Page 16 of The Love Hoax
“Like it?”
“It’s fine. And by fine, I mean expensive and crowded.”
I chew, listening.
Evie goes on. “I’m not going anywhere for the foreseeable future. Both of my kids live in Manhattan, most of the time. And my job is there. I’m a lawyer in a mid-size firm. Lots of pressure.”
“You have kids?”
“Surprised? I’m turning fifty. Not that unusual.”
“I just didn’t think of you as a mom,” I say, unsure exactly how I thought of her.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“So you came out here alone?”
Evie nods. “Circumstances changed at the last minute.” She pulls out her phone. “No reception.”
When I give her a questioning look, she says, “My best friend,Caroline, broke her leg hours before the flight. She insisted I come alone.”
“You feel guilty leaving her behind?”
The answer is written all over her face.
“Yes, I do. But from the sounds of things, she’s managing just fine. If I had to guess, her doctor is holding her interest.”
I smile, watching a group of five hikers go past. I hear them speak in Italian.
“What about you?” Evie asks.
I feel a moment of unease. It’s a reaction I experience whenever meeting someone who doesn’t know my story. “What about me?”
“What’s your story?”
“No story. My life is pretty boring.”
She makes a face. “Boring? You live near Yosemite, hike every day. Sounds anything but boring.”
I shrug.
“How is it you’re able to spend your days like this out here?”
“How do you know I’m not on vacation also?”
She looks at me. “The waitstaff at Yosemite Sam’s knew you well. You haven’t shaven in days and you have tan lines that appear months old. So you don’t work in an office. And from what I can tell, you’re not one of the Park Rangers, so . . .”
“Maybe you should have been a detective rather than a lawyer,” I say, and take a bite of my sandwich, looking away.
Evie’s eyes turn empathetic. “There’s no shame in losing your job or being unemployed.”
Initially confused, I realize she must have taken my behavior as deflection. It is, but not in the way she thinks.
“I have lots of connections through my law firm,” she says. “What are you trained in?”
I work hard to hold back a guffaw. “You’re going to help me find a job? You don’t even know me.” It’s sweet, actually.
“You have a good point,” she says. “But let’s hear it anyway.”
