Chapter Thirty-Five
Mila
After leaving Everett’s cabin, I race home, cover my messed-up hair with a baseball cap, and teach my classes on autopilot.
When I’m done, I take a quick shower and head over to the hospital, where my mother is scheduled for release around one in the afternoon. After bringing her home, I spend the rest of the day trying to take care of her without letting on that I’m a total wreck.
We order dinner in, but I can’t eat. We watch her favorite reality TV shows, but I can’t concentrate. I make up a bed on the couch to be closer in case she calls for me, but I can’t sleep.
I check my phone relentlessly, even throughout the night, but there’s never a message from Everett.
What did you expect? You told him to slow down. You told him you needed a break. He’s not going to push you. That’s not him.
I hear Hugo’s voice: Avoidance doesn’t build skills, Mila.
By the time the sun comes up Tuesday morning, I know I’ve made a mistake. I pick up my phone and shoot Everett a message.
Mila: Hey. Sorry about the way I acted yesterday. Let me know when you can talk.
Everett: You’re up early.
Mila: I’m not sure I was ever down.
Everett: I didn’t sleep that well, either.
Mila: I can’t leave the house for too long today, but do you think we could grab coffee this afternoon? I’d like to talk.
Everett: Sure. You let me know what time. I’m flexible.
Relieved, I heart the message and lie back again.
Later that morning, I get an email from Daniel Bartok.
Dear Ms. Ferguson,
I’m thrilled that you’re up for a chat! How about Thursday? I could meet you at the diner any time after 5:00.
Let me know if that works for you!
Sincerely,
Daniel Bartok
Oh, right.
With all the excitement (and sex) over the weekend, I sort of forgot I agreed to meet with him.
But I’ve made up my mind to go through with it, so I reply that I’ll meet him at 5:30 Thursday evening.
I explain that I can’t stay long, but I’m eager to hear what his club has uncovered about that night.
I give him my phone number and tell him to text me where he’s sitting once he arrives.
After lunch, I help my mother with her exercises, which tire her out. “I’m going to lie down,” she says, working her way slowly toward her bedroom with the walker.
I glance at the time—it’s just after two. “Okay with you if I run out for a bit?”
“Where?” she asks.
For some reason, I don’t want her to know the truth. “I just need to run a few errands. I’d like to check out that new art supply store. I could use a few new brushes. I won’t be long.”
“That’s fine,” she says, disappearing around the corner.
Mila: I’m free! Can you get away?
Everett: Yes. Riverfront Roast in about 20?
Mila: Perfect.
After giving my hair a quick brush, I put on a little mascara and lip balm and dash out of the house.
Everett is waiting for me out on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. My heart beats faster as I approach him. “Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” He looks like he’s not sure if he should hug me or not. His hands are jammed in his pockets.
I open my arms to embrace him. His chest is warm and solid against mine. “Thanks for meeting me last minute.”
“No problem.”
Inside, it smells like strong coffee and pumpkin spice. I order a latte with whipped cream and cinnamon; Everett gets a decaf dark roast. We find seats across from each other at a tiny booth for two in the back.
I dip my tongue in my whipped cream. “Mmm. Tastes like pumpkin pie. Fall is definitely here.”
Everett takes a sip of his decaf.
“I used to love fall as a kid—the colors, the smell, even going back to school. It always felt like getting a fresh start. Like, this year will be different.” I laugh.
“Somehow, I imagined the coming of autumn would magically transform me into a new person. Someone confident and popular. Someone Everett McKean might actually notice.”
His smile seeps into my bones, melting them like butter. “I noticed you.”
“Eventually,” I say, a flush creeping up my neck. “So how’s Gabi?”
“She’s fine. We talked after you left. I’m pretty sure she’s going to reach out to you this week.”
“I’d like that.”
“She feels bad for the way she reacted, and she apologized for running out. She was just shocked.”
“I get it. I panicked too.” I play with my napkin, folding it accordion-style. “Not just about Gabi, but about us.”
He sips his coffee. “Why?”
I take a deep breath. “I started to worry that my skis were out from under me, you know? I think I needed a little time to make sure that I wasn’t attempting a slope too steep for me to handle.
I don’t want to be one of those people who wipes out and their equipment is scattered all across the mountain. ”
Everett’s lips twitch. “Yard sale.”
I return his grin. “Yard sale.”
“It’s okay,” he says, the tension in his shoulders loosening. “I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for. But I hope you know that I’m nothing like your ex. I’m never going to hurt you like that.”
“I know you’re nothing like him. Rationally, I know.” I take a breath. “But I’m like me. And sometimes my rational brain takes a break and my insecurity takes the wheel and I freak out a little.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table. “What can I do to help?”
“Just promise you’ll always be honest with me. That I’ll always know where I stand with you.”
“That’s easy.”
“Thanks.” I lift my drink to my lips and slurp up some whipped cream, let it melt on my tongue. “So what brought Gabi to town?”
“Actually, she’s moving back to Hart’s Landing.”
I set my cup down with a thump. “She is?”
“Yes. But she’s here right now to help our mom find a treatment for her fibromyalgia that doesn’t involve habit-forming pain meds. Mom won’t take them.” He hesitates. “Our dad got addicted to opioids before he died.”
“That’s hard. Your poor mom.”
“By the way, I forgot to tell you that she loved the card you sent her.”
I smile. “I’m glad.”
“Did you draw something on the front?”
“Yes. An apple blossom, since she sent an apple pie.”
He gives me a mock scowl, eyes narrowed. “You’ve never drawn anything for me.”
“Give me your napkin.” I dig in my purse for a pen.
“Mila, I was kidding. You don’t have to draw anything for me. I already took my clothes off for you.”
Laughing, I grab his napkin and slide it toward me, then begin sketching. “Hush. Artist at work.”
“What is it?” He cranes his neck to get a better look, but I hide what I’m doing with my latte.
“Something that reminds me of you.”
“A sturdy oak tree with a massive trunk?”
I giggle. “No.”
“Some kind of giant mushroom with a thick, hard stem?”
“Nope.”
“I got it—a very firm, very large eggplant.”
“None of the above.” I finish up the rudimentary sketch and slide the napkin toward him. “Now guess.”
He stares at it. “Cherry blossoms.”
“Yes!”
“Holy shit. I can’t get over how easily you just drew this. You’re amazing.”
Heat flushes my cheeks, and I pick up my latte. “It’s just a scribble.”
He stares at it for another minute before setting it aside. “I had a conversation with Dr. Kevin Yang from the environmental science department at MSU this morning.”
“Oh yeah? What did he say?”
“I’m in luck. Turns out phytoremediation is a particular interest for him because of water contamination in the Great Lakes Basin. Did you know that the Great Lakes supply more than ninety percent of the country’s surface fresh water?”
“I did not,” I say, laughing at his professorial tone. “But that’s very interesting.”
“And the freshwater supply is at risk due to pollution from landfills, brownfields, and other industrial bullshit. Dr. Yang told me he’s overseen the installation of several phytobuffer networks as part of ecological restoration, and he said he’d be glad to take a look at the foundry site and give me some advice. ”
“Oh, Everett, that’s perfect. It makes me so happy to think about that place being reimagined in a positive way.”
“He also suggested establishing a mini research center where students—and even the public—could study the process of phytoremediation and learn more about environmentally friendly cleanup. I might be able to get some additional funding that way. A federal grant.”
“I love that idea! When’s he coming up here?”
“In two weeks. The Wednesday after Founder’s Day. In the meantime, he asked me to send him all the test results so he can look them over.”
“Fingers crossed this is the answer.” I hold up both hands to show him.
He smiles. “I have a good feeling.”
All too soon, he walks me to my car and kisses me by the driver’s side door.
“I wish I didn’t have to go,” I tell him. “Maybe I can escape again tomorrow.”
“I’d like that.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you—I changed my mind about meeting with that Diner Detective guy. We’re going to talk on Thursday.”
Everett’s eyebrows rise. “Oh yeah? Why the change of heart?”
“Yasmine said something on Friday night about running from the past, and I realized that’s part of my problem. I run away from things that scare me, especially when they involve any kind of confrontation. I’m trying to get better at that.”
“I support this.” He slips both hands into my hair, cradling my face. “I support you.” Then he kisses me again.
A long, slow kiss that tastes like coffee and cinnamon and a new beginning.
The following afternoon, I’m working in my back-bedroom studio when my mother calls to me from the living room.
“Mila? There’s someone pulling up to the house! Did you invite friends over? I’m not dressed for company!”
“Maybe it’s a delivery,” I call back.
“The person is coming up the front walk, and they’re not carrying a package!”
The doorbell rings.
Exhaling, I set down my colored pencil and go to the living room.
“I don’t want anyone to see me,” my mother hisses from the couch, clutching her robe around her. “I never got dressed today.”
“Relax, I won’t invite anyone in.”
I pull open the front door and gasp.
It’s Gabi.