All the Little Raindrops(68)

“Thank you,” he said.

She tilted her head, giving him a confused look. “For what?”

“For keeping her. You must have thought about . . . other options.”

She blinked at him, turning her head and looking out to the swaying leaves. He could see that she understood exactly what he meant. “I did. For at least a moment,” she finally said. “But not much longer than that.” She turned her gaze back to him, her brow dipping as though she was measuring her words. “When we were locked in those cages, I fought so hard to get free. To live. That instinct . . . to clutch at life, to hold on, is so strong, in all of us.” She brought her hand to her stomach, as though remembering the tiny life that had once fluttered there, delicate, vulnerable. “That instinct must be there from the very beginning, I imagine.” She smiled softly. “Like the turtles. An inborn instinct to survive, to head toward the light. Not everyone knows that, I guess. But we do.” Her gaze washed over his face. He felt caught, unable to move until she looked away, back out into the night. “And so for me, just considering ending a life when I’d battled so hard for my own . . . I couldn’t, Evan. To do so seemed to me like the most terrible of hypocrisies.”

His heart jolted. He hadn’t expected that. He’d thought that, now, he had more control over himself when it came to her. He’d thought he was angry. And he was. Sort of. “That makes sense,” he said. “To me it makes perfect sense.” Their eyes met, and she gave the smallest of nods, the confirmation that, yes, they both understood things that no one else might. At least not in such a personal way. Their decisions, all of them, were based on things other people couldn’t possibly imagine.

Evan watched her as she again gazed out to the night, realizing that she was just as incredible as he’d remembered her to be. It was an epiphany, because for so long, he’d connected that feeling to the trauma bond Professor Vitucci had put into words for him. He’d doubted his own emotions surrounding Noelle. He’d believed them to be overblown and untrustworthy. And perhaps in some way or another that was true. But his opinion of her hadn’t been based solely on what they’d experienced together, because that no longer controlled him and he still felt the same.

“And now, of course,” she went on, her lips curving tenderly, “I couldn’t imagine the world without her. What a terrible tragedy that would be.”

“She’s wonderful,” he agreed.

“She is.”

“Beautiful.”

“That too.”

They were both silent for a moment before Noelle spoke. “Evan, I know you might want to discuss . . . making plans . . . regarding Callie. Maybe visiting her or . . . well.” She sighed. She was as lost as him. They’d been lost together before, and they’d helped each other through it. Maybe they could again, now that they both had clearer sight. The vestiges of his anger drained away. She hadn’t been right to keep Callie from him, but he also understood why she had. Maybe if he’d been in her shoes, he’d have done the same.

At first, after they’d parted, he remembered wondering if she would call him or email him. He wanted it, God, he did, and yet . . . at the same time, whenever he opened his inbox and realized she hadn’t, he breathed a small breath of relief. It’d been confusing as hell. She was so woven into his pain.

“I was thinking about staying for the next three or four days,” he told her. “I hope you’ll let me hang out with Callie a little bit. As much as you’re comfortable with. And then we can talk about that before I go.”

“That sounds good. Of course you can see Callie this week. And we’ll figure something out.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

She smiled back. “Okay.” Their eyes held, and she laughed, shaking her head and looking away. When she glanced back, her expression had become serious. “Now, tell me why you’re here.”





CHAPTER THIRTY


“I’ve been looking into what happened to us,” he told her.

Her mouth opened slightly, but then she closed it, exhaling through her nose. She took a long drink from her beer and then placed it on the table. “I wondered,” she said. “When you told me you’d become a private investigator, I wondered if it was because of what we’d been through.”

“Partially. But I didn’t choose it because I wanted to investigate our crime,” he said. “It had already been investigated, and nothing helpful had been uncovered. The FBI never found anything, and neither did the PIs my dad hired. I didn’t imagine I’d have much more luck than the Feds, who have access to all sorts of databases not available to me.” He shook his head and took a sip from his bottle. “I chose the profession because I wanted to help other people find their own closure. I guess that aspect, especially, was appealing to me, considering we never found ours.”

“I get that,” she said. She did. Even hearing him say the words had made her heart constrict in understanding. They’d had to find their own form of closure, but in some ways, it would always be an open sore, because nothing could fill it entirely except true justice. True knowing of exactly what had happened to them, and why. She’d learned to live with the lack of answers, and there were lessons to be found there too. She’d discovered that the practice of letting go of that which was out of her control was a valuable one. But to assist others in attaining their justice must help Evan in his own acceptance. If she had been remotely interested in criminal justice, perhaps she’d have gone in that direction too.