Evelyn, After: A Novel

by Victoria Helen Stone

  Instead of explaining, she took his hand and brushed a kiss over his knuckles. “If you love your wife so much, then why do this?”

  He turned to stare at the ceiling, but he wrapped his fingers between hers and held her hand. “Because I’m a terrible person?”

  “I don’t think that’s true. And if it is, then I am too.”

  “I just . . . I love her. I love my kids. My family. My life. But something’s missing.”

  “Geology?” she asked, only half teasing.

  “Something like that, I guess. Dreams. Youth. Adventure. Sex.” He slid a quick look at her. “I hate to be so typical. My wife is . . . she’s working through some things.”

  Yeah, she was working her way through Evelyn’s life like a disease.

  “I’ve tried to be patient,” he said. “I was patient. I didn’t think I was going to be that guy.”

  “So why now?” she asked, but that wasn’t what she really wanted to know, so she rephrased it. “Why me?”

  He tipped his head toward her and squeezed her hand, watching her as if studying her face. She thought he’d tell her she was beautiful then, a pretty little lie woven of flattery and gratitude. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, and she tried not to let the disappointment squash her satisfaction.

  But he made up for it. “You’re sexy as hell, of course.”

  She laughed. “Oh, of course!”

  “And you’re an amazing artist.” He slid a fingertip down her jaw, down her neck, then feathered it softly along the curve of her breast, his eyes locked on the trail of his finger. “Did I mention my affinity for cute artsy girls?”

  “You did. And I’m beginning to wonder if you’re a breast man, as well.”

  His grin was a bright neon sign of chagrin. “Who, me?”

  Her sigh sounded decidedly like a purr as he cupped her in his hand again. Good. That was something she had over perfect, petite Juliette. Size Ds. Purely an accident of nature, but Evelyn would take any advantage.

  “But I think,” he continued, “it was mostly the way you looked at me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That first day you came in, you were a stranger, but . . . I don’t know. You saw me. Stared right into me. God, that sounds ridiculous. My youthful bad poetry cropping up.”

  “No,” she said. “I did see you.” She wouldn’t tell him why, of course, and she felt a cold trickle of fear along her spine as he watched her. Did he suspect anything?

  “When you ran out, I wondered if you’d come back,” he finally said.

  “I did.”

  “Yes, you definitely did.”

  The strange tension vanished back into humor. When the hardness of the table began to press into her joints, Evelyn didn’t care. She didn’t even care that she was sprawled half-naked in front of this man, her skirt bunched up and digging into her soft abdomen. His abdomen wasn’t rock hard and tight either. She loved that. Loved the slight curve of his belly, his love handles and wide chest, and the sprinkling of freckles across his shoulders. He was nothing like Gary. He was someone new.

  “Do you want to do this again?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered before her last syllable was out.

  “Good. Maybe we could—”

  “I have an idea,” he interrupted, the words rushing together. “Just an idea. Maybe it’s crazy.”

  “This is all crazy.”

  “True. But you said your husband is . . . I guess he’s not inclined to suspicion?”

  “He’s not.”

  “Well, I’m going to an art show in Monterey next weekend. I don’t suppose you could join me?”

  “Monterey? California?”

  “See? Insane. I just thought I’d throw it out there.”

  “I don’t think I could,” she started, but the idea floated up inside her like a balloon. “How would I—” She snapped her mouth shut and shook her head. “You’d honestly want me to go?”

  “It’s just two nights. And I’m sure it’s impossible, but lying here next to you . . . hell, I thought how nice it would be if this were a bed, in the dark, and we had more time.”

  Something inside her melted. Something hard and cold and tight. To lie in bed with this man in the dark, touching and laughing and whispering. She wanted that. For hours. For days. “Let me think about it.”

  “Of course. Think about it. And think about this.” He turned and drew her to him for a kiss, but then he pulled back with a wince. “I might be too old for table sex,” he admitted.

  “Nonsense. We did that part just fine. It’s the table pillow talk we can’t handle.”

  “So it’s not just me?” He rose up and offered a hand to pull her up as well.

  Once she slid off the table, her self-consciousness made a brief return. She snatched up her shirt and tugged it on as quickly as she could, then realized she’d forgotten her bra. “Turn around!” she ordered, and he did, laughing.

  “Are you working today?” he asked over his shoulder as she struggled into the scratchy black bra.

  “Yes, but I don’t want to. I want to go home and paint.”

  “Paint!”

  He’d turned toward her again, and she would have scolded him, but she was already rebuttoning her shirt. “I bought supplies on my way home last night. I haven’t started anything yet.”

  “Will you show me when you do?”

  “You’re just using me for my paintings, aren’t you?” But she was flattered. Even when they’d first been dating, Gary had only shown polite interest in her work. She must have been more confident back then. It hadn’t bothered her. After all, she hadn’t been that interested in his psychiatry papers either. Maybe they’d been mismatched from the start.

  Gary had been attracted to her free spirit, her resilience, her good humor and loud laugh. She’d loved his steadiness, intelligence, and decisiveness. But attributes became annoyances over time. Yes, she could laugh at anything, but that meant she never took anything seriously. And he had rock-solid beliefs, but that meant he couldn’t be budged. Free-spirited became unambitious. Steadiness was stubbornness. Opposites might attract, but there were so many jagged seams where they tried to fit together.

  Noah finished dressing, and she straightened his collar and his mussed hair without even thinking. He didn’t belong to her. She shouldn’t be touching him like this. But he smiled like he liked it.

  “I don’t want you to regret this,” she said.

  “I’m going to feel guilty. I already do.”

  “I know. But . . .” If she’d only started this off with honesty, she could’ve told him the truth now. Your wife doesn’t deserve your faithfulness. You don’t need to feel bad. She’s been sleeping with my husband for months, and their affair killed a teenage girl.

  If she could tell him all that, then he could be as happy with this as Evelyn was. She wanted to erase the worry from his eyes and replace it with all the joy she was feeling. But she’d lied, and there was no taking that back. So instead of saying anything, she kissed him, a long, soft kiss to take away his pain.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his mouth.

  He shook his head. “It’s not your fault I want you so much.”

  But it was, of course.

  Just before ten, she said good-bye and headed for the school. She’d get there early to make up for yesterday’s lateness. But as she pulled into the parking lot, she got a text from Noah.

  You’re all I can think about.

  So she texted back and talked to him until eleven fifteen, then walked in late without a trace of guilt.

  CHAPTER 18

  BEFORE

  The girl’s name was Kaylee Brigham. The picture used on every news site showed a smiling, round-faced teen with blue eyes that stood out in bright contrast with her brown hair. She was hugging a dog in that picture, captured in a moment of pure happiness.

  But the truth was more complicated. She’d run away from home several times. She’d dropped o
ut of school. Her parents were heartbroken and just wanted answers.

  Barely breathing, Evelyn opened her school’s published student directory and looked through the list of names, addresses, and parents’ phone numbers. No Kaylee Brigham. She checked the one from the year before. Still no Kaylee. The girl hadn’t been a student at Cameron’s school. Evelyn hadn’t greeted her or helped her with a school excuse or walked her to the nurse’s office. Thank God.

  She was a stranger, and now the story Gary had told made sense. Only a lost girl high on drugs would be wandering that highway at that hour. He’d been telling the truth.

  Evelyn’s relief was short-lived. She needed to know more. To find out exactly what Kaylee had been doing on that road, to make sure no one was at fault. If no one was at fault, then this would all be okay and Evelyn would have made the right decision in protecting Gary.

  The news sites had little information. There had obviously been only a brief statement released by the police, and they all had the same paltry details. Evelyn searched Kaylee’s name online, hoping to find out more.

  The first dozen hits were more of the same, but then she found a blog entry posted by a friend years before, an innocuous little shout-out to her volleyball teammates, and it contained a link to Kaylee’s Facebook page.

  “Oh, God,” Evelyn whispered, pressing trembling fingers to her mouth.

  Kaylee hadn’t posted anything in the past few months, but before that, her timeline had been dusted with the usual teenage angst and excitement. Squees of joy about seeing friends, snippets of poems about sadness, funny memes shared by a million other kids. She’d been just like Cameron, really, if Cameron had been the type of kid to be on Facebook. He wasn’t. His friends teased him. Evelyn was secretly proud that he didn’t feel the need to join up.

  But all his friends were on social media, just like Kaylee. Some of them even followed Evelyn, calling her Mrs. T. She suspected a few of them wanted to get in good with the woman who decided whether school excuses were real or forged, but maybe some were honestly friendly.

  Some of Kaylee’s pictures were hidden from Evelyn because she wasn’t a designated friend, but most of the posts on her wall were public for all to see. The latest was from her mother, Dawn. A poignant good-bye to a daughter she’d “lost too soon.”

  Evelyn covered her face and cried. Was there any difference at all between Evelyn and Kaylee’s mom, Dawn? She must be living through hell. Not only was her baby dead, but she’d never know what had really happened. In fact, in the last line of the post, she asked for help. If you have any information at all, please come forward. Evelyn’s stomach churned. She had information. She could come forward.

  She clicked over to Juliette’s page, looking for some confirmation that she was doing the right thing. There was a new post. A sweet story repeating what one of the kids in her class had said about love.

  Love. As if Juliette knew anything about it.

  Evelyn tried to click through to find out who was connected to Juliette’s page, but she didn’t have access. The page was fairly public. There seemed to be quite a few responses from parents of her students. But like Kaylee’s page, Evelyn could only see some of it.

  This time, when Evelyn backed up to Kaylee’s page, there was a brand-new post. A fundraising drive to contribute to funeral costs. Dawn Brigham was online right now, just like Evelyn. She was right there, pleading for help.

  Tears dripped down Evelyn’s cheeks. She couldn’t bring this woman’s daughter back. She couldn’t fix what Juliette and Gary had done. Even if she came forward, nothing would change for Dawn Brigham.

  Pressing her hands hard to the keyboard, she watched random letters trickle across the white bar of the search field. She pressed harder, but they didn’t move faster.

  What the hell was she going to do? Could she find some way to live with this? She couldn’t even offer condolences. Her account was under her real name and connected to friends, family, and volunteers, not to mention the school page she often posted to. It would be too dangerous.

  But . . . But.

  If she had a different account, she could at least follow Dawn Brigham’s page. Absorb the pain. And she could find out what was going on. Get news about any developments. It would be something.

  Evelyn searched for tricks to creating a fake Facebook account, but it was nothing difficult. All she needed was a new email address. Within minutes, she had it all set up under a name she pulled from thin air.

  Heart beating far too hard, she pressed the button requesting a friendship with Dawn Brigham. She was instantly approved.

  Then panic slapped her in the face. What if Dawn grew suspicious of this stranger following her? What if she pointed police in Evelyn’s direction?

  “No, no, no,” she whispered, wishing she could take it back. But when she calmed down enough to look at Dawn’s personal page, she saw that the message pinned to the top was a thank-you.

  To all of the parents, friends, reporters, and strangers who’ve come here to offer support, thank you for caring about Kaylee. I’ve no idea what the coming days will bring, but it’s comforting to know I can talk about her here.

  “I’m so sorry,” Evelyn said aloud.

  She was sorry. Sorry for so many things. She cried silent tears as she clicked through the Brigham family pictures. Several had been posted today of Kaylee when she was young, all happy smiles and parental hope. The wrong path she’d taken in more recent years would probably have been just a stage. She would have grown past it, surely. Gone on to have a full, rich life.

  Now her parents had to live forever with whatever conflict they’d had with her. The unfortunate words they must have flung at each other. The last, sad thing Kaylee had said before she’d disappeared.

  When her cell phone rang, Evelyn nearly knocked the mouse off her desk, sure in that moment that the police had already tracked her down. But it wasn’t the police; it was the school. A glance at the clock had her cursing. It was nearly noon. She’d had all weekend to wallow in her grief, but she was supposed to be at work today.

  “Hello?”

  “Evelyn? Are you coming in?”

  She winced at the irritated tone of the office manager. She and Wanda weren’t close, but they were usually polite to each other. “I’m so sorry. I’m sick and I accidentally fell asleep.”

  “You don’t sound good.”

  No, she was hoarse, stuffed up, and miserable. That was true, at least. “School germs, I’m sure. I’m really sorry I forgot to call.”

  “It’s fine. Let me know how you’re feeling in the morning.”

  Another thing to feel guilty about. Evelyn had never played hooky before. In fact, in the three years she’d been working at the school, she’d called in sick only one day, and she’d been relieved it was a Friday. By Monday her strep throat had been cured by antibiotics, and she’d been back to making herself feel useful.

  But there was no way she could work at the school today. She couldn’t deal with all those children who were the same age as Kaylee. Bad enough she had to face her own son when he got home.

  Evelyn retrieved the mouse from the edge of the desk and rubbed a hand over her tight forehead. She couldn’t only follow Dawn Brigham with this new account. She was already paranoid and sick about the charade. She could either delete the fake account or improve upon it.

  After a brief prayer that she was doing the right thing, she began to build her false identity. She added more details to her profile and followed quite a few local businesses from a nearby town, just to be safe. By the end of her online tour, four individuals had friended her, and she gratefully returned the favor. She was beginning to look like a real person.

  CHAPTER 19

  AFTER

  “The Monterey Life Center and Spa.” Evelyn let the name run over her tongue. Just the name of a resort. There was nothing inherently naughty about it, but she smiled at the words. She was smiling about everything after what she and Noah had done this morning
.

  Though she’d gotten through her five hours of work, she’d spent most of it looking up information on the art festival and then trying to imagine herself there.

  Aside from family funerals, she’d never taken a trip without Gary before. If she went to California, it would be a first. Well . . . another first, after the first that had happened today.

  Smiling, she picked up a brush, dipped it into the blob of dark yellow on her palette, and inhaled enough air to pump up her chest and make her feel brave.

  When she got tired of her own cowardice, she swiped the brush across the stretched canvas in front of her, then stared at the golden stripe she’d left behind. This painting wouldn’t be anything. It wouldn’t be impressive. She knew that and didn’t care. The purpose of this canvas was to open her up. That was all. To start her again. And she could already feel it working.

  She shifted the brush up to the right corner and began shading in the white, dragging the color close to the original line but not touching it.

  God, it felt good.

  Picking up a new brush, she pulled a sage-green line over the canvas. She’d hardly ever done landscapes, but she knew what this was. A cliff pictured on the website of the Monterey Life Center.

  It wouldn’t take much to pull off this trip. If she wanted a spa trip to California, there was nothing Gary could say to stop her. Nothing at all. His infidelity had freed Evelyn. Of course, her freedom meant his. At this point, Gary would be relieved to be left alone for seventy-two hours. He’d wish her bon voyage and put her out of his mind.

  And she’d be with Noah. Two whole nights with him. Three days.

  But did she have the guts to do it?

  Evelyn laughed and almost painted her cheek green when she raised her hand to smother the sound.

  Hell, yes, she had the guts to do it. After this morning, nothing would be a big step for her. She’d given her body to another man. She’d reveled in it.

  God, this was just insane. She’d actually held another man inside her body. Such an intimate vulnerability with a virtual stranger. And she didn’t even feel bad. She wanted more.