Leo's Chance(62)

I come back to myself when Evie lets out a quiet, strangled cry, and I jolt at the sound, but otherwise, remain still.

She walks around to my front now and takes my chin in her shaking hand, lifting my face so that I’m forced to look into her pain-filled eyes.

"Why are you looking at me?" she asks, void of any expression in her voice, but her eyes wild with panic.

My eyes search hers for long seconds, looking for anything resembling love or understanding, but finding none.

I know what she wants from me though and so I give it to her. "Because I like your face."

She stumbles backwards, letting out a strangled cry as understanding fills her eyes. Then, just as I knew she would, she turns and she runs.

I think I’m frozen, but without even thinking about it, I follow her, choking out her name as she stumbles onto the elevator, and the door closes between us.

And just like I knew she would be if she knew the truth, she’s gone. And I do the only thing I can do – I drop down to my knees in front of the closed elevator doors, my head in my hands, my heart shattered.





CHAPTER 27


I don’t know how long I stay in that position until I find the strength to stand up and go back inside. I’m utterly numb now. I pull my shirt back on over my head and stand at the windows overlooking the city, and I face the truth of what I’ve done. I think about how she must be feeling right now. Is she crying? Hurting? Does she hate me? Yes, probably. The look on her face as the elevators closed between us told me she does. I betrayed her trust, again. I abandoned her and then I deceived her. She hates me. But not as much as I hate myself.

Where is she? Is she alone in her apartment? Being comforted by the friends we were supposed to be having dinner with tonight? I want so badly to be the one comforting her. But she doesn’t want me. I did this.

What if she’s hurt? She took off running and I don’t even know where she ran. I need to know that she’s alright. I pick up my phone and text her, asking her to please let me know she’s okay. New panic grips me as I consider the state she was in when she ran out on me, and the number of sketchy areas she could have ended up in if she ran in the wrong direction.

I can’t sit still, and so I grab my keys and I leave my condo. I drive around for a while, dialing her number a couple more times, trying to pretend I don’t have a destination. But eventually, I wind up where I knew I would wind up all along. I park in front of her building and text her again, and then call her number. Still no answer. I get out of my car and ring her apartment. No answer. She could be in there, ignoring the buzzer. I just want to know she’s safe.

I get back in my car and drive around a little more, calling her a few more times, sending a couple more texts. Finally, I leave her a voicemail. "Evie, God, I… please call me. I'm going crazy here. You ran and I don't even know if you're okay. Baby, please just let me know you're okay. At least that. Even if you don't want to talk to me… or, even if you don't want anything to do with me, please just let me know you're safe. I went by your apartment and you weren't there and it's late and I… please be okay."

I take a shaky breath and disconnect the phone. She’s probably okay – either in her apartment not answering or with her friends. She has to be okay. I drive around a little bit more, the sky dark now, once again, no particular destination in mind. I’m almost shocked when I find myself driving down the block where I grew up, pulling up in front of the house where I spent the first eleven years of my life. Why did I unconsciously come here of all places? What lead me to the place I never wanted to see again?

As I park, it occurs to me that this place is only a few short miles from Evie’s apartment. Our foster homes were only a mile or so from here too. So close in physical proximity, and yet she’s come a million miles. We both have in some ways, I suppose, but she did it all on her own.

I sit there staring at my childhood house in the light of the streetlamp, sick memories flashing through my mind. I put my head in my hands, and I let the onslaught of visions do their worst – a lot of bad things happened under that roof, a lot of things had f*cked me up forever between those very walls. But somehow, sitting here, the bad memories don’t seem to have the power I expected them to have. Instead, the strongest memory that comes to me is sitting in the tiny bathroom on the second floor with Seth. For some reason he seemed to like that small space, and I would take him there when I got home from school, sometimes for hours, and I’d do my homework on the floor and try to teach him the things that I’d done in school that day. Mostly, it didn’t seem to penetrate, but every once in a while, and only ever there, his eyes seemed to clear, and for a minute or two he would be present. It was the most breathtaking thing.

The sound of a door slamming jolts me out of the past, and I look up and an older black man steps out onto the porch and lights up a cigarette.

I knew they didn’t live here anymore. I have no idea where they live, or even if they’re still alive. I have no desire to know. But seeing someone else come out the door still shocks me a little. I start up my car and drive away.

I would have thought that today of all days, seeing that house would have done me in. But for some reason, it doesn’t. In fact, on the contrary, I feel better for having gone to see it. Stronger. Like maybe, it doesn’t hold the power over me I still imagined that it did. I’m not sure what to make of this, but I’m grateful.