Page 89 of For Eva

Me. Eva Holloway. Mitchell. Whatever.

I didn’t tell you I was definitely gonna do it because I was afraid of…well, disappointing you, I guess, and you talking me out of it. Or maybe I was afraid of talking myself out of it. I still don’t know if it’s the best decision for me, but I have to think about my marriage and our family. I mean, Aaron was right about things being easier. And I’ll have so much more time with the kids, especially Miles. I have some of the best memories of being with my mom when I was little—maybe we can make those memories, too.

I guess I’ll figure it out as I go. Not sure if all of a sudden I’m supposed to start baking and making Halloween costumes? Sign up for tennis lessons? God, all of those things sound so not me. But maybe they are, and I just don’t know it. Maybe I have to give them a chance. All except the Halloween costumes, of course, because that’s just crazy talk.

Aaron wants another kid, but I told him no on that. You know I love Drew and Miles more than anything, but I can’t handle three. He was mopey about it but is so happy I’ll be at home now, I think he decided to let that one go.

I don’t know…I just had to do it, I guess. I didn’t want our family to fall apart. And with me so focused on my job, I was afraid that’s what was gonna happen.

Don’t hate me, OK?

Love and miss you.

From: Denise Abbott

To: Eva Mitchell

Date: August 26, 2003 9:16AM

Subject: Re: News

As if I could ever hate you, babe.

I do have to say I’m a little…surprised. I mean, I know it was causing some issues between you and Aaron, but I figured he’d back off at some point.

I just worry, Eva, because you love that job and I…You know what, I’m going to shut the fuck up because you did what you needed to do, and that’s what’s important. All I want is for you tobe happy. And if this is gonna make you happy, then it’s the right decision.

Gotta run, but I’m calling you tonight.

XOXO

FORTY-NINE

September 2008

From: Eva Mitchell

To: Denise Abbott

Date: September 16, 2008 11:14AM

Subject: Reporter Guy / Holy Shit

Holy shit. I just talked to theRolling Stonereporter for an hour. I swear those guys must have some sort of magic spell they cast on people to get them to talk. Everything started spilling out—how I ran into Danny and moved to LA, how Eric hated me but then told Keith to hire me. I told him Eric and I eventually became friends and stayed in touch for a while after he went to rehab. And of course, he asked about that night in Denver when Eric…you know. It was almost like I was right there on the stage again, Denise—my hands on his chest, the medics pulling me back, Danny walking away.

Fucking Danny.

I think I need some time to come down from all of this, but I promise I’ll call later. Strange what trips down memory lane can do to you.

Love you.

FIFTY

Danny

October 2008

Ipulled my BlackBerry from the inside pocket of my jacket, checking to see if I had any missed calls before placing it on the bar top and sinking onto the leather-cushioned stool with a sigh. It had been a long day of meetings at the label’s satellite office after a long flight out from LA the day before, and I was ready for a drink. One of my reps had been singing the praises of a young band out of Nashville for months and had finally convinced me to come hear them play a gig. He was right. They sounded even better live than they did on the demo I’d listened to in my office at least twenty times, wondering if there was a place in today’s market for old-school rock ‘n’ roll. The kind I used to play before I’d walked off the stage that night.

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