by Sybil Smith
So until she's able to articulate something greater, something that even comes close to the way she feels…those words will have to do.
Chapter 20
The cab comes to a stop outside of Vera's apartment and she looks down, grinning at the fact that Evelyn had somehow fallen asleep against her shoulder in their short ride.
"Evelyn," she whispers, smiling when blue eyes finally flutter open. "You coming in? I'll order lunch if you're hungry."
Evelyn sits up, slightly arching her stiff back. She looks to Vera—seeing the open and loving expressions—and lightly squeezes her arm with a small smile. "I have a few things I need to do first, but I'll be back for dinner?"
"It's a date," Vera leans over, quickly pecking Evelyn's lips—enjoying the normality, the comfort of doing so. "Pizza or Chinese?"
"Surprise me," Evelyn says with a grin tugging on her lips.
Her fingers slowly trail down Vera's arm as she gets out of the car, either unwilling or unable to let go. "Thank you for—"
"Evelyn, what did I say about thanking me?" Vera leans in the open door of a cab with a smile as Evelyn lightly shrugs, bashfully grinning. "Besides, I'm glad you let me go with you."
"I wouldn't have taken anyone else."
"Good," Vera bends down, slowly kissing Evelyn's lips. "I love you."
"I love you too," Evelyn says, enjoying the way saying that short phrase makes her feel—like Vera is the light of the perpetual darkness she had been living in. She smiles, squeezing Vera's hand one last time before sliding back into the car. "I'll be back soon."
"Can't wait," Vera grins, taking both of their bags from the floorboard and then slowly shutting the cab door as she winks.
Evelyn watches Vera from the car window as far down the road as she can—enjoying the way wild wisps of her black hair blew around in the wind, the way she stood with both hands on her hips, and most importantly, the way Vera turned to watch the cab leave just like Evelyn was watching her.
After telling the driver where to take her, she sits back against the black leather seats—warm from where Vera was sitting only moments ago. The city passes by the window in a blur, and she reaches up with one finger to lightly trail across her bottom lip. It had only been mere minutes and yet, she already missed Vera immensely. Whether it was due to her negligent childhood and the losses she had suffered causing her to become overly attached, or realizing Vera was the only person she ever loved and needed—craved, even—she wasn't certain.
She just knows she never, ever wants to be without Vera. She couldn't handle feeling this…longing for any extended period of time. Yes, she's been dealt worse hands in her life, but losing Vera is not something she wants to be dealt. And of that, she is certain.
They finally pull up outside of the hospital and she gets out, anxiously walking towards the elevator on shaking legs. Until now, she hadn't truly realized how much she had wanted to see Noah—the emotional turmoil of the weekend had practically clouded all of her other thoughts. It sets a spark of guilt straight through her. But, she'll see him soon.
And she didn't break her promise. She said she'd be back in two days, and it's only been two days. Things will be just as they were when she left him.
At least that's what she keeps telling herself.
She nervously spins her ring around her finger as the elevator doors finally open. The halls look the same, it feels the same—children walking down the halls, laughing and talking if they were strong enough—so why was she so damn apprehensive?
She makes her way down the hall, smiling at the children she meets along the way as much as she can in a place that brings back so many memories. Turning the corner, she stands in the doorway of the playroom. Her eyes scan every corner, every table but she doesn't see Noah or anyone that looks remotely like him.
He could be getting treated or sleeping—in which case she'd wait to see him, just like she promised—so she walks over to the nurse that she had spoken to the few times before. The nurse stands, small frown growing on her face.
Evelyn's brow furrows and she tilts her head. "Do you know where I might find Noah?"
The nurse flounders, sympathy instantly washing over her features as she reaches out and touches Evelyn's arm. "I'm sorry, but Noah…he isn't—hey, no don't do that. Don't cry," she reassures, guiding Evelyn to sit in a chair by the wall. "It's nothing bad."
Evelyn nods, struggling to calm her breathing. She wipes the corner of her eye from where it started to water and the nurse hands her a napkin. "Noah isn't here anymore—"
"What?" Her voice comes out in a strangled whisper.
The nurse sits next to her and pats her hand. "He's better now—cancer free, might I add—so they sent him home."
"Home?"
The nurse nods, smile slowly growing on her face—thinking that hearing this would make Evelyn feel better.
But it doesn't.
Evelyn can't calm her breathing now, because it feels like there's none left; like all the air has been sucked straight from her lungs. She doesn't know his last name—no one here is allowed to give it to her even if she asked—and she has no idea where or who his foster parents are.
She'll never see him again.
Never see his dimpled smile again.
Never hear his small, perfect laugh again.
Never see his big brown eyes that light up every time she's around again.
Never hear his gentle voice as he finally works up the courage to speak again.
Never put puzzles together with him for hours at a time again.
It's too much, too soon. She's lost two people—two children—in a year. Logically she knows Noah was never hers to keep, never hers to love.
But she loved him anyway.
In the weirdest of ways, it was if two horribly broken and devastated human beings—lives filled with sorrow and loss—had been joined to help the other heal; to understand the other like no one else ever possibly could.
And it hurts; it hurts so very badly to know that she's lost him forever. That he's lost her forever, too.
Because she would've helped him mend his emotional scars he received from so many years of being shuffled from one home to another.
She would've taught him how to trust and live without the fear of being left.
She would've loved him like no one else had ever tried to love him.
And now he's gone.
She grows pale, fighting the urge to get sick as she stands on wobbly legs. The nurse calls out to her, but she briskly walks down the hall—arm against the wall for support as she makes her way to the elevator. She's not crying, no. Not yet. But her heart is pounding in her chest, her throat is tight as she tries to breathe, and her eyes are burning from unshed tears.
There was a time she turned to alcohol for this kind of pain, but not anymore.
She needs Vera and she needs her now.
Her hands and legs shake as the hold her up while she flags down a cab. She practically falls inside, willing her mind blank, staring directly at the seat in front of her and nothing else—trying to force away these feelings as long as she can.
The ride is slow, so painstakingly slow that she barely refrains from telling the driver to hurry the fuck up. When the cab pulls to a stop she practically throws the money at him. She bolts from the car and forces herself to make it up the stairs before breaking down.
Her hands shake as she pulls out her keys. As soon as she finds the one to Vera's apartment, she drops the whole keyring to the ground.
It's the last straw.
Frustration, anguish, heartache, sadness, emptiness. Everything fills her at once, eating her up and breaking her down until it's all she feels. The breath leaves her lungs in one exhale, the tears forcing their way out and the sobs no longer allowing her to hold them back.
Her forehead presses against the door and she's vaguely aware of her cries echoing off of it. It takes all the strength she has left to raise her arm and tap it against the door—a b
arely there thud is the result.
She tries again, but only cries harder when she realizes nothing is in her control—her breathing, her cries, her tears, her body. She has no choice other than to let everything out all at once.
Her hand keeps lightly tapping on the door—her body weight sagging against it until the door is pulled open and she lurches forward, unable to keep herself upright any longer.
Stunned, Vera catches her and pulls her close. She wraps her arms as tight as she can around Evelyn to hold her up as she half-walks, half-drags them to the couch. Evelyn collapses down upon her—cries uninhibited, fists clenching in Vera's shirt, tears pooling against the crook of Vera's neck.
Vera has seen her cry. Plenty of times.
But like this?
No.
Not even at the cemetery was it like this. So…out of control. Like she was watching Evelyn shatter into a thousand pieces in her arms. And she doesn't know if she'll ever be able to put her back together again after seeing her like this.
But she'll be damned if she doesn't try.
She wraps one arm tighter around Evelyn's back, the other hand pushing blonde hair away from her face as she continues to sob. "Let it out. I'm here," she reassures. She presses her cheek down against the crown of Evelyn's hair. "I'll always be here."
And she would be.
No matter what, she'll always be here to help Evelyn through this. That's a promise.
Chapter 21
It had been twelve days.
Twelve days since she had lost Noah.
Twelve days since she had snuck out of Vera's bed in the middle of the night.
Twelve days since she had spoken to Vera outside of work.
Twelve whole days.
And now things might finally start to go back to normal. Well, her normal—if she can even call it that.
She reaches across her desk and takes the papers Eugene holds out towards her. "Thank you, Eugene. I can't tell you how much this means to me."
He bashfully shrugs, "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't help out part of my team?"
She smiles—maybe bigger than she has in a while. Never had she been considered part of anything before. Definitely not considered anyone's friend. Not since Vera walked into her life and flipped it upside down—in the best of ways. Clearing her throat, she nods. "And thank you for not mentioning it to Vera. I know how difficult that must've been."
"Just don't tell her I did this, alright? She'll have my ass on a plate," he laughs as he walks to the door.
She waits until he's been gone for almost a minute before she shakily sits down. Her fingers tremble as they trace the edges of the white paper—stomach churning, face growing pale as she prepares to face what's on the other side. It could be nothing.
It could be exactly what she needs.
She takes a deep breath and slowly starts to turn the paper over before pausing. Her heart is pounding in her chest, whole body trembling. She's nervous—beyond nervous. If this doesn't give her the information she needs, then she's back at square one with little hope of ever finding it.
If Vera were here, she would encourage her to look—reassure and comfort her if it turned out to be nothing. She sighs. She never should've pushed Vera away to begin with. Not when Vera had been nothing but good to her. Had given her everything she needed. Protected her. Loved her.
Pushing her away was definitely a measly attempt of trying to protect her own heart.
And she had done it only because she had no idea if Vera would accept this...this urge to talk to a little boy she barely knew. But she trusts Vera and has to trust that Vera will support her in this. So if this paper is what in fact what she hopes it is, she's going to tell Vera. Tell Vera everything. Let Vera in and hope she understands. And if Vera doesn't…she'll just have to figure out to do when they get there.
Gathering herself, she closes her eyes and flips over the paper completely.
And when she finally summons enough courage to look, her head falls into her hands and her eyes burn with unshed tears.
There would be no starting back at square one.
* * *
An overly skinny, past middle-aged woman opens the door—wearing a large, baggy velour sweatsuit with her hair tossed on top of her head. Lynn Tabernathy. She looks Evelyn up and down, scowl in place. "Can I help you?"
Even Evelyn can pick up on the hostility in her voice. She takes a small step backwards and grips her purse tighter out of nervousness. "Does Noah Evans reside here?"
She knows he does. She read the paper over and over again until she could recite the address from memory. But there's no sense in making this woman suspicious—she'd never get to see him then. Lynn places her hand on her hip and takes a step forward to block the door even more. "What's it to ya?"
Evelyn anxiously bites her lip under the scrutiny. "I—We met at the hospital, and I was just wondering if I could see him. I was unable to properly say goodbye to him before his departure."
She knows this is weird and completely out of left field. Not many people would do this. Not many people would find it acceptable to do this. But she needs to see him, she needs to let him know that she didn't forget about him. That she wasn't just another person that walked out of his life to never think about him again. She isn't going to do that to him. No. Not even if it meant driving thirty minutes out of the city and practically begging his foster mother to let her see him. She might not have known him long, but knew him long enough to know that he needs her for so many things.
And she'll be damned if he doesn't know how much she needs him too.
Lynn scoffs and starts to shake her head. "Your kid had that crap too? Nearly used all my money 'fore I got Noah outta there."
Evelyn feels the anger instantly welling up inside of her. Noah and her son had cancer. A disease. Not something so easily brushed off as that crap. Something very serious. Not something to be laughed off and complained about for being expensive.
She clenches her jaw to force down her anger, to keep it from emerging and lashing out. This woman would never let her see Noah then. She nods, unable to even give a hint of a smile. "Yes. My son had cancer as well."
Eyes narrowed, Lynn tries to look around her. "Well where's he at?"
"He's, um," Evelyn swallows thickly, looking off to the side. "He was not as fortunate as Noah."
"Oh. I see." Lynn seems to understand and accept that, and steps aside to let Evelyn in. They start to walk down the narrow, cluttered hallway—something far below Evelyn's standards for any child to live in. "Were they friends or something? Noah don't talk much so I hadn't heard of no little kids he played with."
Unable to lie, she falters and nearly stops walking. Lynn quickly looks over at her and she starts to flounder. "Puzzles," she finally comes up with. "Noah really liked to play with puzzles while he was in the hospital."
"Yeah," Lynn cackles, not noticing that her question went unanswered. "He's a weird bird, that one. Can't never get him to do normal stuff. Always playing with the puzzles and word books.”
"There's nothing wrong with him enjoying those things. They’re actually pretty useful with his cognitive development," she refutes..
She was ostracized. She was the outcast. And it was always because of her pursuit of knowledge—her joy of learning. That's not something she wanted for Noah, not if she could help it. Especially not for someone who is supposed to be taking care of him and raising him. That's too much like her own life and her own mother. She hates it. Refuses to let him go through that.
"Hmph," Lynn scoffs as they get to another hallway. It's cluttered with tables and figurines and piles of clothes that may or may not be clean. "Last door on the right. He should be in there," she says before turning and walking away.
Evelyn opens her mouth to ask what she should do if he isn't in there, but Lynn had already turned the corner towards the living room. She cautiously makes her way down the small hall to the end. The door looks to be cracked open—no
t purposely, it's so battered that it's unable to close—and the white paint is flicking off in places. She places her hand upon it and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before pushing on the door. It creaks, slowly opening as it gets caught on the stained carpet.
The small room has white walls that are adorned with scuff marks, and otherwise completely bare. A ragged cardboard box filled with old stuffed animals and toys that only suitable for children far younger than Noah sits against the far wall. The only other thing in the room is a metal bed frame with a mattress on the opposite wall—dingy white sheets and a blue comforter hanging off the edge.
Brow furrowing, she takes a small step inside. "Noah?"
There's shuffling and rustling and then Noah's head pops out from behind the blanket as he crawls out from under the bed. Whether he was playing or hiding, she isn't sure. Doesn't think about it at this moment. The only thing she's concerned with is finally seeing him again—hopefully getting the chance to let him know everything is going to be okay.
He totters to his feet—overly large t-shirt hanging from his shoulders and pants bunching at his ankles—and looks at her with disbelieving eyes; as if in shock that she actually came back. In an attempt to not startle him, she takes small steps closer until she's right in front of him. She crouches down to eye level and sets her purse on the floor as she looks at him, smile tugging at her lips. "Hello, Noah. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
He merely blinks his big, brown eyes.
She reaches out and repositions his shirt so it's not falling off of him. "What were you doing under there?"
He looks at her before kneeling and pulling a book from under his makeshift fort. "I was seeing this," he says around the finger he's wiggled in his mouth. "Read for me?"
She eagerly takes it, eyes brimming from joy at the fact of actually being here with him. Of being able to do this for him. Being able to show that yes, she does care. She sits on the corner of the bed—a bed that probably hasn't had the sheets changed in months, but if Noah has to sleep there then there's no way she's going to let him think it's not clean enough for her to sit on—and pulls Noah onto her lap.
