Delilah Green Doesn't Care(Bright Falls #1)(92)

“Iris and I are going with Astrid to talk to Isabel,” Claire said.

“Yeah. Sure. Astrid will definitely need help with that one.”

“We thought so too.”

A silence pressed between them, and Delilah hated it. If this was going to end, best end it quickly, like a beheading. Painless and fast.

“Okay,” she said. “I guess I’ll—”

“Come with us,” Claire said.

Delilah blinked, then pushed off from the wall. “What?”

“Come with us,” Claire said again.

“Astrid doesn’t want me there.”

“You know how Isabel is. Maybe you could help.”

Delilah laughed, a bright, bitter sound. “Isabel definitely doesn’t want me there.”

“Well, I want you there.”

Delilah closed her eyes. “Claire.”

“Please. Just come, okay? I want to see you. And Astrid’s your family. The only one you have, right?”

“You know it’s more complicated than that.”

“I know. And don’t you wish it wasn’t?”

Delilah frowned, at a loss for what to say to that. Sure, she wished her relationship with Astrid and Isabel was simpler. And once she went back to New York, it would be, nearly nonexistent, just like it always was between visits. But even as she thought this, something else nudged at the back of her mind. A different wish. One where family meant more than awkward encounters and avoided text messages. One where friends meant more than an acquaintance or a colleague or a one-night stand. One where home meant more than a fifth-floor walk-up and IKEA furniture.

But it was too late for that.

Wasn’t it?

“Please,” Claire said again, and goddammit, Delilah didn’t want to say no to her. And if she was being honest, she didn’t want to leave without seeing Claire one more time.

“Fine,” Delilah said. “But meet me outside, okay? I don’t—”

“Want to walk in alone. I know.”

Delilah’s eyes felt suddenly wet. She ended the call before Claire could hear the tears in her voice.



* * *





CLAIRE WASN’T THERE to meet her, though Iris’s car was in the driveway. Still, Delilah stood frozen as her Lyft drove away. She should just turn around, go back to the inn, and book her flight home. She didn’t belong here, and she never would.

And yet.

Delilah had taken her time getting to Wisteria House. She’d gotten a coffee at Wake Up, then walked slowly through downtown until she was sure Claire would already be at Wisteria.

She had stopped in front of River Wild Books, gazed through the window at all the colorful spines, the bare walls Claire couldn’t decide how to fill. Brianne, Claire’s manager, waved at Delilah from behind the counter, a bright smile on her face. Delilah waved back, found herself smiling too, which just made all the confusing feelings gathering in her chest like a storm swirl even thicker.

Now, standing in front of her home, she couldn’t make herself turn away. For the first time since her father died, she wanted to go inside.

What the hell had Claire Sutherland done to her?

This wasn’t okay. She needed to leave now. What did she care if Astrid was upset, if Isabel’s perfect fairy-tale wedding was dissolving behind her parlor doors?

She didn’t. Delilah Green didn’t care. Because they’d never once cared about her.

She slumped against the door, pressed her forehead to the thick inlaid glass. Not caring was fucking exhausting.

Before she could stop herself, she twisted the thick brass door handle and stepped inside, lavender and bleach assaulting her senses like always. It was cool, nearly cold, and just as she suspected, the parlor doors to her left were closed, voices murmuring behind them. Once, the room was her father’s office, filled with squashy leather couches and a huge oak desk Delilah used to curl up under with a book while her dad worked. Now, the room looked like something out of Versailles, settees and chaise lounges and fainting couches arranged just so. She walked up to the doors, placed a palm against the wood.

“. . . any idea how embarrassing this will be?” Isabel was saying.

“Embarrassing for who, Mother?” Astrid said, her voice thick and watery-sounding. Delilah had never heard her voice sound like that. “For you or for me?”

“For the both of us,” Isabel said, her voice completely calm. She didn’t scream or yell. She never had in all the time Delilah had known her, but Christ, that woman could spit out an invective like no one else, her tone always measured and cold, which, honestly, made everything worse. More than once growing up, Delilah had tried to rile her stepmother into a frenzy, if only so Delilah wouldn’t be the only one losing her shit.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Astrid said. “But for once, just once, I need you to—”

Astrid’s voice cut off, silence filing the space. Delilah pressed her ear against the door. She thought she heard “It’s okay” in Claire’s soothing tone, but it was so quiet she couldn’t be sure. There was some sniffling, some shushing.

“Oh for god’s sake, Astrid,” Isabel said. “Stop crying. If this is upsetting you so much, call your fiancé and fix it.”

“He’s not upsetting me, Mom, you are,” Astrid said.