Page 23 of Written in the Charts

“Gypsy needs a tutor, honey.” Maggie smiled at him as she took a drink of her soda. “I told her a busy dad might not make the best tutor, but Cameron would probably help. Don’t you think?” It was sweet the way they interacted. Being married looked good on them, so good I wanted it for myself. That thought made me sad again, but I pushed the feelings away so I wouldn’t start crying again.

“Yeah,” he said, chewing a mouthful of brownie. “He’ll definitely help. He likes you, Gypsy.” Maggie clicked her tongue and stood, snatching a paper towel from the roll near the breakroom sink and handing it to him.

“Always cleaning up after this guy.” She grinned. “You going to be okay?” She stood next to me as I rose out of my chair. “We can always have some girl time tonight, a glass of wine, maybe a chick flick.”

I shrugged. “Gotta study. Big test coming up again, and this one Icannotfail. But thanks for the offer. Another time?”

I was thankful that Maggie didn’t mention anything about Evan in front of Derek. I knew they talked a lot, and I didn’t want Derek getting any ideas about interfering. The last thing I needed was Evan upset with me for telling people about our problems.Ifhe ever talked to me again.

Oh, God, let him talk to me again.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Evan

The roads were icy, but not horribly so. I was careful, but I was anxious to get where I was going. After that stern lecture from Peter—who really pissed me off but had a valid point—and a few days to think it over, I decided I had to see her again. Only, the slippery conditions made me feel impatient.

So I clipped my phone to the hands-free unit and put it on speaker phone. I dialed her number, and the call rang through, but she didn’t pick up. So I called again and again as I drove. Finally, when she picked up, I felt lost for words.

“Evan?”

“Uh, hi.” Suddenly, I didn’t know what to say.

“I’ve missed you. How are you doing?” Gypsy’s welcoming attitude eased my anxiety about speaking with her. I assumed she would be so angry with me for not calling her or responding to her messages that she wouldn’t want to talk, or if she did, it would mean an argument.

“I’m okay. Listen.” I turned toward her house and sped up. I needed to see her. “I’m on my way over, is that okay? I wanted to talk to you.”

“Of course it is. I was just studying, but that can wait. I want to talk to you too.” I heard shuffling in the background.

“I’m really sorry for not calling or responding to your messages.” I cleared my throat. Apologies weren’t my forte, but I knew my reaction hadn’t been the best. “I was hurt. You can imagine why.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice quiet. Neither of us spoke for a minute, observing the moment of silence for the grieving we’d caused each other to endure. Perhaps for the child we would have had if tragedy hadn’t struck. For that few seconds, we were one in the universe.

And then I realized I hadn’t even taken time to truly listen to her side of the story. I had projected my pain from Misty onto Gypsy and lashed out. Misty was a cheater and a liar. Gypsy was a victim of circumstances outside her control on every front.

“Tell me about her? What happened?” I continued driving as Gypsy spoke, and I fought tears when she told me the gory details.

“Well, I was pregnant. We’d planned that dinner around Easter, remember? I was supposed to come to your house and cook for you and your mother.”

“I remember.”

“I was planning to make all foods that would be hints... baby carrots, baby redskin potatoes, lamb chops, and baby corn. I was going to tell you to guess what I was trying to tell you.”

I smiled at the sentiment. Gypsy really was sweet like that, and my mother would have loved that type of announcement. “Go on.”

“Well, when you left without us even having a chance to do that dinner, I was so upset, I never went. Your mother never answered my calls or returned them, either.” She sighed. “It was mid-May when I started bleeding. My parents drove me to the hospital, and they said I had placenta previa. At that point, the baby was okay and I was put on bedrest, but it only got worse, and the next appointment I had, they couldn’t hear the heartbeat. I was forced to deliver her stillborn.”

My heart sank. I would have done anything to be there for her back then, but I’d let my grief over my father destroy me. I was so angry with my mother that I left without even thinking about Gypsy. I was blinded by rage, just like I was the other night when I hung up on her.

“I’m so sorry, Gypsy.” I pulled into her apartment complex and parked, snatching my phone from the hands-free clip. I turned off my car and got out, holding my phone up to continue the conversation. “I’m sorry I didn’t sit and listen to you.”

“You were upset. I get it. I should have told you a lot sooner, but I was afraid of how you’d take it, and I’m not fully over it myself. It really hurt, getting excited about being a mother and then losing the baby.”

I bounded the steps to her floor two at a time and stood outside her door for a moment. “Well, guess what?”

“What?”

I knocked on the door and hung up the phone. A few seconds later, the door swung open and I saw her tear-streaked face. “I’m here. And I’m not angry with you. Okay?”

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