Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2) (16 page)

Drake’s really patient with her as Ash wipes out a dozen times or more, and he’s right there to help her out. I’m glad, because even though
she can totally handle herself, having him there keeps me from wanting to run into the surf to help her myself. All these unfamiliar emotions keep tumbling forward, like
wanting
to be the one to help her in the water and not being able to get enough of her when we’re alone. I always thought couples were kidding about that overwhelming desire to ravage each other. I couldn’t imagine it. Now it’s
hard not to.

She’s so cute, and she keeps glancing over at me and laughing. I’m sitting a good distance away because I didn’t want to distract her, but I think I am. Her laughter is better than the sound of the ocean or the gulls, or any other sound I’ve ever heard. I know I’m not going to sketch a darn thing, and part of me wonders if my sketching was filling a gap in my life for all these
years. I love to sketch, but having a sketch pad and pencil used to be like extra limbs, always with me, at the ready. Now they often feel like accessories that don’t match my moods.

My phone vibrates with a text, and I dig it out of my bag.
Janessa
.

Oh, shit. Janessa
.

No wonder Ash was upset this morning. It’s Thursday. I didn’t put two and two together. Over the past week Janessa
has texted me on and off with pictures of Jackie and just friendly stuff, touching base. She’s been totally supportive of me and Ashley, and I don’t want to end our friendship just because we made out once. It wasn’t even like really making out. It was more like she provided physical CliffsNotes. I had friends in college who dated guys and then dated their best friends, and sometimes they’d even
date another one of their friends and still remain close to all of them. I don’t want to make Ashley uncomfortable, but I think once she gets to know Janessa, she’ll like her, too.

I read her message.

Coffee after the session tonight?

I look over at Ashley and hope I’m not making a mistake as I respond.

Sure. Mind if Ash comes?

My heartbeat speeds up.

Not at all. Where?
Dean will pick me up with the kids afterward. My car’s in the shop.

I breathe a little easier. I’m about to take a really big baby step, and it scares me, but as I watch Ashley and think about the risk she’s taking for me—by allowing me the time and space to learn how to deal with our relationship in public, even though she’d promised herself never to be in this position again—I know she’s
worth it.

I’ll have Ash meet us at Brooke’s Bytes.

~Ashley~

DELILAH AND I carry our stuff to the Jeep after my surfing lesson, laughing as we wave goodbye to Drake.

“I swear it’s like I have two left feet on that board.” We secure the board into the back of the Jeep. The morning is warming up, and even though it’s early, young families are already arriving at the beach, carrying
enough paraphernalia for an army. I reach for Delilah’s hand, and her eyes dart around the lot, landing on a couple heading in our direction.

I don’t say anything as she pulls her hand out of reach. I tuck away my hurt feelings and remind myself she’s worth it. She climbs into the drivers’ seat, and I take a deep breath before climbing into the passenger seat.

“Janessa texted about tonight.”

Ugh
. “Oh?” I hate that my voice sounds strained.

She pulls out of the parking lot as if she hasn’t just given me a double whammy. “She asked if I wanted to meet for coffee after group tonight.”

“Mm.” It’s all I can manage. What does she expect me to say?
Great? Have fun?
Sorry. I’m patient, and I’m understanding, but they’ve been down and dirty with each other. The last thing I want
to think about is the two of them alone somewhere.

She stops at a red light and reaches for my hand. “Will you meet us at Brooke’s?”

Her voice is so hopeful that it’s hard to stay upset with her for not taking my hand in the parking lot. And then…I realize what she’s just asked.

“Brooke’s? Why would you go where everyone knows you when you’re so careful about people knowing about us?”

She raises her eyebrows and her lips curve up in a nervous smile. It’s not until she traps that plump lower lip of hers with her teeth that I realize what she’s doing.

She’s trying.

Well, I’ll be damned
. My eyes well with tears again as I nod, and she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me.

The car behind us honks and we both laugh, but inside my heart is singing.

~Delilah~

AS I WALK up the front steps to the YMCA, I remember the first time I went to group counseling with Brooke. Despite Brooke telling me that we would sit in a circle with other people who had lost loved ones and discuss the trouble we were having working through our losses, I still didn’t really know what to expect. Nothing can prepare you for the look on
people’s faces when they share their stories of longing to see someone they love or the overwhelming sadness that envelopes you as you watch pain turn their hands to fists and pull tears from their eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for the moments of grief that I would experience over the first few months after my parents died. And certainly nothing could have prepared me for the way their deaths
impacted my ability—or inability—to
come out
.

I really need to find a better way to think about this than coming out, because I hate how that phrase makes me feel. I mull that over for a few minutes as I settle into my seat. I’m the only one in the room and it’s quiet. The linoleum floor makes the room feel cold when there’s no one else in it.

Coming out.

Admitting I’m a lesbian.

Being myself.
 

Nothing feels right. How about
none of anyone’s damn business?

I swear I can think like a confident person when it comes to this stuff, but thinking and acting are two different things.

“Hey there, Delilah,” Janessa says as she comes through the door and takes the seat beside me. She tucks her hair behind her ear and pushes her purse beneath her chair. She’s wearing
a tank top and shorts, and as she settles into her seat, she sighs loudly.

“What a day. Jackie and I spent the afternoon making sand castles. I’ve never built so many in one day.” She arches a brow and smiles. “I wonder if there are surrogate castle builders. I’ll have to look into that.”

We both laugh. 

I like being with Janessa, and I still don’t feel funny around her—and she obviously
doesn’t feel weird around me. For the first time since coming to group, I notice I’m holding my head higher. I have a little better handle on who I am, and it feels really good.

Mark and Cathy come into the room holding hands. Their shoulders are rounded forward and there’s no mistaking the red rims around Cathy’s eyes. I wonder if she’s upset over the daughter they lost or something unrelated,
and then I realize that everything in their life is probably connected to her death in some way. No words can come close to taking away their pain.
It’ll be okay
is something people say when they don’t know what else to say. Or
give it time
. I wonder if they ever want to respond with,
No, it won’t
, or
All the time in the world won’t bring our daughter back
. I can’t imagine losing a child, and
I can’t imagine how they make it through each day.

“How are things with Ashley?” Janessa whispers.

“Amazing. But also nerve-racking. I’m not very good at the whole PDA thing. It still makes me feel funny.”

She nods as if she understands, but before she can respond, Michael and Meredith enter the room and take the seats across from us.

“Good evening, ladies.” Meredith folds her
hands in her lap. She looks like a librarian in her long skirt and button-down blouse. “Mark, Cathy. It’s nice to see you.”

Mark smiles, but I can tell it’s forced by the pinched lines around the edges of his mouth. They lost their daughter to leukemia some months before I began attending the sessions. Sometimes they seem like they’re doing well, moving forward. Then there are times like tonight,
when their tired eyes and boneless postures speak of sleepless nights and longing for a daughter they’ll never hold again.

Janessa leans in close and whispers, “You need to acknowledge her in public as soon as you’re comfortable.”

It takes me a minute to realize she’s talking about Ashley.

“I know.” I watch Meredith as she rights her purse beside her chair.

“You’ll hurt her feelings,
and that’s hard to overcome.” Janessa holds my gaze and nods, as if to say,
Trust me
.

Mark’s voice calls both of our attention. “Meredith, I think Cathy and I have fallen back into a cycle of guilt and bargaining, and we’re not sure how to break free from it. We feel guilty that our daughter died, when we would have gladly given our lives instead, and even though we know that’s not a reasonable
bargain to wish for, we can’t stop. And then we feel guilty for not being able to stop.” Mark clasps both hands around Cathy’s. Cathy nods in confirmation. “Is there anything you can suggest to help us through this?”

I try to pay attention, to think past what Janessa said, but I know she’s right. I see the hurt in Ashley’s eyes every time I pull out of her reach. I wish I could have told my
parents years ago and just dealt with the fallout. I think it would have made things much easier now.

“Mark, Cathy, as you know, stages of guilt aren’t always singular, and they don’t follow regular patterns. For some people, bargaining and guilt go hand in hand, and for others, they skip over one of those stages altogether. Everyone’s grief is different.”

Meredith’s voice pulls me from
my thoughts. Her eyes are empathetic and her tone is warm and understanding. “It’s very common for a person to feel as though they’ve gotten past the hardest stages of grieving only to find out that their legs are knocked out from under them a few weeks or months later. Was there something that started this cycle? A birthday? An anniversary?”

A first girlfriend
.

Mark and Cathy exchange
a knowing glance. Cathy nods, and Mark answers for both of them. “We went out with our friends and they were talking about their daughter starting college in the fall. As you know, our Mara would have been attending college this fall, too.”

“And how did that make you feel?” Meredith leans forward as she asks this.

I think it’s a cruel and unnecessary question. Of course they’re feeling
sad and angry. Why does she want them to reiterate it? I glance at Janessa, wondering if she’s thinking the same thing, but she’s looking at them expectantly as well.

“At first I was happy for them. That they get to see their daughter go off to college. Then it made me upset, of course,” Cathy explains. “And then I was just angry. I was mad that they’d bring that up when they knew we lost
Mara.” Tears stream down her cheeks, and Mark pulls her against him and whispers something, then kisses her temple.

“That’s perfectly understandable, Cathy. And I think you know what I’m going to say next.” Meredith pauses as her words settle in.

I
don’t know what she’s going to say. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the sadness in the room.

Cathy nods. Mark nods. Janessa and
Michael nod, and I feel lost.

“You lost your daughter, and that’s a horrific loss for you and Mark.”

“Yes,” Cathy agrees, patting her tears with a tissue. “And if I could have been the one who was sick, I would have. I would have died twice over to save Mara.”

Mark pulls her closer, his own eyes tearing now.

“I know you would have. But the world is full of families who
didn’t
lose
their children.” Meredith pauses again.

My stomach clenches. Just like after my parents died. I couldn’t understand how the whole world functioned normally around me when everything I knew had been turned upside down.

Cathy and Mark nod.

“Remember when we talked about finding ways to accept our losses so we can move forward? That’s not an easy thing to do. For some people it means
avoiding certain friends from before they lost their loved ones. Others choose to talk to their friends and let them know the topics that are still too raw to deal with. Sometimes friends will shy away, and that’s another type of loss that isn’t easy to get past.” Meredith wrinkles her brow.

“Meredith, may I say something?” Janessa asks.

I’m surprised. She rarely contributes.

“Yes,
please.” Meredith nods.

“When I lost my older sister, I was pretty young. For the longest time, I held on to the grief. I thought that if I didn’t, I would forget her, or let her down. And she had always been there for me, so even though she was gone, I didn’t want to let her down.”

I reach for Janessa’s hand and squeeze it. I knew she’d lost a family member, but I didn’t realize it was
her older sister. How could I not have asked? I’ve been so closed off, worrying about my own grief, my own sexuality, that I never opened my eyes long enough to offer support to her. I’ve been a terrible friend.

Janessa covers my hand with hers and manages to smile at me before turning back to Mark and Cathy and continuing her story. “One day my mom told me that I was focusing on losing her
and forgetting all the good times we had. She said that I was putting an unfair burden on my sister.  At first I didn’t understand that. I was a teenager when she committed suicide, and I didn’t feel like I was putting a burden on her.”

My stomach careens south.
Suicide? Oh, Janessa. I’m so sorry.

“It took a while for me to understand what she meant. I was so focused on not forgetting
her that she became a legacy of pain instead of being remembered as the supportive, fun, loving big sister that she was.” Janessa takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “It’s been years since she died, and the loss is still there. Sort of like a scar. Every once in a while I get a wave of sadness, but I’ve learned to move past it by drawing on the good memories. I can’t exactly keep myself from
being friends with anyone who might mention their sister.” She pauses for a moment.