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I knew how to survive.
I didn’tneedit, and if we’re being honest, it hasn’t been about the money for a while. I just got greedy for something else.
I let myself fall forhim.
Delly looks at my face and purses her lips like she can see my brain scattering in a dozen directions. There are wrinkles around the corners, but they’ve been artificially smoothed to delay the inevitable march of age. I guess money can stall time itself if you’ve got enough.
“Did Dexter ever tell you how his father died?” she asks, leaning back.
I frown. “We haven’t talked much about our parents, no. But it was a plane crash, right?”
“Yes. When Dexter was barely grown.” She smiles, but remnants of tragedy linger in her eyes. A sadness that all the money in the world can’t eradicate. Nothing heals a broken heart. “The last time I ever saw him shed a tear was at the funeral.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it, especially considering the aftermath.” She glances down. “I was… I wasn’t myself for a few years after it happened. The grief took me to such a dark place, dear, and I didn’t want to burden my boys.”
I wait, wondering what she’s holding back.
Her elegant frame rattles as she sighs. “Frankly, I was a mess. First the drinking, then the prescription pills, then more drinking and pills together.”
My eyebrows go up.
I definitely wasn’t expecting such a human confession.
“Delly, it’s okay. If it’s too personal, you don’t need to—”
“No. No, dear. It’s such a long time ago now, and I suppose Dexter doesn’t want to tell anyone else about it. But with everything he did for me—the days the poor dear spent at my bedside so I didn’t drink myself to death, or worse—he saved my life. And I think it left him so scared he iced over.”
My heart aches now.
I feel like the queen of all bitches for judging him so hard, for not trying to understand.
“That’s rough. I’m really sorry.” I set my mug down on the end table and pat her hand. “I’m not sure I understand, though. What has him so scared?”
Delly smiles sadly.
“Why, seeing what lost love can do,” she whispers. “I was never the same. I’m still not, no, but thanks to my son, I’ve learned to live and laugh again. It tore him up, watching me trying to throw myself into my husband’s grave. Honestly, Ihurthim. I shouldn’t have let it take months for him to talk me into checking into a real place where I could get help. For years, I worried he’d think it wasn’t worth it after seeing my addiction, my grief. That he’d never be brave enough to love, to take a chance on anyone…”
Her slim fingers bend gently around mine.
I swallow thickly.
God, I know how it feels, even if it’s just a shadow of what she’s been through. All these years after my mom died, and I still don’t talk about it with anyone but Nana.
There are some things better kept inside.
“I get that,” I whisper.
“Of course you do, dear. I watched from a distance as he went into the Army and worried myself sick. Then he came home and my boys dealt with their grief their own way, working like mad for that business. I watched them pour their hearts into building something grand—then Dexter met you. You opened his heart, and I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong.”
I’m dumbstruck.
I don’t know what to say.
I’ve never been a mom who lost the love of her life.
I don’t know what it’s like, watching from a distance as your children make their choices, good and bad, and try to deal with their own damage.
