Chapter 33
33
Drew
Evie stumbles out of her parents’ front hallway and over the threshold as her dad and I step toward it. I don’t know what has gone on here, but I can guess. As horrible as it was being on the receiving end of her hot-and-cold behavior, I still want to save her from the consequences of it.
I put my hand on the wood paneling of the door to ensure that it stays open. “Mr. Hudson, please give us a minute to explain,” I say, surprised at the firmness in my tone. I spent a long time swallowing abject envy about the love-filled family Evie grew up in and the relationship she had with her dad—such a stark comparison to my complete lack of a father figure. Is it because of that that I can’t contend with the idea of them rejecting her? Or can I not contend with the idea that I’ll be stuck with her?
He pushes from the other side. “I’ve said no, Drew. I’m sorry.”
My heart bolts at the notion that he recognizes me. We’ve never met, but she’s clearly painted enough of a picture of me over the years that he knows me on sight. The emotion in his voice is unmistakable: this is killing him.
Evie sinks onto the concrete beside me, back up against the metal fence, defeated.
“I need to prioritize my wife’s mental health,” her father says. “The last few messages Evie sent …” He can’t continue. I can hear Christine crying now, in the hall.
“What messages?” Evie asks from the ground. “Dad, I don’t remember anything!”
“Look, we’re only just back from Sydney,” he says, his voice low. “We got in the car as soon as we heard you were in the hospital, Evie. Aimed to get to the service, of course. But when the media started harassing us … There’s only so much more your mother can take.”
“You came ?” She looks from her dad to me and appeals to me silently, willing me to grab hold of this morsel of hope.
“We also have to prioritize Evie’s health,” I find myself arguing, and I feel her father’s hard pressure on the door give a couple of centimeters. It’s like a standoff. I didn’t mean to swoop in like this and I appreciate that this is a strain on them, but I’m genuinely worried about the impact of this stress on Evie’s already fragile mental condition now that we’re away from her medical team. “It’s post-traumatic amnesia,” I continue. “She can’t remember anything about Oliver. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours with her and can promise you, this is the daughter you used to know.”
Evie is looking at me as if I’m dishing out even more scary news. I offer her an empathetic smile that goes nowhere. Her whole body is shaking. “What have I done?” she asks. Her innocence skewers my heart—a reminder of why it’s dangerous to get too close.
David lets go of the door.
“It’s okay,” I assure her, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet again. “It’s going to be okay.”
The problem is it might not be. I can’t get my head around how she can come back from the last thirteen years with any of her core relationships intact. I feel like we’re at risk of her memory snapping into focus at any moment, and then we’ll lose this version of Evie all over again. The first time nearly destroyed me, so I completely empathize with her father’s standpoint.
“Dad?” she begs. “Please help me. I’ve got nowhere else to turn.”
That admission punches me in the gut.
He lets the door fall wide open. “I need you to know if this gets out of hand, or if Mum can’t cope, I’m going to have to ask you both to leave.”
I get it.
“It’s not just my wife’s mental health I’m worried about.” He directs this to me. “She’s got a blood pressure thing. Stress can make it worse. I can’t risk her health for—”
Evie.
“She’s your daughter,” I point out. “She needs you too.”
He looks me up and down. “She’s got you, by the look of it.”
No.
No!
“She’s in crisis,” I point out. “I promise if it gets too much, we’ll leave, but please try.”
He dips his head. Defeat. Then he nods reluctantly, pats me on the shoulder as if to communicate the elaborate mess we’re in collectively, and invites us across the threshold. “Probably should have been you all along,” he says.