Seven Days in June(30)

“Then why are you assuming that I need help?”

Eva began snapping a rubber band encircling her wrist. It was sharp enough to redden her skin. He’d noticed her doing this before, at the Brooklyn Museum. Watching the compulsive way she pulsed the band against her skin, a flash of unease coursed through him. He wanted to ask her what she was doing.

But I already know, don’t I?

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Shane. “I just hoped you had some support.”

“Well, I don’t. God, why did you come here?”

Overwhelmed by her reaction, he said, “To apologize.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered. “I can’t talk about that night…”

And then a tear fell. Shane shot up straight in his seat. Reaching across the table, he gently held her wrist.

“Genevieve,” he said. And she began to sob.

“Don’t follow me.” She grabbed her bag and fled the diner.

It took willpower Shane hadn’t known he had not to run after her.

Instead, he watched her from the window as she stormed down the sidewalk lining Eastern Parkway, getting smaller and smaller, until she turned a corner and disappeared. With every step she took, the years melted away. Shane was hurtling backward into his teenage self, before the books, the success, the travel. Back in the dark ages, when his loneliness was like quicksand, when he’d ruin himself to make it stop—and the only bright spot in all of this was loving a beautiful girl with demons ferocious enough to slay his own.

For seven days, a million Junes ago.





Chapter 10





The Women




“PARDON ME?” GASPED CECE, HER LAVENDER ICED LATTE CLASPED TO HER chest. The condensation created a massive wet spot on her silk Gucci blouse.

No loss, the blouse was off-season. Besides, nothing mattered more than Eva’s unbelievable story.

Eva, Cece, and Belinda were crammed on a rustic love seat at Maman Soho, a café noted for its South of France vibe—that is, blue tiled floors, string lights, and quirkily pretty baristas in bangs and last night’s lip stain. Eva wasn’t up for an emergency lunch with the girls this morning, especially after Shane. But there was no arguing with those two.

“Shane was your teenage sweetheart?” gasped Belinda.

Eva slumped in the rustic love seat. Her two best friends had witnessed the exposing banter with Shane on stage at last night’s panel—there was no hiding from them. So she’d told them an abridged version of the truth. Which was that she and Shane had gone on a few dates in high school. Nothing major.

“Shane was nobody’s sweetheart,” she said. “He was trouble.”

“So, Shane was Shane,” said Cece. “And you were?”

“Not thinking clearly,” mumbled Eva. “Look, we just had this instant…thing. And then it burned out. No biggie.”

“Nope.” Belinda wagged her index finger at Eva, her Reiki-infused bracelets clinking. “That ain’t it. Details, please.”

“I barely remember any!” Eva hoped she sounded convincing. “It’s probably a blur for Shane, too.”

“It’s not a blur for him, ma’am,” said Belinda. “The way he was looking at you? My panties disintegrated.”

Eva sighed. She needed a hug, a nap, and a sleeve of Thin Mints. Not this.

“Eva, honey,” said Cece, with exaggerated calm. “Are you Eight?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” she said.

Cece raised a weaponized eyebrow.

“Fine. I’m Eight,” admitted Eva.

“And he’s Sebastian?”

After taking an extended sip of her latte, she said, “Sort of?”

Belinda yelped, fanning herself with her straw fedora.

“What I’m hearing you say,” started Cece grandly, “is that you and Shane Hall…my Shane Hall…who’s come up in countless of our book-world conversations over the years, conversations in which you’ve pretended not to know him…You two were teen lovers? Secret soul mates who were so inspired by each other that you’ve been communicating through your art across miles, decades, and years of impassioned memories?” She slammed her floral teacup down on the whitewashed table. “My heavenly word, how could you keep this telenovela a secret?”

A doe-eyed barista glanced over at them sharply. Eva tossed her a bright smile, then lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Because I barely survived Shane Hall. I barely survived myself. It was a dark time. My home life was traumatic. I was a chaotic, angry kid. Why reminisce?”

“Actually, this explains a lot about who you were when we met,” noted Cece. “Totally feral. Remember when that bartender called you ‘baby’? You stubbed your cigarette out on his hand! And said, ‘Take my order or kiss my ass, your choice.’”

“No, it was ‘Take my order or suck my dick,’” corrected Eva.

Belinda snorted. “So, why did you break up?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Eva waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve lived entire lifetimes since then.”

“This is a word.” Belinda crossed her legs, her gauzy palazzo pants billowing. “Men don’t define our journey. It’s about honoring our queendom. Vibrating at our divine plane.”