Come Back to Me (14 page)

“Touché,” he
said with a nod and an almost grin.  “Evan works at the rec center next to the
park.”

“Oh.  Okay. 
Thanks.” I pushed the door open.

“Wait a
minute, Denison,” Steve said, walking from behind the counter and, for a second,
I thought he’d changed his mind about obeying the health codes.  Except instead
of welcoming my baked goods back into the fold, he reached into the box and
pulled out a chocolate muffin, taking a huge bite as he returned to the
counter.

“Thanks,” he
said, holding the muffin up like he was making a toast.  “And tell Evan I said
hi.”

I swore his
voice sounded like he sang it.

I stepped
out of TEA, cringing a little over the fact that someone, let alone Steve, knew
I felt some kind of attraction for Evan—even before I’d really acknowledged
it.  Or maybe I felt unsettled because I’d just told him I’d been in rehab.  I
didn’t know.  Deep conversations and personal revelations hadn’t been a part of
my life for so long.

Someone
brushed past me on the sidewalk, reminding me I needed to move.

* * *

After I
distributed my baked goods to the three homeless men in the park (saving a
muffin for Evan) I went to the rec center.

The front
desk pointed me down a checkerboard-tiled hallway.  Halfway down, I heard
guitar strumming and a mish mosh of clanging tambourines.  I transferred the
paper bag with the last muffin to my other hand and swiped my damp palm against
my shorts.  I moved toward the music, my gaze darting from one closed door to
the next, until I found the right classroom.  There, I peeked into the square
window on the door.

Evan.

He stood in
the middle of the room, chairs pushed to the edges, orchestrating a dozen or so
kids holding tambourines, triangles, and recorders.  The sound they made was
loud, shy of any sort of regular rhythm, much like my heart suddenly, but they
were all smiling, including Evan.  He clapped his hands over his head, while
the guitar strapped around him swayed.  His shirt was blue—another button down,
sleeves rolled to his forearm and shirttail hanging over his shorts as they
played to their finale.  The tallest boy crashed his cymbals together while the
kids with tambourines shook them wildly in the air.

The
butterflies in my stomach joined the ruckus, and I pressed a palm to my
stomach.  It was just nerves thinking about our forthcoming conversation.  It
wasn’t going to be easy to ask him about that night.

A girl in
braids, the one holding the triangle, pointed at me and, in the moment, before
Evan turned, I felt the muscles in my legs tense, but I stayed still.  I wasn’t
going to run the other way anymore, not when I wanted answers.  Instead, I
waved, and Evan raised his hand before heading in my direction.

“All right
guys.” He opened the door wide.  “I’ll see you Friday.”

One by one,
the kids streamed past me, chattering to one another. I focused on the tops of
their heads, unsure of how I would start my conversation with Evan.

“Hi.” I said,
when the last kid was halfway down the hallway.  Then I got tongue-tied.  I
smiled at him, but my lips trembled, drawn up by sudden nerves.

Evan put out
his hand for me to shake. I smiled, scrunching up my nose.

“Hi,” he
said.  “I’m Evan Foster.”

I laughed. 
A slow smile spread on his face, and I felt the butterfly orchestra in my gut move
into crescendo mode.  I held out my own hand.  His hand closed over mine.  It
was warm, strong.

“Whitney
Denison,” I said, feeling a little bit silly.  That turned out to be good though,
because as I took a deep breath, my nerves evened out.  “Whitney Elizabeth
Morgan Denison.”

Evan raised an
eyebrow.  “Oh, well in that case, I’m Evan Sebastian Foster.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yes, my mom
was really into
The Little Mermaid
.”

Again I
laughed, but then stopped.  “What?  Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah.  She
named me after Sebastian the crab.”

“And you
tell everyone this story?”

“Not really.” 
He watched me in a way that sent my heart on a faster pace.  “So,
girl-with-two-middle-names…”

“I don’t
think I’m ready for you to be calling me by my Native American name.”

He grinned
and glanced down at the floor for a moment.  Then, he reached a hand in his
jeans, pulling out his car keys.  Immediately, I was disappointed.  I didn’t
want to be done talking with him.  I was just getting started.

I remembered
the bag in my hand and held it up to him.  “Are you hungry?”

We walked back
to TEA. Steve always left after it opened, so I’d be safe from any additional ribbing.

Sitting next
to Evan, I couldn’t help but breathe him in.  He smelled really good—some cologne,
or possibly soap lingering from a shower that morning.  I got an image of his
hair, wet on the edges, damp and curling at his neck.

Maybe Steve was
right.  Maybe Evan was more than simply a passing attraction, except I was
supposed to be talking to him about graduation night, not thinking about him
stepping out of the shower.  I shook my head to clear the visual, then put the
paper bag with the muffin on the table in front of him.

“Um, so if
you’re hungry, or something.”

Evan opened
the bag and pulled out the muffin.  “Or something?  What else am I going to do
with it?”

Heat moved
up my neck, and I lowered my head.  My long bangs tickled at my lips, so I pushed
them behind my ear. (They weren’t staying swept to the side as their original
name implied.)  God, I was so awkward.  Now that every cell in my body seemed
aware of Evan, I had no idea how to make this conversation go smoothly.

“There’s no
way this is from here,” Evan said, after sniffing the white chocolate drizzled
top.  “Where did you get this?”

“My mom made
it.”

He nodded, his
eyes opening a little wider.  Did the mention of my mom make him think about standing
on my porch, with me leaning into him as my bleary-eyed parents opened the
door?

“So,” I
said, changing the subject.  “The other night, I ordered a special edition copy
of Sylvester and the Magic Pebble.”

So cool,
Whitney
.

But Evan
seemed to think it was kind of cool, and eventually, our conversation found an
easier rhythm.  So much so that once I got sucked in by the lumpy chair, I
asked him about his tattoo.  It was just that every time he picked up his mug,
I watched the design flex and move under his muscles.  When I asked, he turned
his arm, looking at it almost like he saw it for the first time.  Then he
pushed his sleeve further up, to the middle of his bicep. His tattoo was a
complex spiral of knots.

“It’s
Celtic,” he said.  “I got it after my mom died.”

My stomach
dropped.  Ever since Katie died, it was like my heart or my gut or maybe every
cell in my body attuned to death.  Even before that though, Katie reminded me
that I didn’t know what it was like to live without a mom.  Her grief remained
a wedge.  I opened my mouth to express sympathy, but Evan continued talking.

“The knot
formation symbolizes balancing the body and the soul,” he said, pointing at the
center.  “You see here how it crosses over and under?”

I scooted
forward.  It was beautiful, which was odd to think considering I’d never really
given a thought to tattoos.  I didn’t know anyone who had one, other than a few
girls from school who got tiny, hidden ones, usually hearts.  Evan’s was
intricate, mesmerizing.  Except the colors next to that cross over spot
appeared muted, almost blending into the background.  It seemed different, less
purposeful.

“Of course
you’d see that,” he said.

I looked
up.  He smiled at me in a way that totally made me feel like I possessed some
special power I wasn’t even aware I had—even though I’d just been staring at
his tattoo.

“Underneath
that spot is where my first tattoo was—the one I got when I was fifteen and
thought I was some sort of bad ass.  I got kicked out of two private schools in
New York.  When my dad cut me off, forcing me to go to public school, I
answered his punishment with a barbed wire tattoo.”  Evan rolled his eyes.  “After
my mom died, I got that one lasered off, which I’m sure my dad was thankful for
since I went to live with him for my senior year.  He hasn’t seen this one yet
though.”

“Why are you
in Bloom now?”

“I’m living
with my aunt and uncle. I just finished my freshman year at UVA.  Bloom is
closer, easier.  My dad and I are better than before, but New York has too many
reminders sometimes.”

I nodded. 
Reminders were hard.  That was a big reason I looked forward to Colson.  Eight
hours away, it was a place for me to start over.

We talked more
about his classes, books we liked, and music.  There was an easy rhythm to our
conversation but not so much that I wanted to talk about graduation night.  Not
yet.  I was afraid my mind would latch on to my puke covered self on the
porch.  Instead, I floated from topic to topic, allowing the milky, spicy tea
lattes to warm me from the inside.

I got a
little worried when I found myself noticing the way his arm muscles stretched every
time he picked up his cup.  I admired his T-shirt under the open button down,
which was bordering on obsessive seeing as it was just gray, no logo, no
pattern, no sarcastic statement.  But my anxiety wasn’t just from what I could
see. It was what I detected below the surface.  He cared, and that made my head
swim.  Why did it feel like we were moving faster than time?

“What about
school?  Don’t you start soon?” he asked.

Before I
could open my mouth, my phone buzzed.  Kyle.

“Just a
second,” I said to Evan, then I scooted back in my seat to read Kyle’s text
message, but I couldn’t make sense of his auto corrected words.  Kyle was
wasted, probably bored, maybe even lonely.  I texted a quick reply and turned
my phone over, staring at the baby blue sparkly cover (courtesy of my
do-it-yourself glitter habit).  I didn’t realize I was rubbing my ear, until my
hair released from behind it and curtained my gaze.  How long was it was okay
to let Kyle wait?

“Boyfriend?” 
Evan asked.

I shook my
head, knowing I probably had a shocked look on my face at Evan’s assumption.  Even
though I’d spent nearly every day with Kyle since I got back home, it was like
I still thought of him as Katie’s.

“It’s
complicated.” I finally saw my opening.  “He’s actually Katie’s –I mean was—um,
you heard about Katie Ryan, right?”

Evan nodded,
his face turning serious.

“She was—we
were friends once,” I said, my heart dipping low.  “Kyle was her boyfriend. . .
.”

I stopped.  Cold
washed over me, and I wrapped an arm around my middle.  My other hand tapped
nervously on the table, near my silent phone.

Evan covered
my restless hand with his, and my chest hitched. Then tears pricked behind my
eyes. I didn’t want to start crying.

I flattened
my hand on the table, trying to create a distance between his skin and mine.  I
had something I needed to accomplish—I wanted to remember my happy moment on
graduation moment.  I knew that meant bringing up the night he brought me home. 
I couldn’t let myself be sidetracked by fleeting attractions.

I gently
pulled my hand away.  “My mom said I was supposed to send you a thank you
note.”

Evan picked
up his mug, allowing me space.  “For what?”

“For taking
me home on graduation night, but I guess I was too mad because they sent me to
Gosley the next day.  Why did you take me home?”

“You don’t
remember much from that night, do you?”

I thought of
Scrabble and Kyle, and my hallucination with scary Katie—one I wanted to
remember, the other I wished I could forget.  I shook my head.

Evan watched
me for a moment, then shrugged.  “You needed a ride, and I was there.”

It sounded
simple, too simple, and it frustrated me, because I remembered nothing new
about that night.  Evan didn’t free any missing pieces of my happy puzzle, but
. . . I took a deep breath, inhaling cinnamon, vanilla and pepper . . . it was
like I almost couldn’t remember why it mattered so much.  Almost.

I looked
around, taking in the tired surroundings that after only a couple of weeks were
starting to feel homey to me.  Practically cozy.

“I really
like this place.”

Evan studied
me for a moment before nodding.

“It’s just
everything, the atmosphere, the books, and I love that,” I said, pointing at
the glass teapot on someone else’s table filled with a blooming purple tea
flower.  “It’s so cool.  I mean sure it’s a little worn, but there’s like this
magic.  It makes me think of when I would sit and read on my grandmother’s
porch or go to the Holt library near her house.  Have you ever been to Holt
University?”