Chapter 18

Evelyn

“Is that you?”

Once you get to the point of agreeing to marry somebody, you should probably know them pretty well—or very well, ideally.

Yet I can’t think of too many distinct traits my fiancé possesses. Sure, I could describe him in great detail, but it’s difficult to think of things about James that really set him apart, things that would help paint a picture of who he is to someone who’s never met him.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I respond to his question. “Who did you think it was?”

However, I’m just now thinking of at least one unique way to describe James: he’s not usually a silently-and-wistfully-looking-off-into-the-distance type of guy.

But when I step outside, I can tell that’s exactly what he’s doing. Even with his back to me, it’s obvious.

“Who knows?” he responds, still not facing me.

“Okay—what are you still doing out here?” I ask. “Are you afraid to go back inside or what?” Right away, I wish I hadn’t asked that, even though I suspect that fear might just be part of what’s keeping him outside.

Even if he’d never admit it, and even if he might not realize it himself.

My question prompts James to finally start turning around to look at me, and I’m able to perfectly predict his hurt-but-trying-to-hide-it expression just before I see it in all its dejected glory.

“Is that a joke?” James’s voice matches his face, and it all goes from predictable to sad.

“Yes,” I sigh, hoping he’ll buy it.

I don’t think he does, but he takes the excuse to drop the put-upon act and start walking back towards me—and what was meant to be our future home.

If this is the man I’m going to marry, hopefully, we can have some things unspoken between us.

Like how I’m starting to find this whole thing oddly funny—I mean, I know we have a lot to figure out. But it’s just so much at once, and maybe before we delve into all this heavy lunacy we can’t avoid, maybe we can at least share a smile, a bit of a laugh.

Something light, something human between two life partners.

But James’s face stays where it is, and so does he—out in the driveway, next to my car.

It feels like my smile, as small as it was, is making him stop in place, and now, he’s refusing to cross the threshold to the bit of the driveway that holds his truck.

Or he’s just refusing to get any closer to me, or the house.

“You okay?” I ask. I was trying to avoid acknowledging the wicked blow James absorbed so I wouldn’t embarrass him further.

We’ve now both stopped where we stand, ten feet away from each other, but I can still see the redness entering James’s cheeks.

“What?” he croaks, almost too quietly to travel the distance between us. “Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Yes, I embarrassed him alright. I start foraging through my mind for a way to change the subject, but I give up after about a second when I realize that it’s no time for small talk.

“I can barely hear you from here.” I’m almost yelling now, mostly to make a point.

“What?” James reaches around to give the back of his head a little scratch—a weird move for him. “Do you want me to come closer to you or something?”

Finally, I allow my small smile to emerge. I don’t think this is funny anymore, but I feel like I need to be reassuring.

“I’ll tell you what: why don’t we get into the truck,” I suggest. “You can have the shotgun seat. I’ll drive.”

“W—where would we go?”

“Nowhere. That was a joke.” Okay, this is taking long enough. I start walking around the front of James’s truck to the driver’s side.

“Getting in the truck was a joke?”

“No, driving,” I shout while opening the truck door. “Hey, the door was unlocked.”

James is unaffected by this as he climbs into the passenger’s seat.

“Yeah, I unlocked it,” he explains. “I’m not completely out of it. Not anymore, at least.”

I can feel a small laugh almost erupt from both of us, like a sneeze that doesn’t quite happen.

But like that sneeze, it stays inside. We settle for eye contact and a mutual smile as we shut the doors.

James might be in a better mood now than he was when I came outside. That’s the type of thing I should be able to tell for certain, by now. But it’s also the type of thing I can surely learn about someone if—when I spend the rest of my life with them.

“I was just about to ask what you wanted to get in the truck for if you didn’t want to go anywhere.” James almost grabs his seatbelt but stops himself—I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a joke, or what he’s thinking. “But then I just realized why you wanted to come in here.”

James exhales while looking through the windshield. It seems to take forever, like he’s been holding his breath since he got outside.

“Are you relieved about something?”

“Not really,” James responds, “I’m just happy to have this truck thing figured out—you know, why you wanted to get into the cabin of my…”

“I wanted some privacy to talk,” I interrupt. “Is that what you realized?”

“Exactly.” James is looking through the windshield again and not at me.

Maybe the same questions that are pressing down on me are also burdening him. Or maybe it’s something else altogether.

“I’m sorry I interrupted.” I start looking forward through the windshield myself. “Were you about to say something…?”

“I don’t care about that, Evelyn.” Almost in sync, we turn our heads to face each other. “Aren’t you thinking about everything else now?”

“Everything else?”

“You know, someone from our past—our mutual past—just…showing up—rising up, in a way—and just throwing everything upside goddamn down? Aren’t you thinking about that?”

“Is that the way you see it?”

“That’s the way it is, Evelyn. I’m talking about what’s there, not just what I see…”

“What are you really upset about, James?”

His mouth shrivels in frustration as he looks out the front of his truck and then back at me.

“I’m not hiding anything, Evelyn. I’m talking about what’s going on, right now.”

“The present?” I ask, disbelieving. “Not the past? With Shawn and me…”

“Of course, I’m talking about the present, Evelyn. I’m not worried about the past now any more than I was before all this shit started going down. The past is the past—that’s not what worries me.”

“What worries you, then?”

“It doesn’t worry you, Evelyn?”

I shrug. “I…don’t know? What, specifically, am I supposed to be worried about?”

James’s hand travels up towards the dashboard where it rests for a nervous moment. He takes another deep breath before responding.

“That’s his son in there, Evelyn. Your son, and he was gone for seven very important years…”

“Is that a worry?” I reply tersely and meaninglessly.

“Whatever it is, it’s not good. And with that story—if you can buy it—it all seems to be building up to something…well, not good.”

“I don’t know, James. But there’s no reason to jump to conclusions, especially based on fear.”

James shifts on his seat slightly, then leans towards me, speaking more quietly for absolutely no reason.

“You mean valid suspicions?”

“The situation’s evolving.” I don’t match James’s tone. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I don’t want to play into it. “And we’ll deal with whatever happens as it happens, like rational adults,” I say conclusively.

By the way his eyes are subtly widening, I don’t think James is getting the message.

“Choose me.” His voice is getting even louder and turning into a weird monotone.

“What?” I lean back slightly, instinctually towards the door.

“I need you to know it’s me and not him.” I’ve never heard James speak like this, in his words or his tone.

I turn away reflexively. “I knew there was something about this…”

“It doesn’t have to be something, or anything anymore.” James is trying to sound calm, but his measured speaking just makes every word sound less balanced than the last. “It’s simple, Evelyn, just affirm that it’s me you choose. Me. Not Shawn.”

“Affirm?”

“You already did! It was…before this happened…” Now James sounds like he’s running out of gas. “Now that he’s back and in our lives again, all I need is for you to tell me it’s me, and only me, and never Shawn.”

“I thought you didn’t care about the past.”

“I don’t care about what’s lingering from there. I’m focused on the present and the future. And I need you to be, too.”

James is sounding normal again—and a little sad. I look him in the eyes to deliver the news.

“I can’t do that. I can’t give that to you—not right now.”

As James takes in my words, his mouth starts to slowly fall open. For a second, his face stays frozen in a vague look of shock and bemusement. When he speaks again, it’s in a startling hiss.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Excuse me?” I hold out hope I didn’t hear him correctly.

“You can’t give me even that? Then just leave.”

Maybe he expects me to stay to try and talk him out of it, to comfort and reassure him. And to say everything he asked me to say.

“I said leave.”

Although his voice is starting to sound monotonic again, I don’t doubt he means it.

Without saying another word nor looking back, I leave James where he is, and go back into my own home.