My Heart for Yours

by Jolene Perry

  “You can sit,” I say.

  She nods and takes a seat cross-legged across from me. Her knee touches my leg, just like we always sit like this. Just like we haven’t yelled at each other, and just like we haven’t avoided each other for a year.

  “Is that my shirt?” I can’t help but smile, she must’ve taken it before she left.

  She shrugs with a hint of a smile. “I’m a thief. What can I say?”

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” I admit. When she told me goodbye at the cemetery, I figured that was her last stop before taking off.

  “Yeah, I really don’t know what I’m doing here. All the times we’ve talked in the last few days, and I just feel like there is still so much we haven’t said…” her voice trails off. There’s a rogue piece of hair that has fallen out of her pony tail. I reach over and tuck it behind her ear and she leans into my hand. It’s all too damn confusing. I don’t understand how she can want to be here with me, and how desperately I want her here and we can still have all of this misunderstanding between us.

  “Delia, can I ask you something?”

  She nods, looking a little worried.

  I take a deep breath, because we’ve never really talked about it.

  ***

  “Tobin, what are we going to do?” she asked me for the millionth time that afternoon. We were sitting on my porch, the air was too thick and sticky to form a coherent thought, at least that’s what I’d like to blame it on.

  “It’s not my decision, D. Whatever you think is best. It’s your body. I’ll go along with whatever,” I said.

  She stared up at me, her eyes pleading. Back then I couldn’t understand what the pleading was for. Now I know it was resolve. She wanted me to have the answers, or to at least man-up and pretend that I did. But Delia and I were both weak in different ways.

  “I just don’t know what to do. My dad doesn’t want me to keep it. He says I’m not ready. I know I’m not, but it’s not just me, Tobin. This baby is ours. It’s part of both of us.”

  It felt like she wanted me to make the decision for her, but I couldn’t. No matter what I told her to do, it’d be the wrong. Either way, she would end up hating me for telling her what to do.

  “He says that we should take care of it when we get to D.C.” she said.

  “Why there? I can’t leave work. I can't be with you then,” I told her. Making it about me, of course. And part of it probably was. If I couldn't be there, her dad had even more control. We’d had such a hard time even talking to each other then, I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “He says there’d be no way to keep it quiet if I did it here. Or even in Baton Rouge, someone would find out.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face into her hands. I pulled her in close to me, but it didn’t feel like it used to. Touching her used to be second nature and now it felt mechanical. Like I was following some sort of manual.

  I didn’t know how to be the person I used to be with her when I was causing her so much pain.

  ***

  “Do you regret the choice we made?” I ask.

  She picks at some fuzz on the old blanket for a moment and then finally looks up.

  “That’s the thing, Tobin. It was never our decision. Whether it’s the one that you ultimately wanted me to make or not, you never made that known. You let me take responsibility for all of it. I’m the one who had to own what I did. Just me,” she says.

  “And that’s why you’re so angry at me?” I let my gaze drop this time. I can’t even look at her. She’s absolutely right about everything. I vividly remember every single time I promised her I’d never leave her. I’d always take care of things. I didn't lie, but I definitely failed.

  “You already asked me that, Tobin. I’m not angry. I was never angry.” She pauses. “Okay. I might have been angry for a while.” The corner of her mouth pulls up in a half-smile.

  I wonder if she’s thinking about the slough of cussing she gave me over the phone.

  “I needed time to process everything. Just like you did. But I had to make the decision before I was allowed that time. But no, to answer your question, I don’t regret it. Neither one of us were equipped to deal with a situation that big at that moment. I don’t regret what we did, but the guilt of it keeps me up at night sometimes. And afterward, talking to you only reminded me of the choice,” she says. “And my dad…it was too much for me to deal with on my own.”

  It all starts coming into place now. Lone puzzle pieces finally linking up. So much miscommunication. So much unspoken hurt.

  “So, where does that leave us now?” I ask boldly.

  She shrugs.

  “Somewhere on the outside of hurt. On the outside of loss. Somewhere complicated. Somewhere…hopeful,” she says.

  There’s a long pause. I pull her into me, and the warmth of her makes me tremble. “Stay.”

  “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. I don’t want you to hate me anymore. Even now, no one in my life knows me like you do.”

  It shouldn’t come out, but it does anyway. “Even Weston?”

  Twenty-Five

  Delia

  “Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” I try to put enough tease in my voice that he knows its okay. Lord knows I’d have a million questions to ask him if he’d been seeing someone else.

  “Sorry. You don’t have to answer, Delia.”

  “Weston was a friend when I needed one, but he would have been shocked and appalled at the girl who leaned as far over the counter as she could to coax a beer out of Carl. We never…” I hope I don’t have to say it, but my cheeks are heating up, and Tobin can read me.

  Tobin chuckles, and his arms squeeze me closer to him. It’s like there were these walls between Tobin and I, and the more we talk and the more we lie together, the more they fade. The closer we get to getting a chance to see what we could have had together without the mess.

  “You know what scares me?” I ask. Now that I feel like we actually might make this work. Might pull this together.

  “Hmm.” His hand doesn’t stop touching me. Running up and down my arm, on my side, in my hair.

  “That all the hurt we share will take too long to go away.” I don’t know if Tobin will even understand what I mean.

  He’s silent, but hasn’t stopped touching me. This means he’s thinking.

  “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  “I know what you’re talking about.” His fingers touch the back of my neck and I know he wants me to look at him.

  I roll onto my side, putting us so close, but still not close enough. “Tobin.” I let my hand rest against his cheek.

  “You’re everything, Delia. And all that history, it’s just going to make us stronger, you know?”

  I close my eyes and realize that I might get to have this. Him. Tobin. Any part of him is better than none of him. To salvage anything of the mess we made would be a miracle. “I want it to.”

  “So do I. And I think that’s enough.” He studies me for a moment, his body tenses. “Do you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.” I lie back down and bury my face in the side of his neck to breathe him in. His whole body loosens and relaxes, then pulls us together.

  The first night I spent the night in this little place with Tobin I was so worried that I’d fall asleep, and wouldn’t make it home before Mom and Dad woke up. I’m not going to worry about that tonight because I’m done caring what Dad thinks about Tobin.

  “Delia?” Tobin shifts on the small bed and I turn to face him, very aware that we’re stomach to stomach, chest to chest, and hip to hip.

  “Yes?” I answer, my breath already half-stolen from me.

  He touches my chin, just like he always used to—between index finger and thumb. “I’m so sorry. About everything. I’m sorry I let my fear getting in the way of talking to you before you left and I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to keep us together.”

  The sorrow is heavy in his eyes and on the corners
of his mouth, which are turned down.

  I set my hand on his. “I’m sorry, too. About everything.”

  His brow comes down as he moves toward me, and then hesitates. Everything inside me feels loose and shaky with anticipation, like I’m about to fall apart and need Tobin to hold me together.

  Instead of pressing our lips together, I bury my face in his chest, almost afraid of what I’ll feel. Will there be more hurt? Will his kiss hit me the way it always did and make me lose my head? I’m not sure I can handle either right now.

  “Delia.” His fingers slide through my hair.

  “Hmmm?” I smile as relief starts to fill me, take me over. If I thought I was lighter when I sent out that email and a text, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now. I lean off his chest to see his face.

  “I can’t give you the life that you’re used to.” His eyes look down and won’t meet mine.

  “Thank God.” I laugh. It’s a real one, and feels amazing.

  Tobin’s smile is everything as he wraps his arms more tightly around me, and right now, just being here is enough.

  Hours later, I’m still drifting in and out of sleep, but Tobin’s out. My week’s been nothing like his. It’ll probably be a long time before the loss of Eamon loosens its hold, but I plan to be here for it.

  As much as I want to lie with Tobin until he wakes up, and then watch his smile spread as he sees me, there are a few things that I need to do first. I scan the cabinet for a pencil, paper, or anything, but I don’t see what I need. I stand and watch him sleep knowing that I’m as much in love with him as ever. Knowing that what we had was a lot more than a teenage crush, and knowing I’m going to do whatever it takes for us to be together again.

  The walk home is quiet. Peaceful. I’ve hardly slept in days, but just those few hours under Tobin’s arm…it was enough. Just enough to give me the strength to do what I need to. I’m not leaving Crawford again, at least not unless it’s on my own terms. And as much as I’d love to lean on Tobin for all of this, I know part of my problem is that I’ve let too many different people at too many different times carry me, lead me, and help me.

  Knowing that Tobin will be around at the end of this is enough.

  I shuffle along the tracks, dread starting to sink in at what I’m about to do. I always joke to myself about my dad being a crazy asshole, but I wonder how much it would take to actually send him over the edge.

  ***

  I didn’t have morning sickness, I got sick at night. Having my own bathroom helped, but not enough. One week in, hardly a word from Tobin, and I was once again hunched over the toilet.

  Mom stopped, looked me up and down once, and she knew. She just knew.

  “Mom…” I wanted to explain, but there was nothing to explain. I was pregnant, and Dad was going to be furious.

  “Stay here, Delia.”

  I jumped to follow her, knowing she was going to tell Dad, but my stomach flipped over again, spinning me back around to the toilet.

  After the final contents of my stomach came up, I laid down on the bathroom floor, my check against the cool tile when my house half exploded with the sound of my father’s voice.

  “That little shit! I’ll kill him!” Dad screamed.

  I couldn’t make out Mom’s words, but her voice was more animated than I remembered hearing from her in a long time. I caught a few phrases like keeping it quiet…won’t do anyone any good…the more fuss you make the bigger deal it will become…trying to pass a law, and can’t afford any press…

  I wasn’t fooled. It wasn’t going to blow over.

  That was the one and only time my father ever hit me.

  He stomped up the stairs, but I was too nauseated to care. I kept my face pressed into the floor.

  “Delia, come out here right now!” Dad wasn’t like that often—out of control angry. I wanted no part of it. I lay silent on the floor, my eyes closed as tightly as I could, wishing him away.

  In seconds my bathroom door flew open. Dad grabbed me by the arm, jerked me to standing and backhanded the side of my face so hard I nearly passed out.

  I stayed home until the swelling went down. Wore a T-shirt to cover the bruises on my arm.

  I never told a soul. Especially not Tobin. There was nothing that would’ve stopped him from going to jail for assaulting my dad if he knew.

  ***

  What a mess. I found out we were moving, then I found out I was pregnant, and before Tobin or I had time to process, I was gone. Dad whirl-winded me through an abortion, and Tobin and I forgot how to talk to each other in that mess. At least I understand that he was scared, like me. It just wasn’t what I expected from Tobin—he seemed invincible. We could have handled the move. We could have handled the pregnancy. But both in such a short amount of time, and us not appreciating what we had in the other—that was our downfall.

  I don’t even try to hold in my smile. Second chances are beautiful things.

  The trail ends on my lawn, and I’m geared up and ready to face Dad, but see Weston. He’s in my driveway pulling his golf clubs from the garage.

  “Hey.” I jog toward him. “I wanna talk.” And hope that he’ll listen.

  Twenty-Six

  Tobin

  I squint as the sun streams in through the single window of the cabin. I can’t see a damn thing, but I don’t even have to feel next to me—I know she’s gone. The warmth that is Delia is not here. She said she’d stay. It feels like some warped form of payback.

  “I can’t give you the life that you are used to, Delia,” I’d told her last night.

  “Thank God,” she laughed.

  I thought she meant it. But maybe she was having second thoughts. Maybe a life of fancy homes and personal chefs and a closet full of expensive clothes wasn’t something she was willing to let go of. Nice of her to fill me in.

  I roll the sleeping bag back up, toss it haphazardly into the corner, and grab my keys. I don’t care if Mr. Gentry is home. I don’t care if Ralph Lauren answers the door. I’m going over there to confront her.

  The entire drive should take about ten minutes, and it may have, but it feels like ten years. I can hear the blood whooshing in my ears, my anger percolating with each passing minute. When I drive up to the Gentry estate, I pull right into the driveway. Screw the oil leak, I don’t care anymore. I take the front steps two at a time. I’m all ready to knock, but the front door is open. Through the hurricane screen, I can see Delia there. In Ralph Lauren’s arms.

  I don’t know what I expected, but honestly, it wasn’t this.

  I start to turn away, but I hear her call me. I don’t stop until I am at the door to my truck.

  “Tobin, what are you doing?” She jogs up behind me. “I know you heard me, why did you walk away?”

  “I don’t know, Delia. Let me think. Maybe because you let me hold you all night and now you’re right back in his arms. So last night was what? Just sympathy about Eamon? Next time, save yourself the trouble.” I climb into my truck and slam the door.

  “Tobin LeJeune, you ass! We spent a year misunderstanding each other and you’re just going to go and mess everything up again?” She stomps her foot and crosses her arms. I can’t help but smile. As soon as I do, she leans into the window and kisses my shoulder.

  Her lips are like magic, instantly, I feel the anger slip away.

  “So, what’s going on then?” I ask. “Why did you leave? I’ve waited too long to wake up next to you again.”

  “I couldn’t stay. Not until I ended things with Weston the right way. If there is a right way,” she says. “He’s just passing through on his way to Tennessee, but I broke up with him. I mean, I broke up with him before, but I think I made it okay this time. He’s heading out. What you saw was goodbye. That’s it.”

  “Your dad is not going to be happy about this,” I say.

  “Do you really care about Randy Gentry’s happiness?” she asks, with the beginnings of a smile.

  “I care about yours,” I sa
y. I touch her chin with my thumb. I want to tell her not to, but maybe things have gone on like this for too long.

  “Then go. I’m ready to take him on.”

  “D, at least let me be there for that.”

  She shakes her head. “I really need to do this on my own, Tobin. I gave up everything that I loved because he said so, and I hate myself for it. It’s time for me to stand up to him.”