45 EVIE
E VIE
“Come on, guys, breakfast!”
When I close my eyes, I can still hear the sound of my voice calling up the stairs on school mornings.
Two pairs of small feet pounding down the steps and passing by in a blur before jumping onto their chairs at the kitchen table.
Pancakes in the center of the table, along with a pitcher of orange juice.
A layer of shimmery dew on the grass and the brown wooden swing set.
Checking backpacks for homework and lunches and straightening out clothes.
“Hey, kiddo, you’ve only got one sock on under those shoes.
” Tickling Lucas’s ankle with a wink. He insisted on doing everything for himself those days, which could be both frustrating and endearing at the same time.
“Ugh! I knew I forgot something!” he replied in a silly voice. A wink that made him smile.
I’d sweep my hair into a ponytail and toss on jeans, a light sweater, and a pair of canvas slip-ons, walk the kids down the block to the bus stop with Roxy trotting behind, tail wagging, then take my time walking back down the suburban street, admiring the perfectly manicured lawns and newly potted mums that were already dotting my neighbors’ porches.
Yard work had never been my thing, and after Steve left, I hadn’t kept up on it quite the same.
But still, our two-story brick Colonial with its white shutters always looked as pretty as a picture. Just like all the others.
A few days after I’d seen the report about Carter’s engagement, I went to pick up Lainey from school and joined Kate on a nearby bench.
She and I had picked up our friendship without missing a beat in those early days when I’d returned to Pennsylvania.
It had been easy; our husbands were best friends, our kids went to the same schools, and she had become the closest thing I’d ever have to a sister.
She’d been trying to get me to date and begging me to let her set me up with a guy from her gym.
“Look, you have to have more than kids and your house and work in your life. You’re going to end up with ten cats. A crazy lady at the end of the street.”
“Too late,” I joked. I had been to the shelter a week earlier and was considering a calico with a missing ear, named, somewhat inaccurately, Picasso.
“Just think about it?”
“There’s nothing to think about! I’m not going.” She sighed in exasperation, and I continued. “Look, someday, I’m sure I’ll date again. But not now. For the first time in a long time, it feels good to be on my own, building my business, taking care of the kids, no one to answer to. It’s good.”
“Oh god, now that you mention it, that sounds pretty great.”
“See?”
“Fine.”
“Thank you. And thank you for caring.” I nudged her shoulder. At that, I checked my phone and realized I was earlier than I’d thought. I tossed it in my bag and leaned back against the bench. A moment later, I realized Kate was watching me stare off into the distance.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know. You seem a little off.”
“I’m fine.” Except oh, by the way, did you see that Carter Wills is getting married to Iliana Billings?
It’s no big deal. What’s this have to do with me, you ask?
Nothing. Nothing at all, actually. Silly, really.
I’m fantastic. Couldn’t be better. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I think I’m just tired.”
She gave me a suspicious look. “Okay, if you say so.”
At that point in our lives, Kate still didn’t know anything about Carter. No one did, really. And I was comfortable leaving it that way.
We chatted for a few minutes before the kids came out in a burst of shouts and disorganized running.
In contrast to the others, Lainey walked slowly, always deep in thought, before sidling up to my hip.
She wore a short-sleeve floral dress and black striped leggings over pink Converse sneakers.
Her dark hair was pulled into a long, tidy ponytail.
She had recently taken to choosing her own eclectic clothes in the mornings, and somehow, she pulled it off quite fashionably.
I leaned down and hugged her. “Hey, sweetie! Did you have a good day at school?”
She nodded pleasantly. “Uh-huh. Guess what?” Her voice was quiet and eager.
“We got to finish our dinosaurs today.” She held up a detailed papier-maché sculpture of a T.
rex with surprisingly realistic fat green splotches of damp Tempera paint, varying shades of scales, two beady eyes, and a surly expression.
“Ooh! Look at this! I love it!” I kissed her head, and she smiled proudly.
“What’s your favorite dinosaur, Mom?”
I picked up the project, wiping a smear of excess glue on my pants. “This one, of course! The T. rex!”
“That one’s too easy. Pick another one.”
“Um, I’ll have to think about this. Let me see ... I think I like the one that starts with a B. What’s it called ... the big one that eats trees.”
“Brachiosaurus. That’s an herbivore.”
“Right you are!” I winked at her.
“Where’s Lucas?” she asked.
“With Daddy. One of his clients canceled at the last minute, and Lucas has been begging him to take him shopping for soccer gear, so he picked him up from school earlier. He’ll bring him back for dinner.”
Kate chortled behind me.
I turned. “What?”
The kids were busy talking dinosaurs. “So how’s that whole ‘schedule and routine’ thing going for ya?” she asked. “You two are the most married separated couple I’ve ever heard of.”
She wasn’t wrong. “I don’t know. He’s a good dad. I guess that’s what counts, right?”
She leaned over and spoke in a low tone. “Hey, Steve’s Dad of the Year. We all know that. That’s never been the issue. It’s Husband of the Year where we had some serious problems.” In all fairness, I wasn’t exactly Wife of the Year either.
“Hey, Lainey,” I called, changing the subject. “I talked to Mrs. Billeski today. You’re all set for fall lessons.”
“Awesome! Can I do the recital this year?”
“If you want. It’s a lot of work, though. She wants you to play Rachmaninoff this year with the older kids. Are you sure?” I thought it funny that as someone who’d been obsessed with rock ’n’ roll in my youth, I ended up with a kid who liked classical. Go figure.
“Definitely! Cool!”
Kate looked at us both, eyeing Lainey with incredulity, while her son, Jack, bounced around her, a walking tornado. “I don’t know what you and Steve are putting in that girl’s water, but you need to bottle it and bring some over to my house.”
I laughed as we walked over to my black Jeep Cherokee and waved goodbye.
“Hey, don’t forget,” Kate called from across the parking lot, “next weekend’s the barbecue.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Want me to bring dessert?”
“Can you bring that butter cake with the lemon frosting thing that you make?” These were the kinds of conversations I was used to. Conversations about butter cake.
My life was so different from his.
On the way home, we stopped at the market to pick up some things for dinner.
The store was crowded with after-school shoppers, and the line was long.
Lainey stood alongside me, lost in a book that she’d brought along to pass the time.
In front of us, a mother struggled with her screaming toddler, who threw a tantrum on the floor while refusing to relinquish a box of cereal.
Eventually, the battle was lost, and a mixture of puffy corn shapes and marshmallows exploded everywhere.
I offered a sympathetic smile and bent down to help her pick up the mess.
Out of nowhere, Carter’s face on the cover of Rolling Stone ambushed me from the magazine rack next to the candy bars.
I crouched in front of it, frozen. A dramatic, close-up photo of him staring straight ahead, his eyes dark and stormy, as if challenging the camera.
He was shirtless from the waist up. The caption to the right read:
INSIDE THE MIND OF CARTER WILLS:
TALES FROM THE DARK SIDE AND A LOOK BACK AT THE RISE OF ROCK’S MOST MYSTERIOUS GOD
It wasn’t like it was the first magazine I’d seen him on over the years, and I’d managed to resist before. Every single time.
Turn off the music when the song came on.
Look the other way when his picture showed up.
It was better that way.
But something about that one was just ..
. different. For one thing, he was half-naked.
Dear god. His hip bones peeked up over the waistline of his pants.
Instinctively, my fingers curled into the natural position, as if they were hooked inside his jeans.
But it wasn’t just that. To my knowledge, he never gave interviews. Ever. So it was unusual.
Over the years, the band had catapulted into massive success, and Carter’s individual celebrity had exploded.
The press was captivated by him, but he’d become the very definition of the enigmatic rock star, which had made things easier for me sometimes.
But there he was, staring me in the face.
It had been three days since I’d heard the news story about him getting engaged, and the hurt of it continued to simmer beneath the surface, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.
The last thing I needed was that magazine.
Obviously, considering it’s sitting over there on the floor, twenty years later, you know I ended up buying it.
Sometimes I wonder about that magazine and the impetus it had on the course of events that followed.
Such a silly thing—a quick decision in the checkout line of a supermarket amid the chewing gum and candy.