Page 146 of Hellbent

She stayed hugging her knees, curled into herself, sobbing. He waited for her to get up and stomp out like before. She didn’t. She rocked herself and cried until the pillow was dark with tears, until her hair stuck to her face, until he thought she’d never stop.

He sat still, being with her without being with her. After a time it occurred to him that might not be enough.

He said, “May I sit by you?”

She shoved tears off her cheeks with the heels of her hands, gave a nod.

He took a seat on the couch at a respectful distance, but she nudged the cushion aside and leaned into him.

He was surprised, caught off guard, unsure of what was expected of him.

At first his arms floated above her stiffly. She was shuddering, hands curled beneath her chin. He thought about what Jack might do and then realized that Jack might never have found himself in a situation like this.

So instead Evan asked himself what he might do.

He lowered his arms to comfort her.

He wasn’t sure if his touch would elicit anger or flight, but she stayed there, her face buried in his chest.

She felt like an anchor to him, not dragging him down but mooring him to this spot, to this moment, locking his location for once on the grid. For the first time in his life, he felt the tug as something not unpleasant but precious.

Her legs flexed, jogging her back and forth ever so slightly. He held her, rocking her, as she wept. He brushed her hair from his mouth. Cleared his throat.

“You’re okay,” he said.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he said.

“You’re worth it,” he said.

* * *

Downstairs in his bedroom, he called Mia. When she answered, he took a deep breath.

“Hi, Mia. It’s Evan. I know I was supposed to be there twenty minutes ago. But I can’t come over for dinner with you and Peter. I’m sorry.”

Joey had finally pried herself off the couch to wash her face, and Evan had told her he’d be right back up. He had to head to Pico-Union in an hour and change, and he wasn’t willing to leave her alone until he had to. The imperative was as much for him as for her, the protective impulse spilling over into something more intimate, paternal.

It felt threatening and out of control, and he could afford neither at the moment. But he knew that if he left that sixteen-year-old girl alone after what she’d just gone through, he wouldn’t forgive himself for it.

There was a brief, surprised silence. And then Mia said, “Okay. Can I ask why?”

He was torn between what he owed Mia and what he owed Joey. “Something personal came up.”

“And you couldn’t call to let us know? I mean, before?”

“I really couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Peter made place cards and set the table an hour ago. Wait—scratch that.” Her breaths came across the receiver. “Sorry. I don’t mean to guilt-trip you. And I don’t mind that he learns to handle disappointment. That’s part of life. But I guess I’m not sure how to handle stuff about you with him when I don’t even have any answers. And that seems to come up more and more. No answers, I mean. Which I’m not sure is gonna work, Evan. I thought it might. But I don’t think it will.”

Something inside him crumbled away, brittle and dead. He thought about the dishes stacked on her counter, the smell of laundry, the instructive Post-its, and how they’d always seemed to be from some other life better than he deserved. Nine floors separated Evan from Mia and Peter, and yet they were out of reach. They always had been. But for a brief time, it had been lovely to pretend otherwise.

He said, “I understand.”

“You understand.” She made an unamused sound of amusement. “You know, I’ve never seen you upset. Never seen you get mad, flustered, lose it. At first I thought it was a kind of strength. But then I realized it’s just a kind of … nothing.”

Her words weren’t just true. They were profoundly true. They landed on him with the tonnage of decades.

“Look,” she said. “Even if this is our last conversation, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to play the role of the one who cares. And you get to play the role of the wanted asset. We can’t figure it out, whatever ‘it’ is. That’s fine. We’re both adults with complicated lives. But I wish you at least had the spine to say that you cared, too.”