Much Ado About You(91)

“It’s not just about him,” Greer suddenly said. “The way you talked about them during our catch-ups . . . it’s all of them. It’s the village and your friends, not just him. You’re homesick.”

“I’m not homesick,” I denied. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

It was true. I was renting a car and driving to Carmel to stay with my mom and Phil for a while.

“That’s not your home, Evie.”

“Greer . . .” I sighed. “Can we not? Can we just talk about the baby?”

“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “Once the baby is here, that’s all we’ll talk about, trust me. So before the baby takes over everything, we’re talking about this, even if you hate me for it. Because . . .” She leaned toward me, her expression openly concerned. “I’ve never seen you like this. Not even about your mom.”

“Like what?” I asked dully.

“Like that.” Greer gestured to me impatiently. “Voice flat, eyes hard and empty. Every now and then I’ll see pain in them, which is a far sight better than nothing at all. You’ve lost weight.”

“I can’t lose weight in a week.” But it was true. My jeans felt a little looser around the waist.

“Evie . . . you’re grieving.”

“So what if I am?”

“So what if you are?” she snapped. “Evie, Roane didn’t die! The village didn’t disappear. You made a choice to leave him and it behind. Are you sure it was the right choice?”

I stared at her in disbelief. “He lied. They lied.”

“A white lie. Okay, two white lies. But he’s not your mom. This doesn’t mean he’ll lie to you again. Or that everything he showed you about who he is isn’t the truth. Don’t you think if you can forgive your mom for years of disappointing you, you can forgive him for one slipup?”

I glared at her. “I held him to a higher standard than that.”

“Well, that’s on you. Not him. He’s just a human being.”

Astonished, I flew to my feet. “How can you take his side?”

“Because,” she replied calmly. “You tore out of there before giving yourself a chance to process what happened. The result being a miserable not even half version of my best friend standing in my sitting room.”

“I don’t need to take this.” I grabbed my purse and turned to leave.

“Evie, stop.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Greer pull herself to standing. She gave me an appeasing look.

“Let me just ask one more thing and you can storm out of here after.”

I nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

“What terrified you so much that you cut him out without even considering forgiving him?”

Fresh tears welled in my eyes. I shrugged.

“That’s not an answer,” Greer pushed.

“It was proof, okay. Proof that none of it was real. It was all a lie, a fantasy, and I acted impulsively and naively.”

“It was all a fantasy . . . why . . . because you were happy? Do you think it can’t be real if it makes you that happy?”

“Apparently not.”

“Evie—”

“I just . . . I thought he was better. I thought he would never hurt me.” The tears spilled free.

Greer hurried across the room to wrap her arms around me. She was shorter than me and her bump was in the way, but she did her best to hug me. When she finally released me, she said, “No one is perfect, Evie. And no matter how good a person is, it would be rare for them to go through life never hurting anyone, unintentionally or not. Have you?”

I knew I’d hurt people unintentionally in the past. And I knew I’d hurt Roane by leaving.

“No,” I whispered.

“Then why,” Greer asked gently, “should Roane be held to a higher standard than you hold yourself? Why should all of them be? Sounds to me like they liked you so much, they were willing to band together just to help their boy keep you permanently in his life.”

I sucked in a breath, feeling like she’d punched me in the gut.

Confusion swamped me as those doubts I felt from the moment I’d gotten in that cab swam up to the surface.

“Fuck,” I breathed.



* * *



? ? ?

Carmel was a very pretty city in Indiana. Driving through its streets brought back wave after wave of nostalgia and memories. Although I’d grown up in the lower-income side of town, when I was in college, Phil got a promotion to management in the industrial equipment manufacturing plant where he worked. This meant he and Mom could move to a nicer house, although I think it was a struggle to keep it since they had Mom’s rehab bills to pay.

I’d offered up my inheritance a long time ago to cover those bills, but Phil had stubbornly refused.

They lived on a picture-perfect suburban street, where every house was the same except in color. They all had triangular slate roofs and a Palladian porch, but some were red brick and others were painted pale blue, lemon yellow, or light gray.

Mom and Phil’s house was pale gray, but while most others on the street looked like they’d recently had a fresh coat of paint, theirs was looking a little in need of love.

After I parked the rental car in the drive behind Phil’s truck, I’d barely taken a step out of the vehicle when the front door flew open and Phil appeared.