Evvie Drake Starts Over(8)

When she opened it, Andy wasn’t there. There was only a man, strikingly tall, with green eyes and dark hair flecked with gray. He had a sunburn on his left arm, likely from hanging it out a car window. “Oh,” she said. “Hi there.” Andy hadn’t mentioned that the guy was particularly good-looking, but he probably didn’t even know. Andy was such a decent guy, and he was such a dummy about this stuff.

   “Evvie,” he said.

“I bet you’re Dean,” she said, extending her hand.

He clasped it and said, “Good to meet you. I hope you don’t mind. I was afraid if I brought Andy, you’d feel like you should say yes to shut him up, so I left him at home.”

She looked at his eyes, his wrists, his high cheekbones, all the years of sun on his skin, and the way he didn’t look as young as she’d thought he would. “Sure, come on in, it’s fine.” Remembering to let go of his hand, she stepped to the side, and he squeezed past her into the house. As she closed the door, she encountered his shoulder and got a whiff of detergent and maybe bacon, which she figured Andy had been putting in front of him all morning, next to the same frozen waffles the girls favored on the weekends. “When did you get to town?” she asked.

He looked around the living room a little. “I got here yesterday afternoon. I caught up with Andy and his kids. We haven’t seen each other in a few years.”

“That sounds like fun. Did the girls ask you about where you live? They’re very into geography right now. Maps and globes, the shape of the coast.”

“They did. I had to promise to take them on the subway someday. I think they’re going to be disappointed that it doesn’t feel as much like a roller coaster as it looks like on a map.”

“Did Lilly ask you to play Doc McStuffins?”

“Yeah. She was very thorough. I’m supposed to go back in six months for a follow-up.”

Evvie nodded. “Abundance of caution, sure.”

“I’ve been in worse hands.” He smiled, about a third of the way. It was a pretty good third of a smile.

“So you drove up from Manhattan? How long does that take?”

“Eight hours, give or take.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. The good news is that there’s a lot of radio to listen to.”

   “What do you like? Sports talk and stuff?”

“Oh, no. Jerks who don’t play sports fighting about sports is not my idea of a good time,” he said. “I’m more of a public radio guy.”

“Hey, me, too,” she said. “Or podcasts.”

“My brother’s trying to get me into those. I’m always afraid it’s going to be, like, three guys on Skype getting high and talking about jam bands. What kind do you listen to?”

“One about music, one about design, a couple about politics when I can stand it. A bunch that are just, you know, ‘Today on our show, a man who learned everything and nothing at all.’ That stuff. And one where a guy summarizes horror novels. I’m not sure how I got listening to that one; I’m not a horror person.”

“It’s not bad to know a little something about the things you don’t care about,” he said.

She laughed. “That’s how I am about Sports Illustrated, no offense.”

“Oh, none taken.”

“So,” she said, “anyway. This is the house. The apartment is in back. It doesn’t have a separate entrance, so you’d come in this way, or there’s a side door into the kitchen from the yard. But it’s a straight shot”—she walked him through the house—“back to the kitchen, and then it’s this door, right through here.” She kept the apartment door closed, and she hadn’t had the heat on in there, so it was a little chilly when she opened it up. “It stays nice and warm normally, promise.”

He stepped in behind her and closed the door, and then they were standing in the middle of all that beige carpeting with the cloudy gray light coming in the big windows. She reached up and pulled the chain on the overhead light, but after he’d walked around a bit, he reached up and shut it off again. He went to the bathroom door and swung it open, then shut it again and came back to her. He seemed to be stretching out a sore shoulder as he opened and closed the refrigerator in the kitchenette. He walked back and stood with his hands on his hips. “I feel like I should ask you questions.”

   “Do you have questions?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well,” she said, “let me think of answers. You can have whoever over that you want, of course, it won’t bother me. I’m usually working upstairs, or in the living room where you came in. You’ve got the kitchenette in here, but if you need anything in the big kitchen, there’s plenty of room.”

“I’m only good at grilled cheese,” he said. “And Pringles. I’m also good with Pringles.”

“Just cans of Pringles, or, like, you cook with Pringles?”

“Just Pringles. I buy them, I open the package, and then I stuff them straight into my face.”

“Ah. Got it. That’s how I make Oreos,” she said. He grinned, and she told him about the washer and dryer, the gas grill outside, and the spot beside the house where he could park.