But I also knew if we were going to do this, we couldn’t do it here.
We couldn’t do this where people knew us as relatives.
We couldn’t do this where we might be caught.
“Do you still have the same phone number?” I asked, my fingers clutching the doorknob, holding myself in place, stopping me from running back to her and shoving her down on the bed.
From this distance, all I wanted was her, but I knew the moment I touched her my world would shatter, and I’d drown beneath memories determined to make me vomit for taking a sweet, innocent girl and turning her into something sick with want.
“Yes.” She hung her head. “But I won’t be here when you get back. I have to go back to David’s. I only came here to burn that.” She arched her chin at the scattered forgotten papers, trodden and crumpled on the floor.
My chest ached at the thought of her going back to him, but I had no choice. “Don’t burn it. And give me a few hours. I’ll text you, okay?”
She looked up, forlorn and afraid but resilient just like I knew her to be. “A few hours? I thought you were going to say a few days.”
I smiled sadly. “I’ve wasted more than enough days not having you. I have no intention of wasting anymore.”
She smiled, wider than before. “Okay, I can accept a few hours.”
“Thank you.” My eyes drank her in, imprinting this Della, the new Della into my mind first and foremost as I backed out the door, promising, “I’ll be in touch. And when I do…we’re going to talk. You’re going to help me understand that there was no other path for us. That it was always going to be this way. That we were always meant to be. And then…we’re going to leave.”
I didn’t wait for her reply.
I had some soul searching to do.
I had some compartmentalizing to sort.
And I needed to do it now.
Because once I did.
I could have her.
And my complicated world would finally be complete.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
REN
* * * * * *
2018
DELLA: ARE YOU ready to talk about this?
The glow of my cell-phone screen lit up the night-shrouded park where I rested. The bench made my ass flat from hours of sitting, watching the sun go down. Pruned bushes and carefully controlled trees granted a sense of home, but nothing was wild about their regimented flowerbeds.
I’d meant to move. I’d meant to text Della hours ago, but once I’d opened the gates of so many stored memories, I couldn’t rush it.
It was a curse to have a good memory.
I didn’t have to strain to pull up image after image of Della as a two-year-old, five-year-old, ten, fourteen, sixteen. I knew her body and scars from falling off horses and clumsy incidents better than I knew my own. I knew more about her than any lover should. And I didn’t like how that made me feel.
Was it right for me to want her body that I’d seen grow from so small to so stunning? Was it disgusting to admit, even though I’d carried her as a child and cared for as a baby, I saw her as more than just my responsibility and legacy now? I saw her as my other half. My future. Everything I’d ever been searching for.
I guess I’d always seen her as my other half; I just didn’t have the lust component to go with it. It made sense now why I’d always felt lonely even when she was in my arms—because some part of me knew it wanted more but couldn’t have it.
Sighing heavily, I pressed reply. The alphabet spread out on an on-screen keyboard, waiting to transform thoughts into messages.
Thanks to Della, I could read, write, spell, and wrangle technology enough to be proficient. Even when we’d moved away from the Wilsons and our regular study sessions were replaced with long hours at the milking shed and Della traded me for other boys, I hadn’t stopped learning.
Instead of Della being the one to choose which textbook or subject I’d study, I merely went through her school rucksack on the nights I wasn’t exhausted and read science books, math, English, then stole a few pieces of paper to work out the answers before checking mine against hers.
She’d caught me once or twice and had rushed over to kiss me. But then, she’d remembered that kissing wasn’t exactly permitted anymore and would pat my shoulder with a strained smile instead.
I knew she was proud of me for continuing my studies, but I didn’t do it for me. I did it for her. I did it so I could converse and calculate and not have to rely on her because I knew my job as her caregiver was almost over, and she would leave me for better things.