Page 17 of Close Match
Slowly, we climb taking our time navigating the well-worn path. I don’t want to be at the barn answering a million questions, and I want to give Mom and Ev the time they need at the house. It seems like the only gift I can give anyone right now is distance. And to be honest, I need it myself.
My eyes are drawn to the leaves of the trees around me; the blend of color matches Ev’s eyes. I’ve seen him in so many different moods growing up: amusement, pride, anger, fear. He’s gone from being my stepfather to my best friend. The shaft of pain that slices through me is unlike anything else I’ve ever felt. I could be seventy-five and hearing this news and feel the same way. It’s a hole in my soul that’s not getting sealed, no matter how I try to fill it.
Hatchet sidesteps. I quickly adjust the reins. “What did you see, girl? A mole or something?” Of course, she doesn’t answer me back. If she did, then I’d have a lot more to worry about than the persistent sleepless nights I endure due to my nightmares.
Only, in my case, they’re just nocturnal regrets.
A man can only believe he’s forgiven for his mistakes when those he’s wronged actually forgive him, I think dispassionately. No matter what my job said, they can’t absolve me from the guilt consuming me. I thought dealing with that was the worst thing to happen.
That was until I got the news about Ev. It was like a one-two hit to my soul.
I’ve learned there’s only one thing worse than the first punch of hearing someone you love is dying. It’s the repeated slaps of hearing the words “I’m sorry” out of every person’s mouth when they hear the news.
Pain and shame have no place here, not when I’m expected to be the strength everyone needs to get through. I reach the pinnacle of the mountain and look back at the home Ev built for Mom and me. I know they’re waiting for me in the inky darkness of night, but then—then it’s on me to handle them. Not anyone else. Pain and shame may show me no mercy.
Just as long as they give it to my family.
Nine
Evangeline
The lights are dim in the theater. I’m sitting in the third row, remembering the first time I ever saw my mother onstage performing. Picking up the bottle of club soda tucked into the chair next to me, I take a long pull before putting it back down and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
I can still see the way her feet darted across the boards as she made her cue. Her voice soared. It would hover in the air delicately before it ripped the hearts out of each patron in the seats.
Miss Mewas shut down for a week before Simon’s and my understudies stepped up to bat. Almost two weeks have gone by, and it’s still impossible to imagine getting back up on that stage without her. If it were up to me, I’d never step foot up there again. Except, I can hear Mom in my ear telling me I have to. Too many people depend on me for me to just walk away like I want to.
A hand lands on my shoulder. Shifting in my seat, I find Pasquale standing behind me. “What can I do?” he asks.
Reaching up, I squeeze his hand before letting it go. “Nothing. Nobody can.”
He sits down in the row behind me. “How’s Bristol? Are she and Simon holding up okay?”
If there’s one good thing that’s come out of this, it’s the fact the media’s realized the true nature of my sister’s relationship with my costar and they’ve left it alone. For now. I shrug. “We’re all messed up, Pas. I feel like the stars are all misaligned, and we don’t know which one to follow. There was so much left for her to do with her life…” My voice trails off.
We’re both silent thinking of different roles my mother will never experience; Pasquale’s probably thinking of the ones who could take place on the stage in front of us whereas I’m thinking of the ones that involve her being called Nana. Still, I speak nothing but the truth when I admit, “I feel closer to her here than I do to her at home. It’s easier to imagine that she’s going to come out from stage right just in time to hit her cue.”
Pasquale drops his head until it rests on my shoulder. I go on. “I can’t begin to contemplate finishing out the rest of my life without her, let alone the show. She’d demand I do both in a grand style though—that was her way.”
“Yes, it was,” he agrees.
“When do I have to be back?” I ask somberly. My understudy has been performing well, but I can only imagine the complaints the office is fielding. Grief or not, the show has to go on. People paid an enormous sum for the tickets, so I don’t get the luxury of grief.
“It’s only been a week, Linnie. I can hold them off for maybe another…”
I shake my head. “Give me a few more days. Let me talk to Simon. We’ll have to prepare Bris, but after that, we’ll finish out our contracts.”
He lets out a huge sigh. “I figured you’d be telling me you wouldn’t be signing a new one.”
Tugging the bottle next to me again, I take another drink before offering it to him. He politely declines. I turn to face him before I whisper, “If it was happening to you, would you be able to go more than another few weeks singing the songs that were written to showcase a woman’s love for her mother?”
He leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead. “No…but then again, I’m not as strong as you are.” Pushing to his feet, Pasquale makes his way down the aisle. I turn and face the stage again.
Wishing this was just a tragedy I was watching onstage and not feeling in my heart.
* * *
“You don’t haveto go back right away,” Bristol argues when I head to her and Simon’s condo located three buildings down from mine. “They can’t make you, can they?”
