When Adam Met Evie

by Giulia Skye

  He told himself he could barely remember what the gym bag contained, but really he knew.

  He reached for it now, unzipping it before he could change his mind. It was just a bag. Just stuff.

  Pushing aside a few vests and shorts, some socks stained with red dust, Michael pulled out the cheap watch he’d bought in Derby, still set to Northern Territory time. He dropped it onto his bed, then came across his Australian phone. The screen was blank, battery dead. Good, he thought. There were photographs on that phone, images of Evie he didn’t want to see again.

  But it was too late.

  The images came back anyway, and so did the glimpses of a dream he’d once had. It rushed toward him, swamping him. A dream of Adam and Evie, living in England. Of him opening the front door to the flat she’d often described to him, using his own key, calling out to her from a narrow corridor filled with the spicy fragrance of their evening meal. A dream of Evie standing in the small kitchen, lifting to the tips of her toes to kiss him, asking him about his day.

  Just a silly dream, he thought, stuffing the phone back in the bag. And the woman he dreamed it with was gone. He slung the bag by the wastebasket in the corner of the room. Yeah. He’d throw it all out tomorrow.

  He had other things to think about now. Other goals and new ambitions.

  The buzzer of his apartment door startled him and for a moment he stood still, wondering who it could be. It was past midnight and the concierge hadn’t called to inform him of any visitors.

  The door buzzed again.

  Heart racing and not knowing why, Michael walked through to the living room and flicked on the lights.

  Another buzz.

  It was ridiculous to think …

  He gripped the door handle, ready to fling it open, but then checked the peephole and felt like a fool. A crazy, delirious fool.

  Slowly, he opened the door. “What do you want, Saskia?”

  “Is that a trick question, Michael?” she drawled.

  He studied her. She was wearing a black jacket and dark denim jeans. Her hair was straight, sleekly swept to one side. Her cheeks looked flushed, her breathing heavy. “Are you high?”

  “Of course, not. I couldn’t risk the elevator, so I walked up fifty damn flights of stairs.”

  “You shouldn’t have bothered.”

  “Let me in.”

  He thought about saying no and slamming the door, but he had to face her at some point and now, in the dead of night, was as good a time as any. He let go of the handle and walked to the windows, hearing the door click shut behind him.

  “You’ve got five minutes.”

  “Five minutes?” She laughed. “Don’t be such an idiot, Michael. Nadia’s been in talks all week with Howie. I know he’s spoken to you and yet, you’re choosing to ignore the proposal.”

  “I’ve declined your proposal. Many times.”

  “You want me to sue you instead? Didn’t your lawyers tell you what damages you’ll be looking at?”

  “Yeah, they told me.”

  “You never were particularly bright.” She stalked over to him, her perfume stinking-up the space between them. “So let me explain it to you in really, really simple terms. You can’t cut me out of the Strive deal. I’m still your wife.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  “For as long as it takes for you to start repairing the damage you caused.” She turned to face him. “Tell everyone and anyone who asks that the pain meds you were taking for your shoulder warped your simple little mind, and I won’t sue. Take me out to dinner. Cocktails. Whatever. Be by my side at all the events we’re required to attend, and then, when we’re the happy couple again, I’m the one who’s dumping you.”

  Michael stared at the finger Saskia was pointing at him, then slowly raised his eyes to hers. “Not interested.”

  Saskia laughed again. “Poor baby, you still don’t get it.”

  “I’m not doing it, Saskia.”

  She turned and walked to the windows again, her reflection staring back at him. “You had quite the fun time in Australia, didn’t you? What did you enjoy more? The landscape or that girl I caught you with in the bushes?”

  Michael tensed. “She’s a nobody.”

  “Those awful clothes she was wearing. Took me a few moments to realize she was female.”

  “Okay.” He made his way to the door. “Your five minutes are over now.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I can’t remember.” Michael spread his fingers around the handle and squeezed. “You’ve gotta—”

  “Evelyn Elizabeth Blake.”

  Michael froze.

  “Now you remember.” Saskia reached into her jacket and handed him two photographs. “She was born in the county of Kent in England. She’s an accountant. Her mother teaches music, and—oh—her father. Now, he’s a very interesting character.”

  Michael stared at the images of him and Evie among the bushes the last time they’d spoken, his lips pressed to her forehead. He clenched his jaw so hard it ached. He’d witnessed Saskia’s volatile nature many times before, but this was the first time he’d ever become afraid—afraid of what he might do to her. He’d never hit a woman before and it was a test on his sanity that he was close to hitting one now. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

  “Why?” Saskia trailed a finger along his chest. “She’s a nobody, remember?”

  Michael gripped her wrist. “Leave her alone,” he said again. “She has nothing to do with this.”

  Saskia’s lips curled. “Just as I thought. You might not care about the money, but you care about her.” She shook his grip away. “Six months, Michael. I’m not losing the Strive deal because of you.” Her gaze met his steely stare. “Our first dinner date is Saturday night. Wear a suit, don’t forget to shave and, for God’s sake, get a haircut.” She breezed past him and into the hall. “I’ll have a car pick you up at eight.”

  CHAPTER 34

  On the last night of her Darwin-to-Alice Springs tour, Evie sat on a sandy hill with the rest of her tour group watching the sun set on Uluru. As the massive rock turned red, her mind wandered back against her will to that first sunset at Windjana.

  Their first kiss.

  Rusty and clumsy.

  Their first time. On the bonnet of the truck.

  I don’t sleep around.

  He’d said there was no one else. It had felt so real. He’d been so real.

  I’ve never felt like this before.

  Had it all been lies?

  There was a twist in her gut. I’m still Adam, he’d said as he’d held her against that tree. He’d looked so pained. So scared. So desperate. But all she’d thought about was that naïve fourteen-year-old girl she’d once been. Believing one thing, finding out another.

  The tour guide handed Evie a half-filled plastic beaker of fizzy wine. “Pretend it’s Dom Perignon,” he said, nodding over to where the luxury coach tours had set up white-clothed tables and chilled champagne in tall glass flutes. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” Evie lowered her cup, the wine sickly sweet on her lips. She was tired of pretending. Pretending that she was okay, pretending that she was strong and brave. She necked the rest of her wine. She was none of those things. Not when it really mattered.

  She hadn’t felt brave when the river had burst its banks, when she’d urged Adam not to risk his life crossing the rapids to save a woman in need. And she certainly hadn’t felt brave when she’d heard his wife say, He’s married to me.

  One look at his beautiful wife and she’d fled, escaping with the sole conviction that she’d been made to look a fool. Made to do the very thing she’d avoided doing her whole adult life—run away. Things had got tough, they’d got messy, and she’d run away.

  “Come, Evie!” the tour guide called. “We’re going back to the bus.”


  Evie looked about her. She hadn’t noticed that the sun had set and the rock had gone dark, the sky a deep purple black. She fell in line alongside her tour group, her stomach curdling, her heart pinching.

  Had it all been lies? The way he’d held her hand. The way he’d kissed her goodnight, under the stars. How he’d shake his head trying not to smile when she did something silly. How he’d carried her through the tunnel when she’d been afraid. How he’d come back for her in Darwin.

  No. She listened to her heart. It hadn’t all been a lie.

  She’d been dazed with shock and confusion, but now her inbuilt turbo was sparking back into life, revving and ready to learn the truth. What if she contacted him? Evie wouldn’t risk email, but she could write him a letter, asking him to explain.

  Gripped by this possibility, she couldn’t wait to be back in Alice Springs. The following morning, she walked the rim of Kings Canyon, trying to take in the stunning scenery while desperate to be back at the hostel. Desperate to have the internet at her fingertips. It had been three weeks since Bert’s Waterfall. Three weeks of reliving the minutiae of their time together, and she was finally asking questions.

  Why had he lied?

  Why had he said he loved her?

  Why had he come back for her in Darwin?

  Why had he introduced her to his friends?

  If she hadn’t run away, she’d know.

  But what then?

  Finally, Evie was saying goodbye to her tour guide and checking in to the hostel with the rest of the group. She pulled her phone out of her bag the moment she got to her dorm bed. She plugged it in to charge, then logged on to the hostel’s Wi-Fi, searching for a postal address, the words she’d write him already formed in her mind. You said it was complicated. I’m ready to listen.

  But she was wiser now than that fourteen-year-old girl. She’d write to Shane and Krista, asking them to contact him on her behalf. She typed in their street name, eager to search for a relating postcode so that the letter would find its way quickly to them. The Wi-Fi was slow, the pages clumsy to navigate on her small screen. Finally, with shaking hands, she wrote down their full address in her notebook. Tomorrow she’d send them a letter asking them to call Adam because she needed to talk to him. No, not Adam. Michael. Michael Adams. The name sat awkwardly on her tongue.

  Succumbing to curiosity again, she tapped his real name into Google. Where was he now? What was he doing?

  A headline stopped her.

  ADAMS: I WANT SASKIA BACK!

  She scanned the article, her lungs empty, her head pounding.

  Saskia Williams was again seen enjoying cocktails last night with her husband. A close friend of the couple has stated Adams wants to repair damage to their marriage. “He deserves a second a chance,” says Saskia, who has never stopped wearing the sixty-four carat wedding band.

  He’d gone back to his wife.

  Evie somehow forced her fingers to move. She somehow managed to focus on the screen of her phone. Somehow managed to type out a message to her mum.

  I’m coming home.

  “That was a good interview,” Howie said, as they crawled along with Vancouver’s lunchtime traffic in the back of their chauffeured town car. “They love you again.”

  A week had passed since his first dinner date with Saskia, and the press were still hungry for more news about their on-again, off-again marriage. Michael stared vacantly out of the window. He didn’t share Howie’s—or the public’s—enthusiasm for the rumors that he and Saskia had reconciled. “Where to next?”

  “St. Mildred’s Hospital.” Howie gave him a quick briefing on the new physiotherapy ward he was to be opening. “But we’re running late for Stevie’s Drive Time so we’ll have to cut it short.”

  Michael continued to look outside. It had started to rain. Droplets darted against his window. On the sidewalk, everyday people went about their everyday lives, and he thought how slowly the clocks had ticked in the lazy heat of the Kimberleys. “I’ll cut Stevie’s interview short instead.”

  “You can’t. It’s up against the six o’clock news hour. They have strict run times.”

  Michael slowly turned to Howie and raised one eyebrow.

  Howie sighed in defeat. “Okay, I’ll let them know.” He glanced back to his smartphone. “Any more thoughts to that photo shoot on Tuesday?”

  “I told you, I’ll be out of town until Thursday.” He heard Howie sigh again. “If they want me, they’ll postpone until the following week.”

  “But you’ll miss the start of their campaign.”

  Michael shrugged. “So shoot me.”

  He could hear Howie’s frustration now. The man deserved a medal for keeping it in check but it had been one of Michael’s conditions. He’d go along with Saskia’s plan—for Evie’s sake, he had no choice—but everything else would remain up to him.

  “You still haven’t told me where you’re going,” Howie said.

  “That’s right, I haven’t.”

  Rain fell harder now. People dashed into shop doorways, pulled hoods and umbrellas over their heads, plastic covers over pushchairs. More rain was forecast for next week and the week after, just in time for Christmas.

  “Taking another vacation, Mikey?”

  Michael slowly shook his head. “Nope.”

  He was through with his kind of vacations now.

  He was through with running away.

  Three hours out of Vancouver on the Trans-Canada Highway and the rain had turned to snow. Michael’s wipers flicked the flakes away as he glanced up into the mountains that skirted the road. Thick lines of white collected on rocks and ledges, the sky heavy and gray above.

  It was a twelve-hour drive to Edmonton. The last time he’d visited his aunt Florence—embarrassingly too long ago—he’d taken a flight, but he needed this … this pause in his new life. He’d needed the road again.

  While Saskia shot her solo part in the latest Strive Sportswear commercial, he’d managed to keep five days clear of all engagements. His involvement in the campaign wouldn’t start until Friday, which meant he finally had some time alone—time he didn’t want to spend in his apartment, thinking, remembering. Dwelling on what could have been.

  So he’d chosen the road. Chosen to see the expanse of land and sky outside of the city.

  Saskia’s deal meant he’d had to put his own business plans on hold, but he’d use the time wisely anyway, only giving her control of one small part of his life. While in Edmonton, he’d research and plan. Get advice from experts, line up an ideal team and, having already scheduled a call with Brandon Wahlberg the day after tomorrow, he’d also work out his finances.

  Five hours into his drive, Michael pulled his Escalade into a service station, filled up the tank and bought himself a coffee. Black, no sugar. Bitter, just how he liked it. In about four hours, he’d be in Banff where he’d spend the night, then continue out to Flo’s house the next morning. She hadn’t wanted him to do the drive in one go, like he’d originally planned.

  “Are you nuts, Mikey?” she’d said. “I’ve been waiting two years for you to come visit. I can wait one more day.”

  Two years? Had it really been that long since he’d seen her?

  When his father had first taken him to live in Vancouver, Flo had rented a tiny apartment a few streets away having put her own life on hold to ensure he settled. To ensure he was growing “into the fine young man his mother always wanted him to become.”

  But she’d hated the city. She’d given up her small farm to be with him, but as the years passed, she’d missed it too much. She’d missed the hens she’d had to give away, missed the vegetables she could no longer grow.

  “You don’t need me anymore, Mikey,” she’d said.

  “Sure I do,” he’d insisted. But he was growing up fast. He’d found his passion in life. He’d come first
in the under thirteens’ fifty-meter sprint. Second in the four hundred. He’d lived for the water.

  One afternoon, he’d overheard her talking to his father. “I hate to admit it, Bob,” she’d said, “but you’re doing a good job with Michael. Alison would have been pleased, even if she did despise your two-timing guts.”

  Florence had always spoken her mind.

  And the next day, when Michael finally arrived at his aunt’s house and knocked on her door, she spoke it again. “You look tired and pale. And what’s happened to your razor?”

  Michael ignored her and gave her a big hug before she’d even finished her sentence. She was smaller and frailer than he remembered. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” he said, his throat tight and dry. They both knew he wasn’t talking about the drive.

  As if he were twelve again, she patted him on the back. “I knew you’d come one day.”

  This wasn’t the house he’d grown up in. Michael could barely remember that house, bar that it wasn’t that far from here on the other side of the North Saskatchewan River.

  His mother, Alison, had lost both her parents by the time she’d met his father. Bobby Adams had been studying journalism then, part-timing as a trainee for the local paper whose news office was situated next to the hair salon where his mother had worked. They’d dated for six months, until he’d left her for a blonde his aunt had once referred to as Charlotte the Harlot. Alison had moved in with Florence, her father’s sister, heartbroken and pregnant.

  Aunt Flo brewed coffee and offered Michael cookies still warm from the oven. Michael took one, then another, a famished overgrown schoolboy at her kitchen table. Standing in the middle of the kitchen holding a carton of milk, she asked, “What are your plans for Christmas?” She still wore her hair in a tight bun, gray wisps fraying at the edges. Flo smiled and he became aware that he’d been staring at her for some time.

  He reached for another cookie. “I suspect I’ll be holed up in my apartment. I guess Dad will come over.”