Evvie Drake Starts Over(13)

“I still can’t believe it.”

“I know. I know.” Evvie pressed her hand to the back of Lila’s head.

Paul Schramm stepped up to them and said quietly, mostly to Pete, “We’re going to get started.”

Evvie and Lila stepped back from each other and Lila sat down beside her husband, who reached up and, with an even smile, squeezed Evvie’s hand.

Dr. Schramm began to speak to the little circle about how they were all gathered for this purpose, in this place, to remember one of the kindest doctors and one of the best men any of them had ever known. Andy had an arm around her, and she leaned against him a little. She was sure there were people standing around this lumpy little dirt ball, staring at a tree that wasn’t even a tree yet, who had drawn the wrong conclusions. About their breakfasts together, and about the fact that his girls would jump into her arms with such familiarity. She was sure there was talk about this, some of it excited and some of it about whether she was moving on too soon, like there was talk about everything else. Why wouldn’t there be? This had to be much hotter gossip than cereal-box racing.

She wondered sometimes if they’d ever thought she was good enough for the doctor. For them, she had gone directly from lobsterman’s daughter to doctor’s wife, and because they didn’t know anything, they figured it was a promotion. This was how she knew without a doubt that reputation, in many forms, was bullshit.

Tim had been effortlessly charming to nearly everyone who hadn’t married him. He was especially good with patients and people he outranked, because they most obligingly did what he told them to, and if they didn’t, he had reason to maintain that they should have. Evvie herself had thought of him as a very good boyfriend through high school and college.

   Later, when he had brought her to Christmas parties and she wouldn’t dance, she knew that all it did was make them love him more. They’d all say, “Oh, Eveleth, don’t be silly.” She’d say no, she wasn’t feeling well, and then they’d look at Tim with sympathy, like What a good man you are to love this. They wouldn’t have believed that the reasons she rarely felt like dancing with him had to do with the way he was at home. She knew the way he sort of glowed for most people. She probably knew it better than anybody, because she’d traded away more than anybody in return for it.



* * *



—

Evvie had been almost sixteen on the day in March of her sophomore year when Tim found her alone, dripping wet, and out of options. She was back from a band trip to Augusta, and she had a fleece jacket on and her clarinet case under one arm. The bus had come back at 4:20 and her dad had been scheduled to pick her up at 4:30. But it was 5:30 now, and it was raining. If her father was still working, she didn’t want to bother him, even if she could find a phone. She watched for anyone she knew, even though most of her friends were in band, too, and they’d already been picked up by parents or they’d driven off in twos and threes, laughing and waving. Evvie was just starting to wonder how, exactly, to get herself home when a blue Lexus pulled up to the curb in front of her. The license plate said DR8KE, which didn’t quite scan.

She and Tim Drake had been in the same class since third grade, but she didn’t know him very well. Still, the class was small, so she knew enough. She knew his dad was a lawyer, his mom owned a real fur, his sister was three years older than he was, and their dog was named Kenny—supposedly for Kennebunkport, where his mom grew up. Evvie and Tim had two classes together, and he’d held a door for her not long ago, throwing her a sideways smile. Other than that, they were effectively strangers.

   He rolled down the window of his car. “Hey, Evvie. Did you call a taxi?”

She frowned. “What? A taxi? No.”

He looked away, smiled, and looked back. “Do you need a ride? I’m asking if you need a ride.”

She laughed. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, yes. That makes sense, sorry.” It was raining a little harder. “And, I mean, yes, a ride. A ride would be great.”

“Okay, it’s open.”

She hustled around to the other side of the car. “Thanks,” she said as she realized she was getting the seat of his car wet. “I think my dad forgot to pick me up.”

“That’s okay. I remembered.” He smelled like cinnamon gum.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, no problem.” They sat in the car, and they didn’t move. “You live out by the water, right?”

“Oh! Right! I’m sorry, I live on Wexler. Do you know where that is?”

“You live near the bookstore.”

“Yeah, that’s where you turn, and then I’m down the hill.”

“Do you mind if we stop off?”

“At the bookstore?”

“Yeah. I like it in there.”

Evvie had been cold and wet with no ride home. A guy who smelled like cinnamon had picked her up in a Lexus, and now he wanted to stop at the used bookstore. “Sure,” she said. “That’d be fine. I’m not in a hurry.”

She couldn’t believe how smooth his windshield wipers were. They made the faintest, most soothing electric hum, nothing like the whappety-konk, whappety-konk of the blades on her dad’s truck. As they glided through town in the deepening dark, she felt…something. She looked over at him. “Um,” she said. “I think—it feels like the—”