Page 90 of Hello Darling
25
Stella
Iknow something’s up, because it’s ten-thirty and Mrs. Flauvich is jogging towards the gym faster than she ever has on the treadmill. Her cherubic face is flushed and all smiles as she opens the door and waves at me with both arms, one hand clutching her iPad.
“I couldn’t wait for you to come by the deli!” she yells. “Did you see? Did you see?!”
“See what? No!” My stomach clenches, because I expect she’s going to tell me there are stories about the upcoming wedding ofEvangia, but then I remember that Mrs. Flauvich knows about us, and she is kind.
She swipes at her iPad, impatiently waiting for the WiFi to connect. She bounces up and down. “Did you change the password?”
“Oh yes—it’s ‘triceps123.’”
She makes an exasperated sound while typing with her index finger. Finally, she hands the iPad over to me and I see five paparazzi images of Evan walking on a London sidewalk with a heavy coat open, revealing a white T-shirt that saysI love you Stella.
My facial muscles are too confused to form a smile. “What? Is this real?”
“It’s on all the gossip sites!”
I get a text from Mona that saysHOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!, with a screen shot of similar pictures from her Twitter feed.
“Oh Stella—have you spoken to him?”
“No, not since we were in France. I don’t know…”
“Oh he’s sending you a message! It’s so cute! Call him now!”
“I don’t…” I look around for Billy, who is busy with training Mr. Hannam, but he looks over at me quizzically.
When my landlord Whit walks through the front door, I know for sure that something weird is happening, because Whit never comes to the gym. He is in a hurry, grinning, and holding a small box. “Hey,” he says, a little breathless. “I’m running late for a showing, but I had to drop this off to you, from a client.” He winks, then looks over at Mrs. Flauvich. “Hi Mrs. F. This is confidential—oh you know what—fuck it—there’s a key in the box. To a house that I have sold. We just closed escrow this morning.” He gives me a look and says: “You know where to go. I gotta go. Bye. Later, Mrs. F!” He speed walks out the door.
Mrs. Flauvich covers her mouth to muffle her squeal. “Do you think he’s waiting for you at a house here?!”
I don’t know what to think. I look back for Billy, who is by my side in two seconds.
“What’s going on?”
I open the box and show him the key, and Mrs. Flauvich shows him the online photos.
“Did you know about this?” I ask him.
He stares at the pictures. “I mean. He emailed me after theFalloutpremiere to make it clear that he’s not back with that actress.” He raises his chin at me. “I figured you know what’s best for everyone, so you’d figure all this out for yourself when you’re ready.”
I punch his bicep.
“I didn’t know about the T-shirt or this key thing. Man, that guy is baller. I mean, if he fucks with you, he’ll have the Starkey brothers to answer to, just like any other guy. But these fists are staying away from his pretty face. I wouldn’t do that to the world.”
He looks at me, and for one whole second he has the expression of little brother love and adoration that I used to see on a regular basis before he grew into a big tough guy. And then it’s gone and he’s throwing his hands up in the air. “Why are you still standing here? I’ll cover the front desk—go!”
It’s raining and I am so excited and nervous, that I overcompensate by driving under thirty miles an hour the whole way to the house that Evan rented while he was staying here. The key is still in the box, on the passenger seat. I have no idea what’s going on, but I try not to get my hopes up too much that I will open up the front door and find Evan there, naked with his arms outstretched. To be honest, in my heart of hearts, that is what I’ve hoped to see every time I’ve opened a door since coming back to town.
My hand is trembling as I stick the key into the locks of the front door. I don’t see anyone through the front windows, and there is no car in the driveway. When I finally get the door open and step inside, I say “hello” and there is no sound but for my own footsteps on the hard shiny floor.
I can tell that Whit has been here. It smells like cleaning products, and all of the furniture is gone—except for a small side table in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the living room area. I had spent so many nights here in this room, and not enough days. Despite the rain, this view that he always wanted me to see really is breathtaking, no matter how familiar the landscape and seascape is to me.
On the small table is a fancy envelope with my name written on it.
Inside the envelope, is a folded letter and another key.
