Page 22 of Over the Edge

“And you’re disappointed because…” I want to give her the reaction she wants, but doubt that’s actually to make a big deal of it. I’d rather not feed into the feeling that her world is about to implode on itself.

“I’m not.” She trips over her words for a moment. “It’s just, I thought you’d have some reaction worthy of the natural disaster brewing in the back of my head for the last five years.”

“I thought my eyebrows communicated with you about what’s going on in my head.”

“Only when you’re being judgmental.” Her expression softens.

“Well, I’m sorry that my reaction doesn’t rival the rapture, but due to the amount of secret love children I draft NDAs to cover up, my threshold is high,” I say, but it’s more that I keep my reactions to myself.

“Does this mean you’re secretly my lawyer? Because last time I checked it was this sweet balding man who insists on me calling him Herb over email,” she says. Her voice has a light slur to it. “I like Herb.”

“No, I'm not secretly your lawyer. I’ll sign something if you want. But if you’re worried I’ll tell someone, spilling your secret will all but destroy my professional integrity without gaining anything.”

“So, not surprised?”

“You’re just…” I trail off for the right way to describe it. I’m surprised, of course I am, but it makes sense in a way that I didn’t expect. Years ago there would be times when we were writing a new song and Evelyn would be on her stomach,popping candy into her mouth and doing homework. Wes and I would get stuck and start bickering about word choice or a key change and her head would pop up.

She’d say something like “Obviously, the right word is atrophy” then go back down to whatever she was working on. There are so many of her suggestions that ended up in the final product that she should have been given song writing credits.

“Loud, abrasive, not that smart, a bit of a flirt,” she finishes for me. Her lashes flutter and she leans in across the table. There’s a dangerous light in her eyes that draws me in like a dare.

“I was going to say you’ve never seemed like the type of person to keep secrets,” I say. I guess that’s why it’s worked so well. Who would guess the girl who lays everything on the table has something like this under wraps.

“It’s because there’s a tiny, locked room in my head where I compartmentalize those parts of my life. And if you’re wondering, that room is on fire right now.”

“Might I suggest water. I’ve heard it helps more than alcohol when dealing with fire.”

“But far less fun.” She winks and bites at her plush bottom lip causing my blood to heat. God this woman. You’d think she’d flirt less at a time like this.

Alex swipes at me when I start to remove him from Evelyn’s lap after last call. Eve’s head keeps rocking to the side as she fights sleep. Her eyes keep drifting closed. At least what happened won’t be keeping her up at night, granted the amount she’s had to drink probably has more to do with that than true peace of mind.

Evelyn reaches for the furball as I pull him away. “No. Bring him back.” She moans like he’s some long-lost lover and not an equal opportunist already on his way to find someone else to leech affection from.

“You can come back and see him later,” I say as I set Alex on the ground. “Come on, let's get you home.”

She pouts, but clambers to her feet using a chair to support herself. A hard determination takes over as she walks to the door with all the grace of a newborn deer. Every time I reach out my hand to offer help, she mutters, “I’ve got it. I’ve got it.”

In the car, her phone connects and a vaguely familiar pop song starts to play, the type that transitions from radio to being played on repeat in department stores. Evelyn is silent with her eyes closed, the wind plastering dark strands of hair to her forehead. The only thing giving away that she’s not asleep are the canyons of concentration cut between her brows.

I park at the top of her driveway expecting her to dart out of the car, but she heaves a breath relaxing into the seat. Evelyn’s glassy green eyes pool with moonlight as she peers at the sky.

“I’m not really here on vacation,” she says.

“Maybe you have decent taste after all.”

Evelyn reaches a hand up as if she can pluck one of the stars out of the sky. It’s one of the few things I miss when I’m in the city. “Maybe I’ll write a song about the stars.”

“How would it go?” I ask with genuine curiosity.

“No clue.” Her expression slackens into a frown. “That’s why I’m here. I need to write an entire album and it’s like I’ve forgotten how. I had this idea that if I surrounded myself with love it would just, I don’t know, be easier.”

“And?”

“I ended up with a grump in a convertible and what’s going to be the worst hangover of my life in the morning,” she says, throwing up her hands with thiscan you believe the day I’m havingexasperation.

“Sounds terrible.”

“It is, don’t get me started on how the guy took a cat from me.”

---