Page 47 of Over the Edge

“You dance in it, don’t you?”

She slides me a look. “You know me so well, Larson. Don’t go getting obsessed. I know I’m absolutely irresistible. I bring a lot to the table.” Too late for that.

“You’re sure about that?”

“With this fashion sense? I’m a catch.” She makes a sweeping motion with her free hand.

“I don’t think my feelings are in danger of changing any time soon.” My fucking feelings won’t change for her no matter how convenient that would be.

“So the flowers aren’t for me? What a shame.”

“Alina’s arthritis is flaring up. Flowers always cheer her up when it gets bad. When she was performing she’d have forget-me-nots in her dressing room waiting for her after every performance. She told me once that as long as there were forget-me-nots she’d know the show wasn’t over yet.”

“Besides when you play with her, does she ever still sing?”

“For the festival. If you’re here, you’ll love it. She does this rendition of ‘Funny Valentine’ that’s something else.”

“She really means a lot to you, doesn't she?”

“Yeah, she does. But she pulled some strings to make it happen,” I say. “That same thing she pulled with you that firstday with the package she did that to me with a letter in the mail. I returned it and the next thing I knew I was being given my first piano lesson. I kept getting her mail until I would come regularly, then suddenly the mix-ups stopped.”

“That’s sweet.”

“She was just bored.”

“Why do you brush off people when they obviously care about you?” she asks.

“Why do you lie to the people you love?” I retaliate against the sting of her words.

Alina cares, but that’s not how it started. She saw a kid who needed help and it wasn’t like they could push me away.

“That’s not fair,” Evelyn says.

“I’m pretty sure that both questions have nearly the same answer so if you take a minute or two to think about them hard enough.”

“You're telling me that we have something in common? That’s kinda cute.”

“More that you might understand exactly why I hate saying shit like that out loud because you also like to avoid it.”

“And the existential-asshole bit is back.” She draws out the words to be comedic but I can tell she’s hiding the fact that I went too far—again. God. This is exactly why I don’t get into situations like this.

“Sorry,” I say. Tension builds behind my eyes and I pull off my glasses and rub a knuckle between my brows before replacing them. “I got that call from Wes and then the stuff with Alina. Shit. I just hate that she’s getting older. I forget it sometimes then it just hits me. I know it’s normal. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

“Knowing something or it being normal doesn’t mean you have to be okay with it all by yourself. Do you have a minute?It won’t take long. I just want to show you something in the gazebo.”

“I swear, if you’re going to fake a proposal I will stop talking to you.”

“No. And be real there’s no world where you’ll ever figure out how to get me to stop talking to you,” she says.

“If I see you getting on one knee I’m leaving,” I warn.

“Not very progressive of you. But I'll even check my shoes right now to make sure they’re tied.”

Evelyn makes a point of checking her shoes before starting toward the gazebo. Through the years, boards have been replaced and paint has been reapplied, constantly combating the natural consequences of time. Just another piece of the fantasy. Nothing can stay broken here.

“I came by here the other day to wander around and get another look at everything.” She points up and my eyes follow to where she’s indicating. “Look.”

There’s a ledge where the roof of the gazebo connects to support beams. In one of the corners of the octagon, there’s a collection of twigs and dried leaves. Something flutters and there’s a downy head that peeks out.

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