My Fate for Yours

by Steph Campbell

  He chuckles. “Well, don’t you just sound like a little southern girl already.”

  “Do I?” I clear my throat, and try to drop the sliding way I use my words down here. “Must be the heat.”

  “Do you know if you’ll be back up before next weekend?”

  Right. We have plans. Some debate he has for… I don’t remember, but should probably know. It’s in my phone somewhere. Weston’s getting started young.

  I stand up, put my shoes back on, already feeling loads lighter without hose. The church is at the end of Main Street, and a week doesn’t seem like enough time to even get started if I want to actually catch up down here.

  “Delia? If I caught you at a bad time, you can just call me back.” Weston. Concerned. And me, still trying to catch my breath from a handshake.

  “It’s just hot. And Eamon was a good friend. Being here makes it all the more real.” I lean against the side of the car. I still can’t believe he’s gone. Can’t believe Tobin lost his brother.

  “I can come down there, Delia. You know I would.”

  “This is a busy week for you.” I shake my head, even though he can’t see me.

  “I’d do it for you.”

  If we were sitting together, he’d have his hands clasped together in front of him, his elbows would be on his knees, and his expression would be very genuine. Weston’s polite and caring almost to a fault. But I know he’s watching out for me. He’d never pull any crazy stunts, or get me into trouble or beg me to sneak out, or make any ridiculous bargains for pieces of clothing. Skinny-dipping is something I can’t even imagine with someone like Weston.

  But those are all the reasons I like him.

  “I know you’d do it for me. Thanks.” I clear my throat again in an attempt to lessen my accent. “Um…thank you.”

  “You call me, anytime, okay? It’ll make me feel better about being stuck way up here.”

  “Okay.” My body’s still on edge, but it shouldn’t be. Weston cares. He’ll come down if I ask and not want anything childish in return for the trip. Unlike some people I know who always want something. Something for everything. Always a trade.

  Your shirt for mine, Delia. Come on. You know you want to. Tobin’s expression is clear as day. Waist deep in water, his shirt half off, hoping to get mine.

  He did.

  And a lot more.

  “I love you, Delia.” Weston’s voice snaps me back to the present.

  “Love you, too.”

  I hang up my phone with no idea of why I wanted to be here. Maybe I don’t want to be. Maybe just seeing

  Tobin again has mixed everything up. I’ve been doing good in D.C.—steady boyfriend, no more stupid games. Still, I miss it here way more than I’ve let myself since I left. But life isn’t easy, right? Decisions aren’t always easy. Sometimes we just have to do what moves us forward.

  3

  Tobin

  What the fuck was that? A handshake? Shit. I contemplate pulling her in for a hug, but she spins on her heels and walks away before I can give it any serious thought.

  I had watched her get closer and closer, running lines through my head, but nothing seemed right. The problem is that I still don’t know if I’m more hurt, mad, or in shock at seeing her again.

  Still, what does she expect showing up here after not so much as a text for over a year? What am I supposed to do? I can barely see her head through the crowd as she makes her way out the front door. I should follow her.

  What am I saying? I can’t follow her. There are at least fifty more people in line here.

  I’m struck by how much this situation reminds me of the first time I saw Delia. She was so close, but so untouchable even back then– before she was Delia Gentry, daughter of a U.S. Senator. It was at a bonfire at Nelson’s. I watched her from across the flames all night even though I was there with someone else. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. Not until Eamon came and talked some sense into me.

  “You don’t wanna mess around with her, trust me brother. I know her type. She’ll be wanting you to settle down in a week. Not like her daddy would approve of you, anyway,” he’d said, motioning toward that carefree face. “That’s Delia Gentry, Randy Gentry’s daughter.”

  Of course she was. She looked familiar. I’d seen her on TV when her dad was running for town Mayor. Eamon was right. He usually was. I should’ve stayed away. Still, I don’t think anyone could have predicted what would happen with us. With any of us.

  I tried to listen to Eamon. I really did. I left with Callie that night, which wasn’t exactly a bad thing; she had the nicest tits at the party. But I couldn’t stop thinking about that gorgeous girl across the camp fire. No matter what Eamon said, I couldn’t stay away from her for long.

  I bide my time until the line draws to a close, jiggling the coins in my pocket nervously until I’ve shaken the last strangers hand. The last time I talked to Delia, she said I’d never see her again. She hung up on me and called me every swear word that sweet Southern girls aren’t supposed to say. What the hell was she thinking showing up here today of all days?

  I saw Mrs. Gentry step out about thirty minutes ago, so I know that the odds of Delia being here are slim to none. Still, I’ve got to try to find her. To say what, I don’t know.

  I’m angry at her for leaving. For not talking to me or returning my calls. And for showing up at my brother’s wake unannounced. But the point is, she’s here. Or she was. And I shouldn’t give a shit. But I do.

  I push the heavy door open and the hot, sticky night air hits me. She’s there, leaning against her mom’s black Jaguar, smoothing her hair down and replacing pins in it. Like anyone here gives a shit what her hair looks like. She wasn’t a mirage. She really is back in town.

  The sound of the gravel under my dress shoes reminds me of the night Eamon died. The crunch of it under my feet as I ran toward him. Or what was left of him.

  Delia glances up without smiling.

  “Hey,” she says meekly. The sound of her voice again nearly breaks me.

  When she left, it was like someone had ripped my heart out, crumbled it up like a flimsy piece of loose leaf paper and crammed it back into my chest. It somehow managed to work, but it would never feel the same.

  “Hey, D. You’re still here,” I say, stupidly stating the obvious.

  All of the snide remarks I’d worked around in my mind as I walked out here are gone. I’m supposed to be mad. Pissed. Not broken. Not wanting to stand here and talk.

  “Yep. Mom and I,” she says. She motions to the front seat of the car. I can see her mother’s head through the deeply tinted glass, talking on the phone. Delia stares down at her tiny hands. I can’t help but stare at them too, remembering what it felt like to hold them. How they disappeared in my grasp. How somehow, holding her tiny hand made me feel safer, even stronger. I doubt that touching them would still have the same effect, not after how we left things with one another.

  “I’m so sorry, Tobin,” she says. She looks up at me, her eyes are glassy and she’s biting on her bottom lip. She looks so delicate.

  I nod. I don’t know what to say to her. My brother is dead. I want to scream. I can’t deal with you right now.

  “Listen, I think Mom is ready to take off. She’s in the middle of planning for this big…never mind, it doesn’t matter.” Her eyes dart around the parking lot, to the trees, the gravel, the one flickering lamp and its cloud of mosquitoes. Everywhere but at me. “Anyway, we’re in town for the weekend, though. If you need something, you know how to get a hold of me.”

  “Will you actually answer if I call?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  I let out a dry scoff.

  “I mean, because my brother died you’ll pick up the phone now?”

  “Tobin…” She shakes her head. “Just, call if you need.”

  She smiles a polite, forced smile and makes her way around to the passenger side of the car. I should open the door for her. No! No I should turn a
round and walk away.

  Shit, what am I doing?

  “Delia,” I call as she climbs into the car. I’m not sure what happened to being angry. I’m not sure if it’s the fragile was she looks, or her tiny hands, or just her, but I can’t let her just get in and drive away.

  Her head pops up over the roof of the vehicle. It reminds me of a damn meerkat from one of those nature shows. Everything about this girl still gets to me. That alone should keep my anger at her rolling because that would probably beat the shit out of what I’m feeling right now. Losing Eamon shredded me, but seeing Delia again has added weight. Weight I really need to let go.

  “If you want, we could go and grab some coffee or something. I can drive you home later,” I say.

  She reaches up and pulls on the tips of her bangs like she always does when she is nervously contemplating something before peeking inside the car to talk to her mom.

  She leans back out, pulls the pins from her hair and lets it drop. God, I loved that hair.

  I remember how many nights she’d snuck out to spend with me. How many times I fell asleep next to her, burying my face in that hair, tangling my fingers in the loose waves.

  She shouldn’t be affecting me like this. Not after all we’ve been through. Not after all she did.

  I stand in the parking lot staring at my feet, wondering if my brother is screaming at me to stay away again from wherever he is when she rounds the side of the car and her mouth pulls into a soft smile.