I can’t stare into Felicity’s eyes with those lyrics hovering in the air between us. It’s too much.
Shifting my focus to Bethany, I keep my fingers on the strings and swallow down the lump lodged in my throat.
I am so unbelievably fucked.
* * *
“You could’ve told me,you know.”
She shrugs. “And ruin the surprise? What fun would that’ve been?”
I stare at her as she stares at her grandmother, who’s now holding court by the piano with a half dozen friends clustered around her. We’re on a plush couch in the corner, the afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows like butter, illuminating every fascinating angle of Felicity’s face. I can’t keep my eyes away.
“How advanced is it?” I ask softly. “The memory loss.”
Her eyes flash to mine.
“The nurse mentioned something…”
“Early onset dementia. And it’s advanced.” She rattles off those terms with as much passion as she’d use to read a grocery list, but I see the raw pain brimming in her eyes. “According to the nurses… this is the best day she’s had in months. Years, even.” I watch her crane her neck up to the ceiling so she doesn’t start crying. Her words are barely a whisper, as if she can hardly get them out. “She raised me, you know. Just for a year or two, when I was really young. But that was the best time of my life.”
Her voice cracks and, god, it fucking breaks me.
“She was my safety net. My backup parachute. The one option I had, in case things ever got really bad at home… which was basically all the time, but at least I always knew I could hop on a bus or hitchhike a few hours and she’d be there, waiting at the door wearing her red lipstick. Old Hollywood glamour and a house full of music, instead of fighting and fear and…” When she glances over, her eyes are full of tears. “But when I was ten… she started fading. Forgetting. Just small stuff at first, so small I didn’t even notice when we’d talk on the phone.” A tear streaks down her cheek and I suck in a sharp breath to keep myself from reaching out and wiping it away. From pulling her into my arms, crushing her against my chest.
I need to touch her — the urge is practically killing me. But I’m afraid, if I do, she’ll retreat back behind that wall she keeps so high around herself. So I lock my jaw and press my fingertips against my jeans while she gets the rest out.
“I should’ve realized something wasn’t right.” Her head shakes. “I should’ve done something…”
“At ten?” I ask softly. “Felicity…”
“I was old enough!” The tears begin to fall faster. She scrubs them away with the back of her hand. “I was so content letting her be my parachute, I didn’t realize she needed me to be hers in return. Not till…”
“Till what?”
“One night, she was making a cup of tea before bed and she forgot to turn off the burners on her stove. The kitchen caught fire. If a neighbor hadn’t spotted the flames and called 9-1-1… She would’ve died.”
“Jesus.”
“After that, there was no choice. Her doctor said she couldn’t live alone anymore. I was too young to take care of her and my parents…” She shakes her head. “Her attorneys dealt with what remained of her estate and they stuck her in here. That stuff in her room — it’s all that’s left, after the fire. That’s all she has in the world.”
“No,” I say lowly.
Her eyes, glistening with tears, lift to mine. “What?”
“Notallshe has left.” Moving slow enough that she sees me coming, I reach out and place my hand on top of hers. “She’s got you.”
I wait for her to pull away, to flinch back… but instead, her hand flips over beneath mine and she twines our fingers together, squeezing so hard the bones in my fingers start to ache. Like she’s drowning and I’m her lifeline, thrown into the waves to haul her ashore. I search for the right words to say, but my mind is a blank. Sitting there holding her hand, I feel about as smooth as a fifteen-year-old on his first date. I can’t help it, though. This girl…
She’s ruining me.
“I haven’t been here for two years,” she whispers, her voice laced with so much guilt it makes me wince. “I should’ve come sooner, but my family… my parents… it’s complicated.”
“Hey.” I squeeze her hand in reassurance. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I know that.” She blinks down at our fingers, intertwined tighter than vines, and a laugh bubbles in her throat. “This is reallynothow I thought my day was going to go.”
“What do you mean?”