Alex’s teacher had caught Claire while she was shopping in the square earlier and detailed some issues he’d been having in class. He’d been struggling with focusing, he’d picked fights with other students and he’d argued with the teacher and broken down into full-out sobs a few times. The teacher believed Alex might be a better fit for a specialized class or school. Claire had volleyed between choices the rest of the day.
Attachment disorder.
That’s what the doctor had scrawled in Alex’s file after a series of psychological evaluations. He wasn’t a typical kid acting out; this was the behavior of someone who was terrified to allow people near emotionally—especially people who actively tried to be a part of his life. Claire kept reminding herself of that. She reminded herself of the advice from the doctor every day: keep showing him love, stay steady, have a sense of humor and keep in mind he didn’t hate her, he just didn’t yet know what to do with someone saying they’d have his back for the long haul. The number one rule the doctor gave her? Don’t take it personally.
It sure felt personal.
Eight months of tantrums—of holes kicked into the walls, of him shutting her out—had worn her thin. Sometimes he was well behaved, but even then didn’t respond positively toward her. Strangers often had an easier time connecting with him, at least in short exchanges. Supposedly that was part of his diagnosis, too.
What had she really expected when she’d chosen to become an adoptive mother? Naively, she’d pictured her new son cuddling on her lap, asking to go for walks with her and instantly feeling like a family together.
So far, none of that had happened. On his birthday, he’d asked to be left alone.
Alex had been quiet on the drive to Evan’s house, almost moody, and Claire worried that he might act out or say something outlandish when they arrived. Instead, he had rushed out of the car and hadn’t stopped talking from the moment Evan answered the door.
They were setting the table as Claire threw together the ingredients she’d brought to make a salad, although she was pretty sure that the salad would go untouched next to the garlic French bread and asiago chicken drenched in bacon cream sauce that Evan had whipped up. His house smelled as good as her last trip to Italy.
“Did you know that there aren’t any penguins in the northern hemisphere?” Alex trailed after Evan as he set plates on the table. “Christmas movies with penguins at the North Pole are wrong. They live at the South Pole.”
Evan handed him a stack of napkins. “You just taught me something new. If I’m ever on a game show and win money for knowing that, I’ll split my bounty with you.”
“I know all about a lot of animals.”
“You’re my go-to guy when it comes to animal facts.”
Alex puffed out his chest. Claire ceased mixing the salad and watched the two guys interacting. She wouldn’t deny that Alex displayed more confidence around Evan. It was abnormal for him to be this talkative within minutes of entering a home he’d never been to before. But Evan had taken him under his wing and started joking with him before Alex even had his coat off.
“That caterpillar you told me about last Sunday at church?” Evan continued. “The one that lives in the Arctic and freezes solid for four months every year? It was genius.”
“That’s the banded woolly bear caterpillar.”
Evan spun to bring Claire into the conversation. “Did he tell you about this thing?”
She carried her salad over to the table. “I have no clue what you guys are talking about.”
“Get this.” Evan rested a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “This caterpillar lives for fourteen years before becoming a moth. Every winter they freeze solid—their heart stops.”
Alex gripped the back of the chair and bounced on the balls of his feet. “They’re very much dead.”
Evan’s dimples appeared as he watched Alex. “What science would consider dead, anyway.”
“But the secret is, every spring they thaw and come back to life!” Alex tossed his hands in the air and did a slow, dramatic circle.
Claire clapped her hand over her mouth. She’d never seen Alex act this way—so free. She squeaked out, “That is amazing.”
Evan motioned for everyone to take a seat. “Alex brought it up in Sunday school and Mr. Woolly, as we took to calling him, really helped demonstrate the point I was trying to make for the kids. The entire objective of a caterpillar’s life is to become something more, something better, right?”
“A butterfly,” Claire offered.
Alex dropped his chin into his hand and gave a frustrated sigh. “The woolly becomes a moth, Mom.” His feet beat against the bar under his chair like a metronome.
“Sorry.” Claire grimaced in apology for Alex’s sake. “Moth.”
Evan sent Alex a wink and then turned to address her. “So poor Mr. Woolly fails at the one thing everyone else believes he’s supposed to accomplish every single year, but he keeps on doing what he knows he’s supposed to do. Living a life that others might deem insignificant. He thaws out, wakes up, eats and freezes again...for fourteen years.” Evan sent the plate full of garlic toast around the table.
“I don’t know if caterpillars ponder about their purpose much, but if I was him I’d start to get discouraged and question things.” He went to pick up the baking pan holding the asiago chicken, but yanked his hand away quickly. “That one’s still hot. Pass your plates and I’ll put some on there.” He held out hands for both their plates. A fourth place setting was saved for Laura, who he said would be home shortly.
He served up the chicken and then handed back their plates. “But God does something amazing in Mr. Woolly’s life every year. Woolly freezes solid and then comes back to life. I can’t do that, you can’t do that. It’s a big deal. But Woolly doesn’t know that because he’s just being faithful.”
Every year Woolly felt like he’d failed, yet he kept being faithful. Could Claire claim the same thing? Everyone else expected the caterpillar to change, to be more, but God had other plans for him—delayed plans—and there was something special about that. She pushed salad around on her plate. Sadness seeped through her chest. She shouldn’t feel this emotional about a silly Arctic caterpillar.
“I have a theory that our lives are a lot like that.” Evan leaned back in his chair, his food untouched. Maybe he was holding off for Laura. “We’re waiting for this great thing that we want, but it’s not going to happen for fourteen more years. All the while we’re missing the very real and cool things God is doing in our lives right now.”
Claire let her gaze fall to her cup of water and studied the ice cubes floating inside. Anything to avoid eye contact with Evan and Alex, because she worried that if she did, they’d see right through her. They’d know that she was a frozen caterpillar who was afraid the thaw would never arrive.
* * *
Once Laura joined them for dinner Evan said a prayer and they all dug in. Evan wanted to circle the table and hug Laura because of the way she instantly charmed Claire’s son. She was always dog tired when she got home from practice, but an outsider wouldn’t have been able to tell. Laura listened enthusiastically as Alex rattled off the different types of bees in a hive and what their jobs were.
“A honeybee hive can produce twenty to eighty pounds of honey. Did you know that?” Alex hardly gave Laura time to answer before launching into a different topic.
After the table was cleared she challenged Alex to a board game. Evan whispered “thank you” and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
Claire trailed him down the hallway toward the set of white painted French doors that led to his office. Did it bother her to leave Alex out of sight, with someone who wasn’t a relative? “Laura does a lot of babysitting for families at church. She’s good with kids his age.”
“She’s doing great with Alex. You both have a way with him.” Claire touched Evan’s elbow, stopping him before he went through the doors. She lowered her voice. “Alex has anger issues. Have you ever heard of attachment disorder?”
Laura and Alex were too far away to overhear them, and around the corner, so they couldn’t even see the part of the hallway where Evan and Claire were huddled. Still, Evan inched closer to her so they could speak in a whisper. “I have.”
“And you believe it’s real? My dad doesn’t.”
Of course Sesser didn’t. Anything the man viewed as weakness was deemed not good enough for him or his family. Poor Alex. Evan knew full well how much the brunt of Sesser’s judgment could hurt. Destroy.
But attacking her dad wouldn’t help the situation.
Evan raked his mind for a way to explain. “Have you forgotten about my dad?”
Claire ran her finger over the grooved frame around the door. Evan had created every single piece of woodwork in his house. She was absently tracing over hours of his handiwork. “I know he...he didn’t treat you well.”
“There’s a reason he’s not invited to my brother’s wedding. He used to beat the tar out of Brice. He would come at me, but most of the time Brice put himself between me and him and took the worst of it.” Evan applied pressure to the bridge of his nose. “So I’ve done some digging into childhood psychology. Brice and I both have, because when we became Christians we knew part of the process involved investing in mental and emotional health. It makes sense that Alex might have something like that, given his background.”
“He seems to get along with you, though. He’s mentioned you a couple times every day since we saw you last week at town hall.”
“That’s because I’m no threat to him.” Evan let his hands fall to his sides. “He can talk to me on his terms and it means nothing if he loses my esteem. That’s the reason he’s open with me.”
“I don’t think that’s the only reason. He doesn’t talk to me at all. He never said a word about that woolly caterpillar to me.” Claire looked up at the ceiling and swiped at her eyes. Was she crying over the insect story? “Why doesn’t he tell me about those kinds of things?” She hugged her arms around her stomach and her shoulders hunched forward.
Evan had to do something. He couldn’t stand there and watch her fight tears without trying to offer encouragement. So he reached over, cupped her arm and gave a companionable squeeze. “He has more to lose if he gets rejected by you.”
“I won’t reject him, though.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. Her voice had gone up more than she’d meant it to.
“You know that, but he can’t believe it yet. Give him time.” Evan kept his hand on her arm as he walked her backward through the French doors. It was only when he had her in his office that he remembered the giant painting—her painting—hanging behind his desk.
* * *
Claire turned and froze. “You kept my painting.”
All other sounds faded; she could hear only the pounding of blood in her temples. Her neck went uncomfortably warm.
Evan had her painting—her last gift to him.
She’d spent weeks layering the colors just right. She brushed past him now and rounded his desk to get a closer look. The painting had been a graduation gift. She’d given it to him only a few weeks before he’d ditched their wedding. Claire had always figured he’d sold it or tossed it or burned it in a bonfire. Never in any scenario that had played out in her head had she imagined him keeping the gift.
“I can’t believe you kept it.”
Evan cleared his throat. “I think it looks good in here.” He hooked his hands into his pockets and rocked on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “It fits.”
“Why would you keep something like that, though?”
His eyes softened as they searched hers. “Claire, you told me before you didn’t want to talk about the past, but can we now?” He motioned toward the picture. “I’ve wanted to explain.”
Curiosity roared for an answer, but a bigger part of her heart, the piece that belonged to fear and remembered all the agony it had been through previously, whispered no. Ignorance was better than pain. Safer. She’d written to him; she’d begged for an explanation and he hadn’t offered one then. Nothing he said now could ease the suffering she’d been dragged through, or fix how falling for him had sabotaged any chance of success for any other relationships. He couldn’t take away the brand his betrayal had seared over her heart.
Unwanted.
Evan had been the only risk she’d taken in life. One of only two times she’d attempted to cross her father. And what had she gotten from it? Evan had removed the safety net and then allowed her to fall to the ground, shattering.
She wasn’t about to let that happen again.
She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “This was a bad idea. I don’t know why I’m here.”
He caught her wrist as she turned. “Hey, slow down. You’re here because we have a fund-raiser to plan and very little time to do it in.” He pointed toward the painting. “You don’t want to talk about what this means, that’s fine. Like I told you before, I’ll respect that. So let’s forget about it and get to planning.”
“Just like that?”
“Claire, you deserve more in this life than I could ever give you. The least I can do is honor your wishes.”
It was strange, how much could be accomplished when tension breathed down their necks like a pack of wolves. Claire kept her eyes off her painting as much as she could and tried to focus. Evan had his laptop open and took notes as they brainstormed. They settled on hosting a 5k walk/run with a bake sale at the end.
Evan paused over his keyboard. “We could do something like a doughnut-eating contest at the finish of the race.”
Claire scrunched up her face. “Right after running? People will throw up.”
He folded his hands behind his head and tossed his feet onto his desk, leaning back. “Which would be quality entertainment.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I’m joking.” He let his feet fall back to the floor and the chair righted again. “Well, not about the doughnuts. Pastries aren’t a laughing matter.”
Claire tapped her temple. “I’ll tuck that nugget away for future reference.”
He barked a laugh and moved back over to his keyboard. “I know a guy who owns a bakery in Shadowbend. I’m pretty sure I can get him to donate everything so it wouldn’t eat into our costs. The contest could be open to anyone, not just runners from the 5k. That way, it makes our event more appealing to a broader audience.”
Claire jotted “doughnuts” onto the pad of paper she was working on. “Talk to your guy. If he’ll do it for free, why not?”
“Let me make sure my notes are right and then I’ll email them to you. No arguments. If I know you, that sheet of paper you’re working on will become a crumpled ball at the bottom of your purse within the next hour.”
She ripped the page off the memo pad and folded it four times. “I’m afraid you’re right.”
“Okay.” He squinted at the glowing screen. “I’m in charge of talking to my friend Miles at the police department about approval for the racecourse, and you’re calling the organization that times these things to see if there’s anything else we need in order for this all to be official.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He pointed at her even though his focus was fixed on the computer screen. “You’ll call your mom’s country-club friends and get a list of donors started for the bake sale, and I’m going to make calls to the church ladies for the same reason.”
This was the Evan that his followers from high school had never seen—studious, organized, ready to take on the world for good. The popular kids had wanted to peg him as the handsome jokester or the ladies’ man, but he’d never truly been those things. He was an all-in kind of guy. When he built something or helped someone, every cell in his body was dedicated to that purpose. Right here in his office, bent over a project, was the real Evan Daniels.
Inches away...the Evan she’d loved still existed.
And that was the most painful part. This moment. The realization that had just stabbed through her was why she hadn’t wanted to return to Goose Harbor.
She had to get out of here. “You forgot something on the list.” Her voice carried a false cheerfulness she didn’t possess at the moment.
Evan poised his fingers over his keyboard. “I’m ready. Hit me with it.”
“You missed the part where it’s late and we have to build snowmen tomorrow.”
The community email blast penned by Mr. Banks had announced that they would kick off the mayoral competition with the first test beginning at noon in the square. He’d called it a snow festival, even though she and Evan building snow sculptures was the only preplanned event.
Evan nodded and closed his laptop. “Our creativity on display for all to see.” He eased around the desk and held out his hand to her. “What are you making?”
She feigned being busy with her purse so she could politely ignore his gesture as she rose. “That’s a well-guarded secret.”
He buried his hands in the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt and glanced at the clock. “Oh, wow. It’s past ten thirty.”
“What? Alex should have been to bed hours ago.”
Evan followed her out of the office. Laura and Alex were both snoring in the living room, light from the television screen casting shadows over their faces. A movie with talking animals played in the background. No doubt Laura had searched the display until she found something age appropriate for Alex. Claire made a mental note to thank her for being so thoughtful tonight. There were a million more exciting ways she could have spent her Saturday night. Maybe Claire would pick the teenager up a gift card for one of the local shops.
Soft breaths whooshed out of Alex’s parted lips. His brow, which was bunched with frustration so much of the time, was completely relaxed. Claire’s fingers twitched; she itched to smooth back his hair. Kiss his temple. Whisper that he was her son and she loved him, that he never had to fear being unwanted or rejected ever again.
“I hate to wake him.” She worked her lip between her teeth.
“Don’t.” Evan held up a hand and shuffled forward. He bent and lifted Alex, immediately making for the door. “Grab his coat,” he whispered. “See if you can get it on him without waking him.”
Evan held Alex as Claire slipped his arms into his down jacket. Should she zip it up? She decided against it, fearing it would cause him to stir. Next she grabbed her coat and tugged her heavy boots on before turning back to Evan. “You don’t have a coat on or shoes.” Ugh. She sounded like such a mom. Evan was a grown man. She added, with slightly less authority in her voice, “At least let me help you step into some boots.”
“I don’t want to trip.”
She opened her mouth to protest.
“I’ll be fine,” Evan said.
In only socks?
Grown man, Claire. Let him be.
She held the door open and he followed her out. A hiss passed from his lips when he stepped into the yard. The cold bite of winter prickled against her cheeks. She could only imagine how freezing Evan’s feet must be. The snow would soak through his socks instantly. She unlocked her car and held the door open for him as he set Alex into his booster seat. Claire slid forward so she could reach and buckle him in. When she turned around, Evan was still behind her, one hand resting on the top of her car and the other slung over the open door.
She glanced back at Alex. “He’ll get cold.”
Without a word, Evan slipped his arm around her waist and drew her out of the door opening. With his arm circling her there was no comfortable place to put her free hand other than his chest. Despite the temperature and his lack of a coat and shoes, Evan was acting as if he wasn’t chilled at all. In fact, the intensity in his gaze sent warmth curling through Claire. He closed the car door but kept his hold on her.
Dim light spilled from the large front windows of his house, enough to show his beautiful green eyes, which were only a breath away from hers. Searching her face. What was he looking for?
“Do you still paint?”
Of all the things for him to ask her right now...
Claire had loved art and once dreamed of becoming an artist, opening a studio in town. Evan had encouraged her passion for drawing and painting, but her parents had berated her for wasting time on something so frivolous. Hardly anyone made a living from art.
She swallowed hard. “Not since...not in a long time.”
His face contorted for a second. Maybe from standing in the snow without shoes on. Served him right.
“Why do you care?” Claire whispered. A stiff wind caught her hair and sent it dancing around them.
As if he was mapping out a long journey or searching the sky for an undiscovered star, Evan’s gaze traced from her hair to her eyes to her lips, and back to her eyes. “The world was richer when you did.”
“Painting doesn’t—”
“When you’re doing something you love...” He shook his head and let his arms slip away. “Take care, Claire-bear.”
Then he was gone, leaving her with nothing but an old nickname that tore her heart in two.