Chapter Twenty-Seven - Evangeline
There’s a moment as I get in the cab, right after I hand the driver the printout with the address of my destination, when I wonder, should I just go home? I don’t need my things inside the house. I didn’t bring much. Wouldn’t even miss that stuff.
But then I picture my sad life. The emptiness of it all. The loneliness. How desperate I was for a change last week and how I seem to be on a new path this week. And decide… not yet.
Not yet.
I can leave any time I want. Walk out, go back—or even just walk out and go forward. This isn’t a chance to escape. It’s an opportunity to grow. And now that I know there’s a computer in the basement—how the fuck did I not know there was a basement? God, I’m so oblivious to the world around me—and now that I know I can call a cab any time I want…
Well, the urgency to find a way out of this messy plan seems to have dissipated.
I might even have hope.
Not the hope of dreams. I already had that when I agreed to this crazy scheme. But real hope. The dream of playing my violin again, of playing in front of an audience, of making money again, and being whole again, and letting go of the past and living again. Well, that’s something quite different than actually taking steps towards that goal. Dreams are just that. Wishes.
But getting this cab feels like an accomplishment.
And yes, that’s sad. Most people wouldn’t see this as an act of courage.
But I do.
And anyway, I’m intrigued. I want to see this Jordan again. He was very attractive. I want to know more about this game he’s playing with me. Why he’s playing it. And even though X said I wasn’t allowed to talk to him, who gives a fuck what X wants? This isn’t about him, this is about me.
So I’ve already decided that if I see Jordan today, I’m talking to him. He’s not gonna slip away like he did yesterday. I’m gonna ask him just what the fuck he’s doing. I’m gonna ask him if Lucinda gave him permission to put X in that house. If they know what he’s doing with me.
I have decided to take control.
So there. Take that, Mr. X.
Far too soon the cab pulls up to a curb and stops.
“Twelve seventy-five,” the driver says. I hold up my credit card, ready to hand it over, but he says, “You have to use the machine.” He nods his head at the thing mounted on the back of the headrest.
I fumble with that for longer than seems appropriate. But the device seems to be made for idiots and has been programmed to walk even the most clueless people through the act of paying for a cab ride, so about a minute later, I manage to conclude the transaction.
And then it’s time to get out.
It occurs to me then… I don’t have a way to get back. Jesus, I don’t even know if I remember the address.
“Lady,” the driver says. “You need to get out now.”
I nod at him, take a deep breath, and open the cab door to the bustle of the strange city I’ve called home for almost ten years.
The second I close the door, the cab pulls away and I become just another person in his past.
I stare up at the sign. Mile High Cafe. There are a ton of people coming and going, all of them wearing business attire. Men in expensive suits, women in professional dresses. All ages, but mostly middle-aged. The courthouse is nearby. I can see the golden dome of the capitol building from where I stand. So these people probably all have an intimate relationship with the city that feels like a stranger to me.
“Don’t wuss out now, Evangeline,” I mutter under my breath. “You’re already here. Just go inside.”
It’s a confident statement. Like going inside is so easy. Like going inside is normal. Something I do every day. Just go inside.
But none of that is true. And even though my head is trying to trick my body, my body isn’t listening, because I’m suddenly breathing too fast, and my heart is beating too fast, and the whole world is moving too fast.
“How many?” the woman asks. “Just one?”
I realize the bustle of the crowd has pushed me into the door of the cafe and the woman asking me how many is actually the hostess. “Yes,” I manage to spit out. “Just one.”
She scans the room. Every table is full, and I feel stupid all of a sudden. Like… how did I not anticipate that the restaurant would be filled to capacity when it’s lunchtime?
“Well,” the young girl finally says. “There’s a gentleman over there sitting alone. Do you want me to go ask him if he’d mind sharing with you?”
“Oh, no… uh…” I stammer out my objections. “I don’t think—“
“He won’t mind.” And then the hostess laughs. “In fact, he told me when he came in if anyone needed a seat, he’s happy to share.”
She bustles off before I can answer, but I watch, in utter horror, as she approaches the man, points to me, and then they talk. About me. As they look. At me.
I turn to flee and bump right into a man’s chest. Dark wool overcoat. Leather-gloved hands reach out to steady me. Firm grip on my shoulders. And when I raise my eyes to see who is blocking my way, I realize it’s Jordan.
I whirl back around, and the hostess is there, grabbing a menu. “Come on,” she says. “He’s happy to help.”
I follow her for no other reason than I cannot think of a single other thing to do. I just obey automatically. On autopilot.
Just get me away from the man I came to see.
The hostess stops at the table and pans her hand towards the empty chair. “Here you go. Have fun, you two!”
She leaves and I’m stuck there. I don’t look at the man I’m supposed to be sitting with because I’m too busy looking back at Jordan. He catches my gaze, which almost sends me into a panic, so I sit down and turn my head away. Right into the direct gaze of my table stranger.
“Uh… hi,” the guy says. “I’m Mike. And you are?”
He extends his hand, but all I can do is stare at it. So it’s withdrawn just as fast. “Angela,” I say, reverting back to my stand-by public persona.
“Nice to meet you, Angela. Do you work around here?”
I look at him, thankful I still have my scarf over my face and my sunglasses covering my eyes. Just be normal. Just be normal. I chant it in my head. “Yes,” I lie. “At the courthouse. I’m new. First day.”
There you go, I say to myself. Good job.
“Well, you’re part of the crowd now.” He laughs. “Everyone eats here at lunch. It gets pretty busy around this time. And I always eat alone, so I offer up my table when I can.”
“Thank you,” I say, remembering my manners.
“So what kind of food do you like?”
I chance a glance over at Jordan. He’s still looking at me, so I play it off like I was just scanning the room, then remember I have a menu I can pretend to study.
“Sandwiches,” I reply to the man’s question.
“You should definitely get the club then. It’s fantastic. They put a little avocado on there. Really, really good.”
“What can I get you to drink?” a waitress asks.
I look up at her, ready to die from all this very sudden, very intimate attention, and blurt, “Water and I’ll take the club sandwich.”
“Coming right up,” she says, taking my menu away with a smile.
“So…” My impromptu date seems to be chatty. And I think in my head, Why me? “You’ll probably have to take your scarf off if you want to eat.”
“Right,” I say, slowly unwrapping my scarf. It would draw far more attention to keep it on than it will to take it off. At least that’s what I tell myself. But the whole time I’m sneaking glances over at Jordan, wishing I wasn’t stuck talking to this guy instead of him.
“Do you know him?” the guy asks.
“Who?”
“That man you’re staring at.”
“What?” I laugh it off as I fold my scarf up and place it in my lap. “No. I’m not looking at anyone in particular. Just… you know. People-watching.”
“Ah,” he says. “I like to watch people too. That’s why I come in here alone. You see all types. It’s interesting.”
I take another look at my date, intrigued by his answer. He’s probably a few years older than me. Maybe early thirties. Light brown hair. Bluish eyes. Handsome. He’s wearing a suit, but every man in here seems to be wearing a suit.
“What did you say your name was?” I don’t even know how I get those words out, because as soon as I realize I’ve asked him a direct question, my heart races in a way that scares me.
“Mike,” he says, smiling. He extends his hand again.
I shake it this time, but when I withdraw, he holds on to it. Which forces me to look him in the eyes to see what the hell he’s doing.
“You can take off the gloves too, ya know. Gonna be hard to pick up a sandwich with gloves.”
And he… he starts pulling on the fingertips of my glove. Removing it. Sliding it down my hand in a way that makes me hold my breath.
I pull away quickly, but the glove is off. My hand exposed. He reaches for me again, his fingertips gently squeezing as he says, “That’s better. How about the sunglasses now?”
I jerk away, my hand unconsciously flying up to touch the lenses, as if to make sure they’re still there. “No,” I say. “I have sensitive eyes and I have to wear them when I’m in the sun.”
He looks over to the window, is about to say something about the gray, overcast day, but then simply shrugs. “OK. Well, I’m done. And I gotta get back to work. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I say, not knowing why I say it because I don’t work at the fucking courthouse and I won’t be back tomorrow.
“Nice meeting you, Angela.”
I nod my head, but don’t meet his eyes as he gets up.
“And lunch is on me. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the company.”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing up at him, then quickly averting my eyes. If I can’t see him, he can’t see me.
I want to roll my eyes at myself.
“Bye.”
I nod, so he just leaves, resigning himself to the fact that I’m not gonna chat him up any further.
I stare at my one gloveless, exposed hand for a few seconds, then quickly put the glove back on. The scarf is still in my lap, so I wrap that around my face too.
Finally, all covered up again, I let myself breathe.
I am stupid.
“Did you want this to go?”
I look up at the question and find the waitress holding a plate with my sandwich.
“Um… yes, please.”
She leaves to wrap it up and all I can think about is getting the hell out of here when I suddenly lock eyes with Jordan again.
He smiles at me. Gives me a little wave.
I look away and close my eyes, forcing myself not to panic. Why the fuck did I come here? What the hell was I thinking?
I stay like that, my head bowed, my eyes closed, until the waitress is saying, “Here you go,” as she slips a gray cardboard box in front of me. “Your check is all set. Thanks for coming!”
I nod, take my box, and then get up, fully intending on escaping without looking at Jordan again… but—
I can’t help it. And when I find his face, he’s already found mine.
The doors open as a man enters, and I slip past him and out into the gray afternoon.
A moment of pure panic passes through my body as I realize I have no way to get home. I’m not even sure where home is, but then I see a cab, and I raise my hand like I’ve seen people do in movies, and it stops for me.
I climb in. And when the driver says, “Where to?”
I say, “The Botanic Gardens.”
I get dropped off at the main visitors’ center. Which happens to be close to the greenhouse I was in the other day, so finding my way back to the path that leads to the house isn’t too hard.
When I finally get back inside, I collapse onto the grand foyer stairs and look up at the camera in the chandelier.
“Fuck you,” I say.
But the house seems empty for some reason. Like… I can just feel his eyes are somewhere else. Not on me.
And even though I’ve been living with that same feeling for almost a decade, it feels lonely now.
I go upstairs, take off my coat, my scarf, my gloves, my shoes… and I climb back into bed, exhausted, and sad, and more unsure of myself than I have ever been in my life.