And you’re worth the whole heartache
One final chorus, softer now, almost a whisper.
You’re the song I can’t stop singing
You’re the only song I know
And wherever yougo, Delilah
That song goes with you
So when you’re ready
Follow it home
The last chord fades into static.
“So yeah,”seventeen-year-old me says.“That’s it. I told you it was stupid. But I meant every word. I’ll wait for you, Delilah. However long it takes.”
A pause. A breath.
“I love you. I know we haven’t said that yet. But I do. I love you.”
Click.
The tape ends.
The fire crackles.
The pecan tree rustles overhead. Somewhere behind us, I hear Eleanor’s back door close softly. Giving us space.
Delilah hasn’t moved. Tears are streaming down her face, but she’s smiling too—that broken-open kind of smile that means something has finally cracked through.
“You wrote that,” she whispers. “When you were seventeen.”
“I did.”
“And you meant it.”
“Every word.”
She sets down the tape carefully, like it’s made ofglass. Then she stands. I stand too, not sure what comes next, just knowing I need to be closer to her.
“The pecan tree,” she says softly, pointing to the spot just past the fire pit. “We buried it right there.”
“I remember.”
“And you kissed me afterward.”
“I remember that too.”
“You missed.”
“I did not miss.”
“You absolutely missed.” She’s laughing now, even through the tears. “You got the corner of my mouth. It was very awkward.”
“It wasendearing.”
