Page 156 of Babies for the Big Shot
I nod slowly, my thoughts drifting to the man I know. The one who always seems so certain, so put together, yet still haunted by things he hasn’t told me. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to understand him fully.
Eventually, as the conversation winds down, Evelyn reaches over to a small desk in the corner of the room and grabs a Post-it note. She writes something quickly, then hands it to me, her expression both serene and a little sad.
“Here,” she says, pushing the note toward me. “If you ever need to talk.”
I glance down at the number on the paper.
For a moment, I just stare at it, my mind racing. This whole conversation has left me with more questions than answers, but something tells me that Evelyn is right: Nick has been carrying this weight for so long, and maybe it’s time for him to unload it.
But how do I even begin to bring this up with him? How do I tell him I’ve spoken to his sister, the woman from the photo, the one he’s kept hidden away in this corner of his life?
“Thank you,” I add, looking back at Evelyn. “For sharing all this. I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been, but I’m glad I know. For Nick’s sake, and for mine.”
She gives me a small nod, a flicker of understanding passing between us.
“I just want him to find peace,” she says quietly. “And for you, too. I know how this life can weigh on a person.”
“I think… I think we’re both just trying to figure it out,” I reply softly.
Evelyn smiles, but it’s bittersweet. She stands up slowly, as if the conversation has drained her more than I realize.
“I’ll leave you to think,” she says. “But remember, peace is something you can only find when you stop running from it. You have to allow it to settle in.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Nick
“I wentto this incredible bookshop in Brooklyn today,” Sara says softly, her eyes distant as if she’s still holding onto the peace of the place.
I glance up at her, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. She’s been quieter than usual over dinner, and now it makes sense.
There’s something in the way she speaks, a trace of excitement or perhaps wonder, that catches my attention.
“I wasn’t expecting much, honestly,” she continues, and I can tell she’s still there, back in the shop, “But it was like stepping into a different world. The shelves were all old wood, the smell of leather and paper everywhere… It was so quiet, so peaceful. I didn’t want to leave.”
I don’t know why, but the image of her there, in that space, fills me with a strange mix of relief and unease. The way she talks about it, like she found a part of herself in that quiet corner of the world, makes me wonder just how much I still don’t know about her.
“Sounds like the kind of place I could spend hours in,” I murmur, trying to ground myself back in the conversation.
She smiles faintly, but the expression doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Then she hesitates, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass.
“I… I met someone there,” she says, her words careful, measured. “The bookshop owner.”
I don’t say anything. I can feel the tension in the air, a slight shift. Her gaze doesn’t meet mine, and I realize something in this story is important.
“You… you did?” I ask, my voice even. But I’m already bracing myself for what’s coming.
She looks at me now, and I see the moment she makes the decision to tell me.
“It’s your sister,” she says quietly.
My pulse slams against my chest as if I’ve been sucker-punched. Time freezes for a second, but I don’t know if it’s because of the words or the sudden realization of what she’s saying.
I freeze too, but it’s a kind of stillness that’s so damn loaded, it threatens to crack the walls around us.
My eyes lock on hers. Her face is calm, but there’s something different, something I can’t quite place in the way she’s looking at me now.
“You found her?” The words come out sharper than I mean, but I don’t care. I need to know. I need to hear her say it.
