Chapter Eleven #2
Evie glanced at Claire, who gave her hand a squeeze.
“I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just…ugh.
” She shook her head. “It’s gonna get bad.
I don’t know when. I don’t know how long it’ll take.
But it’s likely gonna get bad.” She lifted her hand.
“I’m already feeling it in my joints. The tingling.
The weakness in my muscles. I’m tired all the time. ”
Things started to fall into place. Evie’s constant flexing of her fingers and hand, her surprise naps, the myriad pill bottles she’d seen that morning on the dresser, Claire’s hovering.
Claire.
She sat there, being Evie’s rock, and Rowan had a blast of such anger and jealousy that shot through her, it felt hot, like her blood had turned to lava in an instant. “How could you not tell me?” It was louder this time, and faces turned to her.
“Rowan—” Claire began, holding up a placating hand.
“Shut up,” Rowan snapped, her eyes never leaving Evie’s. She waited.
Evie’s swallow was audible.
Rowan’s anger felt like something she could grab on to and hold, but there was also a growing sadness that was nearly as big. She did her best to soften her voice just a touch. “I was your girlfriend. We’d been together for nearly two years. In love for nearly two years. What the fuck, Evie?”
“I couldn’t do it,” Evie said softly, and now her eyes shimmered with moisture.
“You couldn’t tell me?”
“I couldn’t burden you with this.”
Rowan blinked at her for what felt like a long time as she tried to comprehend the words. “What?”
“It could get bad, Rowan.” Evie’s voice was stronger now, certain. “I will eventually have trouble getting around. Moving. Standing. Walking. I’ll likely end up bedridden at some point down the line.”
Rowan shook her head. “And?”
Evie sighed and shook her own head. “You don’t understand.”
“No. I don’t. So help me.”
“I couldn’t do that to you!” Evie’s words echoed through the first floor, and it was as if there were no other people there, only Rowan and Evie, and Evie was crying openly now.
“Endless medication and constant appointments and days when I can’t get out of bed.
Depression and anxiety and watching me wither away right before your eyes…
” Again, she shook her head, almost violently this time.
Her eyes locked on Rowan’s as she enunciated each word. “I couldn’t do that to you.”
“Is that why you broke up with me?”
“I didn’t want to be a burden.” It was clear to Rowan that being a burden was a deep-seated fear Evie had, and it made sense. She understood it. But still, this was the route she chose?
“You told me you didn’t love me anymore.”
“I know. It was the only way.”
Rowan sat with that for a moment before adding, “You never came to the hospital. I woke up looking for you.”
“I know.” And at that, Evie looked flattened. Crushed. “I wanted to, but…” She glanced up at Claire. She sighed and didn’t finish her sentence, instead repeating, “I didn’t want you to have to deal with…all of this.”
Rowan was pretty sure she could feel her heart breaking in her chest all over again. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. Determined. “Well, that really wasn’t your decision to make, was it?” She turned her gaze to Stevie. “I have to get out of here. Can I use your truck?”
“Of course.” Stevie fished her keys out of her pocket and tossed them to Rowan, who didn’t look at Evie—or anybody—again as she crossed the room and headed upstairs.
It took her all of six minutes to throw all her stuff into her bag and haul it down and out the front door.
Nobody had moved, like Evie’s story had turned them all into statues.
Rowan tossed her crap into Stevie’s truck, then hopped into the driver’s seat and the engine roared to life. Finally, Stevie came jogging out the front door and up to the passenger side of the truck. Rowan powered down the window but didn’t look at her.
“Hey,” Stevie said, looking around the interior of the truck as if the words she wanted to say were hiding in there somewhere.
Rowan didn’t say anything.
“You okay to drive?” Stevie asked, her voice soft and kind. Worried.
Rowan nodded, then swallowed. She was barely holding it together, but she couldn’t tell Stevie that or she’d never let her leave. And right now? That’s all she needed: to get the fuck out of there.
“You sure?”
Another nod.
“You heading home?” Stevie knew her so well.
A third nod.
“Okay. Don’t speed. Pull over if you need to. Text me when you get there.”
“ ’Kay.” The one syllable was all she could manage without her voice cracking.
“Hey.” Stevie waited until Rowan turned to look at her. “It’s gonna be okay.”
Rowan didn’t respond, and when Stevie stepped back, she powered the window up, plugged in her phone, and chose her own address as her destination.
All she wanted was to go home.
The only living being Rowan wanted around her for the next few days was Kevin.
She’d arrived home, much to her mother’s surprise, pulling into the driveway in Stevie’s truck, but with no Stevie.
“What’s going on?” she’d asked immediately, meeting Rowan at the driver’s door.
“Nothing,” Rowan said as she slid to the ground—God, Stevie’s truck was high. She went around to the other side and pulled her stuff out, then headed into her house, leaving her bewildered mother standing in the driveway.
Not a person to be put off so easily, her mom had followed her in, clearly worried. “Why are you home early? Why are you driving Stevie’s truck? And where is she? Did she leave you on your own?” She pulled her phone out and began scrolling until Rowan closed her hand over her mom’s.
“Mom. It’s fine. I just need some time. Okay? Can you give me that?”
Her mother held her gaze, worry clearly etched on her face. Her eyes softened. “I’ll make us some lunch.”
Rowan had tightened her grip. “No. Mom. I love you and I so, so appreciate all your help. But I need some time to myself. All right? Please.”
It was funny how a devastating emotional blow could turn you into a braver person than you were in the moments before you’re hit.
She’d never had the guts to simply tell her mother to go.
She couldn’t bear hurting her feelings like that.
But now? All Rowan knew was that if her mother hovered over her for the rest of the day, she’d go completely mad.
And she needed solitude to deal with what she’d learned today.
Her mom had hesitated. It was evident in her eyes that she didn’t want to leave her daughter alone. But there must’ve been something equally compelling in Rowan’s eyes, because much to Rowan’s surprise, her mom gave one nod. “Okay. As long as you’re sure you’ll be okay.”
“I promise. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to be here.”
There was a tiny flash of hurt that zipped across her mom’s face. It always happened when she felt unneeded. But she’d be okay, Rowan knew that.
And now, hours later, she was stretched out on the couch on her back, Kevin settled on her chest like a very heavy loaf of bread, his motor running, reverberating through Rowan’s bones.
Her phone was always on vibrate, but the constant text messages had made her want to throw it across the room.
Her friends were concerned. She knew that.
But she didn’t want to talk. Not now. Not yet.
She had so much to absorb. So much to think about.
She’d told Stevie she’d made it home, that she was fine, that she just needed some time, and then she’d turned the phone completely off.
Evie was sick.
Those three words made her stomach churn sourly, nauseated her in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d realized some of her memories were gone.
And honestly, if she’d known at some point about the MS, and the accident had wiped it from her brain, that was one thing.
But the fact that she hadn’t been told at all—and she had been Evie’s girlfriend when she found out—was a very, very different thing.
What the hell was she supposed to do with this information?
She felt ripped in half by the two emotions she was feeling.
The first was the combination of hurt and anger over being unceremoniously dumped so Evie didn’t have to “burden” her—and yeah, she had issues with that little factoid.
The second was worry and panic over the disease itself.
She knew next to nothing about multiple sclerosis, only what she’d seen around celebrities that had it and had gone public.
She wanted to research it, look up the details, the symptoms. The prognosis. God, the prognosis. Was this fatal? Would MS kill Evie?
She had zero control over the wetness that filled her eyes and spilled out, ran down the sides of her face as she lay there in the sunlight shining through the living room windows.
The angle was low, the color more orange and red than yellow, and she realized she’d been lying there on her couch, wallowing and being upset, for more than seven hours.
Kevin had held a vigil, clearly understanding that his mom was upset, that these were extenuating circumstances, so his dinner could wait, but at this point, he’d had enough.
He hopped off her and began to pace around the living room, meowing loudly.
Then he stopped to look at her, as if checking to see if she heard him, and then he started pacing and meowing again. Louder this time.
Rowan sighed. “I know. You’re starving. I’m coming.
I’m coming.” Slowly, she sat up, the room swimming slightly, and let her head acclimate.
She scrubbed at her eyes and just sat there, feeling heavy, like her limbs were filled with sand.
With more effort than it should’ve taken, she pushed to her feet and headed for the kitchen.