Chapter Sixteen #2
had been wildly popular in high school and college, and she now enjoyed a minor degree of fame, thanks to édouard’s former
hockey career and his enduring reputation as one of the best-dressed players in the game.
“You’re one to talk, dressed like the wife of a professional athlete.”
Evie made a face at him. “Don’t be rude.”
“How can stating a fact be rude? You are the wife of a professional athlete.”
“Former professional athlete, and you used a tone.”
“Yes, that is one of the requirements for producing speech.”
“Can you turn around? I’d like to go home now.”
Whit laughed, and they spent the remainder of the drive alternating between teasing each other and catching up.
Evie asked about Merritt only once, and he explained their working arrangement before redirecting the conversation to focus on the actual logistics of finishing Helen’s book. Evie let him.
He was really very glad she was here.
But not nearly as glad as Annie.
“Evie!” she squealed when the back door opened in the carpool line at the Foothills School.
“Annie!” Evie said, matching her niece’s enthusiasm.
Annie scrambled over the console to squeeze her aunt while Whit scanned the carpool line for Noel. When he found him, Noel
saw him, too, but rather than approaching the car, he only waved meekly. Whit almost grinned, wishing that Merritt were here
to see this.
“So,” Evie said as they drove away, “how’s third grade? Tell me everything.”
Annie hardly needed the invitation. Within fifteen minutes, Whit had learned more about the inner workings of Annie’s life
than he had in the past two months—who her new friends were, what her teacher was like, math concepts she was finding especially
hard to learn. And then, in response to a single question of Evie’s, she spilled her guts about what had been bothering her.
She had been crying herself to sleep over some drama between her, her friend Liza, and a new girl at school, but the issues
had been resolved and things were now back to normal.
Whit felt shame folding over him, like a thick quilt stitched through with worry. Why hadn’t Annie been able to tell him this?
How much else had he and Annie not talked about? How many things had he forgotten to ask?
“And,” she said from the backseat as they rounded the turn to the house, “today was library day, and Dad, I got another Lois
Lowry book.”
She was rummaging through her backpack as she spoke, until she came up with a copy of Number the Stars in her hands.
“Oh,” Whit said, “that’s one of my favorites—but I didn’t read it until I was nine or ten.”
Annie grinned at the rearview mirror. “Mrs. Pryor told me she thought my reading was advanced enough.”
Whit caught a glance from Evie out of the corner of his eyes and grinned back, proud. “I’m sure it is.”
“And she said it’s one of Merritt’s favorites. Will you tell her I got it?”
Whit felt his eyebrows rise and cursed them for the betrayal. Evie’s throat made a little sound, and if Whit hadn’t been driving,
he would have closed his eyes rather than bear the weight of her now full-on glare.
“Definitely,” was all he said, resolutely ignoring the giddy, villainous way Evie was tapping her extended fingertips against
one another.
After dinner, Evie volunteered to read with Annie before bed while Whit cleaned up the pizza night debris in the kitchen.
When Evie came back downstairs, she was looking mischievously at him.
“I’ve been exceedingly good, Whit.”
Whit finished wiping crumbs from the counter into his hand before he stood up and looked at her.
“I do not like where this is going.”
Evie placed her phone on the counter and leaned against the fridge, arms crossed and feet bare. She was wearing sweatpants
and a huge Montréal Carabins T-shirt that was clearly édouard’s from college. Whit felt like they were back in one of their
parents’ kitchens.
“You have a young woman coming into your house—”
“She’s basically my age.”
“—writing Helen’s book for you—”
“With me.”
“—and Annie tells me that she’s picking her up in the carpool line and that, by the way, she’s cool and has cool green-framed
glasses—those are hard to pull off—and also she asked me if you two were boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Whit felt his mouth open, close, and open again. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his own arms.
“She did?”
“She did.”
“And you said . . .”
“I said, Oh, I don’t know, your dad doesn’t tell me anything, so let’s find out together.”
His eyes widened. Evie shook her head and rolled her eyes to show she was kidding.
“I said you two were coworkers, and that lots of times boys and girls are just friends.”
Whit sighed. The two lapsed into silence.
“Do you want some tea?”
Evie jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t stall.”
“I am not stalling, there is nothing to stall about.”
“Are you just friends, or do you like this similarly aged woman?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Literally the only question anyone else would ask in this situation.”
Whit started walking toward the living room, and Evie followed.
“You’re not answering me, Whit. And what about the tea?”
Whit stopped, dropping his head back for a moment before turning to look at his sister.
“Evie.” He sighed. “Do you know why I asked you to come here?”
She gave him an incredulous look.
“I offered, actually. But yes?”
He nodded.
“Right. We lost Helen. And you’re here to help us. Because we’re having a hard time.”
He shrugged, refusing to feel guilty about these words because they were true. Annie’s question had meant that they were all
he could think about right now.
Evie’s incredulity softened, and she gave a solemn nod and disappointed sigh.
“All right, fine, Whit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. But definitely do chill out on the . . . whatever that line of questioning is called.”
Evie looked like she was about to say one last thing before thinking better of it and changing direction.
“Of course.”
He smiled, and then left the room, choosing not to interrogate why exactly the end of this conversation felt less like a victorious
walk-off and more like a retreat.