Chapter 23: Evan
EVAN
Come sunrise, I’m on Riley’s porch with my phone to my ear. It’s the fourth time in ten minutes it’s gone to voicemail. I told the kid,
when I say early, I mean it
. So I jump down the steps and round the side of the tiny, pale-blue clapboard house to his bedroom window. I knock on the glass until the groggy teen pushes the blinds aside to rub his eyes at me.
I flash a grin. “Shake a leg, sunshine.”
“Time is it?” His voice is muffled behind the window.
“Hurry-up time. Let’s go.”
When Riley had asked me to take him surfing, I’d warned him that we weren’t going to mess around with crowded afternoon beaches. If he wanted to get on the water, he’d have to paddle out with the big boys. That means hitting the waves before breakfast.
I hop in Cooper’s truck out front to wait for the kid. A few minutes later, I’m thinking about climbing through his window to drag him out when his aunt knocks on the passenger window.
“Morning,” I greet her, turning off the radio. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I’m supposed to take Riley surfing.”
Wearing a zippered hoodie over a pair of scrubs, Liz glances at my surfboard in the bed of the truck. “Right, he
mentioned it last night. You didn’t wake me, though. I’ve got an early shift. He should be out in a minute.” She holds up a large tray wrapped in tinfoil. “This is for you. Since we never had that dinner.”
“Sorry about that.” I slide across the bench seat to take the tray from her and lift up the foil. The homemade pie inside smells terrific. “I’ve been slammed at work.”
“Hope you’re not allergic to cherry.”
I break off a piece of pie crust to pop in my mouth. Oh fuck, that is delicious. “What if I am?”
She grins. “Eat small bites.”
“Ready!” Riley comes jogging out of the house with the screen door snapping shut behind him. He’s lugging his board under his arm, with a backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Remember, you need to get some laundry done while I’m at work.” Liz moves to let Riley jump in the truck as I slide back to the driver’s side. “And taking some bleach to that bathtub wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yep, okay.” He pokes his head out the window to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Call you later.”
Smiling, Liz points a finger at me. “Don’t drown my nephew.”
I smile back. “I’ll do my best.”
Turns out Riley isn’t half bad on a board. He’s got good balance and a feel for the rhythm of the water but is just a little rough on technique. Unfortunately, the waves today aren’t much worth the effort. We sit on our boards out beyond the breakers, bobbing on the swells. Even when the surfing isn’t great, I’d still rather be out here than almost anywhere else.
“How’d you get better?” Riley asks as we watch the occasional intrepid rider attempt to paddle after a minor wave.
The sun at our back slowly climbs the sky,
casting long orange streaks across the water. About a dozen other surfers float nearby, spread out, watching the undulating tide and hoping for something to crest.
“I just watched what the other guys did and tried to mimic them. But other than being on the water and getting tossed a lot, the thing that helped me the most was learning to control the board and my body.”
“Like how?”
“Well, I swiped a piece of scrap metal pipe from a construction site and put a two-by-four over it. Sort of like a skateboard, you know? And I’d spend hours balancing on it. Learning how to shift my weight to move around. It really helped engage those muscles and train my body.”
“So step one: theft. Got it.”
I grin at him. “See, this is how you get me in trouble.”
One zealous chick turns her board to shore and drives her arms through the water, paddling into position for what amounts to a gentle shove of a wave. Some assholes mockingly whistle after her.
“No worries,” Riley says. “You won Liz over a long time ago. I think she’s maybe got a little thing for you.”
I’d been getting that vibe too. The guy at Big Brothers had even warned that sort of thing wasn’t unheard of, but under no circumstances should I entertain the idea—if I was serious about helping my Little. Which isn’t to say Liz doesn’t have attractive qualities.
“Kind of got my hands full,” I tell him.
He eyes me knowingly. “That girl from the boardwalk the other day?”
“Genevieve. We go way back.”
Even saying her name gets my heart beating faster and fills me with anticipation. I think about her even a little,
and I become impatient for the next time I can see her. I’d spent a year fighting a losing battle against this, driving myself crazy. Now she’s here, never more than a few minutes away, and I still barely see her for some reason that I’ve yet to understand.
“Do you like the guys your aunt dates?” I ask Riley.
He shrugs. “Sometimes. Really, she doesn’t get out much because she works all the time.”
“What’s her type?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, laughing at me. “Boring dudes, I guess. When she’s off work, she just wants to order takeout and watch movies. Relax, you know? I don’t think she’d tolerate anyone with too much energy, even if she thinks it seems like a good idea at first. I just want her to have someone nice.”
If I wasn’t sure it’d set Gen off, I might try and point Liz and that Harrison guy at each other. In another life, maybe.
“I think we ought to do something nice for your aunt,” I decide, forcing my brain to a change of topic. “Take her out to dinner or something.” Regardless of the skewed Nightingale syndrome emerging here, she’s a nice lady who does her best with limited resources. She should get some thanks for that.
“Yeah, she’d like that.”
“She’s good people.” To most kids, moms are a given. They just assume their moms will love and take care of them. Nurture them. Band-Aids and school lunches and all that. Some of us know better. “Don’t ever take her for granted.”
“You hear from your mom lately?”
I’ve talked to him about Shelley before, but the question still hits me sideways. Thinking about her puts me in a constant state of whiplash. She sure isn’t baking any cherry pies.
“She keeps texting, wanting to get together and reconnect. Make amends, or whatever. I told her I’d think about it, but every time she suggests a time and place to meet,
I make up some excuse.”
“What are you going to do? Do you want to see her?”
I shrug, scooping a handful of water to douse my hair. Even though it’s not over our heads yet, the sun is already at baking temperature. “I don’t know how many times I can let her make me the sucker before I haven’t got any dignity left.”
Riley drags his hands through the water, aimless. “I know it’s not exactly the same situation with us. Mine got sick. She didn’t leave. But I’d give anything to see her again, to talk to her.”
His heart’s in the right place, but I wish he hadn’t said that. “Yeah, it’s really not the same.” Because missing his mother doesn’t make him feel like an idiot.
He places both hands on his board and gives me a serious look. “I guess what I’m saying is, if your mom died tomorrow, would you regret not speaking to her one more time?”
Riley’s words burrow into my brain like a worm eating through an apple. The question festers for hours, days. Until finally, a week later, I’m sitting in a diner in Charleston, placing bets against myself after fifteen minutes whether Shelley is going to stand me up. The pitying eyes of my server aren’t giving me great odds as she refills my coffee mug.
“You want anything to eat?” asks the waitress, a middle-aged woman with overgrown roots and too many bracelets.
“No, thanks.”
“The pie came in fresh this morning.”
Enough with the damn pies. “Nope. I’m good.”
Thirty minutes. This is why I didn’t tell anyone, least of all Cooper. He would’ve told me this would happen. After he kicked my ass and took my keys to spare me one more humiliation.
I have no idea when I became the trusting one. The dupe.
I’m about to throw a few bucks on the table
just as Shelley drops into the booth and settles across the table from me. Blown in like a gust of wind.
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry.” She pulls her purse off her shoulder and picks up a laminated menu to fan the heat-and-asphalt smell out of her dyed blonde hair. Her energy is hectic and frazzled, always in motion. “One of the girls was late coming back from lunch because she had to pick her kid up, and I couldn’t leave on my break until she got back.”
“You’re late.”
She stills. Presses her lips together with a contrite tilt of her head. “I’m sorry. But I’m here now.”
Now.
This impermanent state between wasn’t and won’t be.
“What’ll you have?” The waitress is back, this time with an accusatory curtness to her tone. This woman’s growing on me.
“Coffee, please,” Shelley tells her.
The woman walks off with a grimace.
“I’m glad you called me back,” Shelley tells me as she keeps fanning herself with the menu. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it before, but I just figured it out. Her frenetic nature gives me anxiety. Always has. The perpetual motion is so chaotic. Like bees in a glass box. “I’ve missed you.”
I purse my lips for a second. Then I let out a tired breath.
“Yeah, you know what, before we go another ten rounds on this, let me say: You’re a bad mom, Shelley. And it’s pretty shady how you’re pitting Cooper and I against each other.” She opens her mouth to object. I stop her with a look. “No, that’s exactly what you’re doing. You came to me with all your pleas and apologies because you know Cooper won’t hear it. You take advantage of the fact that I’m the soft one, but you don’t care what that does to your sons. If he knew I was here—I don’t know, he might change the locks
on me. I’m not kidding.”
“That isn’t what I want.” Any pretense of a sunny disposition fades from her face. “Brothers shouldn’t fight.”
“No, they shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t be putting me in this position. And you know what else? Would it have killed you to bake a pie every now and then?”
She blinks. “Huh?”
“I’m just saying,” I mutter. “Other moms bake pies for their kids.”
She’s quiet for a while after the waitress brings her coffee. Staring at the table and folding her napkin into smaller and smaller shapes. She looks different, I can’t help but acknowledge. Her eyes are clear. Skin is healthy. Getting sober is a hell of a drug.
Leaning forward on her elbows, she begins in a subdued voice. “I know I’ve been awful to you boys. Trust me, kid, I know what rock bottom is now. Getting thrown in jail by my own son was kind of an eye-opener.”
“Stealing from your own son,” I pointedly remind her. “Anyway, he dropped the charges, which was probably more than you deserved.”
“I’m not arguing with you.” She drops her head, watching her fingers pick at the peeling nail polish on her thumb. “Sitting in that cell knowing that my own kid had me locked up, though … Yeah, that was a wake-up call.” Hesitant, she lifts her gaze to search mine, probably for some hint that her contrition is landing. “I’m trying here, baby. This is my new leaf. I got a job now. My own place.”
“That tree’s looking a little bare from where I’m sitting, Mom.”
“You’re right. We’ve been here before.”
She smiles, all heartsick and hopeful. It’s sad and
pathetic, and I hate seeing my own mother so beaten. I don’t enjoy kicking her while she’s down. But what else is there when she’s been down so long, and she’s got both hands around my ankle?
“I promise, Evan. I’m ready to be better. I got my shit together. No more of that old stuff. I just want to have a relationship with my sons before I die.”
I hate that. It isn’t fair, playing the death card on a couple orphans who’ve already buried one parent in the ground and another in our minds. Still, something strikes a chord with me. Maybe because the two of us have found ourselves on entirely different yet similar journeys of self-improvement. Maybe I’m a sap who will never stop wanting his mother to love him and act like she does. Either way, I can’t help feeling she’s sincere this time.
“Here’s how it is,” I say slowly. “I’m not saying no.”
Her eyes, dark and daunting like mine, light with relief.
“I’m not saying yes, either. You’re gonna have to do more than make promises if you want to be part of my life. That means keeping a steady job and your own place. Sticking around town for a solid year. No running off to Atlantic City or Baton Rouge or wherever else. And I think we should do a monthly dinner.” I don’t even know why I say that. It just spills out of me. Then I realize I don’t hate the idea.
She nods, too eager. It makes me nervous. “I can do that.”
“I don’t want you coming to me for money. You don’t drop by the house to sleep one off. Matter of fact, you don’t come by at all. If Cooper sees you, I can’t be sure he won’t think of a reason to have you arrested again.”
She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “You’ll see, baby. I’m better now. I haven’t even had a drink since you agreed to meet me.”
“That’s great, Mom. Let me tell you
something, though, that I’ve started to figure out myself: If the change is going to stick, you have to want it to. That means doing it for yourself, not only because you’re trying to impress someone else. Change, or don’t. Either way, you’re the one who’s got to live with the result.”