“How’d she get this drunk?” I asked as I followed him out of the house, the telltale sounds of the college party muting the farther we walked from the door.
“She just kept going back for more. I tried to get her to slow down, but when I realized she wasn’t going to, I stopped drinking so at least one of us would be sober.”
The thoughtfulness of his actions wasn’t lost on me. Not all college boys would stay sober to make sure their sloppy-drunk date was safe. I imagined most boys would drink right along with her hoping it would lead to drunken sex. Liv looked anything but sexy right then.
“Liv has some issues. When she drinks, all the walls she usually puts up to protect herself fall down and she starts to feel things. Don’t take it personally. It’s not you she’s angry with.”
He was silent for a while and I just listened to the sound of our footsteps on the concrete.
“How high are her walls?” His voice was rough, a mixture of emotion and exhaustion.
“What do you mean?”
“Her walls. Are they so high that no one will ever be able to get over them? Or are they just, like, intimidatingly high?”
I thought about his question, picturing him on one side of a cartoonishly high wall, Liv on the other, back leaning up against it, hair fallen around her face, head bowed. “I don’t think anyone’s ever really tried to climb them.”
“You’re on the other side,” he said in argument.
“I didn’t climb it, though. I watched her build it and just happened to end up on the right side.” It was true. I’d been a part of her life before she’d been damaged and, thankfully, she’d never pushed me away. He let out a loud sigh, either from frustration or from exertion. “No one’s ever really stuck around long enough to try to break through, Devon. She’s never let anyone get that close.”
I saw determination in his eyes and again, couldn’t tell if it was his will to carry her all the way to our dorm, or his need to get through to her. I figured it was probably a lot of both.
We were silent for the rest of the walk to our dorm, which was fine with me. I didn’t want to talk about imaginary walls or how just having Liv in his arms, he was literally and figuratively closer to her than anyone else she’d been with in years. She looked good in his arms and he looked good holding her. I tried to ignore the small part of my gut that ached with that realization.
We made it silently up to our room and I watched as Devon laid Liv down with ease, gentleness, and care on her bed. He had beads of sweat on his brow and his biceps were flushed red under the sheen of the fluorescent lights. He pulled her covers up over her body and then pulled our tiny wastebasket to sit right on the floor next to her head. Thoughtful. I watched as his eyes roamed around our room and then he moved to her desk, grabbing the water bottle she usually took to the gym, and then disappeared into the hall. He returned just a minute later, the water bottle full from the drinking fountain. He placed it next to the wastebasket, and then turned to me.
“Do you have any pain killers?”
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out my generic bottle of Tylenol. I handed it to him and he placed it on the floor next to the water bottle.
“Make sure she takes the pills and drinks the water whenever she’s conscious enough.”
“Do you think she has alcohol poisoning?”
“No. She didn’t drink enough for that. She’s just passed out. Hopefully, if she gets sick, it’ll make it in the garbage.”
I scrunched up my nose, making a mental note about how I wasn’t going to clean up her vomit.
“You’re a good friend,” Devon said, pulling my eyes from Liv back to him.
I shrugged. “I just carried her flip flop.”
“No. You left the party, and Elliot, to help your friend.” His voiced steeled a little at the mention of Elliot’s name.
“She’d do the same for me,” I said.
“I hope so, but I’m not entirely sure.” A silence fell between us again and I wasn’t sure what to say. I knew it was time for him to go, but I couldn’t find the will to send him on his way. “Listen,” he finally said as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Elliot’s an okay guy. I don’t have anything bad to say about him to try to steer you away, but something just doesn’t feel right about it.”
“We were just hanging out,” I said quietly, suddenly feeling like I had to defend myself.
Devon held up his hand, palm out, to stop my words. His face was contorted as if he were in pain. “I don’t want to know what you were doing with him.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Just…” he started to say, but his words tapered off. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
I nodded at his words and whispered again, “All right.”
He nodded and then turned, walking to the door. Just before he walked out of it, he turned to me, gave me the saddest, weakest smile I’d ever seen, and then closed the door behind him as he left. I heard his heavy footsteps until he got to the stairs, and then I released the biggest breath I’d ever held. I grabbed my nightgown, locked the door, then proceeded to get ready for bed, trying desperately not to think about Devon, his face when he pictured me with another guy, and the way my entire body filled with butterflies at his reaction.
Chapter Four
Present Day
“Great. Perfect. Now, tilt your head just a little to the left. Right there.”
My finger hit the shutter button furiously as I snapped the picture I’d been trying to create all morning. The light was battling me at first, then the wind, but finally, I was able to capture the perfect image. Or so I thought, anyway. My model, a woman I’d worked with more times than I could count, knew what I was looking for, and gave me gorgeous shot after gorgeous shot. My adrenaline was pumping, knowing I’d found my little pot of gold.
After a few minutes of my suggesting poses and Shelby, my model, doing beautiful work, we both paused as a cloud shrouded the sun. Usually, losing light in the middle of a good round would piss me off, but I knew I’d already gotten the shot I wanted, so I could do nothing but smile furiously.
“That was amazing, Shelby. Thank you. I think we got it.” She smiled at me and came to look at my camera over my shoulder as I showed her the images I’d captured.
“You’re brilliant,” she said, her voice full of wonder, as she looked at the screen on the camera.
“Well, you’re pretty damned amazing yourself.” She laughed and we both got to work cleaning up our supplies. Shelby was a great model, but what made her even better was that she was a licensed cosmetologist, so I never had to hire a make-up artist. She was a twofer. I loved it, and sometimes even used her to do make-up when I wasn’t photographing her. She’d been with me for a few years and we definitely didn’t have a strictly professional relationship. As many women tended to do, when we worked together, we talked about our personal lives. I knew about her husband, and their troubles getting pregnant, and she knew all about the hardships I’d faced in the last few years.
“How’s Devon doing?” she asked as she slipped a hooded sweatshirt over her head, covering up the sweeping lace dress she’d worn for the shoot.
I shrugged. “I guess he’s doing fine. Although, we don’t really talk about Liv often. I’m usually only there to get the kids ready for school and then in the evenings until he comes home.”
“And the kids?”
“Better every day,” I said with a small smile. “They miss her, obviously. Some days are harder than others, but the sadness is lessening, and they’re having more good days than bad, I think. I hope.”
“And how are you?” This question was asked with even more gentleness than the others, her voice soft and full of genuine concern.
I sighed, zipped up my camera bag, and then looked at her. “I’m all right, I think.”
“That was the least convincing of all your answers,” Shelby said, cocking her hip out to one side, resting her hand on it, waiting f
or me to elaborate.
“I don’t know. I’ve been so focused on keeping her family together, I haven’t really been able to mourn her.” I shook my head at myself, feeling guilty for even uttering the words. “As soon as she passed, I immediately wanted to help her family, like she asked me to. But it almost feels like I’m stepping in for her while she’s away on business or something. Especially, with Devon.” I paused, trying to put my thoughts together. “Every day he expects me to be there and I am, and I don’t mind. But he hasn’t fully tried to live life without her, because I’m always there, pretending right along with him, that everything is fine. That this is all normal.”
“Have you talked to him about it? Explained how you feel?”
My hands fell limp at my sides, tears threatening. “I couldn’t say that to him. He just lost his wife. He doesn’t need her emotional friend making things harder for him.”
“You’re not just her emotional friend,” she said, using her fingers to make quotation marks in the air. “You were her best friend, Evelyn. You’re those kids’ honorary auntie. You’re a part of their family.”
Trying desperately not to let my voice crack, feeling the pinch of sobs in the back of my throat, I responded, “My link to that family died. I’ve got no claim on them anymore.” From day to day, the worst part of losing Liv changed. At first, I was sad because I’d lost my best friend. Then I was sad because she was so young and the tragedy was too much to handle. Then I’d think about her children and how devastating it was that they’d lost the chance to be raised by their mother, the one person in the world who loved them the most. But today, the saddest part of losing my best friend was that, with losing her, I lost her family too; lost my link to them, my connection. My head dropped into my hands as I tried to fight off the cries wanting to rip free from me.
“Evelyn.” Her voice was soft and full of worry. I didn’t want her pity. I hadn’t lost a mother or a wife. The sadness I felt was almost as bad as the guilt it caused. “It’s okay for you to mourn her, to feel the loss. You lost her too.” I felt her hand come to my shoulder and I tried not to shy away from it, knew she was just trying to comfort me.
“It’s just hard,” I said with finality, even though the hardness – the wake in my world caused by the disruption of her death – was never final. It felt like it would last forever. I would be feeling her loss forever.
When the pinching in my throat had lessened and my breathing was under control again, I moved to continue packing up my gear. I kept my gaze from Shelby, but sensed she’d moved away to pack as well. Minutes later, after everything was picked up, I raised my head to see Shelby loading up her car. I walked hesitantly toward her, biting my lower lip, not wanting to have another breakdown in front of her.
“Hey,” I said as I approached. She turned to me as she pulled the trunk of her car closed.
“Hey.” She smiled and it was friendly. It shouldn’t surprise me, we were friends, but it did.
“Thanks for listening and trying to help.”
“Anytime.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll call you when I’ve got the proofs,” I said, motioning to my camera.
“Sounds good, but Evelyn, you can call me anytime, for any reason.”
“I’ll remember that. And thank you.” We both smiled at each other, and then I turned toward my car, glad the exchange was over and I’d made it out without shedding any more tears. Once I was seated behind the steering wheel, I reached into the center console to get my phone. I tried never to keep it on me during a shoot because it was distracting. I noticed I had a text from Devon.
**I’ve been called into a last minute dinner meeting. Is there any way you can pick Jax up from school and stay with the kids until I get home? I’m really sorry, Evie.**
I sighed. I hated this conflict; wanting to be supportive, to help him in any way I could, but knowing my help was enabling him, making it impossible for him to heal entirely.
**Sure. I’ll be there when Ruby gets off the bus then pick Jaxy up from school.**
It wasn’t even ten seconds before I got a reply.
**You’re the best.**
I couldn’t find a response to that, besides my mind yelling loudly that I wasn’t the best. Not even close. The best for him and his children had died, leaving me to pick up the pieces.
Ruby had come home from school announcing she had a project due the next day, which she hadn’t started. So, even if I had planned a quiet evening at Devon’s house, I didn’t get one. What I got was a rambunctious Jax and a bossy, temperamental Ruby, stressed out about how she was going to make a mummy for her report on ancient Egypt.
After we’d eaten a quick dinner of hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, I sent Jax to watch his favorite cartoon, while Ruby and I molded the shape of a small person out of newspaper.
“Auntie Evie, this isn’t going to work.” Ruby was turning into a tiny pessimist.
“Ruby, a positive attitude is much more attractive than being a whiner.”
“I’m not whining.”
“If I looked up the word whiner in the dictionary, it would have a picture of you right next to the definition.”
Her mouth fell open in offense, which only caused me to laugh.
“Tell you what. I’ll finish building the mummy and get the goop ready for the papier-mâché. Why don’t you take your bath and get ready for bed? Once you’re all pajama’d up, we’ll finish this together.”
“Promise you won’t start gooping him up without me?”
“Promise.”
“Okay.” I watched her hop down from the dining room table and run through the living room, then listened to her footsteps go all the way up the stairs. I took just a moment to pop my head into the family room to check on Jax, only to find him passed out on the couch, sleeping the way only children and drunk adults could, oblivious to the world around him. I decided to leave him to sleep, planning to transfer him to his bed after our mummy adventure was over.
The shower ran and I finished building a small person made of crumpled up newspaper, then dug in the cupboards for the flour. I pulled out a large bowl and got to work mixing a little bit of water with the flour, trying to get the right consistency. I heard the front door open and close, figured Devon had come home, and kept working. I heard his footsteps come closer to the kitchen and just when I opened my mouth to utter a greeting, my heart stalled and my pulse paused.
I felt his hand before I saw it, starting at my hip, squeezing gently, and then sliding over my stomach. His front pressed into my back and his lips brushed gently over my temple. It was just one and a half seconds of my life, but it exploded in my mind, grew to infinite proportions and I knew whatever axis my world had been spinning on three seconds before, it was now careening in a new direction. My hands came to grip the counter in front of me, holding me up because my legs were useless.
“Devon,” I whispered, clearly shocked. At my voice, I felt his entire body still; he went positively cold.
“Shit,” he said, stepping away from me as if I’d just burst into flame. “Shit,” he repeated.
I slowly turned, my face clearly showing my confusion. I could feel my eyebrows were very nearly into my hairline. I still wasn’t breathing normally, still hadn’t found the regular beat of my heart.
“I’m so sorry, Evie,” he said, running a hand down his face. “I came home and saw you there, where Liv used to always be… and your blonde hair…”
He’d seen me and thought I was her. He’d forgotten his wife had died and he’d wrapped his arm around me like I was her. He held me for just a moment like he held the woman he loved. I was cracking on the outside. He could see it. He watched as I started to fall apart, but whatever he could see on the outside was only a small fraction of the destruction going on within me.
A part of me had wondered what his hands felt like. For years. Ever since the day we’d met. Now I knew. Now I knew they were incredible.
“I have to go,” I said quickly,
turning and reaching for my purse on the table. “It’s two parts flour to three parts water.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“The papier-mâché for Ruby’s mummy. Two parts flour to three parts water. Just dip the newspaper strips in the goop and cover the mummy. I have to go.” I fled the kitchen like a murderer escaping from the scene of a crime. I absolutely could not think about anything besides Devon’s hand covering my womb.
I’d made it half way down the front porch steps when I heard his voice call out my name.
“Evelyn, wait!”
My feet stopped moving like the traitors they were. I stopped, but I did not turn around, could not see his face as he processed that he’d touched the wrong woman. The heat coming from his body alerted me that he was just inches away, this time on purpose.
“Evie,” he whispered. I waited a beat, giving him a second to get his thoughts together, but when no more words came from him, I spoke.
“It’s okay,” I said, my voice sounding so much stronger than I actually was. Inside I was crumbling.
“No, it’s not. Please, don’t leave like this.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal.”
“It was a mistake. An accident.” It was true, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
“The first time I kiss you shouldn’t be a mistake.” His voice was so quiet, the whisper barely even audible, but I heard it and I tucked it deep inside of me, hoping it was buried deep enough that it would never surface again.
I made my feet press forward, made each foot step in front of the other until I made it to my car. Then I got in and I drove away.
It was hours before I made it home. I’d spent the late evening driving as far from my town as I could get, trying to escape the feeling of my spirit being crushed, but after driving for two hours, I realized the feeling wasn’t attached to the town; it was attached to me. I turned around, stopped for gas, and pulled into my driveway around midnight.
The Absence of Olivia Page 4
