Come Back to Me (15 page)

Evan shook
his head.

“It’s near
Fredericksburg, and it has this amazing rotunda.  When the sun streams through,
it’s just . . .” I was a little embarrassed as I noted my rambling.

“Is that
where you’re going in the fall?”

“No.  I’m
going to Colson.”

“Right,
pre-law.”

“Well, I’m
not sure, but wait—how do you know that?” I asked.

“You
mentioned it in the car that night.”

“What else
did I say?”

Evan folded
his napkin in half.  “You said you didn’t want to be a lawyer, but that it
didn’t matter what you wanted or if you had dreams because life—or death would
eventually intervene, like with Katie.”

I swallowed,
looking down at his folded napkin on the table.  “I should consider a career in
motivational speaking.”

Evan stretched
out his legs as the corners of his mouth turned up, then the absurdity of my
statement shook off my inner mess, and we both laughed—me holding my stomach
and Evan eventually wiping at his eyes.

“I think
you’re wrong though.  Katie’s accident doesn’t prove your point.  It does the
opposite.  I think her dreams are proof that we should all go balls to the
wall.”

I scrunched up
my face.  “Balls to the wall?”

“It’s a
pilot term, means full throttle.  I think instead you should go for what you
love, what you really want, because we don’t know how long we have or what’s
around the corner.”

“But your
mom--”

“Was
not
living her life the way she wanted.  She talked about opening a Bed and
Breakfast up in New England.  She never did it.  I think she was afraid, so she
went out every night looking in these clubs for another guy, like they were the
key to her self-worth.  She died of a brain aneurysm while sitting in a taxi. 
She just closed her eyes and…” Evan stopped for a moment, placed both his palms
on his knees before taking a breath.  “It still burns me that the guy she was
with, in the taxi . . . The paramedics said he just took off.  He didn’t even
call me to talk about what happened.  Not that I wanted to talk to him.  He was
obviously a douche.  Then again, I think all of them were.  I have no idea what
my mom was doing exactly, but it was like she kept her dreams locked up inside
her, and when they never got realized, they just exploded.”

He waited a
beat, staring intently at the tabletop between us.  “I still get pissed
thinking about how my mom’s life ended, or anything that reminds me of it, like
douchebags who are too selfish to do the right thing.  This tattoo symbolizes
mind, body, and spirit.  It’s a reminder for me to keep my life balanced, in
spite of the way everything gets tangled.”

I nodded,
like I got it, but I was almost eighteen and still I didn’t have any dreams for
my future—nothing like Katie longed and planned for.  It was still so crazy and
random to me that she was the one to go.  But that was too much to think about,
so I focused in on Evan’s tattoo again.  “What dreams are you reminding
yourself of?”

“Music,
words.  I would be happy teaching English, and I’d love to spend some time,
maybe a summer in Ireland—writing and playing in pubs.”

“I’d like to
hear you play sometime,” I said to my own surprise.

Shyness gripped
me as I watched a slow smile spread on his face.  He nodded.  “We play every
Thursday night.”

“We?”

“I’ve been
playing with a local band this summer… Wait. What’s so funny?” he asked.

“What?  I’m
not laughing.” I squeezed my eyebrows downward in attempt to subdue the grin
that wanted to stretch across my face. 
Get a grip, he asked you to hear his
band play, not go on tour with him
.

“Okay,” he
said, sliding me a sideways look as if he were trying to catch me laughing. 
Then he got up to get a refill.  When his back was to me, I pressed my hand to
the corner of my mouth just to be sure I had my expression in check.

I flopped
back in the chair and focused on the ceiling.  My body felt light enough to
float up and through the open rafters.

I had no
idea how all this Evan stuff shifted me in a new direction.

For the next
week, my mind latched firmly onto the following Thursday, pulling me through my
shifts at TEA, another visit with my grandmother, and two movie nights with
Kyle.  The in between moments I filled with Evan. All I could do was think
about him.  All I wanted to do was write his name all over the chalkboard at
TEA.

E.F. + W.D.

So crazy.  I
think we texted each other every hour—even messaging late into the night.  Was
it possible to fall so hard, so fast?  I didn’t know.  Too occupied with happy,
new thoughts, I didn’t think about anything else.

Finally,
Thursday arrived, and we went to Kings.  It was a tiny, painted brick place, tucked
into a dark corner of Old Towne, but the inside was unexpected.  White lights
lined the room, highlighting all the edges.  It made me think of Christmas
morning.

And Evan
Foster was my present.

He wore a
white T-shirt, an open gray vest, and dark jeans, but it didn’t matter what he
wore.  A plain T-shirt and ripped jeans would’ve made me feel the same way,
because he was under my skin.  I thought of nothing else, and the anticipation
of seeing him, knowing he not only wanted me to hear his band play but seemed
to want to spend every minute possible with me, too, had me maxing out on my
swoon capacity.

He ordered
us food.  It was supposed to be a date he said, but I couldn’t eat.  I sat
there, tearing my bread into tiny pieces while we talked.

“I want to
play something for you,” he whispered near my ear.

My heart
swelled.  I imagined floating away like a helium balloon.  I finally took a
bite of bread as a distraction from all the anticipation.

“Right now? 
But what about your band…” My throat constricted over the lump of bread.

He smiled,
tapping my cheek gently with a finger.  “This one is just for you, okay?”

I nodded,
because I couldn’t speak.

Then he went
up to the stage where he sat at the piano, adjusting the mic.  He leaned into
the microphone and turned his head slightly, his eyes finding me.

I went
still, my breath even and strong, wrapped around me, through me, filling me up.

Evan sang,
but I didn’t float to some place else, and for some reason, that completely surprised
me.  I was there, and I heard his words.

Whatever was
happening with me, it warred with the need to hear Evan.  So I moved closer, keeping
one hand on the wall as if it were guiding me.  I stopped a few feet away from
the stage, near the doorway that led to backstage, and then leaned into the
doorframe support.

He sang only
to me, as if the tables filled with people were actually empty, like there was
no one else listening but me.  I focused on his words, his hands on the piano,
and the sound of his voice.  Nothing else existed.

When the
applause started, I jumped, the other life in the room shifting back into
focus.  I blinked.  Evan stood, acknowledged the crowd with a wave, then headed
in my direction.  He took my hands, and I smiled.

“You were…” I
couldn’t think. I swallowed.  I had no more words.

He stepped
closer.  I swayed toward him, then he kissed me.  His lips were warm, and I
tasted mint and the last words of his song.

Evan’s hands
moved up my arms.  I shivered.  He turned, pulling us together into the
darkened hallway.  There, he deepened the kiss, letting go of my arms to hold
my waist. I felt his fingers at the edge of my shirt, touching my skin, branding
me with his heat of his own.

I moved my
hands to the back of his neck, then into his hair.  Everything went away again,
and all I wanted to do was kiss him forever.

* * *

After his
band played, Evan brought me home, holding my hand as he walked me to the front
door.  The house was dark, but the porch light blazed.

I drew him
aside before we stepped onto the stairs.  I still wanted to be with him, away
from the lights.  I only wanted the glow that seemed to come from inside of us. 
We kissed again under the shadows, against the brick of the house.  I leaned
into him just to be closer.

Evan shifted
away slightly, whispering my name on my lips.  “Whitney.”

“Hmm?” I
said, my eyes closed.

“You’re so…”
He finished with his lips on mine again.  He pulled away once more, and I
groaned in protest.

He laughed. 
I could feel it inside his chest, under my palm.  I moved in to kiss him again,
but he shook his head.

“Hang on,”
he said, pressing his forehead to mine.  He held my face in his hands, his
thumbs sliding along the edges of my lips.

But I didn’t
want to slow down. I said his name and kissed him deeper, with more urgency.  I
clung to the happiness that was Evan.  He kissed me back, and I swore I was
floating, flying high above us.  His lips moved to my cheek.  He kissed my jaw,
my neck, and the spot below my ear.

“Whit.” He
bowed his head to look at me.  Warmth and happy curled together in my middle,
tugging at me.  I smiled, and he smiled back, then we kissed again.

Until the
front door opened.

Evan jumped
back and squinted in the direction of the bright porch.  He ran a hand through
his hair.

My mom
pushed the door open a little more.  “Whitney?”

“Yeah, it’s
me, Mom.” I moved out of the shadows and put my right foot on the bottom step. 
“And Evan.”

My mom
tipped her head to the side and, as recognition dawned on her face, I was
confident we were all thinking of that night six weeks earlier.  When Evan
brought me to the door, my parents in their pajamas and robes, and me looking
like something someone found on the bottom of their shoe.

But things
were different.  Could she tell?  Besides, Evan wasn’t the problem then—it was
always me.  She
had
to see that I was happy now.

* * *

There were
stars on my ceiling.

I blinked,
but they were still there, those familiar, silvery dots stitched to a dark blue
velvet sky.  I closed my eyes, drifting in and out of temporary sleep, thinking
of Evan, his kisses, and finally, feeling happy, until I shifted to my side and
felt something sharp on my arm.

It was
prickly.  I opened my eyes again, but this time all I saw was grass.

My heart
thumped, and I scrambled to my knees as I realized I was in the middle of my
backyard.

I stood,
taking in the dark line of trees in the back, the hulking shadows of nearby
houses.  Everything appeared shapeless and covered in a thick blanket of night.

What was I
doing out here?  God, it was so dark.  I glanced down to see I wore what I’d
put on before bed—pajama pants and a tee, but I had no memory of walking
outside.

How did I
manage the house alarm in my sleep?

I looked at
my house.  No lights were on.  The air was still, an almost absolute quiet—no cricket
songs, no owls. I froze, afraid my own movements would break the spell of
silence.

Then, as if
I willed it, I heard a noise behind me, a tiny stab to the silence.  I whirled
around, only to find trees.  Were they taller?  Their shadows reached upward
and outward, forming an impenetrable wall above and around me.

I couldn’t
make out my tree house.  It was supposed to be nestled in the middle of that
wall of trees, but I could only see the outline of my old tree swing.

Was it
moving?

My heart
tumbled, beating so hard I felt it in my throat.  There was no shade to pull
down, no room to run out of, no closet to duck into—not this time, because I
was outside, exposed.

Was this
Katie or only my traitorous imagination?

I felt that
pain in my chest, the one I remembered from graduation night.  It doubled me,
squeezing out a couple of rogue tears.  As they fell, they took the happiness I
felt only hours before with them.

My happy
came too fast, warring with my guilt.  I knew it wasn’t fair that Katie didn’t
finish what she started, or get the future she longed for.  I couldn’t make
sense of how I—the one with random plans, was still in this world, while
Katie’s life ended in one big arbitrary, catastrophic event.  She should’ve
still been here.

“I’m sorry,”
I whispered to the empty air, my words dropping into a black hole, sucked in
only to disappear.  Going nowhere, meaning nothing.  Goose bumps popped up on
my skin, and I automatically wrapped my arms around myself.  I had no idea how
to balance finding happiness with the icy guilt of being alive, of being the one
without obvious ambition, the bad friend.

Raising my
hands, I stared at them.  Happiness was so close, hovering at my fingertips.