Evelyn, After: A Novel

by Victoria Helen Stone

  Cameron. She’d forgotten all about him. She tried to frantically rewind the past few seconds to figure out what he might have heard. He couldn’t know this about his father.

  But he would, wouldn’t he? If Gary turned in his lover, he’d have to testify if it went to court. Everything would be public record. She hadn’t even thought about that.

  The thump of his footsteps descended slowly, and she and Gary both watched the wall that shielded the staircase from view. When Cameron finally came around the corner, his head was ducked and black wires disappeared into both his ears. Maybe he’d heard nothing. Maybe—

  “Jesus!” he gasped when he caught sight of them both standing there. “You guys scared me.” He tugged one earbud free. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” they insisted simultaneously. Such an ironically united front.

  Cameron aimed a skeptical frown at the table, and Gary leaped into action, grabbing the sopping wad of paper towels. “A spill,” he said, as if there were some other explanation for the puddle.

  “Whatever,” Cameron said. “I’m getting some milk.”

  Evelyn jumped to her feet. “I’ll get it!” she offered, though her son had been getting his own milk for a decade now. He shrugged one bony shoulder and stuck the earbud back in.

  She poured him a large glass of milk and handed it over with a bright smile. Cameron muttered thanks and raised an eyebrow to let her know she was being weird.

  “You can take it to your room,” she offered, but he was already downing it, his big teenage Adam’s apple bobbing. What happened to men’s Adam’s apples as they got older? Did it finally figure out a way to fit into their bodies or did it just get hidden under layers of indulgence?

  He was so handsome. Taller than her, taller than Gary, with a fine, wide mouth that had cost five thousand dollars at the orthodontist to perfect, and a flop of brown hair that settled over one eye when Evelyn got too busy and didn’t insist on a haircut. He had some of her sturdiness to make him less fine boned than Gary, but he did have Gary’s pale-blue eyes. Still, Cameron’s were warmer somehow.

  When he finally drew in a deep breath and wiped away his milk mustache, Evelyn smoothed his hair off his forehead and rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

  “Night,” he said as she took his glass. He offered a halfhearted, one-armed hug before waving at his dad and disappearing around the corner.

  His childhood had been as perfect as any. No serious accidents. No deaths of friends. No bullying. No sudden behavioral problems, traumatic events, or even deep sadness. His life had been nothing like Evelyn’s uncertain childhood of depending on relatives to take her in for weeks at a time during school breaks while her mother worked.

  He wasn’t tough. He’d never had to be. How would he handle what was about to happen?

  Her heart seized with sudden dread. What if he’d known the dead girl?

  Amazing that this hadn’t occurred to her until now. A seventeen-year-old girl who’d died ten miles away? She might be a classmate of Cameron’s.

  Oh God, what if Evelyn knew her? She recognized most of the kids by sight, if not name. She helped them track down lost IDs and pick up school photos and change contact information. She took their forms for ordering graduation gowns and school rings. What if she knew this girl’s parents and she had to watch them grieve for a child Gary had helped kill?

  Worse yet . . . what if she forced Gary to go to the police and then everyone—Cameron’s friends, the girl’s teachers and parents, Evelyn’s coworkers—believed Gary had killed that child?

  Suddenly the right thing didn’t feel so right.

  CHAPTER 9

  AFTER

  “Evelyn, you made it back,” the principal said from the doorway of his office. She’d been out for more than two weeks, but he didn’t bother looking up from the sheet of paper he was reading. He always printed out important emails, saying he couldn’t absorb information unless he was holding it in his hand. This from a man who wanted to go to all digital textbooks to save money.

  “I made it back,” she confirmed as she took her normal seat behind the long counter. She was aware of her supervisor, Wanda, watching very quietly from the other side of the office. Evelyn got the distinct feeling she was about to be fired for missing too much work. She also got the distinct feeling that she didn’t give a damn. All she wanted to do was drive over to Noah’s gallery to see the painting he’d hung. Forcing herself to come in this morning had been an effort worthy of Hercules. She was sure she’d strained a few mental muscles.

  “Finally feeling better?” the principal asked dryly.

  “Right as rain.”

  He glanced up then, and his eyes widened over his reading glasses. His hand dropped, the paper fluttering in resistance. “Evelyn?”

  She cleared her throat, her eyes darting toward Wanda and the full-time receptionist, who were both watching. “I lost a little weight while I was sick,” Evelyn explained.

  “I’ll say. Are you sure you’re all right to return?” The suspicion in his voice had disappeared. Now he sounded genuinely concerned. She tried not to feel disappointed at the return of her job security.

  “I feel great today, thank you.”

  “That’s a relief. Welcome back.”

  She pulled a stack of field trip permission slips into her work space and tried to concentrate on the forms instead of the curiosity of her coworkers. It wasn’t just the weight. Instead of throwing on some powder and blush and rushing out the door, she’d applied foundation, shadow, and mascara. Not much, but enough that the other women noticed. And she’d worn her heels, though not with the black skirt and red blouse. Instead, she’d paired them with a sleeveless blue wrap dress that accommodated her change in size. She’d added a black cardigan to tone things down for school, but she’d take it off when she left. After all, she’d shaved under her arms. May as well show off the effort.

  It took only two hours to catch up on her work, so apparently she wasn’t as needed here as she’d thought she was. Really, what were they even upset about?

  Once the lunch-hour rush of students with questions or requests for early-outs had passed, Evelyn excused herself and slipped into the hallway to follow the signs to the book fair.

  Her heels clicked too loudly on the polished floors, and she liked it. She also liked the slim black-and-blue reflection she caught of herself in the trophy case as she passed it. Maybe she would buy some little black glasses. Surely she’d need reading glasses soon.

  A secret smile was still caught on her lips when she turned the corner and found chaos in the library alcove. Boxes were everywhere, surrounded by stacks of books and half-dismantled shelves. In the middle of all of it, like a tornado that had caused this destruction, stood Jackie, a stack of books clutched to her chest. Her wild eyes rose and locked on Evelyn’s face.

  “Oh, now you’re back!”

  “Yes, I’m feeling much better, thank you for asking.”

  Jackie’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’ve made quite a spectacular recovery.”

  “I have. I’m sorry I missed the fair. How did it go?”

  “You saw the emails. You know exactly how it went.”

  “Ah well. We’ll make a big comeback next year.”

  “And what,” Jackie snapped, “is the PTO supposed to do for funds this year?”

  Right. Jackie was vice president of the PTO this year. She wasn’t concerned about whether or not enough kids were reading books. She was worried about how she’d look at next month’s meeting. “I’m sorry my illness inconvenienced the PTO. I’ll be sure to apologize at the meeting.”

  She strode into the middle of the mess and started fixing the mistakes that Jackie had made. They worked in tense silence, slowly packing the books away.

  Evelyn should have felt guilty. For her lies, the book fair, and the loss of PTO funds. Any other time in her life she would have been racked with remorse and apologizing profusely. But despite her lies to Jackie and th
e school, she had honestly been sick, damn it. Sick with rage and hurt and horror. Sick that she was married to a man she didn’t know at all.

  And as the bell rang and kids began filing past, the sickness returned on a wave.

  The girl who’d been killed, she was the age of these children. Evelyn knew she’d be seeing that dead child in these hallways for years to come. And Juliette Whitman wasn’t going to pay a price for that.

  Evelyn stole a look at the clock and sealed up another box. Two thirty. Four o’clock seemed impossibly far away. She knew her eagerness had little to do with finding justice for that girl, but it didn’t matter. Today she’d find out more about Juliette from Noah. Today she wouldn’t lose focus. Her goal wasn’t to make a new friend, it was . . .

  What exactly? What was she planning to do? Expose Juliette? Get revenge? Or just figure out how Juliette had snatched Evelyn’s life from her grasp when she hadn’t been looking?

  What was she doing in these heels and this dress? Trying to impress Juliette’s husband?

  Evelyn hefted the box off the table and dropped it on the floor. It landed with a satisfying boom that was still echoing through the alcove when she grabbed an empty box and started the whole routine again.

  No, this wasn’t about looking good for a man. This was about looking good for herself. Her toes ached in the heels, but she felt powerful. Alive. Present. She felt like when she finally decided what to do, people would see her. They’d have to. Because she wasn’t disappearing anymore. She wasn’t lost in the shadow of Dr. Gary Tester. And whatever she decided to do . . . it was up to her. He couldn’t do one damn thing about it.

  When she finally walked out of the school at four, her arms ached from the hard work and her toes had gone mercifully numb. She threw the cardigan into the backseat and climbed into the Range Rover. Not an efficient way to traverse busy suburban streets, but she was never getting behind the wheel of the BMW again. As far as she was concerned, it was a murder weapon. That didn’t seem to bother Gary. He’d started driving it again a week after the accident. Yet another reason to hate him.

  This time, when she got to the gallery, Evelyn parked right in front of it. The painting looked wonderful in the window, the vibrant reds and oranges standing out even on this cloudy day. Evelyn looked at it for a long time, feeling satisfied despite the fact that this wasn’t her gallery and she hadn’t painted this piece.

  Maybe when Cameron left for college next year, she wouldn’t return to the school. Maybe she could get work at a gallery or an art museum. Neither would pay much, if anything, but did she really need the money? Whether she stayed with Gary or not, she’d be fine. She could get a little apartment in the city. That was a life she’d never had. The single city girl. The comfortable artist.

  The lonely, middle-aged divorcée.

  And Juliette would still have all this.

  Evelyn got out of the truck and tucked her little black purse under her arm. It matched her heels, and it was only large enough to hold her wallet, phone, and one compact of powder. Her real purse was shoved under the passenger seat, stuffed full of receipts and Kleenex and hand sanitizer and Band-Aids and cough drops and an emergency flashlight and anything else that any person in the world might need from her while she was near. An eternal diaper bag for the eternal mother.

  Nobody had better need anything from her right now.

  When she walked in, she glanced up at the camera with a sly smile and heard movement from the back room immediately.

  “Evelyn!” he said, already grinning when he stepped into the short hallway. “You made it.”

  “I did.”

  His eyes swept down her body and she sucked in her belly a little. She should have kept the cardigan on. But his eyes traveled right over her stomach and back to her face. “Driving the teenage boys to distraction?”

  That shocked a laugh out of her. “I don’t think I quite qualify as a MILF, but thank you.”

  “I . . .” His mouth stayed open for a long moment. “. . . am going to keep my response to myself.”

  Laughing at his outrageous teasing, she gestured toward the blank wall to his left. “Are you hanging the other two there?”

  “I’m just about to put them up. Stay right there and let me know what you think.”

  He retreated to the back and reemerged with one of the framed paintings in his arms, then hung it carefully on the white wall. On his second trip, he came back with a stool and adjusted one of the small lights that hung from the unfinished ceiling. The painting glowed. When he finally came back with the second painting, the wall looked perfect.

  “I love it,” she said.

  He held up a finger and took the footstool back. A few seconds later, he reappeared carrying two plastic cups and a wine bottle.

  “This is a hell of a workplace,” she said.

  “There are many benefits to hosting art openings.” He poured them both a cup and then touched his container to hers. “You did a good job.”

  They looked at the paintings together and both took a sip of wine. “You do know I had nothing to do with it, right? You’d ordered these paintings long before I wandered in here.”

  He shrugged. “You got me excited about them again. This place can get a little . . . discouraging.”

  Heat rose to her cheeks. She didn’t think it was the wine, though alcohol often had that effect on her. “It was nice to help. My place can get a little discouraging too.”

  “The school?” he asked.

  “Yes. That too.”

  She felt him turn and look at her, but she stared hard at the paintings and took another sip of wine.

  “Do you want to get dinner?” he asked.

  Her hand tightened, bowing the cheap plastic cup. “Now? It’s barely five.” She darted a glance at him and caught his shrug. “Isn’t the gallery open until seven?”

  “I’m in good with the boss if anyone complains.”

  She needed to get home and prepare dinner. Make sure Cameron finished his homework. Do a load of laundry. Pay the bills. Bake those cupcakes.

  “There’s a new Indian place not too far away.”

  Indian was one of her favorites. Gary didn’t like anything more adventurous than French or Italian, so she hadn’t had Indian in a couple of years.

  Screw the cupcakes. “All right. Give me a minute to text my son.”

  “I’ll lock up.”

  Evelyn assured herself that it would be better this way. She could learn a lot more about this man and his wife over dinner than she could standing awkwardly in his gallery.

  She texted Cameron to let him know he could order pizza. There’s $20 in the cubbyhole next to the garage door.

  Yes! Thx mom.

  Do your homework.

  Yeah yeah.

  She rolled her eyes, but her exasperation melted away when he sent a little text heart as a follow-up.

  I love you too, she wrote back.

  “I set the alarm,” Noah said from behind her. “We’ve got thirty seconds to evacuate.”

  “Oh!” Evelyn gulped the last of her wine and ditched the cup on his small, neat desk before hurrying out the front door with him.

  She stared at the desk through the window as he locked up, worried that his wife would come by and see the scene. The gallery closed early and locked up tight. An empty cup on the desk, the plastic marred by a woman’s lipstick. Then she remembered that she didn’t need to worry about that. It’d be what Juliette deserved.

  She stopped to get her sweater from the backseat before following Noah to his car. It wasn’t until she got in and buckled up next to him that she realized how unusual this was. She hadn’t been alone in a car with any man but her husband for years. She didn’t have any good male friends—or any good friends at all, aside from her sister—and a car was an intimate space. His thigh was only inches from hers, his music played on the stereo, and the little details of his life were scattered around him. Sunglasses, a garage door opener, leather gloves lined w
ith sheepskin for the winter that had just passed. And in the backseat, a stuffed bunny and a booster seat.

  “How old are your kids?” she asked, though she knew full well that Stephanie was eight and Connor was six.

  “Six and eight. Yours?”

  “My son is seventeen. Off to college next year.”

  “Wow. So it’ll be just you and your husband?”

  “Maybe,” she answered honestly.

  “Planning on having more?” he asked with a smile.

  “No, that is definitely not what I meant.”

  She’d only meant to give him an opening to talk about problems in his own marriage, but when he stopped at a red light and turned to look at her intently, she wished she could take it back. “You know how it is,” she said quickly, staring straight ahead.

  “It’s not easy,” he answered, to her satisfaction. Life with Juliette wasn’t smooth either.

  “No, it’s not. What’s your wife like? You said she’s a teacher?” Her mind filled in what she couldn’t say: born on August second, age thirty-six, teacher of the year at Oakwood Elementary last year, favorite treat is brownies, favorite movie is—

  “She’s a great mom, an amazing teacher. She takes care of everything. She’s kind, beautiful. A great mom.”

  He’d said that twice. A great mom. And an amazing teacher. Nothing about what kind of wife she was. Was it possible he knew she wasn’t faithful? “How long have you been married?” she pressed.

  “Eleven years. You?”

  “Almost twenty.”

  He nodded, but she wasn’t sure what that meant: “That’s a long time,” or “Congratulations,” or “I can’t imagine making it that long because my wife is a monster.”

  One big raindrop plopped onto the windshield just as he pulled into a small parking lot. Before she could get a look at the restaurant sign, the world dissolved into a blur, and the car swelled with the noise of a thousand drops hitting them at once.

  “Shit,” he murmured. “I don’t have an umbrella. I’ve got a jacket in the trunk. You can—”