not the years, it’s the mileage.
She responds with an eye-roll emoji. Don’t quote Indy. You are no Professor Jones.
I bite back a grin like she might see me, even though she’s far away.
You can’t make that assessment until you’ve seen me handle a whip.
I can picture her making a face.
Anyway . . . You need to fix this. Show them just a little bit of the real you.
Sitting up, I hesitate for a second before answering.
What is the real me?
Little dots appear on my screen, then pause, then appear again like she’s deliberating on how she wants to respond. I sweat it out, needing to know. When the text finally appears, though, I’m almost afraid to read it.
Better than what you show. You’re funny when you want to be. You know, in a sarcastic way.
Oh, well, thank you. [Insert my sarcasm here]
I’d never admit it, and I’m suddenly grateful no one can see me, but her words leave me uncomfortably warm. I’ve never been good with compliments. I don’t know how to handle them from Delilah. At all.
I cover the moment by quickly texting before she can.
Consider social media another addition to your duties.
You want me to pretend to be you? Are you feeling all right?
Yes. And yes. Why do you ask?
Because I could make your life hell. I could post ANYTHING.
Snorting again, I shake my head.
But you won’t.
I know Delilah too well. Everything she does, she makes sure to do perfectly. It would hurt her soul to put out bad or embarrassing content. Not because she’d worry about how it reflected on me but because she’d know it was her work, and it couldn’t be subpar.
Damn it, you’re right. Ugh. Okay. I’ll help you. But I’m not doing it on my own. I’ll give you tips, but it has to come from you for the content to be authentic.
I could push the issue, insist she take it over entirely. And then I’d feel like a dick. I already feel like that enough around her anyway.
Deal. But I’m NOT posting torso shots or crap like that.
Another eye-roll emoji follows.
You always thought too highly of yourself, Macon. And you will if I say you will. Abs = love.
So . . . you love my abs? I knew it. My butt is pretty awesome too, isn’t it?
Sorry, Delilah has left the building.
Look, you don’t have to beg. I’ll send you a picture.
Don’t you dare!
I lift up my shirt, take a quick picture of my abs, and send it.
Asshole!
Now, Delilah, don’t get kinky with your requests. I draw the line at ass shots.
ARGH!
Laughing, I leave it at that. She doesn’t respond again, which is kind of a disappointment, and I’m left not knowing what to do. Ordinarily, I’d be out—visiting acquaintances, jogging along the mountain paths, whatever I could to occupy my mind.
With North and Delilah out, the house is still and quiet. The distant crash of the sea against the shore is a constant hum. An hour rolls by, too still, too quiet. I get up and walk slowly from room to room, chasing the sun as it slants through the massive windows. I know every inch of this place. It is all mine.
Growing up, nothing was mine. Not even my bedroom. It could be invaded without warning. There was no safe space. I used to dream of my own place, design it in my mind’s eye—where it would be, how it would look. I grew up in a mansion, so I knew all about beautiful spaces. That didn’t interest me as much as thinking about light and space. A place to breathe freely, see everything around me with clear eyes.
The pool shimmers in the afternoon sun. I’m not yet allowed to go swimming, but damn if it isn’t tempting. To the best of my knowledge, Delilah hasn’t gone near the pool. Did she even swim? The last time I saw her in a bathing suit was when she was thirteen. She caught me looking a few times—much to my horror—and hadn’t been pleased. I can’t say I blamed her. I was pissed as well—both at being caught and over my lack of self-control. It was a relief when she stopped going to the lake with Sam and me to swim.
Only, it left me alone with Sam. The realization that without Delilah in the equation, that hanging out with Sam was an exercise in patience and boredom was an ugly shock. Shortly after, I made certain we always went out with a