No Tomorrow
“Seeing you sitting there every day was the best part of my day,” he says as we walk past my bench.
I smile up at him. “Really? Seeing you was the best part of mine, too.” It seems like just yesterday I was watching the clock waiting for noon to come, and I’d walk to the park with the feeling of a thousand butterflies in my stomach.
Continuing down the path, we pass the picnic table we used to sit at, and go down the dirt path to the old stone bridge. He stops suddenly, and takes a few steps backwards until he meets the wall of the bridge. Leaning back against it, he smiles and pulls me against his chest, bending down to kiss me softly at first, then deeper as his hands circle my waist and slide down to cup my ass.
“There’s no way I could walk by this spot without kissing you,” he murmurs.
I clasp my hands behind his neck. “Oh! Is this where….” My voice trails off as I look around us, remembering.
“It is,” he says, rubbing his nose along mine, awakening the butterflies again. “I still have your panties from that night. And the ones you were wearing the night before I left.”
“I’m not sure if that’s sexy or disturbing.”
“Probably both.”
Still holding my hand, he leads me down a short path through the woods until we come to a road, and I realize with surprise that we’re at the end of the dead-end street where the house with the shed is.
His house.
We stand at the end of the driveway and stare up at it quietly together. I’m not sure if being here is good or bad for his recovery.
“Ellie told me you used to live here,” I say softly. “How come you never told me?”
He shrugs after a few moments, with his gaze still on the old house. “I honestly don’t know, Piper.”
“That’s okay.”
He takes a deep breath and looks down at me. “Do you want to go inside?”
“Um….” His question is the last thing I expect. “Do you want to?”
“Yeah. I think I finally do.”
“Then I’d love to go inside with you.”
“It’s probably going to be dirty and smelly,” he warns as we walk up the driveway.
“That’s all right.”
We walk around the house and enter through the screen door of the porch. Everything is exactly as it was the last time I came here looking for him.
“When was the last time you were inside?” I ask.
“I think I was around twenty.”
“You bought a lot of notebooks,” I observe as we walk past the piles.
He stops in front of the door leading to the kitchen and looks back at the notebooks.
“Actually, I didn’t buy them. My mother ordered them. Apparently, she thought she was buying a pack of twelve and she somehow ordered twelve hundred.”
“Shit. That’s a lot.”
“Yup. At least I never run out.”
I watch as he bends down to move a large ceramic planter near the door, and plucks a key out from under it.
“I lost my set of keys a long time ago,” he says, unlocking the door.
Being inside the house is like stepping back in time. The refrigerator and sink are avocado green. There’s still wood paneling on most of the walls. The kitchen chairs have plaid seat cushions. The air is stale and musty, but at least it doesn’t smell like something died in here.
Evan sighs deeply and slowly walks farther into the room. “It’s exactly like it was,” he says with awe. “I’ll bet there’s still food in the fridge.”
“Let’s not look,” I advise.
He grins. “Good idea.”
Taking my hand again, we walk through the dining room, through the den, then to the living room. The rooms are huge, and everything looks as if his mother just ran out to get milk years ago and never came back. It’s all untouched, still waiting. A teacup, a pair of reading glasses, and an old book, open but lying face down, are on the table at the end of the couch. I wonder what happened to her. Did she go crazy here alone? Did Ellie ever come back to visit her? Were there other relatives to look after her?
“Are you okay?” I ask. “I don’t want this to—”
“Fuck my head up?” he asks.
“Well, yeah. I know you weren’t exactly happy here.”
“I’m fine. And living here was just like every other part of my life. Some days were good, some days sucked. But it wasn’t all bad. Ellie made it seem all bad, didn’t she?”
I nod.
“When my mother was good, she was fun to be around, and then my father wasn’t such a dick. When she was having a rough time, it was hard to be around both of them. He drank and yelled and she cried and ranted. So I escaped into my own head, and into my music, and I talked to the birds. It became my normal.”
“Evan….”
“What? I’m not going to hide it anymore. You already know I’m nuts.”
I frown and cross my arms. “You’re not nuts. I don’t want you to hide anything, I just feel bad.”
“Don’t feel bad. C’mon, let’s go upstairs and look at my room.”
I follow him up the wide wood staircase, where there are four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The house must have been gorgeous in its time, before everyone left. Vaulted ceilings, crown molding, lots of windows, the wood trim and accents and angles known in the Tudor-style homes. I feel sorry for it, being abandoned for so long.
A bedroom door with a skull and crossbones painted on it is closed.
“Guess whose room this is?” he teases.
“I’m not surprised.”
He swings open the door and it looks exactly as I pictured a teenage Evan’s room would look. Rock posters cover almost every inch of the walls and ceiling. A small mattress is on the floor with an old black blanket thrown over it. There’s only one dresser, and its drawers aren’t closed all the way. Clothes stick out of them. An old radio and cassette player sits on top of the dresser, surrounded by candles dripping long-hardened wax. Empty cigarette cartons are thrown all over the place. Next to the bed is a stack of rock and guitar magazines and more notebooks.
Not surprising.
“No naked girl posters?” I tease, peering around.
He laughs and opens the closet door. “Nah. I was never into ogling women.”
After digging around in the closet, he comes out with a guitar case.
“Look what’s still here.” He lays the old dusty case on the bed.
“What’s that?”
“My first acoustic guitar.”
“Oh. I thought the one you always have with you was your first.”
“That was my second, actually.”
I’m shocked, and confused, when he opens the case and the guitar inside is in absolutely pristine condition.
“It’s pretty,” I say. “It looks brand new.”
Smiling ear to ear, he gently pulls it out of the case and turns it over in his hands.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks, clearly excited. “This is a 1934 Gibson Jumbo.”
I blink at him. “Is that good?”
“Good? It’s fuckin’ amazing, Piper. They’re wicked rare and worth a shit ton of money, not that I’d ever sell it. I just can’t believe it’s still here.” He runs his fingers lightly over the strings before placing it back in the case. “I’m taking it back with us.”
“Why did you leave it?” I ask.
“I only played it a few times. My mother bought it at a garage sale, she had no idea what it was, or what it was worth. Neither did the guy selling it. I knew, though. I was afraid to play it. It’s just too…good. Ya know?” He snaps the case closed. “I bought my other one so I could save this one. Protect it from getting destroyed. I didn’t get a chance to take it with me. I moved in the shed with Acorn, and then we just left. I never came back inside.”
My heart still tugs at the mention of sweet Acorn.
“I’m glad it’s still here. You should put it with your others. It deserves to be out, not shut in an old closet.”
“You’re right. I’m going to put new strings on it. I can’t wait to show Lyric, I think she’ll love it.”
Lyric loves everything he shares with her.
We go back downstairs, and I’m relieved this visit isn’t upsetting him. He looks happy, and excited about the guitar. I wait as he rummages through a kitchen drawer, then turns around and hands me an old photograph.
I take it from him gingerly, and when I hold it up under the light from the window, my heart jumps with joy.
It’s a photo of Evan at about five years old, hair to his shoulders, and a tiny blue bird sitting on his shoulder. He’s smiling like he’s the happiest little boy in the whole world.
“Can I have this? Please?” I ask, meeting his gaze.
“Of course.”
“You look so adorable. And happy.”
He winks at me. “Told ya.”
I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist, leaning my head against his chest.
“I love you,” I say softly.
He holds me with his free arm. “I love you too, baby. Thank you for doing this with me. I wasn’t planning on coming here, but I’m glad we did.”