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Chapter 15

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Delilah

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The brown cardboard box human resources offered sits on my desk, empty. I stare at it, numb. In another life, this box held wine bottles. Judging by the shape and size and the circular indentations on the bottom, it held a dozen. A spiderweb crosses from one side, covering a corner. The thin strands can only be seen when light reflects on them, and the pattern breaks near the center. A soft tap on my door tears me away from my deep box inspection.

“How’d it go with Margaret?” Anna stands in the doorway, her brow furrowed in concern. I wave her into my office.

“Fine. She wouldn’t let me resign. Talked me into a personal leave. Three months, and then we regroup. The senior art director position may be filled if I come back, but they will hold my current position for me.”

I pick up a silver bamboo frame from my desk. The picture’s of Moxie, my childhood dog, an American Water Spaniel. She was a good dog. Come to think of it, she never, ever overate. I place the cherished memory in a large cardboard box. “I don’t think I’ll be back, but Margaret wouldn’t listen to me. She said it’s all too new, and if I need to resign, then she understands, but for me to go home and find out more before making any decisions.”

Anna perches awkwardly on the arm of an office chair across from my desk. “What can I do?”

I pull my desk drawer, which requires jiggling because it’s crammed with Post-It notes, pens, receipts, paper clips, gum, hair ties, rubber bands, and a gazillion other objects. I stare at it and think I see the corner of a tarot card. “If I don’t come back, maybe clean out this office for me?”

She drops into the seat and pulls one leg up to her body. “What does he have? You only told me he’s sick.”

Tears build up as I stare at the framed picture of a slow loris, a type of small, endangered primate, hanging on the wall behind her. The round black glass pupils speak to me. I adopted one, not for real adopted, but sent money in to save one on the island of Java in Indonesia, hoping to remove it from the endangered species list. The other framed picture in my office is of Chevy Chase circa the seventies, and a framed photo of Nina Simone hangs closer to my desk.

“Mom couldn’t stop crying, and I stopped asking. She told me I have some time, that I could wrap up this week, but they need me. My plan is to get home, see my dad, talk to his doctors, then do research. New Orleans is great and all, but depending on what he has, he may need to see doctors from a larger hospital. My folks tend to refuse to believe you can do better than New Orleans—well, for most things. Mom’s full-on accepted there’s better shopping in New York.” I force a smile until Anna steps up and wraps her arms around me, causing me to completely lose it, crying so hard snot drips from my nostrils.

Anna grips my hair bun, placed low on my head because the high bun didn’t feel right this morning, and she tugs hard to get my attention. “I want to tell you he’s going to be okay.”

My bottom lip quivers because all I can think is, he’s not going to be okay.

Anna holds me as she continues. “But you still have time with him. Go home and be with him, okay? Be there for him. Share memories. Talk about the good times. Enjoy the time you have left. And know he will always, always be in your heart. He’s a part of you, for always.”

I nod and reach for a tissue. The loud wonk of my blow forces me to laugh, then the snot spilling out from the sides of the tissue has me spurting out, “Eewwww.” Anna laughs as she passes me the tissue box.

My phone vibrates.

Mason:  Up for company tonight?

I told him about my dad via text. Mom and I spent yesterday in the apartment. At first, we cried. We cried so much. Then she orchestrated plans for my transition to New Orleans. She sent off text messages to Realtors, picked a pack-and-ship moving company, and quizzed me on where I’d like to live in New Orleans. I told her I’d stay in the carriage house to start. If Dad’s going to be sick, being as close as possible makes sense. The carriage house, which only carries the name due to its history, serves as a guest home overlooking my parents’ swimming pool. Governor Kennedy and his wife once stayed there. It’ll work for me. Besides, I can’t fathom house hunting while Dad is sick.

Me: Sure. I need to pack but would be good to see you. My flight home leaves tomorrow morning.

Mason: I’ll bring dinner. What’s your favorite comfort food?

Me: Chicken and dumplings

Mason: On it. Mom’s keeping Kara.

I type out my reply.

Me: Bring her. I have to tell her goodbye.

Then I erase before sending. I haven’t made it clear to Mason that I’m moving yet. Packers are in my apartment today boxing up clothes. Mom stayed this morning to get them started before returning home to Dad. When Mason gets to my place, it’ll be obvious this isn’t a short visit.

Anna has her arm wrapped around my shoulder. She’s reading the text exchange and squeezes when she sees me erase my words. Tears fill my eyes once again. It’s difficult to swallow through the emotion.

“Hey, it’s not goodbye. You can come back to New York.”

I shrug. “Maybe. But I can’t imagine leaving Mom alone in New Orleans once he passes. And I was going to move home one day, anyway. It’s always been the plan.”

“Do you think you’ll try long distance?”

My chest aches. I have no idea if the pain ripping through my chest is from the prospect of ending things with Mason or my father. But, my god, it hurts. My whole chest throbs. I exhale, then sniffle, then grab a tissue and blow. “Long distance. How would that work?”

“However you two decide you want it to work.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, Anna. He has a child. He couldn’t very easily take off for a weekend, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away. And this isn’t a temporary move. I mean, after my dad...” A sob breaks out, and I can’t say the words. “I won’t leave my mom alone.”

An email notification catches my eye. It’s from a secretary at Dad’s office. I scan the formal, curt meeting request. His partners want to have lunch with me. And Dad’s not included on the email. It’s as if the sharks smell blood in the water, so now there’s a new level of aggression.

“Don’t make decisions right now. This is all new and fresh. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Go home, get the information, let all this settle before you do anything. Promise me, okay?”

She tilts my head and forces me to look at her. Then, with one hand on the top of my head and the other on my chin, she forces me to nod.

“You are agreeing. You are promising me. You are not going to make any decisions today. You have time.”

Everything in the room blurs once again, as tears blot my view, but the heavy, excruciating pain in my chest lightens ever so slightly for the first time since yesterday. The notion that nothing is final, that no decisions have to be made soothes my aching lungs. A sliver of hope breaks through the surges of pain weighing me down.