Page 178 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Grace moved through the crowd with her phone, capturing everything, and the shelter’s social media numbers were climbing in real time.
Delaney went to do a walk-through of the event to see if anyone needed help as Theo found me. I’d been heading toward the donation center to see how we were doing.
“Eleven adoption applications,” he said.
“Today?”
He nodded. “Since nine this morning. Three are for Hulk, Tank, and Butch. There’s a family that wants to take all of them.”
“That’s incredible.”
Theo looked at the pen that held Noble. “And Mr. Popular has another two applications. It’s going to be hard to decide who his lucky new family is.”
Noble barked, lapping up all the attention.
“Theo,” I said.
“I know.” He swallowed, completely overcome with emotion. “I know. I just—” He stopped. “Fuck. This. All of this. Thank you. Thank you for saying yes when I came to you about the grant, for donating your time every week, for not giving up when it got hard, and for this—” He made a gesture that encompassed the Commons, the crowd, the band, the animals’ pens, and the donation table. The handmade posterboard cataloging our numbers as it grew steadily.
I didn’t have words that were adequate to respond to what he said, so instead I pulled him in for a hug. “You’re welcome, man.”
Delaney was everywhere.
That’s what I kept noticing—not just that she was busy. I knew she’d be busy. We all were, but it was her presence throughout the event that I noticed most. She wasn’t managing it from a distance. She wasinit. Crouched down next to a child who was nervous about the animal pen, talking to the local band between sets about something that made the guitarist laugh, helping a vendor whose table leg had given out, and then going back to help with each yoga demonstration.
She’d chosen this. She was here to stay.
Delaney had come to Ruby River carrying a suitcase and grief so thick she didn’t know what to do with it. She’d unpacked it. She’d done the insurmountable task of hanging her clothesin her aunt’s closet. She’d built a community yoga class that supported the shelter, and we’d found each other.
I watched her cross the Commons toward the donation table and thought about the inscription in Jem’s book.
Sometimes it shows up messy and chaotic, in ways you don’t recognize until you’re already in the middle of it.
And I was ready to see this all through.
An hour later, Glamma found us together—me and Delaney, standing near the edge of the Commons in a quiet pocket between band sets, and watching the day move around us.
She crossed the grass in one of her bejeweled tracksuits. In minutes, she had stopped in front of us with that knowing little smile. A smile that said, “See, I know best.I’ve been watching and waiting for the right time for you both to get it.”
She took one of Delaney’s hands and one of mine. “You two did this,” she said. “In eight days. With a handful of phone calls and so many people who have your backs.” She looked directly at Delaney. “Jem would’ve been so proud of you. She wasalwaysproud of you, but this … this she would have loved to see.”
Delaney’s throat moved.
I placed my hand on her lower back.
“She knew,” Glamma continued. “Before any of us did. She always knew things ahead of their time.” She paused. “I think she knew about you two as well.”
Then she turned to me. “You have fought for the right thing all your life,” she said. “The shelter, this town. The people in it. You always questioned whether it was enough. And it is, my sweet boy. It is enough.Youare enough.” She glanced back at Delaney. “Make sure you remember that. He deserves the world because I know he’ll give the world to you.”
“Glamma,” I said.
“I’m old,” she said serenely. “I’ve earned the right to say what I want.”
Delaney squeezed my grandmother’s hand. “I will. And you’re right. He’s worth fighting for. And giving everything to.”
“Did you get a chance to look at my rings yet?” she asked.
My nerves were still shot from that mess last week. Sensing my hesitation, Delaney jumped in, “We did. They were all lovely, Glamma.”
