Dear Enemy

“Well,” I say with a wobble in my voice. “Here I am again.”

“Now then,” she says, setting down the dishrag. “What’s this all about?”

“Macon . . .” It’s all I can get out before losing it.

When tears well up in my eyes, she gasps and sits by my side to grab my hand with her cool one. “Did he hurt you?” She asks it mildly, but there’s a promise in her voice that tells me that she will, in fact, tan Macon’s hide if he did.

My smile is wobbly and brief. “No. Not at all. He’s been . . .” A revelation. “Wonderful. We started up, and it was wonderful. Perfect. And then Sam showed up.”

One silvery-blonde brow lifts delicately. “Sam? Has she finally returned, then? What has that girl gotten herself into this time?”

“Oh, Mama . . .” I press my hands against my hot face. “Everything.”

My confession comes in a great purge of words, quickly spilled so I don’t have to feel the full impact of them. I tell her everything, starting with the texts and ending with Sam showing up at Macon’s house. I keep out the details of exactly how she found Macon and me, but I don’t hide my culpability.

When I’m finished, I drop my hands from my eyes and face my mother.

“Well, fuck,” she says. I choke out a laugh, and she quirks a brow. “Some things need cursing. And this is one.”

“You’re right about that.” I let out a shuddery breath and attempt to rein in my tears. I’m a damn leaky faucet now. A lifetime of not crying undone in a single night. “Macon was so hurt that I didn’t tell him about Sam calling. And he’s pissed that I always try to cover for her.”

Mama rests her hand on mine. “Delilah, honey, he has a point. Why did you offer to work off her debt? You didn’t have to do that.”

“He said he’d call the police. If she went to jail . . . your heart . . .”

Her face darkens, thunderclouds gathering in her eyes. “Delilah Ann, are you telling me you thought I am so delicate that I cannot handle my own daughter’s bad behavior?”

“Yes?”

That silver brow wings up again. This time it’s a warning.

My shoulders sag. “I was afraid. I don’t want to lose you or see you upset.”

“Honey.” Her hand returns to mine. “What’s this really about? Why do you really feel this need to protect us?”

“You and Daddy chose me. You didn’t have to, but you did.” Tears well up again. “How can I not pay you back by trying my best to protect our family?”

“Pay me back . . . ,” she repeats faintly before hot color rises to her cheeks, and she hauls me close, her thin arms wrapping around me like steel bands. “Baby girl. No, no. Tell me you don’t believe that.”

I’m sobbing now, a complete mess. My words come out hot and muffled against her shoulder. “I was such an awkward kid, a real mess most of the time. I wanted you to be proud . . .”

“I am proud.” She grasps my shoulders and pulls me back to look in my eyes. Hers are filled with tears. “Hear me well, Delilah Ann. You chose us. I fully believe that. And the second I set eyes on you, you were my daughter in every way.”

“Mama . . .”

She gives me a little shake. “In every way. Do you hear?”

“Yes.” I rub at my leaking eyes, feeling drained.

Mama grabs a napkin and hands it to me, but she doesn’t let me go. She tucks me against her side and rocks me like she did when I was a girl. “You have a protective streak a mile wide, baby. You always have. There’s nothing wrong with that. But don’t let Sam take advantage of your loving nature. She won’t learn anything that way. Frankly, she’s too manipulative by far.”

“Mama, she’s your daughter.”

She shrugs. “I love my girls, but I see you both clearly, faults and all.”

“She had a fit when she found out Macon and I were together.”

“Do you care?”

I pull away from my mother and sit up, wiping my cheeks. A small defiant smile tickles my lips. “No, not really.”

“Good. And she’ll get over it.” Mama gives my arms a quick squeeze. “She’ll have to because I have the suspicion neither you or Macon will get over each other.”

I suck in a breath and stare down at the table. “He told me to go. Said he needed to clear his head.”

When my mother speaks, her voice is soft and hesitant. “Do you love him?”

Love. My heart gives a great big thump. I have avoided love all of my life. Logically, I shouldn’t have. I knew what a happy relationship looked like; my parents’ marriage was ideal. And yet whenever I thought of falling in love, I’d feel slightly ill and unsettled. Love is risk. For me, opening myself up to certain risks meant opening myself up to pain.