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I reclaim Margot from Mrs. Heards and return her car.
“Are you okay, Evette?” She rarely uses my name, so I know she is serious. I must be wearing the last hour on my face. I take Margot and tuck her in the stroller. I paint on the reassuring, placid face from my previous days. I tell myself to keep my voice steady, my pacing calm. There is nothing to be won by getting her involved.
“I’m okay. It was just a big misunderstanding.” I don’t need the town gossip alerting the presses. She eyes me suspiciously. I don’t think she believes me, but it doesn’t matter. “How was Margot?”
“An angel, of course.”
“Thank you again.” I leave quickly. I don’t give her any more time to interrogate me, and I want to be home before John returns. If he returns.
I exhale once I’m in my own house, leaning on the kitchen island. Vomit rises in my throat as I consider John, the gun, the shady building. I think about all that’s happened. I want to curl up and cry but don’t afford myself that luxury. I pick up Margot from the stroller and cradle her, kissing her cheek, the top of her head. I breathe in, the baby I always wanted. John didn’t want me to name her Margot. He thought it was disrespectful. But I think it’s a way that she’s still here, that baby they took from us.
No one will take this baby, though. No one can. Especially not John. I won’t risk her because of him.
He comes home a little while later and acts cool, collected. His voice is a little too chipper, his tie a bit too straight. He’s trying to overcompensate for the shit he’s doing. After a quick greeting and a perfunctory kiss on the cheek—I order myself not to recoil from his touch—he loosens his tie. He walks back to his office right away, says he has to file some things from his bag. I know it’s the gun. I want to scream at him. I know you’re up to something. I know. I bite my tongue. It takes everything in me not to say anything. I picture the bar, Thad. Would John kill me if I risked his future? He’s killed before. Would he do it again? I have no reason to think he would. It’s been so many years since that night. And he did it for me. It was always for me.
But you never know. I hold Margot closer. You never know.
We settle in for dinner. John orders a pizza. He sits across from me at the table after I put Margot down in her bassinet.
“I need to talk to you,” he says solemnly. He gulps down the beer I set at his place. My heart beats crazily. Maybe this is it. Time to come clean.
“I know, Ev. I know what you’ve been up to,” he says. I blink, defensiveness surfacing. I stay quiet, hold my cards tight.
“What are you talking about?” I ask calmly. I wonder if he saw me in the alley. I wonder if he’s going to ask me to help. A small piece of me lights up at the idea that we could again be those two runaways, two rebels. Once more, we could be on the same team. An unstoppable force together. But then I remember Olivia. I think John’s picked a new Bonnie. I keep my guard up.
“Ev, please. We’re past this. I’ve always had your best interests at heart.”
My eyes narrow. I keep quiet, though, and let him go on.
“I know you’ve been skipping your meds and your therapy. Dr. Fountain is very worried about you, and the insurance company confirmed we haven’t picked up your prescription this month.”
This was not what I was expecting. My head whirls. “How dare you spy on me,” I say.
“I’m not spying, Ev. Stop. Listen. I just—I’m worried. You know what happened last time. And the time before that. I don’t want something bad to happen to you. I saved you last time. And I convinced everyone you were okay after the office incident. I helped pull you out of that dark place after the night we met. And I promised you I’d never let you go back to that awful place, I’d never let you sink that far. But Ev, we can’t do this again. I don’t want to lose you. You have to help me help you.”
I blink at him. “Then why are you keeping secrets from me? If you don’t want to lose me?” The words are out in the air between us. We’ve both played our first card. I don’t know whose is stronger. Now he looks down at the floor, picking at the dampened label on his beer bottle.
“Ev, please. You have to trust me. I’m working on something to help us. It’s for us. It’s always for us.” His words are a solemn chant on a wayward wind. They float about the air, tempting me with their rhythm, with the sweet melody of their promise. “I just need a little bit more time.”
I snatch the words from the air and spit them aside. I used to believe in him. I used to trust him with my life. I don’t know if I still do.