Page 83 of For Eva

“It’s because of everything, Denise. Everything to do with that whole time in LA and on tour. I realized I want something solid. Something safe.”

“So do you guys still talk, then? Or write?”

I shook my head as a heaviness settled in my chest. “Not really. He sends me postcards from the road sometimes. But that’s about it. He used to call a lot, but I kinda stopped picking up the phone. So, I guess he senses things are…differentnow.”

Denise gave me a wistful smile. “Okay, then. I won’t bring it up again. But Iwillgo take a nap, and then I promise to help you with the packing. I think it’ll be okay if I putonedish in a box.”

“Wow, thanks so much.” I chuckled as she swung her feet onto the floor and waddled into my bedroom.

Once the door closed, I pushed myself up from the couch and hurried over to the dining table, picking up one of the several envelopes scattered across it. I held it in my hand, watching as it shook from the adrenaline coursing through my body. I hadn’t exactly told Denise the truth. Erichadsent postcards, but aletter had arrived from him a week ago. The first I’d received in months. My hand glided over the seal, my finger poised to slip through it, but it stopped as the words I’d just said to my best friend echoed through my mind.

I have to let that part of my life go.

I turned and headed for the trash can in the kitchen, but an invisible force stopped me in my tracks. I walked back to the open box in the corner of the living room and retrieved a worn shoebox from it before sitting down and crossing my legs. Inside, there were laminates with pictures of me with my long hair teased and sprayed high, along with a few old candid photos of the band, folded pages ripped from music magazines, and a cassette tape withEric Stratton—Demoscrawled across it. I stuffed the letter underneath the remnants of my past and placed the top back on the shoebox.

I hadn’t been totally honest with Denise about letting go, either. There were pieces I couldn’t surrender, even if they were tucked away—out of sight, but never completely out of mind.

FORTY-FOUR

Eva

March 1993

Istared down at the two lines on the white stick as my back slid down the wall and my tailbone hit the tile floor. I hadn’t even had to wait the whole time noted in the instructions before the second line appeared.

Does that mean the test is faulty? Or does it mean I’m absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred percent…

“Pregnant,” I whispered.

I remembered the last time I’d muttered that word to myself when I was seventeen, and the doctor confirmed I hadn’t missed my period because of stress. When I confessed to my mother that I wasn’t the good girl she’d thought I was. When she cried and I cried until we both decided I was much too young and had too bright a future ahead of me. When the truck crashed into us and shattered my entire world like the glass from the windows on her car.

But I was twenty-eight this time. And married. So why were tears starting to cloud my vision? Was it the memory from all those years ago? Was I still wondering if I was too young, andhow I would learn to be a mother without my own to guide me? Or was I happy I would be starting a family with a man I loved, who wanted this more than anything in the world?

It wasn’t like it was an accident. I’d gone off the pill two months prior but assumed I’d have more time to let the idea of it all sink in. Aaron and I had talked about giving ourselves a while before we started trying, but when our first anniversary arrived, he immediately began to point out families pushing strollers through the park and dads and their young sons on Saturday afternoons at Wrigley Field. I’d told him I’d be ready soon, but I didn’t know if that was the truth. And it scared me that Istilldidn’t know, even though I was staring down at lines telling me that ready or not, it was happening.

The familiar creak of the front door opening signaled that Aaron was home from work. I pushed myself up from the floor, sucking in a deep breath before placing my hand on the doorknob, letting it rest there for a moment.

Once I tell him, it’s real.

I turned the knob and walked down the hallway to the kitchen where he was grabbing a beer out of the fridge.

“Hey, babe,” he said, the light from the refrigerator illuminating his handsome face. “You want one?”

I managed a “no thanks” as he closed the door and popped the top of the amber bottle. The house was dark except for the warm glow from the light in the foyer. I’d hastily flipped it on before darting to the bathroom with the Walgreens bag gripped tightly in my hand earlier that evening.

“Did you just get home?” he asked, switching on the fixture over the sink. “It’s so dark in he—”

Aaron turned, his eyes landing on the white stick in my hand. “Is that what I think it is? Are you…”

I nodded, the tears I’d tried to swallow slipping down my cheeks. He slid his beer on the counter, a wide grin spreadingacross his face as he walked the few steps toward me and pulled me into his arms.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured into my hair. “It’s really happening.” He let out a hardy laugh, squeezing me tighter. “I’m gonna be a dad.”

A small burst of laughter broke through my tears, the feeling of his body close to mine slowly reassuring me everything would be okay. “Yes, you are.”

He pulled back, cupping my face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the dampness on my cheeks. “This is real, right? I’m not dreaming?”

I chuckled through a shaky breath and nodded. “I think we’re awake, though I couldn’t swear to it.”

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