Evelyn, After: A Novel

by Victoria Helen Stone

  “It’s fine,” she said, but he’d already taken her elbow to rush her toward the desk. He pulled open a drawer and grabbed a box of Kleenex.

  “There’s a bathroom in the back,” he said as he shoved tissues into her hand. “If you’re burned—”

  “I’m not,” she said, though her skin stung. “I’m only clumsy.”

  The dark stain marred two inches of her shirt just below her right breast. She pressed the tissue to the fabric, and now she was aware that she’d emphasized her breast, the outline a stark curve above her hand. She jerked the tissue away and crumpled it.

  “No one’s ever reacted to my geology degree with horror before.”

  She glanced up to find him smiling at her, and he looked so kind. She wondered then if she’d come here to tell him the truth. Not just about his marriage, but the darker, more dangerous truth about what his monstrous wife had done. Why else had she been so determined to visit his gallery? Why else had it felt like the last piece of the puzzle?

  The shirt clung to her skin, the fabric cold and awful now, a wet stain against her warm body. A mark.

  “Are you sure you’re good?” he asked.

  And maybe she was good, because Evelyn couldn’t tell this happy man what she knew. Maybe she was better than she’d thought.

  “I’m sorry,” she bit out as tears welled suddenly in her eyes.

  “Hey,” he said, but if he added anything else, she couldn’t hear it over her heels as she rushed toward the door, away from him, away from the bomb she’d thought to drop in his lovely life.

  What the hell was she doing here?

  She ran to her car and fumbled with the door, glancing over her shoulder to be sure he hadn’t followed. He hadn’t, but he stood in front of the gallery, watching. A tissue was still clutched in the hand he’d raised to his forehead to shield the sun, and his mouth had gone tense with concern.

  She’d been mad to come here, but when she met his gaze, the dark jolt of emotion that hit her body wasn’t regret. It was recognition. They were connected, she and Noah, connected by her husband and his wife and linked forever by one awful, irrevocable night.

  And Evelyn could never tell him anything about it.

  CHAPTER 2

  BEFORE

  Evelyn was dreaming of birds when he called. A flock of blackbirds bursting up from a field. An ominous sight, but beautiful, and then the birds scattered like leaves when the phone screamed.

  She had the impression that it had been ringing for a long time, but that couldn’t be right. The machine would have picked up.

  Her hand found the cordless phone in the dark. She expected it to be heavy for some reason and knocked it too hard into her temple when she answered. “Hello?”

  “I need you to drive the Range Rover out to Old Highway 23.”

  Evelyn frowned, her ears buzzing from the sleeping pill. “What? Gary?”

  “Wake up, Evelyn!” The snap of his words cut through the hum.

  She tried to sit up, but gravity felt odd. “What time is it?”

  “It’s almost eleven. Get dressed and get out here. Please.” His voice was tight and low, and the words bent strangely through her drugged mind.

  “To Highway 23?”

  “Old Highway 23,” he corrected. “Take White Oak to get here.”

  Her mind began to work, lurching forward in sluggish inches. She rubbed her eyes. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, I’ve had a . . . minor mishap. I think the car is fine. I just need you to get out here and get me out of this ditch. Quickly. Please.”

  “Oh, God.” Fear finally dissipated most of the haze, and she swung her legs to the side and sat up. “Okay. Just stay right there. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Remember, White Oak Road, then take a right. Hurry.”

  He hung up, and Evelyn sat on the bed for a moment, staring at the slashes of moonlight that crept past the blinds.

  Hurry. She tried to get the urgency in her brain to reach her limbs. Gary had prescribed this new sleeping pill only two months before, and she hadn’t realized until now just how strong it was. But no time for a coffee. He might be hurt.

  “He isn’t hurt,” she said, the words disturbingly far from her ears. If he’d been hurt, he would’ve called an ambulance. He just needed help out of a ditch.

  She managed to stand and shuffle toward the closet. She pulled off her nightgown and struggled into the yoga pants and sweatshirt she’d been wearing earlier. By the time she made it to the kitchen for her purse, she was feeling alert enough to drive. Almost.

  At the door to the garage, she stopped and spun back toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. A delay, yes, but the right decision. The icy water perked her up, and she hurried to the Range Rover and backed out of the garage.

  As she swung around the curve of the drive, her headlights illuminated the garage door that hid her son’s car. Maybe she should have told Cameron where she was going. But no. He’d get in touch if he noticed she was gone. She pulled away.

  Ten minutes into the drive, she turned onto White Oak and relaxed her death grip on the steering wheel. The houses were on five-acre lots here, and there wasn’t much traffic. She could worry less about passing a cop in her impaired state and more about what she’d find ahead.

  If the BMW was damaged, Gary would be in a foul mood for days, and today was Thursday, which meant he’d be grumpy all weekend. Great.

  Maybe she could get him to go golfing at that new course the next county over so she could have the house to herself for most of Sunday. Well, to herself except for Cameron, but at seventeen it wasn’t as if he spent a lot of time in her space. He had his own car. His own life. She hadn’t quite gotten used to that yet, but she was trying her best. He’d be off to MIT in a few short months, and that would be a much more brutal adjustment.

  The streetlights tapered off until White Oak was a black ribbon in the night, and Evelyn’s brain finally pushed an important question to the forefront: Why had Gary been driving on Old Highway 23? His office was miles past it, and this far north, Old 23 was nothing but a two-lane road tunneling through patches of forest and wetland until it hit the next suburb ten miles away.

  She reached the deserted intersection and took a right as instructed. Two minutes later, her headlights flashed off something reflective on the left side of the road. Evelyn slowed and watched a silhouette walk out onto the blacktop. When the headlights caught him, she breathed a sigh of relief. Gary looked fine. A little rumpled, but not even limping. She pulled up next to him.

  “Gary,” she gasped as she lowered the window and reached for his hand. “What happened?”

  “A deer.” He gave her fingers only a brief squeeze before he pulled his hand away and scrubbed it over his face.

  “Did you hit it?”

  “No, but I probably should have. Turn around and pull past the car. I’ve got a rope in the emergency kit.”

  Of course he had rope. He was always meticulously prepared. Never caught by surprise. Except by that damn deer. She bit back a random smile and made a very careful three-point turn, aware of the soft shoulder and the ditch beyond. A cool green swamp smell drifted up from the wet woods past her headlights. Shivering in the cold, she wished now that she’d grabbed a jacket instead of water. In fact, she wished she were still under her down duvet, sleeping right through the ringing phone. He could have called a tow truck.

  The interior lights clicked on around her when Gary opened the back hatch. Evelyn blinked stupidly before she climbed out to help. Her legs were thick and clumsy as she rounded the SUV.

  “Get back in the car,” Gary ordered. “We need to do this quickly.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He snatched the rope from the hidden well where the jack was stored. His voice went harsh. “Why?”

  She glanced toward the BMW sitting pale and lifeless in the ditch as if it were hiding. “Have you been drinking?”
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  “Christiansen and I had a couple of Scotches. Just get back in the car.”

  “Why are you being so rude?”

  He blew air through his teeth and crouched down to tie a knot around the hitch. “I’m sorry. I’m a little freaked out about the accident.”

  Jaw clenched in irritation, she stared at him until he looked up.

  “Maybe you could be understanding. I thought I was dead there for a minute.”

  Fine. She tipped her chin in acknowledgment and climbed back behind the wheel. She’d probably be snappy too if she were worried about a DUI arrest.

  Then again, she should be worrying about a DUI for herself, shouldn’t she? Anytime she stopped concentrating, the world went a little fuzzy at the edges. She’d never had to function after taking one of the new pills. They were strong. She wanted to go back to sleep right here.

  But at least now she understood why he’d called her and not a tow truck or the police. Dr. Gary Tester could not be arrested for drunk driving. That would be quite a black mark on his prestigious psychiatry practice. She watched in the side mirror as he dragged the rope down the steep ditch toward the BMW.

  Though it would add to his grumpiness, she felt a deep burn of satisfaction that he was likely ruining a pair of four-hundred-dollar shoes in the mud and water. He’d become persnickety in middle age. He liked being better than everyone else. She hoped his loafers stank of swamp now.

  Not a very generous thought when she should be thankful he hadn’t been hurt or killed. If she remembered this in the morning, she’d blame it on the pills.

  A few seconds later a car door closed, and the headlights of the BMW came on. “All right!” he shouted. “Easy!”

  Evelyn put the SUV in gear and crept forward. She felt the resistance of the rope pulling taut, then nothing. The Range Rover didn’t move at all. She hit the gas, and the engine roared.

  “Try a lower gear!”

  Right. Evelyn shifted down and tried again. The SUV roared and the BMW’s engine hit a high pitch, and both vehicles began to move.

  “Thank God,” she muttered, getting a little more confident with the gas. The BMW lurched up the side of the ditch and crawled onto the road. She saw him wave, and stopped.

  Gary walked between the two vehicles and quickly untied the knots. “Okay,” he said as he lifted the hatch and shoved the rope inside. “Get going. I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

  “You’re welcome,” she answered.

  His eyes rose to meet hers in the rearview mirror. “Thank you.” She held his gaze for a second longer before a blur of motion behind him made her jump. Gary straightened, and there was a ghost at his side. A pretty ghost dressed in gauzy white, her pale hair floating around her shoulders.

  He closed the rear door and reached to steady the ghost’s shoulders, but the figure jerked back, her arms flying up to fend off his touch, and she wasn’t a ghost at all. She was a blond woman in a white sweater, and she shoved at Gary’s hands and barked, “Don’t touch me,” loudly enough for Evelyn to hear.

  Gary glanced up at the rearview mirror again. Evelyn stared at him, dumbfounded.

  Or just dumb. Too woozy to puzzle out this strange woman from the woods.

  “Gary?” she asked, as if he could hear her from back there. But maybe he could, because he said something to the woman and circled around to the driver’s side of the Range Rover. Evelyn watched the woman get into the passenger side of the BMW and slam the door.

  “Go home,” Gary said.

  “Who is that?” Evelyn asked in a low voice, still watching the mirror.

  “A patient. I’m driving her home.”

  “A patient,” she repeated.

  “I have to take her home. Her car broke down at my office.”

  She turned her head to look at him, the muscles in her neck screaming as if she’d asked them to perform the impossible. Two spots of color burned high on Gary’s cheekbones. “A patient,” she said one more time.

  “Yes. Go back to bed. We’ll talk in the morning when you’re not high.”

  “High?” she yelped. “You gave me that prescription!”

  “So I know exactly the effect it’s having on you. You can’t think straight.”

  “I can think straight enough to know you’re not with a patient at eleven at night!” Her hands burned from gripping the steering wheel. She twisted them harder into the leather. “I’m not that damn high.”

  “Oh, for godssake, Evelyn. If this were anything untoward, would I have called my wife?”

  She opened her mouth to counter him. To call him out for a ridiculous lie. But her jaw hung there, her brain stunned into stupidity. Because he was right, wasn’t he? Even with a car in the ditch, he could’ve just called a taxi. If the cops found his car in the morning, he would’ve said a deer had run him off the road. Without a blood alcohol level, there was no proof of impaired driving, no crime. He hadn’t needed to involve his wife.

  He glanced down the road. “Please, let’s get out of here before someone finds us.”

  “All right,” she said, her voice sounding very far away again.

  Gary patted the car door as if that resolved everything. His wedding ring ticked hard against the metal. “Go.” He softened the word with a smile.

  Go.

  So she went, head aching from the tightness of her brow. She drove away and watched his headlights get smaller and smaller in the night. Her bed was waiting, and she was so damn tired.

  CHAPTER 3

  AFTER

  This was crazy. The craziest thing she’d done yet. There was no reason for her to return to the Whitman Gallery, not after her ignominious exit the day before.

  If she’d walked out like a reasonable person, made an excuse, then she could’ve walked back in just as calmly: “Hello! I wanted to take another look at that Franklin piece!” or “Silly me, I forgot to ask about local artists yesterday.” But now what could she say? Noah Whitman would likely hit the panic button on his alarm system when he saw her coming.

  Or maybe he wouldn’t. He’d seemed friendly. Genuine. And there was a connection between them, even if he didn’t know why. He’d recognized that she’d been searching for something. He’d watched her leave as if he were concerned for her.

  Then again, maybe that look of concern had been for himself.

  She parked farther down the street this time, in case she changed her mind and stayed in the car. A man with a tiny dog emerged from a nearby door, carrying an insulated cup. A bumper sticker in the store window let her know that friends didn’t let friends drink Starbucks.

  Evelyn snorted. Yet another little espresso place that hated that cruel caffeine behemoth. Evelyn couldn’t understand the hostility. Did they think people in podunk towns would have developed a taste for iced lattes without Starbucks on their grocery shelves? This place owed its very existence to Starbucks.

  The frown she felt coming on died before it could fully form, because the coffee shop offered the perfect excuse. She could take Noah a cup of coffee. An apology for spilling the cup he’d brought her. A transparent apology, but if he suspected she was interested in more than the art, what did she care? She was interested in his whole life.

  But she shouldn’t be. She’d promised herself she was done with all this. That she was ready to let go of her anger. Work on her marriage. But now it didn’t seem so simple.

  Noah Whitman had stayed with her all day after she’d fled his gallery. He’d stepped along beside her through her grocery shopping and house cleaning. He’d sat at the dinner table with her while her son texted his friends and her husband read his medical journals. He’d floated through her mind after she’d taken her sleeping pill. Only for a few minutes, of course. Then everything had gone comfortingly black.

  Was he as clueless as Evelyn had been? Did he love his wife? Did he think everything in his marriage was just fine? He probably had no idea what evil his spouse was capable of. Noah was the mirror image of Evelyn—the innocent, i
gnorant partner—and just talking to him had brought her comfort. He was handsome, successful, and kind, and he’d been betrayed and lied to, just as she had.

  It felt natural to return to his gallery to see him again, but she knew that didn’t make it right. If anything, it was a warning that she was truly obsessed with the subject of Juliette and anything that involved her.

  Evelyn cleared her throat in an attempt to dislodge the feeling that she was doing something very wrong. After all, wasn’t it serendipity that she’d parked right here next to this little espresso place? A good sign. She grabbed her purse and got out of her vehicle before the doubts could settle into place again.

  A few minutes later, two cappuccinos in hand, she walked toward the gallery, eyes on the door. She could move faster today in her black boots. Fast enough that her doubts nipped at her heels but didn’t catch up.

  Yesterday’s sleek outfit was the only business attire she owned that still fit well, so today she’d gone casual in skinny jeans, boots, and a long tunic sweater that hid the middle-aged softness of her abdomen. Yesterday she’d been dressed for battle. Today she’d dressed to show she was no danger.

  The door of the gallery opened when she was ten feet away, and Evelyn wasn’t ready. She nearly panicked, but then Noah stepped out, hand raised in greeting. “You’re back,” he called, offering a smile that made it clear he wasn’t afraid.

  Evelyn smiled back in utter relief. “I brought a peace offering,” she said, holding out one cup as she met him at the door.

  “I didn’t know we were at war.”

  “More of an apology, then. That was . . .” He took the cup and waved her in. She met his eyes as she passed. “I’m really, truly sorry.”

  “Come on. No apology necessary. It’s good to be affected by art. Isn’t that what it’s for?”

  “I suppose. I guess I’ve been having a bad month. I just wanted to return and offer a little reassurance. You don’t have to lie awake at night worrying that you’d hosted a crazy woman in your gallery.”