Chapter 20 #2
In the meantime, I am here for whatever you two need. Meals? You got it. A pep talk? Coming right up. Diaper changes? Just set me up at the end of his changing table. I’ll sleep there if I have to. I am at your beck and call, always.
I chuckle softly to myself. She really meant it, too. She was there for me whenever I needed her. And I needed her . . . often.
And, last but not least, please remember that you are a wonderful brother, friend, son, and doctor, and you can now add father to that list!
Teddy is the luckiest little boy in the whole world to have a daddy like you.
I know you will do everything in your power to make his childhood the very best it can be.
Love, Your Spitfire
A tear slips down my cheek as I reread her last sentence. I wipe it away.
Not only was Evie the reason I chose to pursue child and adolescent psychiatry, but she gave me my purpose as a physician—to help children get to be children. I can’t help but feel like I’m failing Teddy already, and he’s only three.
My heart constricts in my chest as I reread the letter again and again. Lord, I miss the Evie who saw the very best in me—the girl who believed in me and loved me unconditionally. She was the one person who was in my corner during a time when it felt like the whole world had turned against me . . .
And I repaid her by breaking her heart.
Evie doesn’t respond to my text until I’m halfway through my book, my eyelids are drooping, and I’ve lost all hope that she will.
Spitfire: Not. A. Date.
I smirk.
Me: Humor me.
Spitfire: You’re my boss, remember? I’m not about to give you a lowdown of my Friday night, date or no date. It’s inappropriate.
A blush creeps up my neck. She’s right, really. But my thumbs are flying across the screen before I can stop them.
Me: What’s inappropriate is that skirt you were wearing this afternoon.
I regret my flirtatious message immediately.
Spitfire: Careful. Before I get HR involved.
I grin, relieved by her playful response.
Me: I am HR.
Spitfire: Stop being so creepy all the time.
My face warms. I don’t know whether to take her message seriously or not.
Me: How am I being creepy?
It takes her forever to reply. I’m on the edge of my seat waiting, glancing at my phone every few seconds, unable to focus on my book.
Spitfire: Because. You’re way too interested in my life.
You think I haven’t noticed the way you’re always just AROUND these days?
For starters, you were miraculously just THERE the day of my car accident.
You were creeping around my room the next morning, watching me sleep.
Then, somehow, you lassoed me into becoming your assistant by using my meager income and dreams of backpacking across Europe against me.
Spitfire: For all I know, you’re the one who put that pesky curb there and are responsible for the fatal fall that injured me and put me at your mercy.
I’ve been shaking my head this entire time, but her last message makes me chuckle.
Spitfire: You’re probably also the reason one of my diaries is missing.
And just like that, I’m sweating. Her diary is still sitting in my center console. I haven’t forgotten about it, but I haven’t wanted to move it, either, just in case an opportunity to drop it off at Maggie’s place arises when Evie’s not around. No such luck yet.
Me: So tell me more about this date.
The text is a joke, but she begins drafting a very long-winded reply, judging by the amount of time it takes her to respond.
Knowing Evie, she’ll make up some elaborate story.
She is incredibly imaginative. When she was a kid, she would spend hours pitting her dolls against each other in these elaborate day-time-drama-like stories that she’d make up off the top of her head.
And whenever she could, she’d force me and Jamie to endure her geeky soliloquies, using her parents’ raised fireplace hearth as a makeshift stage for her one-man shows.
I’m grinning like a maniac as her first message rolls in.
Spitfire: Fine. If you must know. We started off with a romantic, candle-lit dinner at Little Italy. Being Friday night, all the old timers were out, and I got to dance with half of Sunny Days’ residency because I just love “keeping them young.”
I laugh again. Suddenly, I don’t want to text anymore. I want to hear the gentle cadence of her voice as she weaves her little tale. I love hearing her ramble. My thumb clicks on her profile and hovers over the call button.
I take a deep breath and press it. It rings twice.
“Did you just butt dial me?” she answers.
I chuckle. “No. I thought it would be easier for you to tell me all about your not-exactly-a-hot-date over the phone.”
“Right,” she says petulantly. Grinning, I lie down and tuck an arm behind my head, getting comfortable as she continues. “So, after our candle-lit dinner where we shared our spaghetti Lady-and-the-Tramp style, we went mini golfing.”
“Sure,” I say studiously, resisting the laughter I can feel building deep within my chest. “The one just outside of town, right? Putt-Putt Palace?” That place closed down last spring.
“Yeah,” she says quickly, and I can’t contain my laughter. “What’s so funny? You think mini golfing on a date is lame?”
“Not at all. It’s a convenient excuse to get close to a woman and ‘teach’ her how to putt.”
She snorts. “I take it you’ve done that before?”
“No, actually. But if you like mini golf, I’ll file the idea away.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize I’m flirting. I can practically see Mom wagging her finger at me.
“Well, I don’t.”
I roll my eyes. “So, you didn’t enjoy mini golfing with Adam, then?”
“Oh, I enjoyed it with Adam,” she clarifies.
I shake my head. She is so stubborn. “Then what did you do? After you went mini golfing?”
“We went to McDonald’s and shared a McFlurry.”
“Is that so?” I just so happened to try ordering an M&M McFlurry this evening, but the ice cream machine was broken. “And after that?”
“Then he took me home. And he walked me to the door like a gentleman.” Her prissy voice holds an accusation in it. Something you never did.
My voice lowers. “And did you let him kiss you goodnight?”
I hear her inhale. “Yep. And it was a very nice kiss.”
My heart thumps against my ribs, going wild with jealousy over the idea of her kissing Adam—despite the fact that she’s making all of this up. “Liar,” I whisper. “About all of it.”
“Of course I’m lying,” she hisses. “I told you it wasn’t a date.”
“I saw you this evening,” I finally admit.
“I know.” I can just picture her blushing. “I saw you, too.”
I thought she might have. “Did you have a good time?” I ask, curious about why they were praying over her this evening.
Did she specifically ask for prayer? Or was it an impromptu thing?
Admittedly, seeing Adam’s hands on Evie’s shoulders had inspired a rather shameful amount of jealousy in me.
I should be thankful he’s inviting her to his Bible study group and praying over her.
And I am.
But . . . that ever-present thorn in my side—my humanity—keeps cropping up.
Lord, forgive me.
“It was fine,” she says, her voice clipped. “Hey, how much money can I spend on tree decorations?”
My mind struggles to shift gears. “Um . . .”
“Is three hundred dollars too much? I’m about to click checkout on .”
I sputter. “Three hundred dollars? What? Evie, that’s—”
She laughs. “I’m kidding. Obviously. Is fifty dollars okay? Did you manage to get a tree? I was also wondering if I could get a few items for the lobby.”
“Fifty dollars is fine,” I say slowly. “I plan to go to the tree farm tomorrow or Sunday,” I add, struggling to answer her questions as the baby monitor lights up on my nightstand.
Teddy calls out for me, asking for his water.
Frantically, I look around the room for his sippy cup.
“And if you can hold off on buying the decor from , we could go to Target on Sunday.” Teddy’s protests get louder.
“Evie, can I call you back? Teddy just woke up.”
“Actually, it’s getting late, so I should probably go to bed.” Her voice is strained. But then it turns timid rather abruptly. “Will you give Teddy a hug from me?”
I swallow. “Of course. Will I see you at church on Sunday?”
“I don’t know.” I wait, and she sighs. “Maybe.” She hesitates. “Goodnight.”
“Sleep well, Spitfire.”
“You, too.”
When the line goes dead, I hang my head. Lord, will I ever get things right with her?