Evvie Drake Starts Over(69)

“Of course,” Dean said, picking at the label on the neck of the beer bottle. “I spent two years trying to figure all this shit out. I pitch one good inning against—no offense—guys who aren’t that good, and everything’s wide open again. I’m trying to figure out if I’m going to regret it.”

“You’re not going to regret it,” Evvie said, staring directly at her glass. “It’s going to go great.”

   “Wow, that’s a bold promise,” Andy told her.

“I’m a bold girl,” Evvie said.

“All right,” Andy muttered.

“Okay, you two,” Dean said as he sawed off another piece of sausage. “Monica, what’s new with you?”

Monica talked about her classes and the turmoil in her book club, which had been infiltrated by someone who was very unhappy that nobody ever read the books. Most recently, the book had been Infinite Jest, and Monica ran her hands over her hair in aggravation as she explained that of course they didn’t read Infinite Jest, and the point of book club was socializing, and if you had something to say about the book, that was perfectly fine, but you can’t come in and inflict your own rules on everyone. “I honestly think they’re going to blow up the whole book club and instead of having a book club where you don’t read the book, they’ll have a knitting group.”

Dean nodded. “Made up of people who can’t knit.”

“Perfect,” Monica agreed.

“Maybe you could take Evvie,” Andy said. “She could use something to do.”

Evvie leveled her eyes at him. “What does that mean?”

“You said you wanted a project,” Andy said, slathering butter on another piece of bread. “What happened to all that? You don’t want to do that anymore?” He threw his third bottle cap into the sink, where it clattered to a stop.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You used to talk about going back to school. You still thinking about that?”

“I don’t know. Things take time. Apparently it only takes six months to be the guru of active social lives, but—”

“I didn’t say I was the guru of anything. I said you keep talking about it and you’re not doing it. You’d say the same thing to me if I were sitting around my house all the time.”

Evvie had never considered herself any good at comebacks. Tim had caught her flat-footed all the time, saying things that left her shocked and stubbornly silent, if stubbornly anything at all. Growing up, she’d never had a thing to say to the kids who teased her about her small house or her too-short jeans. But on this occasion, with the belly full of food and the tongue loosened by pinot grigio, she looked at Andy and found precisely the right combination of ice and taunt and tart and sweet when she said, “Oh, I’m keeping myself occupied right here at home, Andy, don’t worry about it.”

   She, of course, was the one who had said she didn’t want to tell him. And she hadn’t, but of course, she had.

Andy’s eyes flicked from her to Dean and then to Monica, whose look was hilariously transparent: Well, what do you want? I told you. “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Andy said, and he went back to eating his steak.

“Evvie, I can’t get over how great your house is,” Monica said, grabbing the conversational wheel and pulling as hard as she could away from the ditch as the tires squealed. “Like I said, I’ve always thought you had the prettiest porch in the entire town, but the rest of the house is just as gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I can’t take credit for very much of it; my late husband bought the house without even telling me, so.” Evvie could feel the sway now, the way she knew it would take her a minute if she tried to stand up. “But it all worked out,” she quickly added.

Andy went to empty his mussel shells into the big pot on the table and he frowned suddenly at his bowl. “Hey, what happened to the flower dishes? I haven’t ever seen these, I don’t think.”

“I put them away,” Evvie said quickly, pouring more wine. “They’re in the basement.” She was pretty sure Dean was looking disapprovingly at her, but she ignored it.

“Did you get tired of them?”

“Yep. Just wanted a change. I like these, they’re simple.”

“Boy, out with the old and in with the new over here, huh?” Andy said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean jumped in. “Okay, that’ll do, Tipsy McGee, Buzz Lightbeer. I say we go sit outside now that it’s not so hot. I’ll bring the brownies, because I’m going to stuff about ten of them down my throat.”

   Evvie grabbed the wine bottle she’d only just started on, and indeed, when she stood up, she reached out and steadied herself against the side of the table. “You good?” Dean muttered. She nodded and winked at him.

Out in the dark, they lit a candle and sat around the metal patio table. Monica slipped her shoes off and put her feet on Andy’s lap, and Evvie looked at the candle flicker reflected in her wine when she held her glass in close. “This is cool,” she said, her words beginning to slur.

“I’m not sure you want to be too close to an open flame right now,” Dean said, scooting the candle away from her. “And don’t breathe on it either. We’re going to get a flamethrower situation.”