Page 82 of Seven Days in June

“Hmm,” mumbled Shane, unconvinced. “It sounds like you’re trying to talk yourself into the idea of whitewashing your characters. You can’t really want that.Cursedis who you are.”

“It’s just a story,” she said, with quiet finality.

Shane leaned against the gate next to her and took her hand in his. “Can I ask you something? Did you really go to Paris with your mom? And Santa Fe?”

“It was partly true,” she said, comforted by the warmth of his skin. “My mom dated an art buyer once. Way back when she had fancy boyfriends. He flew her around to auctions. They visited those museums together. Just not with me.”

For a while, they stood there, silent. Holding hands. Lost in their own thoughts, they stroked each other’s palms. Twisted their fingers together. It was the most natural thing. Then Shane made his bare arm parallel with Eva’s—so hisGand herSlined up.

“How,” she started, “do you explain this to people?”

“I don’t.”

“That simple, huh?” Eva was awed.

“It’s ours,” he said simply. “Sacred.”

“I wish it were that easy for me,” she said. “I had to invent anentire mythologyto explain it. IfSwas about a fictional character, I could live with it.”

Shane nodded. “Is that like what you did with your mom? Rewriting her history for Audre’s sake?”

Eva squeezed his hand and let go.

“There’s more than what you see,” she said softly. “Between me and Audre. We’ve been through a lot.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She backed away from him, shoulders slumping a bit. “My head’s worse when it rains. An intense rainstorm can land me in the hospital for a week. When Audre was little, these episodes really rattled her—and eventually, she developed a rain phobia. One drop, and she’d lose it. During Hurricane Sandy, she shrieked till she burst all the capillaries in her face. She’d become too hysterical to leave the house. I had to take her out of kindergarten for a while.”

There’s no way to explain this guilt, thought Eva.Knowing that your child’s tormented, and it’s all your fault.

“I went to a million doctors. Desperate to get better, to be normal. For her. Some kook even put me on methadone, which is illegal now. I mean, it’s an opioid. I was zonked. Cece basically moved in with us for a year.”

“God, Eva.”

“The point is, I do a lot of mothering from the bed. Ordering dinner, checking homework, braiding her hair—all from the bed. Physically, I’m limited. But Icantell stories. Spin scary stuff into magic. Storms terrify my baby? I tell her she’s sensitive to rain ’cause she’s a weather fairy, like the impundulu in South African mythology. She’s got a sociopath for a grandma? In our house, she’s an eccentric feminist shero.”

Feigning confidence she didn’t feel, she turned to face Shane. The naked grief in his face eviscerated her.

“So yeah, I stretch the truth. But I’m weaving a world to protect her from the real one.” She shrugged slightly. “Maybe it’s not just for Audre. Maybe I tweak my memories of Lizette so I can sleep better at night. I can’t help it. I know better, but a part of me still worships her.”

Shane drew Eva into his arms. She went easily, settling into his chest.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” he said. “What you’re teaching Audre about resilience, strength, creativity? She’s lucky to have you. She’s dynamic as hell, and it’s all you.”

Eva went still. And then she pulled away sharply.

“Stop,” she said. “Just stop.” And she turned on her heel, opened the gate, and flew up her stoop stairs. Stunned at this sudden shift, he followed her up the steps, taking them two by two.

“Stop what?” said Shane.

Eva ripped her keys from her pocket and tried to line the right one up with the lock, but she fumbled and dropped them. Shane picked them up—and with an exasperated exhale, she whipped around to face him, sticking her hand out.

“Gimme my keys.”

He handed them over. “Stop what, Eva?”

“Stop making me fall for you again!”

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