Bringing Delaney Home

by Lee Kilraine

  “I thought it might help you to know you’re not alone.” Agatha’s gaze locked on to hers. “You haven’t been for a long time.”

  Delaney turned her head to the side, staring out the window but looking into the past. “I wouldn’t have made it without you all, and I didn’t even know. I wish someone had told me.”

  “Why? Would that have changed anything?”

  “Yes,” Delaney whispered, looking back at Agatha. “I wouldn’t have felt so alone.”

  “Well, hells bells.” Agatha reached across the table and dabbed at Delaney’s tears with her napkin. “It looks like we miscalculated a bit.”

  “Well, now you know.” Renee patted her on the back. “Your bacon cheeseburger will be right up.”

  “What?” Delaney shook her head, trying to pull her mind back to the present. “But I haven’t ordered yet.”

  Standing up, Renee topped off Agatha’s coffee cup with a glance in Delaney’s direction. “I know what all my regulars like, even if it’s weird, like a cheeseburger for breakfast.”

  “Hrmph. A cheeseburger sounds much better than my namby-pamby oatmeal.” Agatha slapped her hand on the table. “Renee, I’ll have a cheeseburger too.”

  Beatrice chortled. “Such rebels you two are.”

  A rebel? She just really loved bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast.

  “Well, I’m a rebel too. I picked the next book for the book club,” Beatrice said, looking around surreptitiously before leaning into the table to whisper, “It’s a romance. Erotica.”

  Agnes spewed her sip of coffee across the table and turned her bug-eyed gaze toward her sister. “Goodness! You should have told me. I’ve been thinking up excuses all week to get out of reading the next book. Now I don’t have to. Doesn’t that sound like fun, Delaney?”

  Discussing erotica with Beatrice and Agatha? Whoa, no. She needed an excuse. Fast. And her mind was still numb from the earlier conversation. “You know I’d love to . . . but—”

  “Wonderful. I’ll put you on the list.” Beatrice reached into the purse beside her, pulled out a notepad, and penciled Delaney’s name in.

  “Don’t forget to add Greer’s name to the list. She likes reading as much as I do.” Greer hated to read too, but no way was she going to be the only one talking erotic sex with half the elderly women of Climax.

  “That’s a wonderful idea. Now, Barbara was in here last week bragging about her new dress for the auction. She said it’s ‘ooh la la sexy.’” Beatrice leaned in toward her with a loud stage whisper. “What have you got to beat it?”

  “Arrgh. This auction is giving me a headache.” Her hands tensed around her water glass. “Look, I can’t compete with Barbara in the sexy department. I wouldn’t be in the damn thing if I had reeled in my temper.”

  “Relax, dear.” Beatrice reached across the table and patted her hand. “Once you get through the bachelorette auction this weekend, things will settle down.”

  “You’re a very strong young woman, Delaney. You can handle this.” Agatha’s gaze bored into her, daring her to fail them.

  “Sure. I can handle this.” Holy heck, she was pretty sure she couldn’t handle this. Wait, what was it the therapist from the hospital used to say? How do you eat a fierce dragon? One small bite at a time. Okay. So she just had to . . . get through the auction, try to avoid Barbara’s plan of catty revenge, pray that her amnesia resolved itself so she could deal with the explosion and the guilt, and resist the irresistible Quinn Cates for his own sake. That’s all. Piece. Of. Cake.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The evening of the Climax Ladies Tenth Annual Bachelorette Auction finally arrived. Delaney sat backstage of the Climax High School auditorium waiting her turn, which Barbara had scheduled for last, right after Barbara. Yes, Barbara had it all set up for her big moment. The moment when the whole town saw who the real winner was between them. Other than her posse of BFFs, did she honestly think anyone cared?

  The auction was moving painfully slow to Delaney’s mind. Knowing the money raised was for a good cause made it a little less painful, but couldn’t these people hurry it up? Did they have to be having so much fun? All the joking back and forth between bidders, bachelorettes, and the MC, Sergeant Rodriguez, was just dragging out the evening. Plus, then there was the laughing and the clapping. Why couldn’t people just write a check and be done?

  Wow. Maybe she needed to get a grip. Okay, so she was still pissed Barbara had outmaneuvered her. Peeking into the audience didn’t help either. It was packed, and lately she didn’t do so well in large crowds.

  Was Quinn out in the audience? She hadn’t seen him much during the week. Which was fine because, like she kept telling herself, she wouldn’t see him in D.C. Except it wasn’t fine when she ran into the Simon sisters, who said they’d heard from Jeannette over at the sandwich shop, who had heard from Jessie working at the movie theater, which was across the street from the police station, that Quinn had been seen eating over at the diner with some “hot blonde” yesterday.

  Delaney had to tackle her jealous reactions. Sure, it sucked the air out of her world, but wasn’t this what she’d been saying all along? That Quinn deserved someone better than her. Someone who wasn’t living in the rubble of an exploded life. Someone whole, mentally and physically, whom he could have a future with. That was what she wanted for him, wasn’t it?

  Hell, she didn’t know anything anymore. So, she did exactly what she’d done in high school when life got too depressing and crazy. She ran. She and Marcus ran every day after school. This afternoon, instead of the team’s Friday fun run, Coach W. brought the cross-country team over to the track to run with them. After everyone finished oohing and aahing over her new running blade, they had relay races in which fun took priority over speed.

  “You look calm for someone who’s about to lose everything.” Barbara’s voice dripped condescension and confidence. She was tightly packaged in a flame-red sequined mini-dress with matching four-inch spike heels. Thelma and Louise were prominently, if not precariously, on display. Her dark Priscilla Presley (the early years) hair poofed up a few inches before falling loosely down and around her shoulders.

  “Lose everything? Are you serious?” Delaney stood up, took a step toward Barbara, and looked directly into her eyes. “I hope you get what you need tonight, Barbara. I have no earthly clue what that is, but I hope you get it and you finally find peace.”

  “What I need? Oh Lord, Delaney, unlike you, I’ve always had what I needed. Tonight’s about getting what I want and what I deserve. I have imagined a moment like this ever since high school, and it couldn’t be better even if I’d planned it myself.”

  “You did plan it. Remember? This auction is your baby.”

  “I did, didn’t I? You always did underestimate how smart I was.”

  Delaney couldn’t remember a single minute of time spent wasted estimating Barbara’s IQ, until this conversation tonight. She shook her head and said, “Okay, then I hope you get what you want and what you think you deserve. Break a leg, Barbara.”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Whoa, easy, Barbie. It’s just an expression of good luck.”

  “Right. Like I believe you.” Barbara pushed Delaney back as she heard her name called from the stage, the next bachelorette in the auction. “Out of my way. It’s my turn to shine.”

  Delaney watched from the wings as the trio that was Barbara, Thelma, and Louise bounced and swayed across the stage twice before striking a pose in the center spotlight. The MC cracked a joke and asked Barbara a question, and then the bidding got under way.

  “Hey, how are you holding up?” Greer put her hand on Delaney’s shoulder.

  “Oh, fine. You know, growing up in this town was a lot like walking through a minefield inside a fishbowl. Tonight, I’m getting that same vibe. Déjà vu all over again.”

  “Okay, Yogi Berra.” Greer peered through the curtains to the stage. “Barbara just might achieve her d
ream of being the most ‘bid-on’ woman of the evening. If you didn’t know her personality, she is an attractive combination of sexy woman and silicone.”

  “Yeah, but her body’s writing checks her personality can’t cash. Is Quinn out there? I haven’t seen much of him all week,” Delaney said as casually as she could muster.

  “Yeah, he’s here. I think I saw him standing in the back leaning against the wall. Oh, hey, they’re ‘going, going, gone-ing’ Barbara, which means you’re next.”

  “Crap. This was such a mistake. I cannot believe I let Barbara get under my skin enough to do this.” Delaney ran nervous hands down the silky black evening pants Mama Cates had said she would need. Like she was psychic or something. The pants lightly hugged her hips and thighs, ending in a soft flare over her flat evening shoes. She looked down at the silk aqua top shimmering softly. At least, with the tank sleeves, no one would see her sweating. She nervously ran her fingers through her hair, mussing the layered cut. The little dusting of aqua eye shadow and black mascara she’d applied an hour ago were surely smearing under the pressure, along with the concealer she’d applied on her bruised cheek. Note to self: Go back to not wearing makeup. It was too much of a P.I.T.A.

  Greer fluffed Delaney’s hair one last time, spun her around by the shoulders, and gave her a slap on the butt like a coach with his player. “You got this.”

  It’s for a good cause. It’s for a good cause. It’s for a good cause. That mantra helped Delaney get herself across the stage toward the bright spotlights. Barbara must have hustled off the stage, because she was sitting in the center of the front row and grinning like a fool. Seeing her smug face was almost enough to make Delaney’s step falter. Almost. No way in hell would she hand-deliver Barbie her very own perfect ending to this evening. Taking a quick breath, she recovered and walked smoothly over to where the master of ceremonies was standing.

  Well, Sergeant Rodriguez had been standing there when she first stepped out on stage. Looking snazzy in his tuxedo and everything, but now, amongst some serious whispering going on off-stage, he’d disappeared behind the curtain, only to be replaced by a man who looked a lot like one of the Cates brothers.

  The roar of the crowd, which did not block out the high-pitched screams of all the girls and women in the audience, was a solid clue who this was. She turned her head to look at Sijan Cates, local boy turned heartthrob and movie star. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. Wow, Mama and Pop Cates did not mess around when they made sons.

  Sijan took a quick bow, setting the females off screaming again. He reached out, took Delaney’s hand, and brought it to his lips for a kiss. He winked at her and squeezed her hand. “I was passing through and, since I am neither dead nor in prison, thought I’d lend a hand.”

  “Oh, you heard that did you? You know, we could raise a lot more money if we auction off a date with you instead of me,” Delaney suggested.

  “Isn’t going to happen, sweetheart. This is your show. Let’s see how it plays out.” Sijan waved to his fans.

  “I don’t find that very helpful, but fine. Do you mind quieting down your fan club so we can wrap this up, Mr. Movie Star?” She blinked her lashes up at him in exaggeration, her hands clasped next to her cheek.

  Sijan laughed. “I think I’m going to like you.”

  “You have no idea how little that means to me in this moment. Now, get your sexy movie-star ass in gear, please.” She watched as Sijan gave a thumbs-up to someone in the audience. She followed his gaze up to the back wall. Through the lights, she could just make out Quinn, shaking his head at Sijan. What the heck did that mean?

  “Thank you for the warm welcome. But, y’all know I’m just a hometown boy. Nothing to scream about, right?” Sijan asked the audience, which was their cue to start screaming again.

  “Oh, nice. Don’t you think you’re milking this now?” Delaney tried to keep a smile on her face while a new round of cheers took on a life of their own.

  “Okay, okay. But the expression on your face was priceless.” He grinned but moved forward on the stage. “Thank you. Thank you. Now, for our final round of bidding in the Climax Ladies Tenth Annual Bachelorette Auction, I present Delaney Lyons. Go ahead and strut your stuff, Delaney. Delaney’s favorite color is persimmon. Her favorite album is the National Pan Flute Orchestra of Equatorial Guinea’s ‘Mating Calls of the Wild.’ Her idea of a fun date includes the board game Twister, an encyclopedia, and a pound of bacon.”

  Delaney didn’t “strut her stuff.” She walked to stand next to Sijan with her hands crossed over her chest and stared at him. He got the message.

  “Oh, okay. That’s enough about Delaney. Let’s start the bidding at twenty-five dollars. And, we have twenty-five in the front row. How about fifty? Thank you sir, how about a hundred . . .”

  Much to Barbara’s annoyance, the bids came in a steady stream. A bid from one of the veterans started it off, and they just kept coming. One of Delaney’s old neighbors bid. Mr. Bonner, her old high school principal, bid. Mr. Frock from the grocery store. Jimmy Bond, her partner in crime in high school, placed a bid with a thumbs-up. Everyone was bidding except Quinn.

  Why the heck wasn’t Quinn bidding?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Thinking about Quinn not bidding seemed to upset the cosmos, as overhead, one of the stage spotlights burnt out with a pop, a sizzle, and a shower of sparks. Delaney instinctively covered her head with her hands, but Sijan calmly put an arm around her and said, “It’s okay. Just a bad bulb.”

  Her mind vaguely registered seeing Quinn run down the aisle until he was standing at her feet. “Delaney?”

  She looked up at the last lingering sparks raining down like fireworks—or the aftermath of an explosion. Closing her eyes, she focused on the sharp shooting pain in her head. If she could just get around the pain, she knew the answers were there waiting for her. The ones she’d avoided for too long. There. Behind the pain was the thick wall erected for self-preservation. Gathering every nerve she had, she reached out to tear it down, no matter what waited for her on the other side.

  She remembered looking into the dark eyes of a young local girl she’d met the month before. Layla. Perpetually happy, beautiful, sweet Layla skipping toward them. And then the world exploded. Sparks. Fire. A blast of scorching heat came at her on a whoosh of air, the pressure shattering. People screaming.

  Cold drops of death slammed into her skin and across her uniform. Blood splatter hit her face and limbs. Something heavy slammed into her. Propelled like a rag doll through the air, she landed in a mangled heap. Oh, God. Nan? Nan! She’d been a step ahead of her. Airman Lopez ten feet in front of them both. Nan! Lopez! The scream lodged in her throat, unable to force its way out past immobilized tendons and muscles.

  Her heart pounded, pulsing over loudspeakers in her head. Movement condensed to slow-motion freeze frames. She flailed her hands out, reaching, searching frantically around her for Nan, Lopez, anyone. The smell of burning flesh and metal made her retch. Screams slashed in her head. Pain, sharp and searing, sliced through her body. Her left leg felt like it was on fire. A cry echoed in her head. Was that Nan? Begging her for help . . . Help, please help . . . She could help Nan. She was a nurse, dammit. She needed to help Nan! Tried to drag herself toward Nan’s desperate pleas. I’ve got you, Nan. I’m coming! But she didn’t. Why didn’t she move? Frozen in place, weighted down by fear . . . as the cries stopped.

  “Oh, God, I could have helped them. And I didn’t. I didn’t.” With the floodgates open, the memories poured in, but so too did the pain and guilt. The air ripped from her lungs, and a guttural sob escaped from her chest. “It was my fault Nan and Lopez died.”

  Quinn wrapped himself behind her, just like at the cemetery, his arms tight like a life jacket around her. She hadn’t even known she needed him until he was there holding her. The solid wall of his chest like a steel truss supporting her. “No, Delaney. No. It wasn’t your fault.”

  �
��He’s right, Captain Lyons.” Another figure walked up on the stage, a man she recognized right away. This time.

  “Doc Gary?” Her face streaked with tears, Delaney walked into his open arms and let his embrace wrap her up. “Oh God, that was you in the diner.”

  “Yes. Delaney, Quinn’s right. You couldn’t have saved Nan or Lopez.”

  She stepped out of his arms and away, shaking her head. “I heard her. She called out to me. Begged me. And I didn’t do a thing to help her.”

  Gary shook his head, his gaze firm on hers. “She was closer to the blast than you. The after-action report determined Nan and Airman Lopez died instantly.”

  “What?” Her jaw clenched tight, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. She wrapped her arms tight around herself. Tighter still as tremors vibrated through her limbs, threatening to shatter her body in every direction, as the memories her brain had blocked out for months flooded in. “Airman Lopez was eighteen. Just a kid. His squad called him Opie because of his ears. And Nan. She looked like Beyoncé and had a wicked sense of humor. I can still see Lopez blushing at Nan’s risqué jokes the last time we all ran together around camp.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Nan and Lopez didn’t have a chance. The bomb squad said initial reports of a roadside bomb were wrong.”

  “I remember. I remember now.” Delaney’s body and mind numb. The something heavy that slammed into her? Not a sandbag—but Layla’s body, broken and bloodied. She hadn’t been frozen in fear, but weighted down, trapped under Layla’s lifeless body. “Layla. Sweet Layla only ten years old. They told me someone strapped a vest full of explosives on her and sent her our way. It was too horrible to believe.”

  “So your brain shut out what it couldn’t handle.” Doc Gary’s gaze met hers in total understanding. Both had seen unimaginable things. “I’m sorry I set off your panic attack. I didn’t know about the amnesia.”

  “Not your fault.” Delaney closed her eyes, the loss of her friends freshly painful, like a wound flayed open. Too newly exposed to deal with now. Months ago, her brain had walled the memories off in a desperate act of self-preservation. Now, her heart gathered the memories, carefully tucking them away to give them the proper attention they deserved later, in private. “It’s good to see you, Doc. I’m sorry I didn’t return your email, but—”