It may have been years since her mother left, but the vacancy in Evie’s life felt raw and fresh once again. She longed for that connection. For her mom’s warmth and closeness. For the tender way she’d wrapped her arms around her when she was young.
With a quick yank, Evie ripped open the door and sped straight down the steps to the basement, determined to avoid her dad. Yet as she scurried through the family room, eyes focused on the floor below, she noticed a pair of shoes and nearly jumped back in surprise. It took only a glance to realize it was her father seated there on the couch, waiting for her.
After a short, stunned pause, Evie resumed walking, turning her face away from him. Unwilling to let him see the hollow state of her soul.
“Can we talk for a minute?” he asked.
She scurried down the hall toward her room. “I’d rather not.”
“Please, Evie. Just for a minute.”
Pausing at her doorway, she eyed the pillow on her bed, wanting nothing more than to throw her face into it and sob. She summoned the memory of her mom’s lovely face, the soft, honeyed color of her hair, and her deep green eyes.
“Eve?”
With an irritated eye roll, she trudged back down the hallway and looked down at the beige strands of carpet beneath her feet. “What, Dad?” Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry that I brought up the whole thing about the newspaper.”
She glanced up at him. Did he think she was upset because of that? His feeble attempt at a confrontation?
He scratched at the short, peppered goatee on his chin. “I just don’t like to see you give in to that habit, is all.”
Evie shifted her weight from one foot to the next and leaned against the wall. With her eyes fixed at her feet, she mulled over hidden thoughts–ideas that would probably make her look crazy in her father’s eyes. She took the risk. “Do you know that I half-expect to see Mom on the streets? That when I go to Salt Lake with Kelly, I catch myself looking down the alleyways, wondering if I might see her there, passed out or rummaging through the dumpsters?” She glanced up at him again, feeling more vulnerable than she’d felt in years.
“I didn’t know that.” His voice came out in a whisper. “Evie, your mother wasn’t suffering from any sort of addiction. The chances of her being in that kind of condition are slim.”
Evie sniffed, setting her gaze on the empty space at his side. “So I’m just supposed to picture her as some perfectly healthy, happily adjusted person? There’s no way.”
“She was selfish, Evie. That’s all.” The jaded tone of his voice gained her attention in a blink. “Your mother didn’t want to be the adult. Even after she had you kids, she …” He stopped there.
Evie gulped as a world of activity unfolded behind her father’s blue eyes.
“She what?”
His mouth opened, but he waited to speak, shaking his head before he even began. “Shortly after she had you kids,” he said, “your mother started resenting the way her role in life had changed. It was like she wanted to go back to being a teenager.”
Evie strode across the room as a rash of unanswered questions scurried to the tip of her tongue. She stood in front of her father, leaning her head down to look at him. “She didn’t like being a mom?” The words stung as they repeated in her head.
Her dad squirmed into a new position, eyeing a spot on the floor. “I don’t think that’s a fair way to put it. She loved you girls. But on more than one occasion, your mother told me she wished she could go back–be who she was before she’d gotten married and all that.”
And all that–giving birth to two girls. Her mother had wanted to take it all back and she couldn’t. So she’d walked away. “You used to tell us that mom was sick inside. That there was something wrong with her.” The words sounded weak and defeated.
“There is something wrong with a person who can walk away from their children.” The stern sound of his voice took Evie by surprise.
“You’re right.” In the quiet moment, she glanced at the photos hanging on the wall. Her eyes landed on one in particular–a picture of Jessica and Skylar. Evie could hardly believe how young her older sister looked in it.
Her father glanced back at the framed portraits. “That really affected you, didn’t it?” he said, guessing at where her thoughts had gone.
“What, when Jess got pregnant?”
He gave her a nod.
“Yeah. I hated Luke for bailing on her. I can still picture Jess standing there with her tiny little body and that huge belly, defending that jerk even after he left.” Evie folded her arms, setting her gaze back on the photo. “But really, the person I blamed most was Mom. Jess never would have wound up pregnant at seventeen if Mom would’ve stuck around.”
Her dad tilted his head as if considering the statement. “I guess we’ll never know.”
“We already do know. Mom messed all of us up in one way or another. And what makes her so much worse is the fact that she wasn’t some clueless teenager. Luke never even saw Skylar before he walked away. But Mom gave birth to us.” For a brief moment, Evie scanned over the other photos once more, looking for something she knew she wouldn’t find–a picture of her mom. Proof her mother was ever really there to begin with. “Mom watched us grow and just … took off right in the middle of it. I don’t know how anyone could forgive something like that.”
Dad looked almost guilty in that moment. Though she knew he wasn’t to blame, he was probably angry at himself all the same. For not being able to prevent it. For picking a woman who would do such a thing. He scooted forward, his posture stiff and agitated. Though she’d figured their conversation had just begun, Evie could see that, for him, it was already over.
“Where are the home movies, Dad? I want to watch them.”
The clock ticked louder as she waited for him to respond. He came to a stand, glancing at the storage room. “I’ll see if I can find them. Tomorrow.”
She watched as he strode toward the stairwell. Evie was glad to have the time to herself, but she felt lonely too. And sad. Sadder than she’d felt before they’d spoken. Her mother’s absence felt all the more personal now, and she wished she could somehow forget what he’d said to her. Believing mom was sick hurt less.
“Are you doing something fun with Kelly today?” His foot rested on the bottom step.
Evie spun around and slunk into the worn leather cushions of the couch. “I doubt it. Kelly’s probably doing something with her new best friend–this girl she practically worships all of the sudden.” Evie rolled her eyes. “It’s like, Kelly’s already talking about this stupid rave they’re going to next weekend, and I seriously don’t want anything to do with it.”
The tired slump in her dad’s posture spoke volumes. This was his day off, and she’d practically asked him to put in double-overtime on a troubled teen–a case far beyond recovery in his eyes. “I’m sure Kelly hasn’t replaced you, Eve. And maybe you should go to this … rave with them if you’re worried about-”
“I’m not worried about it, Dad. And if you had any idea what went on at those things, you wouldn’t encourage me to go, seriously. The ones around here go all night, and there are drugs everywhere.” She let out an annoyed puff as her dad started up the steps. Her father may have been good at his job–helping disturbed youth in their time of need–but when it came to his own daughter, he needed help.
She reflected on their conversation, recalling the look of guilt that had come over his face. It was when she’d said her mother’s actions were unforgivable. Could it be that he’d already forgiven Mom somehow? Or that he was still in love with her? The thought pulled the air from her throat. Could he still love her after everything she’d done?
Like a falling set of dominos, Evie’s mind flicked from one idea to the next. She started by wondering if love was strong enough to survive an action so deplorable, and in the next moment, thoughts of Calvin snapped into her mind, filling her with a warm dose of something she want
ed to call love, though she knew it was far too early to even think it. The next domino dropped as she remembered she’d be seeing him in art the next day. And then on Friday–in less than a week–she’d be sharing her art with him, the project she hadn’t even started. And that’s where the chain ended: her assignment.
She stood there, nearly gripped by panic at the task before her, when a vision flicked into mind. Inspiration on the piece.
In mere moments she had her paints out, the canvas propped, and her most sullen set of tunes blasting from the iPod, urging her on like a loyal friend. Thin shavings of wood fluttered to the desk as Evie sharpened the lead, the image flooding her mind in perfect detail. With the pointed tip of the pencil hovering over the canvas, she prayed that it might come out right. Though she didn’t have the raw talent to pull off the painting in her head, Evie was determined to master it all the same. The nine-year-old girl inside her needed to speak. And this painting, after ten long years, would give her a voice.
Chapter Nine
Calvin eyed Evie’s empty seat as class came to an end, wondering why she hadn’t shown. Had she gone home sick, or simply not come at all? He thought back on their time spent at the party. A smile crossed his lips as he envisioned the way she’d thrown her arms around his neck when she saw him. Even now, he could almost smell her alluring scent, mild, sweet, and entirely feminine. He recalled the soft warmth of her delicate hand as he’d held it, the amazingly smooth feel of her fingers against his.
Earlier, when the professor handed out the assignment slips, asking each student to commit to a theme for the upcoming project, Calvin wondered if Evie had figured out what she was going to do. Even over the weekend, she admitted that she hadn’t settled on a theme. He eyed the vacant desk once more, hating that he didn’t know more about her. He wanted to call her, see how she was doing, ask if she needed anything. But that wasn’t his place.
Calvin hunched further into his seat, surprised by how badly he wished it was.
Chapter Ten
While hearing the creak of the basement stairs, Evie realized she should turn down the volume. More than that, she should hide the fact she was watching the old home movies altogether, but she didn’t. Instead, she lay in place, body sprawled along the length of the couch, and glanced at her dad briefly as he entered.
Instantly, she recognized the tie he wore, blue with grey stripes, as one her mother had given him for Father’s Day years ago. Jessica had been recording the small gift exchange; it had nearly given Evie motion sickness to watch.
She pretended not to notice as her dad ran his gaze over her frumpy pajama pants, tattered sweatshirt, and pony-tailed hair. “Did you go to school today?”
“Nope.”
He eyed the television, probably wondering how she’d found the old discs. “Are you ill?”
You could say that. “Yep.”
A moment of silence passed while he kept his sights on the screen. Mom and Jessica were in a pool of turquoise water, the sun reflecting off its shining surface. He took a seat on the edge of the lounge chair.
Evie propped herself onto an elbow and grabbed the remote, pausing the disc before looking at him. “You know, Mom actually looked pretty happy until I came along.”
Her dad wore his usual poker face, but something foreign lingered beneath the blue of his eyes. She tried to place it as she continued.
“She seems all happy and loving life after Jessica was born. But as soon as I enter the scene, Mom looks all depressed.”
After blankly staring just beyond her, he met her gaze.
She looked down and watched her fingers trace the smooth surface of the couch, a nearly acidic taste proceeding the words she would speak. Once she calmed the quiver of her bottom lip, she asked, “Am I the reason she left?”
Her father was on the floor at her side in an instant. He set both hands over hers, waited for her to look up at him. “Of course not, Evie. Never think that.”
She was nearly startled by the severity in his voice. On his face.
“This was all on her–your mother. Not you kids. Not even me, though I’ve beat myself up over it enough, trust me.” He shook his head and looked back at the TV.
From up close, the lines in Dad’s face looked deeper, especially the great furrow along his brow. “It still hurts me too,” he said. “It’s impossible for me to watch these home movies. I used to–right after she left I watched them obsessively, trying to detect signs I had missed along the way. See where it all began.”
“Seems pretty obvious to me,” Evie said. “I mean, I always told myself that Mom loved me once, but after watching these, I’m not so sure.” Evie covered her face with her hand, wishing she could disappear.
“Sweetie, I don’t know how else to say it–it wasn’t you.” He wrapped his other arm around her, awkwardly pulling her into his embrace. “Her leaving, it was a long time coming. Please know that she did love you. As much as she was capable.”
They stayed that way while he uttered reassurances of his own love for her, and more stuff Evie hadn’t really heard. Her eyes were set on the paused screen, an image of her mother smiling widely at Jessica.
Her dad patted her on the shoulder, bringing her back into the moment. “I may uh, I’ve got a couple things to take care of. You’ll be alright down here?”
Evie gave him a nod.
He stood, pausing to eye the TV once more, and headed up the stairs. The slow clomps of his footsteps dragged across the house until a door closed.
With a lazy effort, Evie pointed the remote at the screen, turned the TV off, and stared up at the ceiling as the clock ticked on. She should have gone to school today, but she couldn’t have done it. Not in the depressed state she’d been in. And to make matters worse, her project was turning out to be a disaster. After staying up nearly the entire night, sketching out the scene to perfection, Evie had turned the piece into a complete mess by bringing paint into the process.
She let out a laden breath, hating that she’d missed her chance at seeing Calvin today. Now she’d have to wait ‘til Wednesday to see him. Maybe it was obsessive, or maybe it was sheer self-preservation–focusing on the things that brought her joy in life–but throughout her recent difficulties, Evie often found herself daydreaming of Calvin Knight. There was something healing about it. She longed to be close to him, to feel that warm, almost fluid connection that sparked up each time he was near. A small voice in the back of her head spoke up–warned her she could end up in heartbreak. She knew the truth of it all too well. Still, something about him gave her hope, and when it came to Calvin Knight, she was willing to take the risk.
***
“Are you freaking?” Kelly asked, propping the door to the art building.
Evie blew out a nervous breath as she entered the busy foyer, grasping onto the sack that held her canvas. “Totally. I can’t believe I’m actually going to show this to him.”
Kelly nudged her. “He’s going to love it.”
She didn’t need Calvin to love her art. But she hoped he would feel the piece, connect with the emotion portrayed in the image. It had taken every ounce of optimism she could muster to push through the ugly stage of the painting process, but in the end, Evie finally arrived at the payoff point. One she was happy with, anyway.
“I didn’t see his Jeep in the lot when I ran out to get this,” Evie worried, tapping her fingers on the covered canvas. Calvin had been wonderfully flirtatious on Wednesday, flattering her with his seductive smile and teasing words. She hoped he’d be the same today.
Kelly gave her a curious glance. “Maybe he had to run back home and get his project.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Evie said goodbye to Kelly and shuffled into the crowded room, clenching her art to her chest like a shameful secret. She noticed, with a bit of surprise, that only one other student had covered their art.
It was time for class to start, yet the room remained in a state of chaos. Instead of taking their seats, the students stood chatt
ing in clusters, paired off with their partners, she assumed. Calvin was nowhere in sight.
Professor Milton held up an arm and cleared his throat. “If your partner is already here, you may go into the commons area and find a quiet place to critique one another’s work.”
As the groups shuffled out two by two, Calvin’s absence stood out like a massive hole. Three other students were left waiting as well, the redhead among them. Evie slunk sideways into her seat, propping her board against her knees in the aisle.
The redhead eyed her covered canvas before looking away.
“You nervous?” Evie asked her.
She stepped to the front of the class and stood next to an uncovered painting of a beautiful waterfall, silently stating the art was hers. “Not really. My partner better show or I’m going to be pissed.” The unfriendly girl folded her arms and looked out the windows.
Evie nodded, noting they were the only ones left in the room then, with the exception of the professor.
“There he is.” The redhead strode across the floor as the tall jock entered the room. “Let’s go,” she said.
“Ms. Wylder, who’s your partner?”
Evie looked at the professor. “Calvin Knight.” Saying his name aloud in the quiet, open space made her stomach twirl.
“I see. Did he mention he wouldn’t be able to make it today?”
Evie shook her head.
“Well, must be sick. You’re welcome to find a quiet spot yourself, do a bit of homework if you’d like.”
“Thanks. I probably will. I just want to give him a few more minutes first. In case he had to like, run home and get it or something.”
As the minutes ticked by, Evie studied for her biology test. Professor Milton wiped down the windows, a bottle of blue cleaner in hand.
“Do you have any way of getting in touch with Mr. Knight over the weekend?”
“I don’t.” She looked to the clock. Class time was nearly half-way through. For what felt like the millionth time, Evie fought off the ridiculous notion that she might never see Calvin again. Though the logical part of her knew the chances were miniscule, she worried that he may have just taken off for good, left somewhere to never come back.
Evie's Knight Page 7
