Gary had finally confessed to the authorities.
Not willingly, of course. Evelyn had left him no choice. She’d told him if he didn’t confess, she’d tell the whole truth and he’d go to jail and lose everything. If he went to the authorities himself, she’d simply file for divorce, and he would lose half. He’d wisely chosen to lose half. Well, half plus a little more. The settlement with the Brighams was to be signed today.
Evelyn dialed her lawyer. “Is it done?” she asked, skipping all the niceties.
“His attorney called five minutes ago. It’s done.”
Evelyn slumped against the railing in relief. “They agreed to two hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yes. Both your husband and the Brighams have signed.”
“It’s over,” she whispered into the wind.
“Not quite. The divorce will take a few more days to finalize, but aside from that, yes, it’s over.”
Evelyn wasn’t worried about the divorce. She’d finalized that in her mind months ago. She’d asked for a lot, but not as much as she could have. And she’d let Gary take what he needed: his reputation, his work, his freedom.
She hadn’t done that for him. She’d done that for Cameron, for Juliette, for Noah, though none of them would ever know.
That day on the floor of her bathroom, she’d given up completely, but somehow that was when the answer had become so clear. She’d dropped every defense, every lie she’d told herself about being strong, and that had freed her mind.
Because she hadn’t been strong. Not then. She’d been an animal willing to chew off limbs to escape the trap that had snapped around her. She’d been eager to destroy lives just to avoid making a choice that scared her. She could still feel that last pill stuck in her throat, the dig of its edges lifting the veil from her thinking.
She hadn’t been strong, but she could be.
She’d told Gary in no uncertain terms that as soon as Cameron graduated, they’d begin divorce proceedings. And as soon as Cameron left for college, Gary would go to the police.
He’d balked, of course. Panicked. Begged. Raged. But Evelyn had leverage that couldn’t be dislodged: she had the truth.
It had been a difficult needle to thread, protecting Juliette Whitman from further pain while bringing the Brigham family some peace, but Evelyn had managed it. She’d agreed not to reveal that Gary had been sleeping with a patient if he would take sole responsibility for the accident.
Responsibility, of course, was too strong a word. It was Gary, after all. There had been hours and hours of meetings with a criminal defense attorney before Gary had even agreed. His lawyer had negotiated a plea deal with the district attorney’s office. That part had been surprisingly easy. A rich white man with no criminal record willing to plead guilty to not reporting an accident? The police had already stopped investigating the case. Gary’s confession was an unexpected gift dropped in their laps.
He’d been too resentful of Evelyn to tell her the details, but she’d gleaned enough to know that Gary had admitted only to hitting someone or something. He’d claimed he thought it was a deer until weeks later when he’d heard about Kaylee’s death. He’d been scared to go to the police, his attorney had said, but he’d finally worked up to it out of the goodness of his heart.
In the end, his driver’s license had been suspended for six months, and he’d attended a four-hour class on defensive driving.
During civil settlement discussions with yet more attorneys, Evelyn had said she knew nothing about any of it. She didn’t remember that night. They’d never discussed it. A lie, yes, but the last lie she meant to tell for a good, long while.
It wasn’t a perfect solution. She’d made Gary promise he’d never victimize another patient, but she couldn’t be sure. Still, she couldn’t turn him in. That was Juliette’s story to tell . . . or to never tell.
Evelyn shook off the memories. “You’ve got my new address,” she told her attorney. “When everything is finalized with the divorce, send the documents there. The money can be wired to my account.”
Cash was a little tight, but even that felt good, because she’d used all her savings for a down payment on a new house. An investment. A beginning.
She was finally starting to find bits of herself she’d lost years ago. Most of those pieces had nothing to do with men or lust or marriage. They were hers and hers alone. And in finding them, she discovered she was no longer angry. Not at Gary. Not at Juliette or Noah. Not even at herself. Whatever she thought had been taken from her, those were parts she’d given away willingly. She’d offered love or caring or sacrifice, and if she’d wanted more in return from Gary or Noah or family or friends, it had been her job to ask.
But she’d never asked, because she’d been the easy path. For everyone. She supported Gary through his residency and early career. She cooked his meals, cleaned his house, raised his child. She surprised him with little treats or trips when he was stressed. She put his clothes highest in the dresser so he wouldn’t have to bend down to get his socks in the morning. She made holidays special for their family and friends. She smiled at strangers to brighten their days and apologized to people when they bumped into her. She took on the volunteer work that no one wanted to do, filled gaps that needed filling, tried to make sure everyone had fun at parties when she wasn’t even hosting.
And who had ever done that for her? Who made her life easier while she was busy being easy for everyone else?
No one. There’d been no need. She’d never asked.
She even knew why. It was right there, so obvious to her and probably to everyone else. She’d chosen a life she felt she didn’t belong to. A neat, wealthy world of country clubs and nuclear families. A life she’d only known from TV shows and movies. She’d thought she needed to earn her way in. So she’d worked hard at it.
It had been no different with Noah. She’d believed he was too handsome for her. Too cool. Too exciting and forbidden and sexy. So she’d made herself easy to love.
And boy, had she been easy. The path of least resistance for a brief moment in Noah’s life. And when that path had gotten sticky and complicated, it had been time for a new one. She hadn’t been worth the work.
He hadn’t claimed to love her. He’d never even called her beautiful. Not once. Not when he’d eased off her dress or kissed her neck or slid inside her. He’d never breathed, “You’re so beautiful, Evelyn,” not even when she’d stretched out on the bed and bravely offered him her whole body.
Because even she hadn’t believed she was beautiful. She’d only been easy to talk to, easy to get, easy to please.
But she could forgive herself all of that now. She’d made those choices out of fear, and she wasn’t afraid anymore. From now on, if something was important to her, she would demand it. Because the truth was that she belonged anywhere she wanted to be, and she was beautiful just for being brave.
The sun shifted around her as the ferry turned. The roar of the engines dropped to a lower pitch. Evelyn returned to her vehicle, and a few minutes later she was nervously easing it off the ferry and back onto dry land. That had been the most stressful part of the trip so far, guiding her SUV and rented trailer onto the bobbing ferry. But she’d have to get used to it. At the very least, there’d be a big trip to the mainland for groceries once or twice a month.
That was why she’d kept the Range Rover, but she had fantasies of zipping around in a little electric car someday. Maybe in a year or two, when she was more sure of what she’d need.
The cars made a slow procession down the ferry road, then Evelyn turned left and was free. A new place. A new start.
She’d read online that all the cells in a person’s body replaced themselves over time. Taste buds once a week, skin cells every month, blood cells every six weeks or so.
If that was true, then no one had ever touched this body. No one had run a hand over this waist, or stroked this skin, or slid a touch down this spine. No one had been inside her, and these hands
had never caressed a man. Even her child was a separate person now. No part of the womb that had held him was still within her.
She was her own person now. Her own being. Old and new selves together, all her strengths and weaknesses combined into someone she couldn’t wait to know.
Following the directions sent by her Realtor, she turned onto a narrow, pitted road and eased her vehicle up a hill. At the top were rows of little cottages. She spotted hers right away.
She’d bought it sight unseen, though she wasn’t sure that saying applied in the modern age. There’d been dozens of pictures, after all, and a detailed inspection report. But the gray wood and white trim were instantly recognizable, even among the other similar structures. Evelyn pulled into the gravel driveway and jumped out to race up the front steps.
The key was under a little flower pot, just where the Realtor had promised. The flowers were dead, but she would fix that soon enough.
Opening the door, Evelyn found that the house was exactly as represented. Nothing fancy or new, just a tiny cottage with only a sliver of a view of the sea. But it was hers. And the living room and kitchen were exactly as described. Homey if she was being generous, run-down if she wasn’t. But there were two bedrooms, so Cameron could visit from college anytime. Or Sharon could come for a week with her kids every summer. There was a table for six, more than she needed. And there was the deck.
Evelyn walked outside to take in her new backyard.
The stained wood of the deck needed scraping and painting. The one tree on her property was half dead and would require trimming at the least, and the sliver of view of the water was just that: a sliver. But she could hear the ocean and smell the sea, and the sandy path at the bottom of her stairs led right to a trail to a rocky beach.
She breathed in. Let it fill her. New lungs. New air. She closed her eyes, but the promise of it all made her dizzy, and she had to open them again.
Another seabird floated above her. A tern, she thought, and suddenly she needed to see the ocean. Her ocean. The one she planned to walk to every morning. The one she planned to paint. It would be her companion here, and she should meet it right away.
She was halfway down the stairs when a voice called out. Looking around in confusion, Evelyn finally spotted an older couple coming up the trail with a tiny dog.
“Hello!” the woman called. “Hello!”
“Hi!” she yelled back, jogging down the rest of the steps to meet them.
“You must be the new neighbor.”
“I am!”
“Oh, we’re so excited. Outside of summer we hardly see anyone new, as you can imagine. And there are only a thousand of us here year-round. Are you going to live here year-round?”
“Yes—”
“Oh, that’s lovely. So lovely. We’re the Harleys, and we’re only three houses down. Are you moving in today?”
“Yes, I just got off the ferry, and—”
“Well, I’m Win, and this is Bob. Are you retired? Most of us are retired, but the—”
“For godssake, Win,” the man finally interrupted. “Let the woman speak. I’m Bob Harley.” He offered a hand, his gray mustache trembling in the breeze. “Welcome to Block Island.”
She took his hand, feeling as if she were shaking on a very important deal. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Evie Farrington. I’m an artist.”
And maybe she really was.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Victoria Helen Stone is the nom de plume for USA Today bestselling author Victoria Dahl. After publishing more than twenty-five novels, she is now taking a turn toward the darker side of genre fiction. Born and educated in the Midwest, she finished her first manuscript just after college. In 2016, the American Library Association awarded her the prestigious Reading List Award for outstanding genre fiction. Having escaped the plains of her youth, she now resides with her family in a small town high in the Rocky Mountains, where she enjoys hiking, snowshoeing, and not skiing (too dangerous).
Evelyn, After: A Novel Page 23