do this.

  It was always her dad, though. Standing in the way. Like that night I came to see her after she’d had surgery and he wouldn’t let me in the house. How different her relationship with Weston must be. To have her dad in their corner, I can’t even imagine what that would have done for us.

  ***

  “Tobin, you can’t be serious.” Mr. Gentry held the door open just enough to see who it was, but not enough to make me feel like there was any chance I’d be walking through it.

  “I don’t want to upset anyone, sir. I just want to check on her,” I said.

  “You know how I feel about you being near her at all. Did you really think by coming here I’d actually let you in my house?”

  How had someone not kicked this man’s ass before? Surely if someone had gotten him good like he deserved he wouldn’t still be such a prick.

  “She just had surgery. I need to be there—”

  “Exactly. She just had surgery. That’s yet another reason for you to stay away.”

  As if I had somehow caused her appendix to rupture. Add that to the list of things that were all my fault, huh? I was the one who’d taken her to the hospital when her dad told her to suck it up because they had photo’s to take for his campaign. Delia may have been tiny, but she wasn’t weak. I’d rarely seen her cry, and never from physical pain. When she broke down at my house the other night, curled up in my lap, she couldn’t even take a breath without sobbing, I rushed her to the hospital. She threw up in my truck and then again all over me as I carried her in through the sliding emergency room doors. And this asshole was telling me I couldn’t see her?

  Still, I wasn’t going to cause a scene at his house. I wasn’t going to risk upsetting Delia when she needed to rest. So I walked away. I was parked on the road. I knew Mr. Gentry would blow a gasket if I dared to park in his driveway. I was just getting into my truck when Mrs. Gentry grabbed my arm. The smell of Amaretto hung heavily in the air. I’m surprised she put her drink down to come after me. She was a beautiful older woman, and that made me even sadder for her, the way her life was wasted with someone so awful.

  “Tobin, I’m sorry that Randy was so ugly to you, but you had to know he wasn’t going to let you come inside,” she said.

  “It was worth a shot. I had to try.” I shrugged. “How is she?”

  “Delia is doing fine. She’s still very tired from the pain medicine that she’s taking, but there were no problems with the surgery. She’ll be good as new in a few days.” She smiled at me and I realized how much Delia was her mother. They had the same warm smile that made you trust every word they said.

  “Will you tell her that I came by?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “And, can you give her this?” I handed Mrs. Gentry a small package. It was a book. A journal, actually. What next to no one, not even Mrs. Gentry, knew about Delia was that she loved poetry. She always had a book of poetry stashed in her purse. Eamon would tease her about it, call her pretentious. She didn’t mean to be. She said she just loved how simple words could be bent into something more, something beautiful. I asked her once why she didn’t write her own. She laughed as if I’d just said the most unreasonable thing in the world. She said she couldn’t. But I believed in her, and I knew that she could. I wanted her to try.

  Mrs. Gentry glanced down at the wrapped book and sighed.

  “Yes, Tobin, I’ll give this to her. Now please, go on before he comes out and then we’ll both be in trouble.”

  ***

  “Tobin, about what I said at the funeral, I—”

  “It’s fine.” I love you too, is what I really want to say, but I can’t. “Really, no explanation necessary. I’m sure your dad will be pissed if he finds out you’re here talking to me anyway.”

  “Why do you always have to bring my dad into it?”

&n
bsp; “Your dad is in it, he always has been. Holding you back. Making your decisions for you. Making you his little puppet,” I say. The words should sting. I’m hoping. I want her to hurt. I shouldn’t be the only one.

  She laughs. A livid, phony laugh. “You, Tobin, are just as guilty of holding back as I am.”