Evie's Knight (8 page)

Evie eyed Kelly on her way in, watched her pat the chair beside her. Parker slunk into the seat, the rest of the group joining them as well. “Let’s get to know you boys,” Kelly said, sliding her hand into the jar.

It was probably all in her head, but Evie was certain Tyler and Parker were sharing details with one another–talking about what a horrible prude she was. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of things they might say to Calvin as well.

“Is everything okay?” Calvin asked once they got inside. His words were nearly swallowed by the relentless pounding of the song.

Evie nodded, feeling sick suddenly.

He motioned for her to follow him to a corner off the dining area. The music’s volume dropped, but it was still loud enough he had to talk over it. “Do you want to go find a quiet place?”

She did want to find a quiet place, but she wondered if it was for the same reasons Calvin wanted to. He’d said he wasn’t interested in promiscuous women; hopefully he wasn’t about to prove himself a liar right then and there. “Where did you have in mind?”

He leaned his shoulder against the wall and shrugged. “Have you eaten yet? I know it’s late, but we could sneak out of here and grab a bite to eat.”

She smiled, leaning against the wall as well. “That sounds nice. I made dinner, but never got around to eating it. Let me just text Kelly.” She pulled her cell from her pocket. “I’m telling her we’ll be back in an hour. Does that sound about right?”

“Perfect. Have her tell Parker too, why don’t you? That way he won’t assume I’ve lured you into one of the bedrooms to have my way with you.”

She glanced up at him, distracted by the involuntary thrill that rushed through her at his words. She wasn’t sure which part had caused it; hearing him talk about having his way with her, or the idea that he wanted to protect her image.

He gave her his half-smile; the one that sort of tugged at one corner of his lips.

After Evie slid the phone back into her pocket, Calvin reached out, took hold of her hand, and laced his fingers between hers. She looked down at their joined hands, taking pleasure in the sensation of skin on skin. The living connection between them seemed to thrive each time they were together. The physical contact, his gentle touch, only heightened that sensation–completed it. His fingers slid up the length of hers, slowly, gently, then back. The motion caused her eyes to shut while she focused on the incredible sensation, the unspeakable energy that pulsed through her body.

He repeated the action again before taking a firmer grip on her hand. “Let’s get going.” Keeping hold of her hand, Calvin led her through the crowded space.

She liked the way he’d done it. The idea that he was staking his claim on her. Telling everyone there–with the gesture alone–that she belonged to him.

Chapter Eight

“So, let’s hear it.” Kelly linked her arm through Evie’s as they scurried down the mansion’s porch steps. “Is he a good kisser?”

Evie shivered from the chill in the air; it hadn’t felt so cold when she was out with Calvin an hour ago. “We didn’t kiss.”

Kelly stopped walking, thwarting Evie’s next stride. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. But we held hands.”

Kelly resumed the pace. “Evie, you’ve been holding hands with boys since the first grade.”

“I know. But it never felt the way it did with Calvin. Seriously, there was something different about the way he did it. Sensual, almost.” Just the memory brought warmth to her shivering body. She pressed the button on her key, wondering how much further down the road they were parked. It beeped and lit up a few cars down.

Kelly didn’t speak until they were back in the car. “You’re in trouble,” she said with a laugh.

“Why would you say that?” Evie started the car and veered onto the road.

“Cuz you’re so hot for this guy that holding hands is getting you all worked up. Just think about what the kiss will be like. Assuming he’s a good kisser.”

She had already thought about kissing Calvin Knight. A lot. “I don’t see how that’s trouble.”

“You don’t?” Kelly rubbed her hands in front of the vents. “Like you’re going to be able to put on the brakes when the guy’s
that
hot. There’s no way.”

Evie craned her neck to look at her. “So you think the only reason I didn’t go further with Tyler is because he wasn’t hot enough?”

Dim light from the passing streetlamp threw dark shadows across Kelly’s face. “No.”

“Then what?”

“Tyler’s a creep. Calvin isn’t. It’s easier to put on the brakes with sleazy guys, that’s all.”

“Hmm.” Evie didn’t know what to say back to that. She’d been dreaming about kissing Calvin Knight, admiring the sculpted shape of his lips, wondering what it would feel like to have them pressed against her own. She straightened up and cleared her throat, realizing she’d slipped into another daydream about him.
Hmm. Maybe I am in trouble.

Dreams of Calvin held Evie in a blissful sleep well into the morning. She stretched, yawned, and pulled the covers over her shoulders before checking the time–just past ten. That meant, since it was Saturday, that the newspaper had been there, waiting on her porch for nearly five hours.

She forced herself to stay in place, recalling all the times she’d woken up early–her heart racing like a drum–just to look through that stupid paper and see if her mother’s name was printed among the dead. She resented all the time and effort she’d put into the unhealthy ritual, wished she could just break herself free of it. Still, the mere idea of checking the pages had Evie more awake than she wanted to be. She’d get up, but she wouldn’t check the obituaries until she was done running.

The smell of toast wafted through the stairwell as she climbed up the stairs. Her running shoes lay in the laundry room. As Evie wedged her feet into them, she saw her dad sitting at the table, paper in hand.

“Morning.” He glanced away from the page. “Heading out to the track?”

“Yeah.” She eyed the stiff folds of the newspaper, pressed by the sudden urgency to have it in her own hands. What if it was in there, evidence of her mother’s death, printed on those pages and she didn’t even know it? “I’ll, uh, want to look through that when I get back,” she said.

He nodded. “Okay.” Yet as Evie turned to head out the door, he spoke up again. “You do realize I’m almost finished with it, right?”

What was that supposed to mean? “So?” She fiddled with her earphones, half-tempted to crank up the music before he spoke up again.

“So, I’m almost finished looking through the entire paper. And if I saw something that affected you, I would tell you.”

Her shoulders tensed. “So what?” She glared at the door a few yards ahead.

“So, maybe you don’t actually need to look it over once you get back.”

Evie puffed out an irritated breath while striding toward the back door, pausing once she grabbed the brass knob. “Geeze, Dad, that’s great to know. Thanks.” Of all the mornings to bug her about the newspaper–why had he chosen this one?  His stupid comments only made her want to cling onto the sick habit all the more.

After a satisfying door slam, she blasted the volume on her music and jogged down the back porch steps. The sky, a vast wash of pale blue, showed no signs of the storm promised by the clueless weatherman from Dad’s news cast. Evie found herself longing for the massive clouds to gather in union, unleash their fury on the earth so she could stand beneath and drink it in.

For now, she had her own storm to deal with. Tomorrow she’d have to commit to a theme for her art project, reveal the momentous event she would let inspire her assignment. And though she’d tried to find something to equal its depth, not one event had affected her more than her mom walking out of her life.

Evie rarely tapped into those buried emotions, but when she did, a towering flood of hurt and grief consumed her in a way that was almost crippling. It was like piercing a mighty dam with a sharp, well-crafted dagger. Just one pointed thought could unleash the destructive downpour, and before she knew it, she was drowning in the misery of it all.

Evie strode onto the running track as a new song kicked up. The fast-paced tune blasted loud and angry–thick with all the angst and frustration inside her. She picked up her pace to match the steady beat. As soon as she found the right cadence–her feet hitting the pavement with each pounding bass–Evie let her thoughts drift back to that unspeakable time. The moments flashed through her mind like vivid photos.

Mom’s scribbled words in black ink.

The gaping loss Evie felt in her absence. 

At the mere recollection, the void returned, eating at her insides like a ravenous fiend. Her legs sped in a reckless blur as new images flashed to the forefront.

Nine pastel candles on a store-bought cake.

Mom’s empty chair in the distance.

Mile after mile, the living hole within her spread, devouring everything healthy and thriving–bite by vicious bite. Silent tears slipped down Evie’s cheeks as she replayed the events that had followed.

Dad’s frantic voice seeping through the vents–his desperate plea as he phoned Mom’s every acquaintance. She could still picture–down to every winding nook–the texture of her ceiling as shadows sprawled over its surface.
Mom is gone.
She doesn’t want us anymore.

The void feasted further, gnawing at all that was good and whole. Gorging until there was nothing left.

With her run reduced to a weakened jog, Evie approached the back porch, feeling like a war-beaten soldier in defeat. She stood near the door, smearing tears from her eyes and cheeks, fanning the heat and redness from her face.

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.”