Read Online The Truth About Delilah Blue by Tish Cohen - Free Book Online Page A

backward, clumsily, toward the door, then half squinted, half smiled. Stopping, he tipped his head to the side. “Wait. Did you just ask me out?”
    “No. Good-bye, Adam.”
    “It didn’t come out right—what I said back there in the hall. It sounded creepy, but I just meant your pose was so thought out; you challenged the students the way other models should but usually don’t. It’s good. It’s why Lichty just told me to schedule you for more than half his classes.”
    Taken aback by his honesty, Lila stared down at her drawing and said nothing. By the time she looked up to thank him, he was gone. She returned to her drawing. Not one minute later, she heard a muffled cough behind her and turned, expecting to find he’d returned.
    He hadn’t.
    In the center of the room was a tanned woman in her early forties, maybe late thirties. Not especially tall, but the way she stood, hunched over herself, hands squeezing each other for support, and clutched to her chin—it was as if she was waiting for a blow. The woman said nothing at first, but inched a bit closer. Coppery curls hid part of her face, and her eyes—round and hoping, like a child’s—blinked furiously.
    It was the same woman in the flowered mini Lila had seen on her way in. The secretary was giving her a hard time, something about nonstudents not being allowed to wander through the halls. Lila might not have recognized her but for the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her gauzy blouse.
    “If you’re looking for Lichty, class was canceled,” Lila said.
    “Pardon me?”
    “Try him tonight. He has a sophomore class at six-thirty.”
    The woman’s lips flattened together as if suppressing a smile. Then she pressed fingertips to her mouth and a near-silent sound escaped. Almost a whimper or a gasp. Like the sound a child might make if you woke her up too early. Not the response Lila was expecting. Finally, the woman spoke. Her voice was husky and near the point of breaking. “He dyed your hair.”
    “What?”
    “Looks like mine.”
    Lila’s hand reached up and touched her messy braid. Was her hair dye that obvious?
    “Delilah.”
    She hadn’t heard the name in so long.
    Delilah.
    It wasn’t a question or a greeting.
    It was a statement.
    The woman stepped closer. “It’s me. Your mother.”
    The art board slipped from the shelf and struck Lila in the knee. For whatever reason, Lila looked back to the spider, but she too had been startled by the intrusion and scuttled into a gap in the cupboard. Suddenly, with no sense of how she got there, Lila was on her feet.
    Her mother. Her. Mother. Lila’s memories of her were hazy. Thick and murky and choking, like the smoke that settled over L.A. after a week of wildfires. Yes, she could see it was her. Or a tinier version of her. It was the movie-climax moment Lila had wished for, but it wasn’t that moment at all. Instead it was strange, sticky like the web. And she could smell her own body odor. That would never happen in the movies.
    Lila wanted to back up, hide. Get naked in front of the class. Anything to give herself a moment to drum up the requisite joy. Where the hell were her emotions?
    The last time Lila saw Elisabeth’s face was the night before moving away, when her mother dropped her at Victor’s for a sleepover. Lila tried to wave, but Elisabeth hadn’t looked up—her last memory of her mother was the side of her jaw seen through a dusty car window.
    And now. Standing here, shorter than me. So much shorter than me.
    It was time to speak. She’d stood, stunned, too long. “Wow” was all that came out.
    Elisabeth started to laugh and cry at once. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear your voice? My God, look at you. How you’ve grown. Last time I saw you, you didn’t come to my breast.”
    “I feel like a giant.”
    “You’re beautiful.” Elisabeth moved forward and hugged her quickly, stiffly, then moved back as if worried she might scare her daughter away.