Page 12 of Did You See Evie

“Trust me. I have all the time in the world.”

I never want Evie to feel like she’s being a burden. I remember that feeling from my childhood, it’s a heavy weight to carry at a young age.

My phone dings with a message from Nadia.

Free for coffee?

My stomach drops suddenly. I’ve not stopped thinking of Nadia since our run-in yesterday. As an adult, I don’t have many friends. Everyone I associate with is either connected to the team, the school or Connor. Nadia is probably the closest friend I’ve ever had, and memories of the two of us have been flashing through my mind all day. The good and the bad.

Of course, our happy experiences together outweigh the regrettable ones. Munching on popcorn as we watched scary movies in my living room. Getting into trouble after school. The way she’d sit on the bleachers while I was at basketball practice, waiting for me to take off with her as soon as Coach blew his whistle.

Sure. Can’t wait to catch up.

As I’m returning my phone to my pocket, an old Toyota swerves into the parking lot. Evie’s mother is behind the wheel. When I wave, she doesn’t acknowledge me, simply flicks her cigarette butt onto the ground.

“Remember to get your form signed,” I tell Evie.

“Sure thing, Coach,” she says, loading her backpack into the back before climbing into the passenger seat.

I watch as the car zips out of the parking lot, wondering just how much of Evie’s childhood mirrors my own.

As I drive away from the school, I roll down my window and toss Melinda Terry’s phone on the side of the road, my hand dipping and gliding in the spring breeze.

SEVEN

The Coffee Shop is busier than I’d expect for a weekday afternoon, with a line of people waiting to place their order at the counter. I’m surprised to see Nadia already sitting in a table at the back. I remember a lot about her from childhood, but punctuality wasn’t one of her strong points.

After waiting in line for an iced coffee and croissant, a much-needed afternoon pick-me-up, I join her at the table. Her drink is nearly finished by the time I sit down.

“I didn’t think it would take this long,” I say. “Sorry for the wait.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she says. “I’m just happy we were able to meet.”

“So, tell me everything,” I say. “Fifteen years is a long time.”

“Even if it feels like it’s flown by.”

Nadia talks about her time in California, the odd jobs she worked, the numerous men she dated. From the sounds of it, she hasn’t settled on a steady career, but she seems content with her life. Somehow, I always knew Nadia would end up happy.

She asks about me. I provide a brief summary of my life at college, my university scholarship sending me several states away. Then, I tell her about my life in the present, about Connor and the wedding and my job as a coach.

“Why Manning?” she asks. “After you left, I figured you’d never come back.”

“I thought about it,” I say. “All we used to talk about was getting away, but believe it or not, I started to miss home. I never would have succeeded if it weren’t for Coach Phillips and everything he did for me. It felt right moving back.”

Nadia knows, better than anyone, that basketball was my lifeline growing up. Coach Phillips was the person who saved me from the dangerous path I was on. Still, I notice her body stiffen at the mention of his name. Coach Phillips is also the person who drove a wedge between us, and an unspoken resentment clearly remains.

“Are you two still close?”

“He died my junior year of college,” I say, staring at my coffee. “Heart attack.”

“I’m sorry.” She shifts around in her seat. “He was like family to you.”

“He would have wanted me to come back and help the community that helped raise me.”

“I still can’t believe you’re coaching your own team. I mean, Icanbelieve it. It’s what you always wanted. I’m just happy you’re actually doing it. And at Manning Academy, of all places. The girls on your team must have a totally different upbringing than we did,” she says, sipping the last of her iced coffee through a straw. “We sure have come a long way from our dash and go days.”

At the mention of the phrase, I close into myself.Dash and gois the term Nadia once used for stealing. It was a way of life for us back then. Anything we wanted—clothes, makeup, snacks—had to be taken. We’d often keep lookout for one another. Nadia distracted the cashier at the gas station counter as I filled my backpack with chips and candy bars. I’d request assistance from the store manager so she could sneak a sweater under her jacket. Thinking of those actions now make me sad, but also renews the rush I can remember feeling at the time.

---