Wouldn’t Change a Thing (22 page)

She gets a bag from the table and hands it to me. “Merry Christmas.”

I didn't expect camaraderie or a gift, but I'm touched. Rita and I walk outside.

“I wish Jim was back,” she says. “I can always count on him for a smoke.”

“I can't help you, lady. Ms. Susan is smoke-free.”

“Oh, my real name is Jackie Montgomery.”

“Toni Williamson.”

“Do you have a pen?”

I rifle through my purse for a pen and pad and give it to her. She jots her number down.

“I know you're busy like I am, but if you get the chance, call me sometimes. Maybe I can find out how to help Glenn.”

“I'll call you, Jackie.”

She opens my door for me. I start the car and chuckle.

“What?”

“Won't get too far on less than half a tank of gas,” I say.

“Gas station's two blocks over. You better fill up.”

I drive away, glad I took a chance on something different. I have one more month left before I make a decision. If I learn more, Mama will be with me for the long haul.

I
pull alongside a pump at Shell and do a double-take. The dangling “S” on the side of the truck is familiar.
Can't be. Not now and not here.
It is dark, but Evan's truck is next to the air pump. I pump my gas and get out and walk toward his vehicle, startling him with a hello.

“Evan?”

He does a quick glance in my direction and smiles. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting gas.”

“Wait a sec until I fill my tire.”

He fills his tire and heads over. His clothes are dirty and paint-stained. He flashes his smile again and I remember he is a twin.
Evan. His name is Evan, not Ethan.

“Hard day at work?”

“Worked on a historic home a few blocks over today.”

“Those are the best.”

“How would you know?”

“I dabble with houses every now and then.”

“I wondered if I'd ever see you again. I've thought about you, but figured you weren't interested since you never called. I even asked Ethan about you, but he told me to drop it. That you had a lot on your plate.”

“Hey, that Hermès statement I made is true. And I don't have one plate; I have three.”

“We all have baggage.” He looks askance at me. “You said you stopped for gas. You drove all the way to the 'Ville for gas?”

“I had…” I pause. I don't know this stranger well enough to tell him what's going on with me. Then again, I shared family history with a house of strangers less than thirty minutes ago.

“It's a little late. Is there somewhere we can go to talk?”

“How about my house?”

My poker face fails me. I scrunch my face at the notion, but he clears the air.

“I'm filthy. I have to take a shower. This is a tad bit later than I normally eat, but I can take you to grab a quick bite or I can cook something for you.”

“What about your son?”

“Rhoda has physical custody of him. He stays with me on the weekends.”

“No drama, right?”

“Who have you been dating?”

“About that baggage thing. Until June, I'd been with the same man five years. I've heard dating horror stories from my friends.”

“Pull out your cell phone.”

“Why?”

“Draft a text message to one family member and one friend.”

I accept the dare, compose a group text to Willa, Aunt Mavis, and Jordan, and hand him the phone. He types a message. When he's done, he lets me proof the message.
I am with Evan Sutton at 9407 Beehive Lane. His number is 478-555-3297. If something happens to me, alert authorities immediately.

“Evan?”

“I'm a grown man. I don't have time for games and tricks. Hit send on the message and follow me.”

A take-charge man. I like it. I follow him home. The drive is about fifteen minutes, and we pull into a subdivision on Beehive Lane. He parks in his garage and I stay in the driveway. I brace myself for a filthy bachelor pad. He opens the front door and I'm shocked. With the exception of laundry neatly folded on the couch, his house is clean.

“Be back in fifteen.”

I turn on the television and flip channels. This is the second adventurous move I've made tonight. I've never been to a man's house after meeting him for a second time. Common sense jolts me, and I place the remote back on the coffee table so I can leave.
This is your last night of freedom before your mother returns. Enjoy it.

I relax again and flip the channels. If we do nothing else, I can at least get a quick meal. My nerves are too frayed for a sit-down meal, and I'd much rather enjoy some company before Mama comes home tomorrow.

Evan's body odor sways me with Irish Spring. He's cleaned up well. The dome is shining and his muscles bulge in the sweater he wears. I've never been a fan of cowboy boots, but my, they round out his nice body in those jeans.

“You decided what you want to eat?”

“I'm tired. If you worked on a historic home, I'm sure you're tired, too. Let's compromise and order takeout. Dutch.”

He's stern and emphatic as he removes a credit card from his wallet. “I can pay for the food.”

“You're hosting me, so the least I can do is go half on something to eat. Better yet, let me get this meal since I barged in on you.”

“You didn't barge; the pleasure's all mine.”

Evan brings out a takeout menu organizer, and we scroll through it for food. I haven't had pizza in ages, so I suggest Mellow Mushroom pizza. Thirty minutes later, we sit at his kitchen table and gorge on Funky Q Chicken and Kosmic Karma pizzas. He wipes sauce from my mouth and we swap life stories.

“You were about to tell me why you're in the 'Ville.”

All the lies of omission I shared with Lamonte rush back. I hear the new leaf turning.

“I attended a support group meeting.”

He drops his pizza slice on a plate. “I didn't know you were battling addiction.”

“I'm not. It was a meeting for family members of the mentally ill. My mother lives with schizophrenia.” I wait for him to ask me to leave. When he doesn't, I set a mental timer to see how long it will take for the other shoe to drop.

“Are you her only caretaker?”

“I stepped in to help—”
The truth shall set you free.
“That's a lie. I lived in Atlanta for years and pretended my mother was dead. The
AJC
—”

“Ran the GMH stories. So that was you, well, your mother's story?”

I knock my chair over and grab my purse from the sofa. This was a bad idea. I should have followed my instincts, gassed up, and went home. I race to leave, but Evan blocks the front door, takes my hand, and leads me back inside.

“Why are you running off? I wasn't condemning you. I admire the fact you're here now. A lot of people would have kept the lie going and never came home.”

“I probably would have if Lamonte hadn't dumped me and my contracts hadn't dried up.”

“But you're home. And your mother is still alive. Move forward.”

Evan kneads my hands and leads me back to the sofa. He turns the television off and we sit in silence. Twice in one night, the kindness of strangers has soothed my drained spirit.

I
stir to the smell of coffee and bacon. Aunt Mavis must have let herself in to start breakfast for us. Whiplash isn't engaged in her usual lick fest, so she's probably home with Uncle Ray. I toss in bed and tumble to the floor. This is not my bed or my duvet cover. As a matter of fact, I'm on the floor in front of a sofa. I adjust my eyes to Evan's living room, television, and remote.

“Evan!”

“Yes,” he answers.

Enraged, I wrap myself in the duvet cover, grateful that I'm fully clothed. I drag myself to the kitchen where he's thawing out hash browns on the counter. I lift the bag of Ore Idas. These are my favorites.

“The bacon is done. Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“What happened last night? What am I still doing here?”

“You fell asleep. You went out like a light before the news came on. I offered to drive you home and you said no.” He closes one eye and says, “This is how you looked on the sofa after I turned the television off.”

“I didn't.”

“You did.”

“What else did I do?”

“I asked what you ate for breakfast and you said Potatoes O'Brien, bacon, and fresh-squeezed juice. You didn't toss at all when I snuck past you to go to the grocery store.” He eyes his watch. “I have to be at work in an hour, so the juice is a no-go. Hope you like coffee.”

Teasing Willa and Aunt Mavis about drinking coffee has come back to haunt me. “Evan, you didn't have to do any of this for me. I would have gone home last night.”

“Both of us were tired. It made no sense for you to leave.”

Before I can ask him anything, he points to a facecloth, towel, soap, and a toothbrush on the coffee table. “You can use the guest bathroom to wash up.”

I don't feel like a slut, but I do feel foolish for falling asleep in the house of a man I barely know. What if he'd taken advantage of me? What explanation could I have given authorities? “Officer, this fine man whose twin brother I've been lusting after let me come home with him on our first date. I told him I don't usually do this, but one thing led to another.”

Do people even do this in this day and time? I jump in the shower and scrub away the feelings I have. I'm smitten with Evan and I don't know how to proceed. I shake away the thoughts. Mama is my priority and there's no room for a man in my life right now. I wrap the towel around myself, tiptoe to the door, and stick my head out.

“Evan?”

I hear his steps near the guest bedroom door. “Do you need anything else?”

“Get my keys from the coffee table and bring the purple travel bag from my trunk.”

Clay believes a real woman never travels without extra clothes, especially underwear. When I turned fifteen, he purchased me a pink drawstring bag and hand-painted “spare pair” on the front. I carry it with me to this day.

I hear the thud of my bag outside the door. Evan leaves it and heads to the kitchen. I lotion up and dress in a hurry so we can chat before going our separate ways.

Why can't we spend the day together? The food is delicious and he's even more handsome now that I see him in his surroundings.

“Encore tonight?”

“Evan, I don't think that's a good idea. My mother had an episode and has been staying with my aunt. She comes back home today.”

“Last night of freedom?”

“What?”

“You said ‘last night of freedom' before you fell asleep.”

Now I probably sound like Mama's a burden. “I didn't mean—”

“After our discussion last night, I realized I'd be low on your priority list. I would never put demands on your time in your current situation.”

“Thanks, Evan.”

“You know how to reach me. I work a lot, but I'm willing to carve out time to get to know you better.”

Before he leaves for work, I insist on doing the dishes. It's the least I can do for his generosity. He walks me to my car and puts my bag in the trunk. He hugs me and gives me a forehead peck. I want more but keep my desires at bay. I don't want to give him the wrong impression, and I want to keep the door of friendship open with him.

I head home, tingling from head to toe. Six months ago, Lamonte Dunlap, Jr. was the only man I imagined loving. I don't know much about Evan, but Clay's declaration of love for Russ comes to mind. He said, “Some people you meet; some people you recognize.” There is good in Evan, and I recognize it.

I pull into the driveway and my message alert tings. I open Evan's message.

Thanks for trusting me.

I cradle my phone, cheesing harder than I have in a long time.