Page 107 of And Now, Back to You

I pull away. She sways with me. I like it so much I curl myself around her, resting my chin on the top of her head.

“You’re that too. Everything in between,” I whisper. “Let’s go downstairs and see if we can help.”

Lottie is busy setting up portable, battery-operated space heaters on one of the long tables they use for the breakfast buffet. She smiles when she sees us emerge from the stairwell, a headlight strapped to the middle of her forehead.

“There you are. I was just about to come check in on you two. Everything all right?”

Delilah waves her sweatshirt-clad arms up and down. “I actually think I might die of heatstroke in this thing.”

Lottie grins. “I think it’s fine to take off at least one of those?” She gestures to the massive fireplace behind her. “We were able to get a manual fire going. Unfortunately, all the in-room fireplaces will be out while we work on the generator. Can I get you anything?”

“We’re actually here to help,” I say, trying not to watch the way Delilah wiggles and shimmies her way out of her sweatshirt. She finally frees herself and ties the arms around her neck instead. Like a cape. “We don’t have a broadcast this morning, so we’re all yours.”

Lottie looks relieved. “I actually could use some help delivering these to rooms, but I don’t want to put you to work.”

“We’re offering.” I need something to keep me out of that room, or else I’m going to tumble directly into that bed with Delilah.

Delilah bounces on her toes next to me. “Yes, absolutely. It’s the least we could do after all you’ve done for us.” A tinny version of “Here Comes the Sun” starts playing from the back pocket of her jeans. “Oh. Hold on a second. I’ll be right back.”

She brings the phone to her ear and quickly walks over to one of the windows. “Hey, Anita. Everything okay?”

I rack my brain for a previous mention of Anita but come up blank. I watch her for another minute, frowning when her shoulders hike up to her ears. She unties the sweatshirt from around her neck and folds it over her arm instead.

Lottie hands me one of the space heaters. “We’re placing these in the common areas, then delivering the rest to the rooms. You and Delilah can take as many as you’d like.”

“One is fine,” I mutter, distracted. Delilah usually talks with her whole body. Flailing arms, excited little shimmies. But right now, she’s standing with her arms crossed over her chest, staring out the window. “I’ll be right back.”

I wander closer to Delilah at the window, taking the wide way around the table so she sees me coming. She catches my eye and gives me a tight smile, nodding as she listens to the person on the other end of the phone.

Okay? I mouth.

She gestures for me to come closer, then reaches out and grabs the string of my hoodie, tugging me the rest of the way. She drops her head against the middle of my chest, still staring out the window, still with her phone to her ear.

“You can put him on,” she says quietly. “I can manage it.”

A soft, tinny voice warbles on the other end of the phone.

“I know, Anita. But it’ll be fine.”

I settle my palm at the base of her spine because she seems to need the support. She takes a deep, fortifying breath, then lets it out slowly.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Delilah says gently. “I’m sorry I missed your call. I was in rehearsal. You know I sometimes get caught up in my music.”

Delilah continues talking soft and slow while the pieces knit themselves together. That day in the diner, she said her mother was a musician. That she was raised by her grandfather. But why is she pretending—

“I know I haven’t visited in a while, but I’ll be there soon.” She loops my hoodie string around her fist, thumb rubbing over the frayed end. “Why don’t you go with Anita and have some tea? I put some of that lavender kind you like in your cabinet the last time I was there.”

A low voice answers and Delilah laughs.

“The shortbread cookies too. Of course I remember.” Her smile turns bittersweet. I rub my hand up and down her back. “I love you too. I’ll see you soon.”

She ends the call and keeps her head against me. I continue the slow and even strokes across her back.

“My grandfather has Alzheimer’s,” she says quietly. “Sometimes he gets confused.” Her throat clicks as she swallows and I tug her closer, wrapping my arms around her. “He’s not an angry man, but when he’s stuck in a memory it’s easier to guide him through it if I go in there with him.”

I nod. “You don’t have to explain.”

She shifts so she’s looking up at me. Her eyes are glassy and red-rimmed, the very tip of her nose pink. “I want to.”