“Jo made me bring these.” He sets a container onthe counter. “Muffins. Blueberry. She says carbs help.”
“Carbs don’t help when your girlfriend left in the middle of the night without telling you.”
“Ex-girlfriend?”
“No.” The word comes out harder than I intended. “Not ex. She doesn’t get to decide that by running away. That’s not how this works.”
Dean exchanges a look with Eleanor. Some kind of silent communication I’m not part of. I hate that. I hate feeling like everyone knows something I don’t, like there’s a playbook for dealing with Delilah Smart that nobody gave me a copy of.
“I’m going to give you boys some space,” Eleanor says, standing. “I need to shower. I’ve been awake for almost twenty-four hours.” She pauses at the doorway, her hand on the frame. “Levi? Whatever you decide to do…don’t wait too long. She’s sitting in that cemetery right now, alone. With nothing but her own thoughts for company.” Her voice softens. “And her thoughts have never been kind to her.”
She leaves.
The house feels emptier without her. Quieter. Just me and Dean and the sound of the clock ticking on the wall.
Dean sits down across from me. Doesn’t say anything. Just waits.
I hate when he does this. He knows I hate it. He does it anyway.
The silence stretches. I can hear the clock on Eleanor’s wall ticking. The hum of the refrigerator. My own heartbeat, too fast, too loud.
“She left,” I finally say. “Just like last time. Just like the time before that. She saw one photo, one stupid photo that doesn’t mean anything, and instead of asking me about it, she packed a bag and ran.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t understand how someone can do that. How do you just leave without talking? Without giving the other person a chance to explain or even trying to work it out?”
“I don’t know.”
“I would never do that to her. Never. No matter what I saw or how bad it looked, no matter what I thought happened, I would talk to her first. I would give her the chance to tell me her side.”
“I know you would.”
“So why can’t she do the same for me? Why is it so easy for her to just walk away?”
Dean doesn’t answer right away. Hepicks up one of Jo’s muffins, examines it like it holds the secrets of the universe, sets it back down.
“You really want to know what I think?” he asks.
“Would it matter if I said no?”
“Probably not.”
“Then just say it.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table. “She’s scared. Terrified, actually. She’s convinced herself that she’s not good enough for you, that you’re going to leave her eventually anyway, and instead of waiting around for that to happen, she’s leaving first. She’s not running from you, Levi. She’s running from the possibility of you hurting her.”
“I wouldn’t...”
“I know you wouldn’t. But she doesn’t know that. Not really. Not deep down where it counts.” He pauses. “Think about it. Every time she’s ever loved someone, it’s ended. Her parents’ marriage fell apart. Her marriage fell apart. And you”—he gestures at me—”she loved you when she was seventeen, and she walked away. She loved you when she was twenty-seven, and she walked away again. In her mind, loving people means losing them. So when she saw that photo, she didn’t see evidence that you cheated. She saw evidence that her worst fear was comingtrue. That she was about to lose you, just like she loses everyone.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that Delilah should know me better than that, that after everything we’ve been through she should trust me.
But the words won’t come.
Because he’s not wrong.
“That’s not my fault,” I say instead.
