Leo's Chance(2)

I've been following her for a couple days now and I've ascertained that she's not married – thank God. I don't even want to think about how I would have handled that. But I don't know yet if she has a boyfriend or if she's dating anyone. I don’t know if it’ll stop me, but it’d be nice to know what I’m up against.

She works at the Hilton downtown and she doesn't own a car. I hate that she busses it everywhere she goes. It makes me feel better when I'm following in my car because I know she's safe as long as I'm watching. A small voice in the back of my head tells me that she’s been doing okay without me watching out for her for eight years and I cringe inwardly, a spear of guilt stabbing through my chest.

She seems to be doing pretty well for herself despite the fact that she can’t be making very much money. But she lives in a decent part of Clifton, a neighborhood near the University of Cincinnati, and she dresses nicely and is clearly doing a damn good job of taking care of herself. I’m not surprised. She’s still the Evie I remember. I feel a fierce pride take hold. Hell, I had seen girls with far fewer problems than Evie turn into sniveling messes when their manicure appointments were cancelled. I had hung out with far too many of them myself. But who was I to judge? I had been weak, too.

The first time I saw Evie when I got back to Cincinnati, I had been waiting in my car, parked across the street from her apartment. She came walking out, dressed in jeans and a sweater, her long dark hair hanging loose down her back. My mouth got dry and my breath came out in a harsh exhale as I stared, frozen, watching her move down the street. I didn’t know it was possible to hold your breath for eight years, but apparently, it is. She had been a beautiful girl, but she had grown into a stunning woman. She was still small and slender, but now with feminine curves that she hadn't had the last time I saw her. Emotions came slamming back, making it feel like it was only yesterday that I had kissed her on our roof, and told her to wait for me and that I would wait for her, come for her, love her forever. But I had failed.

As I followed her around, I was reminded of the strength of my girl, and I saw that she was still the caring, giving Evie I had known. She smiled at everyone and she stopped and helped when she could have easily kept walking. People who came into contact with her looked like they were holding themselves back from calling to her as they watched her walk away. I couldn't blame them. My girl… that's just not smart thinking, man. I had already been dangerously invested even before I got a glance of her and now… it was going to completely destroy me if she rejected me right off the bat.

After only a couple days of following Evie, I was pretty damn sure that I was already even more in love with her than I was when I was fifteen years old. Now I just had to figure out what the hell to do. I went over it and over it in my mind and I couldn't nail down an answer. My longing to talk to her, to touch her, was so all-consuming that I could hardly sit still. I went to my office every day and I had to force myself to concentrate on what I was supposed to be doing. The question, what should I do bouncing around in my head until I thought I'd go crazy. After years and years of pining for her so intensely, she was right in front of me, and yet she was still a thousand miles away.

**********

When I was a kid, I used to hate picture day at school. Not because I gave a shit about that kind of thing, but I could tell Evie did and it f*cking killed me. Any other day of the year and we could somewhat blend in with our worn clothes and messy hair. But on picture day, all the other kids would show up with new clothes, the girls with bows in their hair, envelopes of money ready to hand to the teacher. No one gave a rat's ass if they had a picture of their foster kid to hang on the wall. No one cared to document what I looked like in fifth grade or sixth grade or at any age – if they had, they would probably have cared that I was living in a stranger’s house, too.

I would watch Evie watching the other girls and see how she would self-consciously bring her own hand up to her un-styled, half brushed hair in an effort to smooth it. She couldn't reach the back very well herself and no one else was gonna do it for her.

Then I would watch those endless dark eyes go dreamy and I would know that my Evie was weaving together a story for herself. Partly, that look broke me and partly, it made my heart swell with pride. I knew it was the reason that she didn't break or turn hard like I already had. I didn't think she dreamed because she was in denial about her own circumstances. She was the smartest, most observant person I had ever met. I thought she dreamed because it was how she took care of herself and how she rose above enough to retain that gentle spirit that made me love her so fiercely. Somehow she held onto the ability to brazenly believe that there was goodness in the world, despite her own devastating situation.

I guess the reason this memory comes back to me today as I follow Evie to work is because despite the fact that she's wearing a hotel housecleaning uniform, she walks proud and carefree as if she's perfectly content with her life and her situation. And she should be. She absolutely should be and I'm damn proud that she's gotten to this point. I just want to know more. I need to know more about who she's become. I need to know everything.

This is why I need to be ready and come to a decision about what I’m going to say, before I confront her. Fear of rejection churns heavily in my gut. I refuse to let her slip away from me before I’ve even had a chance to try to win her back.