Page 3 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

“No…but I didn’t want today becoming about me and my insignificant problems when we were there to honor Sam. Quincy lost her husband, you lost your brother-in-law, the Andersens lost their son and brother. My mom getting herself into trouble is nothing compared to their grief…and you embarrassed me,” she says.

“I know, and I’m so fucking sorry. You know I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you. It was an asshole move to push the issue after the memorial, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant you’d be living here with me—safe,” I say firmly.

“You don’t really want me here, Connor. You have your own life and I’m sure you’re used to the bachelor lifestyle. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Little does she know I want nothing more than for her to live with me. She’s my world, and I haven’t taken advantage of being a bachelor in…shit, over a year. It’s difficult to get a hard-on for a woman who isn’t the love of my life. My hook-ups have always been hollow and resulted in me scrubbing shame off my skin.

I coax Delilah onto her back, her nape resting on my thigh and cup her cheeks, smooshing them together like a chipmunk, making her giggle.

“You are never, have never, and will never be a burden. I want you to be wherever I am, and it makes me happy providing you a safe and comfortable home. I don’t want to hear it again, okay?”

I bend down and suck the tip of her nose into my mouth and release it with a loud pop.

“Connor! Gross! I hate when you do that!” She laughs, wiping my spit from her nose.

I nudge her to get off my lap and pile the throw pillows and lap blankets around her, like a cocoon. She wiggles trying to get out, but I tuck her in tighter. Her laughter shoots me right in the chest.

“You’re going to stay here, take a nap because you’ve got to be exhausted from the shitshow last night, and wait for me, okay? I’m moving you out of that trailer,” I say.

“Conn—” she protests but I cut her off.

“It’s not up for discussion, doll. You’re an intelligent, independent, perfectly capable woman, but you have to let me do this for you.” I kiss her forehead and head out the door without looking back.

She’s never going back to that trailer if I have anything to do with it.

Delilah belongs with me.

2

Connor age 8, Delilah age 7

Irode my bike way farther than Mom said I could today. But it’s the end of summer and I don’t wanna go home yet. I rode all the way from my house, through the whole town, past the high school, and now I’m here. My rear tires on the sidewalk, and my front tire is on the dirt road that leads out to the trailer park.

I get off my Huffy and set it down gently, so I don’t scare her. Tiny sniffles come from a life-size princess doll. The little girl sitting on the dirt road has her knees pulled to her chin, and her face buried in her arms crying.

I walk over to her. I’m nervous, but it feels like the right thing to do to help her. I plop down beside her in the dirt and pat her shaking back.

“Are you okay?” I ask, looking around for a grown-up.

I can’t see her face. It’s hidden behind the whitest hair I’ve ever seen. It’s shiny, and straight, and almost touches her bottom. Like the Barbie dolls my big sister plays with.

She slowly lifts her head from her crossed arms but doesn’t look at me.

“I’m okay. You don’t have to sit with me,” she says quietly.

“Do you need a grown-up? I can go get my mom,” I offer, hiking a thumb over my shoulder.

“Grown-ups never help. It’s okay.”

She wipes her runny nose with the back of her hand and wipes it on her pretty yellow dress, already dirty from sitting on the ground. She tucks her doll-like hair behind her ear and shyly looks at me. Her eyes look like diamonds. They’re red from crying, but they’re sparkly like my mom’s wedding ring. My eyes are just brown. I’ve never seen eyes like hers before.

I pop up from the ground and hold my hands out to help her up. “My name’s Connor. What’s your name?”

Tinkling like a bell, the little doll says, “I’m Delilah.”

I’ve never heard that name before. It’s pretty. She’s wiping the dust off her bottom, so I peek at her face a little bit. She’s so pretty. Even though her face is all splotchy and red and there’s tears and boogers on it.

My mom hugs me when I cry and it always makes me feel better, maybe it works for other kids too. I do know one thing that fixes anything in the whole wide world. My mom’s lemonade.