Evelyn, After: A Novel

by Victoria Helen Stone

  “I’m fine. I’ve got my sweater.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to keep you dry.”

  She looked pointedly at the button-down shirt he was wearing. “I’m sure men are more weather resistant, but I’ll survive somehow.”

  “Am I being sexist?” he asked with a sheepish smile.

  “You’re being thoughtful, but I’m stronger than I look.”

  “Then let’s just say I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill and cut dinner short. How about we wait a moment and see if it stops as quickly as it started.”

  The small space was even more intimate in the rain. The world outside was gone. They were shrouded in water, utterly alone. She noticed the way his fingers stroked the bottom edge of the steering wheel and forced herself to look away.

  “Why did you stop painting?” Noah asked.

  “Me? I . . .” She’d already started answering the question before she realized she didn’t know. “I-I’m not sure, actually. Life, I guess?”

  “Life does have a funny way of happening.”

  It did, but she was bothered now. She felt like she needed to pin it down. “I painted all through college. And then I worked full time in a bank, just to pay the bills, you know. But I still painted. Not as often, but . . . I suppose it happened when we bought our house.”

  She frowned at his fingers stroking, stroking the leather seam of the steering wheel. “Funny, because we had more room in the house. I’d imagined I’d have a little studio in the smallest bedroom. It has good light. But then I was decorating the house and I got pregnant, so there was the nursery to outfit and . . . God. I never even unpacked my boxes of art supplies. They’re probably still in the basement somewhere. How pitiful is that?”

  “It’s not pitiful. I thought I was going to move to Oregon and study the Columbia River Gorge. Instead I got married, bought a house. It happens to everyone.”

  Yes. It happened to everyone. Except it hadn’t happened to Gary. He’d fulfilled his dreams. And even if Noah hadn’t pursued geology, he owned an art gallery now. He’d created a new dream, and he was living it. But Evelyn? She’d tossed her dreams out with Cameron’s dirty diapers, apparently, without even making a decision to do it. She’d just . . . faded.

  “I’d like to see them,” Noah said.

  “See what?”

  “Your paintings.”

  She gasped out a laugh. “What?”

  “I want to see your style. I’m intrigued.”

  “That’s not happening. I don’t even know where they are.” That wasn’t true. She knew exactly which closet her paintings were in.

  “Please?”

  She turned an exasperated look on him. “That’s ridiculous. Would you want to show me your high school poetry?”

  “I’d be happy to, but you can try reading lyrics from The Cure instead. They’re pretty much the same, though my poetry came with the rich maturity of a teenage boy’s perspective.”

  “Fine then, look through some of Bob Ross’s old work. I’m sure it’s close enough.”

  “I liked Bob Ross,” he countered.

  She laughed. “I did too.” After studying him for a moment, she shook her head. “Are you sure about The Cure? You look more like you were a popular guy. Maybe the varsity quarterback?”

  His jaw dropped, and he glared at her. “That’s incredibly insulting. I was hip and tortured.”

  “Come on. You were a geology major.”

  “Okay, I was nerdy and tortured. Mostly without the torture, though. A lot of the tortured part came from having crushes on artsy girls who wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

  “Oh, this is all coming together now!” she cried. “You’re picturing me in little black glasses. You want to see my paintings. This is about your midlife crisis.”

  His booming laugh filled the car and sank deep into her body. She was grinning stupidly at him. She couldn’t help it. It felt so good to have fun. Especially with someone she wasn’t even supposed to be near.

  “I’m not having a midlife crisis,” he insisted.

  “That’s funny. I think I am.” She didn’t mean the words to sound pitiful. Heck, she was still smiling. But they sounded sad and small in the gray space of the car.

  He went quiet, and she dropped her gaze to her clasped hands. The roar of the rain faded to a drone. The outside began to take shape again, returning them to real life.

  “You’re not old enough for a midlife crisis,” he finally said.

  “I’m forty-one.”

  “You don’t look forty-one.”

  “Liar,” she countered, but she forced a laugh. “How old are you?”

  “Forty.”

  “A younger man,” she murmured, then got flustered by her words. Letting him flirt was one thing. Saying something that provocative was another. “Should we make a run for it?” she asked. “The rain’s slowed.”

  “Let’s go.”

  She draped the cardigan over her head, vain despite her earlier brave words, and bolted out of the car. She heard the wet splash of his footsteps behind her as she scurried as carefully as she could across the lot.

  By the time they made it through the door of the restaurant, she was laughing too hard to breathe and had to bend over to catch her breath. Why was she even laughing? What was so uproariously exhilarating about trying to avoid the rain? “Oh my God,” she gasped.

  “You move fast in those heels.”

  “That was pure adrenaline.”

  “Well, you were right. I needed an umbrella more than you did.” He raked a hand through his hair, scattering drops, and God, he looked vulnerable, his hair wet like he’d just stepped from the shower.

  “Noah!” someone called.

  Evelyn snapped straight, fully aware that she was guilty. Guilty of so many things.

  “Ranbir!” Noah called out, stepping forward to shake a man’s hand. The guy was young. Maybe twenty-eight, and dressed in very expensive jeans and a fitted gray dress shirt. His short black hair was spiked up in a stylish fake Mohawk, and he had the most incredible angled jawline.

  “Welcome back!” Ranbir said. “Is this your wife?”

  Her eyes widened, and she met Noah’s surprised gaze for a second, then two.

  “No,” he finally said, his eyes still locked with hers, “this is a colleague of mine. Evelyn. Evelyn, this is Ranbir.”

  She shook Ranbir’s hand, and he led them to a table for two in a secluded corner of the restaurant. Maybe he didn’t believe that they were colleagues, but he didn’t seem to care either way.

  She glanced around as she took the seat Ranbir pulled out for her. The place wasn’t like any Indian restaurant she’d ever been to. There were no murals of pastoral India on the walls. The decor was bright and bold, modern-art streaks of color across the walls. And though the music playing was rich with sitar, it also had a bass beat and sounded more like rap.

  As soon as Ranbir left them alone with their menus, she leaned closer to Noah. “This place is so cool.”

  “Isn’t it great? It’s pescatarian, so I hope you’re okay with fish and vegetables.”

  “Are you a vegetarian?”

  “No, I just like good food. Ranbir’s girlfriend is an artist, so I knew them before he opened this place, and I’m glad I did or I may not have found it. The outside is a little nondescript.” He opened the menu. “I usually just order the chef’s selection. Ranbir brings me whatever is best for the night.”

  “Oh, let’s do that. An adventure!”

  She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. What kind of a woman thought ordering food at a nice restaurant was an adventure? The sad truth was that this was the most exciting thing to happen to her since her husband had cheated.

  But Noah winked and set the menu aside. “It is an adventure. Ranbir wanted to play with the idea of what Indian food means to Americans. He’s becoming a bit of a sensation among the foodies around here.”

  “Then thank you for bringing me. It�
�s been a while since I was on the cutting edge.”

  “It’s even hipper than you think. Ranbir is also a model. He lived in New York for quite a while.”

  “Are you kidding me? This is just . . . wow. I’m hanging out with the cool kids.”

  “True, but we do have to pay for the privilege of getting this close. They wouldn’t let us near otherwise. Glass of wine?” he asked over her laughter. “Or maybe a bottle of Indian beer? Kingfisher is good.”

  “I’ll stick with wine.”

  “Then we’re all settled. Let’s talk about your paintings again.”

  She let her head fall back and groaned in exasperation. “Why?”

  “I have no creative abilities, so I like to see other people’s work. I’m vicariously artistic. And . . .”

  “And what?”

  “And I think you should get out your painting supplies again. You have an amazing eye.”

  “I’m sure those supplies are unusable by now.”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  She did. And she didn’t like the surge of sweet pain that swept through her at the thought. “What would I even paint now?” she asked. “Scenes from a Divided PTO?”

  “I don’t think PTO drama was what inspired you to come into my gallery. And it definitely wasn’t what upset you that day.”

  A brief shock of alarm flashed through her body. Did he know something? Was he trying to catch her in a lie? “What do you mean?” she breathed.

  “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I don’t want to pry.” His eyes weren’t hard with suspicion. They were as warm as ever. He didn’t know anything. Why would he?

  Evelyn exhaled and let herself meet his gaze honestly. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why do you care?”

  One of his shoulders ticked up in a shrug. “I like you.”

  He liked her. She didn’t know what to do with the flare of pleasure his words created, half of it satisfaction that a man like Noah would say that to her and half of it her sick hatred of Juliette.

  “And,” he added, “if I had an ounce of artistic skill, I wouldn’t waste it. I suspect you need painting back in your life. Don’t you?”

  This wasn’t why she’d come here. She’d come for revenge or reconnaissance or just the hope for some answers. She’d come here sure Noah was a puzzle piece that would solve a mystery. That he’d fix something for her.

  But what if the piece he could fill wasn’t the puzzle of Juliette but the puzzle of Evelyn? Her life was more than her husband’s affair, surely. She was a whole person, not just a marriage.

  Wasn’t she?

  Her eyes filled with tears. She dropped her head and tried desperately to blink them away. Of course, that was the moment a waitress approached. Evelyn opened her tiny purse as the girl spoke, but there was nothing in there that could help her, because it was too small to be useful. If she’d brought in her giant mom-purse, she’d at least have tissues, but all she had to dry her eyes was a compact of powder. Noah was saying something to the waitress, but Evelyn was busy imagining the way layers of powder would combine with her tears to highlight every fine line around her eyes. She willed the tears to evaporate.

  “She’s gone,” Noah said. “I ordered for us.”

  Evelyn looked up, and one fat tear dropped from her eye and landed on her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching across the table to grasp her fingers. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I just . . .”

  She used her free hand to snatch up a napkin. The silverware clattered onto the table. Her heart beat too hard as she dabbed at her wet eyes, trying her best not to smudge her makeup.

  It took her a moment to calm down, but she finally got the tears under control. That was when she realized that she was clutching Noah’s hand in hers. She relaxed her fingers, but he held on.

  His thumb stroked over her knuckles, and she remembered the way his fingers had caressed the steering wheel. How long had it been since someone had touched her like she was fragile? Like she needed care? Years.

  “Maybe I should try painting again,” she said, forcing her trembling mouth into a smile. “I guess most people don’t cry at the mention of an old hobby. It’s not a good sign.”

  He shrugged, and his thumb brushed over her hand one last time, stroking up between the seam of two fingers in a way that caught her breath. Did he know what he was doing? “You’re an artist,” he said. “You can be sensitive. It’s allowed.”

  Yes. She was allowed all sorts of things now, wasn’t she?

  Evelyn pulled her hand away, but she let the pad of her thumb drag over the pale skin of his palm. She wasn’t sure he noticed, but her heart beat with panic all the same. She’d felt panic quite a bit in the past couple of weeks, but this time she welcomed the rush of blood that tumbled through her veins.

  Maybe panic wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Maybe it was a sign that she was determined to keep living.

  CHAPTER 10

  BEFORE

  She and Gary stood quietly in the kitchen, Cameron still between them even after they heard the thud of his bedroom door closing upstairs.

  Evelyn had been so sure just a few minutes ago. Gary had to turn this woman in. He had to tell the truth. It was the only way to put this behind them and start over. Now she didn’t know anything.

  “Explain to me why I should protect this woman,” she whispered. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like she was looking out for me by sleeping with my husband.”

  Gary nodded. Seeing Cameron seemed to have had a sobering effect on him too. He looked exhausted now, a few deep lines showing between his eyes as he tossed the paper towels in the trash and gathered up new ones. His motions weren’t furious anymore. They were weary.

  “She has two little kids,” he said quietly as he returned to the table to mop up the rest of the whisky. “I’m not asking you to care about her. I’m asking you to consider that those two children could lose their mother over an accident.”

  “You’ve met her children?” The words were as tight as the grief that clutched her heart.

  “No! Absolutely not. It wasn’t like that.”

  “What was it like?”

  He cleared his throat. “It was just physical.”

  “Sex.”

  “Yes. It was sex. Nothing more.”

  “Yet you want me to help protect her.”

  Gary knelt at her feet and wiped the edge of the table, then cleaned up the splashes on the floor. Evelyn stared at the top of his head. She hoped her gaze felt hot on the parts of his scalp that weren’t protected by quite as much hair as they used to be. He tried so hard to hide that, but he couldn’t hide it from Evelyn. Had his lover ever noticed?

  Gary tossed the last of the towels in the trash and sat down. His eyes rose to meet Evelyn’s. “She’s my patient.”

  “What?” she whispered.

  “She didn’t come to my office that night. That part wasn’t true. But she is my patient.”

  “Gary . . .” she breathed in horror. He was sleeping with a patient? “You could lose your license!”

  “If it becomes a criminal case, I definitely will.”

  “How could you . . . ?” She dropped back into her seat, swallowing hard. Her throat clicked and stuck, too dry to swallow anything. The whisky burned in her stomach and tried to find its way back up her throat. “How could you do this to us?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And the girl you hit . . .”

  “She came out of nowhere, Evelyn, I swear. She was walking down a pitch-black road. Not on the shoulder. She was in the middle of the lane! She had to have been drunk or high.”

  “I thought . . . I thought maybe she was on a bike or something.”

  “No. The headlights only caught her for one second. We had trouble even believing what we’d seen. The road was dark and then suddenly there was a woman there.”

  “You should have s
topped. You should have helped her.”

  “I couldn’t! I’d lose my license, not to mention my reputation. Everything we’ve worked for, Evelyn. Everything. I got out to look at her. I did. But her skull . . . She’d hit the pavement. Nobody could have helped her. She was already gone.”

  “Oh God,” she croaked. “Oh God, oh God.”

  “She was wearing black. Dark jeans and a dark shirt. It wasn’t our fault, and I just thought . . . why should our lives be ruined for this? Our marriages and our careers . . . I was trying to protect you.”

  “And you.”

  “Yes.”

  “And her.”

  “Yes. Juliette kept driving. She was hysterical. I tried to calm her down, and she accidentally ran off the road. That was when I had to call you. I’m sorry.”

  Evelyn stared at him.

  “The truth is,” he added, “that girl would still have been dead no matter what I did.”

  “But that’s not true, is it?” she pressed. “If you’d been at home with your family, none of this would have happened. If you hadn’t been having an affair, you wouldn’t have been on that road.”

  He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to gather patience. With her. As if she were the one causing problems. “You know what I mean.”

  “What you mean is I’m being difficult. That I need to be more reasonable about you cheating on me and lying and killing a teenager. You want me to buckle down and help come up with a calm solution to this after you dropped a bomb in the middle of our house.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, and she had no idea if he was.

  “I can’t think anymore,” she whispered. “I can’t.” The alcohol was finally hitting her, and she just wanted to collapse onto the table and weep. “I’m going to bed. You’re not welcome there tonight.”

  “And you’re not going to call the police?”

  She pushed to her feet and stood swaying, staring down at the table, at his hands, at the gold wedding ring that glinted under the light.

  Their marriage hadn’t been perfect. They’d grown apart over the years, but Evelyn had told herself that was what happened. A normal part of marriage. They didn’t fight often. Didn’t hate each other. Things were peaceful, calm, steady.