Seven Days in June by Tia Williams

Chapter 19

Heterosexual Men Love Me

EVA TOOK FOREVER TO BUZZ SHANE UP.

She’d been locked in a debate with the most overimaginative, stubborn, dramatic girl that Brooklyn had ever produced. (Outside of Barbra Streisand, maybe.)

Audre was convinced that Eva had whored herself out for her. And with Shane waiting downstairs, Eva had no time to convince her otherwise. She was throwing on random clothes from her bedroom floor, rushing to get cute, while trying to talk Audre off the ledge. Not to mention that she was unprepared for Shane to meet Audre and had no idea what to say to him after their Dream House tryst.

When they heard the knock on the door, both Audre and Eva raced down the hallway, but Audre got there first. She threw open the door and stood there, fists on her hips, squinting up at Shane with a thunderous frown.

He jumped at least six inches off the ground. “Jesus fuck!”

“Shane! Language!” Eva skidded into the doorway in her fuzzy house socks and knocked Audre out of the way with her hip.

“But that’s…She’s…”

“Unexpectedly home, yes,” Eva blurted out, breathless. She couldn’t imagine how absurd they both looked. Eva in her Bad Boy Family Reunion tee and hastily thrown-on denim short overalls, with her hair piled atop her head like a perky pineapple—and Audre in her sweats and Hogwarts Sorting Hat. They were both breathing hard, unfinished business shimmering in the air between them.

“Shane, this is Audre. Audre, this is Shane. Um, we need a sec alone.” Grabbing a stunned Shane by the biceps, she used all her strength to push him back out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

“I’m giving you five minutes!” hollered Audre, her voice muffled behind the door.

Gesturing for Shane to follow her, Eva scurried up the stairs to the second-floor landing, outside of the apartment above her. She needed to be out of earshot.

With a dramatic exhale, Eva collapsed against the two-hundred-year-old wall as Shane did the same. She wondered how many other illicit lovers these walls had seen.

Panting, she said, “I haven’t breathed since you buzzed.”

“You didn’t tell me your daughter was here!” Shane was caught between panic and excitement. “Jesus, she’s the cutest person I’ve ever seen. You gave birth to her. A whole human. And you’re letting me meet her?”

“Only ’cause I forgot she had today off from school!” Eva was reeling, in flustered disbelief that Shane was here, in her building, right now.

“Oh. Ohhh.” His heart sank. “Listen, I’ll go. I don’t want to make anything weird for you. Or her.”

“Don’t go.”

“Really?” He beamed.

“You need to help with my alibi.”

“Oh.” His heart dropped again. “What alibi?”

“Audre saw fan pics of us online—ice cream, cuddling on a stoop—and I guess we looked…you know.” She made a dreamy face at him. “Like this.”

“What, goofy?”

“Smitten.”

Shane nodded, his fingers slowly plucking his bottom lip. Lazily, his gaze drifted down from her eyes to her mouth to her bralessness and back up again.

Eva’s mouth parted. He smirked at her, all cocky swagger.

“I can imagine,” he said.

“Anyway,” she continued, cheeks blazing, “she has decided that I seduced you into saving her academic career.”

“Seduced me? She used those words?” Shane put his face in his hands, muffling a chuckle. “Oh no.”

“I’ve never met anyone more dramatic.” Eva threw up her hands and rolled her eyes theatrically.

“I have,” he said, grinning.

“This week is too much for me.” Eva’s head felt too heavy for her body, and she dropped her forehead on Shane’s chest. She let it stay there, rubbing her head into him, relieving the pressure, just wanting to be soothed.

Shane froze momentarily, taken aback by the intimacy. Even after yesterday, he didn’t want to jump to any conclusions about where they stood.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, not touching her. “Can I hug you?”

“Please,” she breathed into his shirt.

Bending down slightly, he slid his arms around her waist and scooped her up, pulling her against him. On tippy-toes, she clung to his shirt and buried her face in his neck.

“Tighter,” she moaned, and he squeezed her. He wanted to live there. Pressing his fingers into her hair, he gently massaged her scalp.

“You’re here,” whispered Eva, feeling dizzy, “’cause I want you here.”

Shane made a small noise in the back of his throat that would embarrass him later. “Are we gonna talk about what we did?”

“There’s no time—my daughter thinks I’m a hooker. I have to fix this.”

“I’ll help.” He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek tenderly, needing to feel her skin. She let out the faintest sigh. “Audre has a healthy imagination, which isn’t a stretch, considering who her mom is. I’m great with kids.”

“But she’s my kid.” Eva lifted up her face to look at him. “And this isn’t how I wanted you to meet her. I mean…not that I even thought about you meeting her.”

“No, I get it,” he said, pressing his face into her curls. Coconut and vanilla. So heady.

“We’ll just tell her we’re reunited old friends. Which isn’t a lie,” she whispered, sliding her arms around his neck, pulling him even tighter. He groaned at this and, without breaking their embrace, walked her backward, till she was up against the wall.

“Just friends,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

Leaning in close, Shane pressed his lips to hers and softly sucked her tongue into his mouth, drawing her into a slow, deep kiss. Lightly, he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth—and the jolt was so intense, her legs buckled.

“Okay,” he whispered against her mouth before abruptly letting her go and stepping away. She blinked, a bit unsteady on her feet.

Pleased, he stuck his finger into her cheek dimple. “Boop! Let’s go, friend.”

Shortly thereafter, Eva, Shane, and Audre were sitting at the Mercy-Moore kitchen table. There was fresh light coming through the garden-facing window, and daisies sprouted from a ceramic vase Eva and Audre had picked up on their summer vacation to Barcelona two years ago. The table was a vintage number Eva had found in a Williamsburg shop that was going out of business. This was about five minutes before Williamsburg became a thing. It was a delicate, thin slab of raw redwood sitting upon iron legs. Over the years, it had acquired weird grooves and nicks, nail-polish smears, paint smudges, ancient Sharpie scribbles. It was a living Eva-Audre timeline. No man had ever sat there.

And judging by the way this is going, this’ll be the last time.

Shane had thought that reasoning with Audre would be a breeze. After all, he successfully managed an average of twenty-five kids most days of the week. But this one was different.

“I want to start by reminding you that I’m your mother,” said Eva. “I don’t have to defend anything I do. But because I don’t want you to ever breathe a word of this insane story to anyone at Cheshire Prep, we’re gonna clear this up. Right, Shane?”

Shane swallowed. He’d never been so intimidated. “Right. Right.”

“Mr. Hall here is an old friend from high school,” continued Eva. “He’s in town for the week, and we met for an iced coffee. I didn’t use my feminine wiles to get him to teach at your school next year. I don’t even know if I have feminine wiles. Maybe I did once and misplaced them. In any event, there were no wiles.”

“I see.” Audre adjusted her wizard hat and gestured at Shane. In her most official debate-team-captain voice, she said, “You may speak, sir.”

In his most official prep-school-English-lit-teacher voice, Shane said, “I know this is our first time meeting. And you have no reason to trust me. But all I did with your mom was platonically chill. Really.”

“Really? Really, Shane Hall?” Audre spat his name like she’d recently found unsavory trivia about him on Google. Which she had.

“I can assure you, I’m too gentlemanly to…agree to…what you’re suggesting.”

“Do you or do you not have several DUIs?” Audre folded her arms across her chest.

“Audre Zora Toni Mercy-Moore! You apologize to Mr. Hall right now.”

“Shane,” said Shane.

“Mr. Hall, I’m sorry. That was rude,” Audre allowed. “But, Mom, you’re being a hypocrite! You went crazy on Coco-Jean’s brother when you thought we were being inappropriate. As if I’d crush on a client.”

“A client?” asked Shane, surprised. “What services do you provide?”

“And now I can’t react when you’re inappropriate?”

“I’m. Your. Mother.” Eva clapped with each word, for emphasis. “I’m supposed to interrogate sixteen-year-olds consorting with my twelve-year-old. It’s my business. But even if I did trade sexual favors to keep you in school, it’s none of yours.”

“But you didn’t,” said Shane.

“Of course I didn’t.” Eva grabbed Audre’s hand. “How’d you even dream up such a tacky idea? Is this ’cause I let you watch Empire? Honestly, sweetie. Can you see me doing this?”

Audre glanced at Shane and then back at her mom.

“I guess not,” she said, with weary acceptance. “No. I guess I’m doing the most. But imagine my confusion! You tell me you’re not dating. And the next day, you’re booed up with some guy—a guy whose help you need. It didn’t add up. Until you said you’d do anything to keep me in school.”

Shane nodded. “Reasonable conclusion.”

“The only thing happening in those photos,” said Eva, “was two old friends catching up.”

“Good friends,” added Shane, who had thought he’d be far more articulate and helpful during this conversation but was tongue-tied in the presence of Eva and her dynamo baby, who had the energy of a great auntie judging neighborhood antics from her front porch. It was fascinating, seeing his Eva this way. A mother!

It had been decades since he’d spent time with a family. He was dazzled.

Meanwhile, Audre had propped her chin in her hand, eyes darting from Shane to her mom and back again. Her indignation was slowly turning into curiosity.

“So how come you’ve never mentioned Shane before?” asked Audre. “And in which city did you go to high school together? I know you moved a lot for Grandma’s modeling jobs.”

Grandma’s modeling jobs.Eva cringed, hearing Audre saying this in front of Shane. He knew better.

“It was a school in DC. I lived there my senior year. It was a long time ago, sweetie.” Eva got up and went to the counter, grabbing a banana. “Whew. I’m glad we settled that! Is anyone hungry? I have Toaster Strudel!”

“Mr. Hall, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions,” said Audre. “This was a lot for me. Mommy never hangs out with heterosexual men.”

“Not true,” said Eva, her mouth full of banana. “Heterosexual men love me.”

Audre spun around to face her. “Why haven’t you spoken since high school?”

“I’ve been busy with you, Audre. And Shane is always on the road.”

“But you’ve never mentioned knowing him.”

Audre said “him” like Shane didn’t have an actual name and wasn’t sitting right in front of her. Shane was being back-burnered, but he didn’t mind. He was just thrilled to be in Eva and Audre’s orbit.

“I just…Like I said, we moved a lot,” sputtered Eva. “My memories are a blur.”

HELP ME, she mouthed to Shane, behind Audre’s head.

He cleared his throat, and without really thinking, he called upon his only superpower. He told a story.

“You know what, Audre? Me and your mom’s friendship is hard to quantify in linear terms.”

Linear terms, thought Eva, impressed. I’m fascinated to see where this goes.

“This isn’t going to seem relevant, but years ago, I had a pet turtle. I was living in this little shack in Popoyo, a surfing town in Nicaragua. No one locks doors or anything. One morning, I woke up and there was a massive turtle in my bed.”

“How is that sanitary?” asked Eva.

“Shhh, Mom,” said Audre.

“Anyway, he chose me, and that was fucking that. I loved him instantly. And I took great care of him. I did all this research on what turtles like to eat, and twice a day, I’d make him tiny fruit salads with live crickets as garnish.”

“Gross!” Audre looked at Eva, delighted.

“Crickets were extremely his shit,” said Shane. “Anyway, he liked to follow me around, and since he moved so slowly, I walked really slowly so he could keep up. We would just shuffle around the house together, like geriatrics.”

“Hmm. Codependency,” said Audre. “Continue.”

“He was my little man, you know? I spoke to him in Spanish exclusively.”

“Why?” asked Audre.

“He was Nicaraguan,” he said simply.

“Hold on,” said Eva. “You speak Spanish?”

“Suficiente para hablar con una tortuga,” he said.

“You’re actually insane,” said Eva, chuckling.

Shane grinned, visibly proud of himself. “Anyway, one day I came home from surfing, and he was gone.”

“Where’d he go?” asked Audre.

“Off to chill with some other drunk writer, I guess. I was gutted. But then one day he came back. I dropped everything. This time he stayed for a good six months before he wandered off again.”

“Very slowly, I assume,” said Eva.

“In the back of my mind, I’m always low-key hoping I’ll run into him again.”

“Well. All will be revealed in the fullness of time,” mused Audre. “Mr. Hall, did it ever seem weird to you that you were so attached to a turtle?”

“It was weird. And, like you said, codependent.” Shane shrugged. “But I accepted it. He showed up one day, and we had an immediate friendship. We drifted in and out of each other’s lives, but we were attached, no matter what. Me and your mom are like that. We’ll always be friends, no matter how much time goes by.”

“I see. One second.” Without saying a word, Audre got up from the table and walked out of the room.

“What did I do?” he whispered to Eva.

“Wait for it,” Eva whispered back.

Thirty seconds later, Audre entered the kitchen in a new look. A sensible black sleeveless jumpsuit and horn-rimmed glasses with no prescription.

“Honey,” started Eva, “what is this outfit?”

“Doctorate in Psychology Realness,” she announced, and then slid back into her seat. “Mr. Hall, it’s clear from the turtle thing that you need therapy. Here’s my card. I can help you, if it’s okay with my mom.”

“It’s not okay,” said Eva. “Shane, whatever you do, don’t give her any money.”

“Can I at least ask a couple more questions?” Audre leaned over the table toward Shane, conspiratorially. “What was Mommy like in high school? Did she sign your yearbook? What clubs were you guys in?”

Shane folded his arms across his chest, thinking. “Honestly? She was the smartest girl I’d ever met. And fearless. She’d say anything that came to her head, like you.”

Audre brightened. “You think we’re alike?”

Shane glanced at Eva where she stood at the counter, watching them. Then he smiled at Audre. “Yeah, I do. A lot.”

“No, I was a misfit.” Eva settled back onto the bench, next to her daughter. She slid a glass of lemonade in front of Shane.

“We both were,” he said.

“In a way,” said Eva, “you helped me. I realized that I wasn’t the only hot mess in school.”

“I never realized I was lonely,” he said. “Until I met you and I wasn’t anymore.”

And then Shane and Eva slipped into a moment, and for a few prolonged, heightened beats, they forgot that Audre was there. Audre felt the temperature change in the room. She got up from her seat and slid onto her mom’s lap.

Audre did this sometimes. While Eva helped her with homework. While they marathoned The Bachelor. Despite being long and gawky, she still needed to cuddle. But this was a territorial move, catlike—as if she picked up something possessive in Shane’s gaze and needed to claim Eva as hers.

Eva got it. She linked her arms around her daughter’s waist and gave her hand three squeezes, their secret I love you code. Audre squeezed back and relaxed a little.

“Honey, should you get back to work on your piece?”

“Yep, going,” said Audre, hopping off her lap and picking up her art from the floor.

Shane witnessed their entire wordless exchange with the awe and reverence of a city dweller’s first visit to the Grand Canyon. He let out a gasp. “You did that? It’s dope!”

“I like collaging,” she said shyly.

“It reminds me of Man Ray,” said Shane. “Or, no, what’s his name, the dude out of Seattle who collages with vintage magazines? He has such a surreal perspective on ordinary life. What’s his name?”

Audre gasped. “You know about Jesse Treece? Wow, thanks! But I could never be like him.”

“Good,” he said. “Be like you. Who is the woman in the piece?”

“My baby’s a great artist,” Eva blurted before Audre could answer. “Let’s show him your gallery wall!”

“Mom. Noooo.”

“Come on, let me be a proud mama, please.”

Ushering them both out of the kitchen, Eva led them to the hallway near her master bedroom. The wall was covered in ten years’ worth of framed portraits of Eva and Audre—drawn or sketched or painted with increasing sophistication, by Audre.

Shane went mute, studying Audre’s work. No matter the medium, her pieces were bright, vivid, evocative. But also, he noticed that she’d littered the back- and foregrounds with melancholy, using withered florals and vintage mementos. Porcelain dolls and dusty books. Objects visiting from another time. It was almost a manifestation of Eva’s vibe. Audre was happy and well adjusted, not prone to her mother’s darkness—but she’d absorbed her edge anyway, through osmosis.

Eva watched Shane admiring her baby’s art, and her heart stuttered. She couldn’t help it. Shane was in her house, casually chatting with Audre the way a collector would speak to an artist at a showing. Eva tried to play down how delicious this felt. How domestic. Because hope was coiling up into her brain, like a snake piercing her with its fangs. Just like when she first met him, that day on the bleachers.

Grow up, she told herself. You know how this ends.

Of course she did. But it felt so delicious, she was starting not to care.

“…collage knocks you off-balance, a bit,” explained Audre. “You know, seeing elements that don’t belong together.”

“Like your portrait, right? With the feathers and the corduroy hair. It almost feels like its rippling in the breeze.”

“Exactly!” She beamed at Eva. “It’s Grandma Lizette, by the way. She’s a nonconformist, like you. You met her, right?”

“No, I never had the pleasure.”

“We always hung out at Shane’s house,” Eva said quickly.

“Grandma Lizette has a real appreciation for art,” said Audre, adjusting a crooked frame. “When Mom was little, she took her to the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe. And the Picasso Museum in Paris.”

Shane glanced quickly at Eva. Eva made a tight expression. And again, Audre got the distinct impression that she was on the outside of something.

“Well…,” she said, backing out of the room, “I’m gonna go finish my piece.”

Shane stuck out his hand to her. She shot him a confident smile and shook it.

“It was an honor to meet you,” he said. “You’re such an impressive person.”

“Ask her to name the capital of Maine, though,” Eva said with a smirk.

“Mom!” To Shane, Audre replied, “I’m really not that impressive. I’m just wildly verbal for my age. But thank you. And don’t be a stranger.”

With that, she shoved her artwork under her arm and headed off into her room. And then stopped abruptly.

“Oh,” said Audre, turning around to face them. “Quick question.”

“What?” asked Eva and Shane simultaneously.

“Which one of you is the turtle?”

“I’m sorry?” asked Eva.

“Which one of you is the turtle? You know, the one who leaves and comes back and leaves again, while the other waits?” she said, spinning on her heel. “It’s a metaphor, writers. Think about it.”

She left them alone as they stared straight ahead. Looking at each other might have started a fire.

Later, they loitered on the sidewalk in front of her brownstone. It was just after dinnertime, and the Park Slope sidewalks, overrun with out-of-school kids all day, were quieting down. The sun was setting in rosy lavender streaks. Audre was upstairs, collaging. Shane and Eva couldn’t stop touching each other—a hand on a shoulder, fingers tracing cheekbones, indulgent hugs—and they’d stopped trying. All was right with the world.

Eva had writing to do, so Shane had to go. They’d been in the process of saying goodbye for almost a full hour.

“Well,” he said. “That was the highlight of my week. The second highlight.”

“Audre liked you.” Eva was trying to manage her giddiness. She felt as if she were going to explode all over Seventh Avenue.

“And y’all are just magical together,” he gushed. “She’s incredible.”

“Thank you,” said Eva, beaming. “Friend.”

“Anytime. Friend.”

She lightly knocked her shoulder against his. He knocked her back.

“Well,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “I’m gonna go. Let you finish hexing me in book fifteen.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” started Eva hesitantly. “I need your opinion. How would you feel if Sebastian were white?”

“That’s one hell of a hex.”

“No, I’m serious. Cursed is going to be a movie. Which is so exciting. But the director wants to make Sebastian and Gia white. You know, mainstream appeal.”

Shane couldn’t help but laugh. “Me? White? Nah, stop playing.”

“Believe me, it’s not a joke,” she said, tucking a few escaped tendrils back into her topknot.

Seeing her resigned expression, Shane knew she was serious. “You can’t green-light that. Come on. You’ve got too much integrity for that bullshit.”

“I really just need the movie to be made.” With a little shrug, she leaned against the front gate. “Besides, the characters are mythological. They can be any race.”

Shane stared at Eva for several beats, trying to discern if she believed what she was saying. Or if she was talking herself into it.

“You know you can’t do that,” he said, dismissing the idea.

“I need this movie. It’ll afford me a break, so I can do other things.”

“Your job as an artist, a Black artist, is to tell the truth.”

“My job as a single-mom artist is to make money,” she pointed out. “I already know the truth.”

“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. Cursed is 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 his G and her S lined 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 an entire mythology to explain it. If S was 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 I can tell 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!”

Shane flinched. “How am I making you? It’s happening to both of us.”

“Really? I didn’t show up to…wherever you live…and disturb your peaceful life, out of nowhere. You came here to do this. On purpose.”

“I meaaan, I don’t really do anything on purpose,” he said, keeping his voice light with self-mockery, trying to calm her. “I had no plan, no ulterior motive, other than to apologize. On some AA shit. But I’m not sorry this happened.”

“I can’t do this,” she said, brows pinched with stress. “I can’t let you suck me in. You just met my daughter. I have too much to lose.”

“Suck you in,” he repeated.

“Yes!”

“It’s easy to blame me, right?”

“Excuse me?”

In the near darkness, Shane’s eyes blazed. “I showed up in Brooklyn, unannounced. Yeah. But let’s tell facts. You came to Horatio Street. You convinced me to go to the Dream House. And you left me there. I know you twist history to make things easier for you, but I’ve never made you do anything. Do you ever think about your role in all of this?”

“My role?” Eva’s voice rose five decibels. “Please, I’m not even a real person to you! Just a piece of fiction you made up.”

“Nah. You’re fiction that you made up.”

She wanted to slap him. “Nice. Go home.”

“I will. But first, this. Do you even remember that house? You scared the fuck out of me. I slept with one eye open, ’cause I was terrified you’d cut too deep. Or take one pill too many. You branded us. You did that. There isn’t just one dangerous person here. There’s two. We’re the same.”

Too infuriated to speak—seething, knowing that this was uncomfortably accurate—Eva turned her back to Shane and fumbled with the lock again. When she spun back around to face him, trembling, she unloaded all the bottled-up fury she’d been holding in for years.

“WHERE DID YOU GO?”

Stunned, he shook his head. “What?”

“Where did you go?”She stepped toward him, raging, keys digging into her palm. “Okay, we’re both bad. But you disappeared. Not me.” Angrily, she swiped tears from her eyes. Couples and families were breezing past, oblivious to the weeping woman and her tormented-looking man at the top of the stoop.

“Yesterday was perfect,” she continued, raging. “Today was perfect. We’re so fucking good, still. Look at all the time we lost! How could you leave me? That morning, when I woke up and you…you weren’t there. I had to teach myself how to breathe again, in a world without you in it. Do you get that?”

Eva gasped, pausing to catch her breath. “You begged me to stay, promised me you’d never leave. But it was all a lie. You never even tried to contact me. Not even to see if I’d made it out alive! Is it fun for you to ruin lives and escape unscathed? Are you sick, or just a liar? I stayed alive for you. But you killed me, anyway.”

“Eva…”

“I told myself I didn’t care.” She was openly weeping now. “But I do. You broke your promise. Where did you go?”

This was what Shane had come to tell her. But everything had changed. Especially after he’d seen Audre’s portrait of Lizette and witnessed how Eva had softened her mother’s history.

I know better, but a part of me still worships her.

Shane didn’t want to unthread Eva’s emotional connection to her mother. But he owed her an explanation, and it was the only part of this trip he’d actually planned for.

“I didn’t leave you,” he said finally.

“What?”

“Your mom never said anything?”

“No,” she said, her voice cracking, pleading. “What happened?”

“I didn’t leave you.”

Confusion flooded her face.

“I would never have left you. It was…your mom. She sent me away.”

“You’re blaming it on her?” Eva trembled with white rage, fisting her hands to steady them. “When I woke up, I asked for you. She didn’t even know who you were, Shane.”

“How do you think she got there?” Shane’s voice was an unsteady mix of regret and pain. “I found her number in your phone, and I called her. When she got to the house, she called the paramedics. And the police. And sent me to prison.”

The blood drained from Eva’s face. “No.”

“Ask her,” he said gently. “Ask her.”