Evelyn, After: A Novel

by Victoria Helen Stone

  “Fine,” Evelyn growled. “I quit. You can be the volunteer coordinator. Have at it.”

  “You can’t . . . You can’t quit! You have work to do! The graduation celebrations! Seniors’ Day! The volunteer dinner! If you—”

  “They’re all your problems now. Better get to it.”

  Jackie sputtered out something incomprehensible.

  “I’ll forward you the relevant emails,” Evelyn offered.

  When Jackie spun and stomped out of the office, the silence in the room felt like physical pressure. Evelyn glanced around at the other two women in the office. They both looked away. “Sorry about that. A small disagreement.”

  Old Evelyn would have been consumed with worry over what she’d done. Actually, old Evelyn would never have done that in a million years. New Evelyn was too busy thinking about her weekend in California to care. Screw Jackie Arthur. That woman needed to find a few more hobbies to fill her days. Being volunteer coordinator would be perfect for her. She couldn’t keep her fingers out of the damn pie anyway.

  Evelyn processed her biggest pile of work, then logged into her email account. Wanda was in the principal’s office with him, going over a report he needed to present to the school board. She’d never know that Evelyn wasn’t exactly doing her paid duties.

  During the chaos of the past month, Evelyn’s inbox had exploded from 15 crucial items to 534.

  “Good Lord,” she muttered. Life really crept up during a nervous breakdown. Or maybe it hadn’t been a breakdown. Maybe it had just been a metamorphosis. She felt so sure of herself now. As if she’d been just a blur of a person before and now she was solid, made of dark lines and bright colors. She was stronger now. Better.

  A lot of the emails were easy to delete. The dozens of book-fair-related messages were gone in a second. Any mail related to the volunteer dinner Evelyn forwarded to Jackie before dropping her copy in the trash. She rolled her shoulders and bit back a smile.

  Seniors’ Day was a stickier issue, because her son was involved and Evelyn didn’t particularly want to screw it up for him. Coming up with the event’s permission slip was easy enough. Evelyn pulled up the one she’d written the previous year and changed the dates. The trip to a local amusement park had already been arranged, but the buses still needed to be reserved and parent chaperones collected.

  Evelyn was no longer interested in coordinating the chaperoning, so she filled out all the necessary forms to reserve the buses and typed up another email to Jackie titled SENIORS’ DAY VOLUNTEERS NEEDED. She generously included the date and time information, along with how many parents would be required. Surely Jackie could handle the rest.

  The rest of the Seniors’ Day emails went in the trash too. It took a full hour to wrap up her remaining duties and shove everything else at Jackie. Afterward, Evelyn breathed a huge sigh of relief and got back to her paid work for the school. Life felt even sweeter than it had when she’d driven here, and it had been pretty damn sweet then.

  Wanda stopped on her way out of the principal’s office. “I got your request for Friday off. There’s standardized testing that day, so I’ll need you here.”

  Evelyn didn’t feel even a twinge at that. “Well, I’ll be in California. I’ve already bought the ticket.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t accommodate that request.”

  No one said no to Wanda. Everyone in the school was terrified of her, even the principal. After all, she’d outlasted every single person in the administration and most of the teachers too. Evelyn stared into the woman’s faded-gray eyes. She lifted her chin. There was nothing here she was afraid of losing. Not anymore.

  “I won’t be here on Friday. I’m sure the testing will go just fine. If you can’t manage without me, then I do believe I’m due a raise and a promotion. Don’t you?”

  Wanda’s eyes widened. Her lips disappeared entirely. “You’ve already missed eleven days of work this month. If you think—”

  “According to the school district, sick days are entirely separate from vacation days. You know that. I can’t be denied a vacation day—an unpaid vacation day—because of a documented illness. I brought in a note.”

  “It was from your husband.”

  “He’s a doctor.”

  The woman bristled. “I won’t be—”

  “Wanda.” Evelyn leaned forward until she was only six inches from Wanda’s quivering chin so she could whisper her next words. “You don’t scare me.” Then she smiled with all the joy bubbling up inside her chest. “There. That’s settled. I’m going to run this requisition form over to the nurse’s office for her signature so we can get these supplies ordered. Thanks for the chat.”

  New Evelyn was really kind of kick-ass. No wonder Noah thought she was sexy.

  CHAPTER 22

  BEFORE

  One week after her death, there were still no developments in Kaylee Brigham’s case. No real news—only deeper heartache. Her friends began posting stories of Kaylee on Dawn’s page, memories and pictures. Evelyn, hunched over the laptop for hours on end, devoured every one.

  There were rumors to keep up with too. Stories from her classmates that started with “I heard,” or “Someone told me,” or “A boy who used to date her friend said,” all of them weaving fantasies about what had happened that night on Old Highway 23. The prevailing theory seemed to be a drug deal gone bad or a cover-up of an overdose. Others posited that she’d been kidnapped and had heroically jumped from a moving vehicle.

  Evelyn found herself strangely disappointed that no one was on the right track. Acknowledging that filled her stomach with acid and bile. She couldn’t hope that the truth came out. It would devastate her family, her life, her world. She’d die to protect Cameron, so how could she wish for that kind of destruction?

  But even if she wanted the best for her son, she wanted the worst for Juliette Whitman. Jealousy and pain and a yearning for justice braided themselves into a thick rope of hatred that wound through Evelyn. It squeezed her, twisting her nerves, changing her body. It hurt.

  The only way to ease the burning pain was to do more, to know more, so she haunted Juliette’s public posts, reading every word, every reply. It all infuriated her. Everyone thought this woman was a saint. Her cousins and friends loved her. Her students adored her. The parents admired her and heaped praise on every post.

  Everything she wrote was gentle and sweet. Glowing with good intention. Orphans in Bangladesh. Elephants in Africa. Local children who went hungry during the summer. She cared about everyone. Everything! Except Evelyn’s family, of course. Except Kaylee Brigham. Except her marriage vows.

  During the fourth day of Evelyn’s unofficial sick break from work, she couldn’t take it anymore. She had to be missing something. There had to be a glimmer of the real Juliette somewhere, and Evelyn needed to understand.

  Clenching her teeth, Evelyn signed in to her fake account and hit the “Like” button for Juliette’s elementary school. Then she sent a friend request to Juliette.

  She was accepted within an hour. After all, what would Juliette Whitman have to hide? She was everyone’s friend. All comers welcome!

  Evelyn’s head buzzed as she flipped through photos she’d had no access to before. This was wrong. She knew this was wrong. Grieving for her marriage, raging over her husband’s infidelity, even investigating what had happened that night . . . those things were all logical. Assuming a false identity to spy and interact with other people online? Even she understood this was probably not rational.

  But she couldn’t fathom what else to do. Something terrible had happened. Something awful. And Evelyn had to swallow it down like poison. Every day she woke and took another dose. It was killing her.

  The personal photos provided no relief. Juliette’s children were so happy. The Halloween costumes homemade every year. The holiday turkeys golden brown. At the start of April, she and the children had gone to a local senior citizens’ center to play games and teach little Stephanie and Connor about gi
ving back to the community.

  Evelyn swallowed hard. Less than a week after that, Juliette had killed a girl.

  But she did find something that stayed the progress of her rage. Juliette’s Facebook posts had slowed down after that terrible night. Evelyn had thought maybe the newest posts were restricted to only friends and hadn’t been visible before. Maybe Juliette had been lying low. But no. The posts simply weren’t there. It was possible Juliette wasn’t a complete sociopath, after all. Maybe she had real feelings behind that fake perfection.

  After the accident there were school-related posts, but nothing else. No pictures of her children. No recipes of what she’d fixed for dinner. No adorable stories of the darnedest things her kids had said.

  The tightness of that awful coil inside Evelyn’s gut eased a little. She wanted Juliette to suffer. She needed it. Maybe Evelyn could relax a little if she just knew it was happening.

  Was it?

  She moved down in the time line, searching for more answers. About a year back, she found something she hadn’t seen before: a picture of the whole family, including Juliette’s husband.

  Evelyn leaned in close to study him, wondering about this man who’d been cuckolded by his adorable little wife. He stood about a foot taller than Juliette, and his tan skin was darker than hers, his brown hair a little too long and shaggy. Other than that, he was unremarkable. Decent looking but not gorgeous. Smiling at the camera, but a little distracted.

  Evelyn read the comments below the picture and found an important detail to add to her collection. Noah. His name was Noah, assuming that the woman who’d commented on the picture was correct.

  Noah Whitman.

  She searched for his page and found nothing. A man of mystery. Maybe he—

  The garage door banged open only a few feet from Evelyn’s desk, and she yelped in surprise.

  “Hey, Mom!” Cameron said. “Are you still sick?”

  “I am,” she said, meeting Gary’s eyes as he followed Cameron in through the front door.

  He still wasn’t driving the BMW, so he’d dropped Cameron at school in the morning and had picked him up from an extra-long water polo practice. The big state tournament was coming up. Cameron and his team put in hours whenever they could.

  “I guess you didn’t get to the store today?” Gary asked, his eyes dipping to take in Evelyn’s robe and slippers.

  “No,” she snapped, “I was feeling pretty sick all day.” She closed the lid of the laptop before he passed. “There’s a roast in the oven. It’s ready. You can serve yourselves.”

  Evelyn grabbed a glass of wine and escaped to her bedroom. Gary was still sleeping in the guest room, but she’d heard him tell Cameron it was to avoid catching whatever bug Mom had, so Evelyn didn’t even have to hide it.

  She shut the bedroom door and clicked the lock just as her cell phone rang. Turning it over, she saw her sister’s name and ignored it. She couldn’t tell anyone what was going on. Not even her sister. The phone stopped ringing, but it immediately chirped with a text alert.

  Call me! I need to figure out my schedule. When are we going to dinner?

  Dinner? She felt her face crease in confusion and wondered how many deep wrinkles she had now. It felt as if she must have acquired a dozen in the past few days.

  Dinner. Right. She’d told her sister they would go out this week. That obviously wasn’t happening.

  I can’t, she texted back.

  Can’t what?

  Do dinner this week.

  You promised to take me out! I need cheering up, remember?

  Evelyn almost wept at that. Yes, her sister had been a little down, and Evelyn had been excited about the prospect of a girls’ night out. Her unhappiness had been only a vague fear then. An easily appeased worry.

  I’m really sorry, she wrote. I’m sick. I’ve already missed four days of work. I’ll be scrambling to catch up.

  Oh no! Want me to bring some soup?

  No, I don’t have an appetite.

  Good, cuz it was going to be a can of Campbell’s anyway.

  Evelyn smiled briefly at her sister’s joke, then said good night, glad they weren’t on the phone, because her throat was thick with tears again.

  Gary’s and Cameron’s deep voices rumbled briefly up through the floor, a distant reminder that she still had a family. But she’d fed them. They were done with her.

  It was only six thirty, but Evelyn climbed into bed. Sunlight still leaked through the window, so she leaned over and tipped the blinds tightly shut, then turned on the TV. Once she’d found something comforting and quiet to watch, she washed down two sleeping pills with the wine and pulled the covers to her nose.

  Sick people slept a lot. It was the only way to recover. And God knew Evelyn had never felt this sick in her life.

  CHAPTER 23

  AFTER

  Noah rolled off her, and they both lay there, panting, sweating, laughing. They’d left the windows open to the sound of the sea, and the morning air was ice on Evelyn’s damp skin, so she pulled up the covers and curled close to Noah’s heat. Even after sex she didn’t want to stop touching him. “I love sleeping with you.”

  “I love waking up with you,” he countered. “But sleeping with you is almost as nice.”

  “I just can’t believe we’re leaving,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. It went way too fast.”

  “Two nights wasn’t enough.”

  “No,” he murmured as she tucked her head under his chin. “Never.”

  Despite the heavy satisfaction in her limbs, her heart ached. A physical pain lodged between her lungs. Every sore breath reminded her that she had to go back to her real life today.

  “I’d better hit the shower,” he said, and she found her hand wrapping tight around his wrist.

  “No. It’s so early. Stay a few more minutes.”

  “I still have to get back to my hotel to pack and check out.”

  “I know. But Noah . . .” Tears filled her eyes and spilled quickly onto her cheeks. She was horrified. She didn’t want to waste their last hour together grieving. But she was going to miss this so much. How could she go back to her husband? How could she wake up every morning with him instead of Noah?

  “Hey,” he breathed. “Don’t. I’m not leaving yet. We’ve got breakfast coming, remember?”

  She nodded, but the tears kept coming.

  “Oh, sweetheart. I know.” He pulled her into his arms and let her cry against his skin. “I know.”

  “This is so good,” she whispered.

  “It is. On top of everything else, it’s so easy to talk to you. I wish we could . . .” He stopped speaking and shook his head, the stubble of his morning beard dragging against her hair.

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll jump in the shower, and then we’ll have breakfast. We’ve still got time. All right?”

  “All right. But wait one second.” Turning to face him, she wrapped her arms around his body and slipped a leg between his thighs. “I just want to feel you for one more second,” she whispered, burying her nose against him to breathe him in. He’d smelled different to her at first. His skin and hair and sex had all been a glaring reminder that he was not Gary. Not her husband. Not her man. But now he was familiar. As comforting as if she’d loved him for years.

  “I love the way you smell,” she murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

  He held her tightly for a long time before easing away.

  Once he was in the bathroom, she lay in his warmth, unwilling to drag herself from bed until it had faded. The shower rumbled as she pulled on a robe and retrieved his scattered pieces of clothing from the floor, smiling at the memory of stripping them off him the night before.

  The weekend had been perfect, and she wanted to do it all over again. He’d been busy with the festival, but not too busy for dinner on Friday and Saturday. They’d eaten in the spa restaurant both nights, surrounded by twinkling candles and graced with a view of the su
n falling slowly into the ocean.

  Even the time without him had been magical. She’d walked along the ocean, treated herself to a full-body sugar scrub, wandered through the booths at the art festival.

  Perfect, perfect, perfect.

  She’d hoped they could have breakfast on the little balcony of her room this morning, but it was far too cold and the sea was blanketed with the usual Pacific fog. Evelyn shut the open window and turned up the heat, then cleared off the indoor dining table.

  By the time she heard a soft knock on the door, she’d left her momentary unhappiness behind. She wouldn’t ruin these last few moments together. She wanted to treasure them.

  Aware she wasn’t exactly being discreet, Evelyn signed for the two meals. It didn’t matter. Evelyn paid the credit card bills in her house. Plus, she didn’t particularly care if she was caught. Maybe she’d even welcome it.

  When the shower went quiet, she called out to let him know the food was here, then made sure to arrange herself carefully in her chair. Her robe was closed, but not too closed. Her hair was tamed but still tousled enough to remind him who had messed it up.

  He came out in only his towel but quickly dressed, much to her disappointment.

  “I turned up the heat,” she complained. “You don’t have to put on clothes.”

  “I do have to put on clothes or I’ll let you talk me into staying.”

  She crossed her leg and let the robe fall open all the way to the top of her thigh, but he only murmured, “I’m starving,” as he sat down, so Evelyn gave up and ate too.

  A few minutes later, he poured them both coffee. She took a careful sip and found him watching her. “What?” she asked.

  “Thank you for coming here.”

  “You’re very welcome,” she responded with a grin. “I was wrong when I said I couldn’t take anything better than that first morning on the couch. Apparently I can take a lot.”