“Perfect.” She hung up without saying goodbye.
His car had hardly stopped when Evelyn ran down the front steps and threw herself into the passenger seat. “You don’t want me to come in? Throw your parents off the scent?”
She looked at him dully. “There is no scent.”
“Oh—I—when I didn’t hear from you, I thought—” He stopped, flummoxed, and looked at her. “You always find a way.”
“I didn’t this time.”
Fred studied her for a moment, realizing her phone call had been a genuine plea. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay, then.” Fred put the car into drive. “Tell me where to.”
Evelyn didn’t want to go to town, where the possibility of running into Tony existed, so instead they drove to Rockport to walk around the artists’ colony.
Fred followed her directions and parked on Bearskin Neck, looking around and spotting an ice cream shop as they stepped out of the car. “Perfect,” he said.
“What is?”
“Ice cream.”
“I don’t want ice cream.”
“You look like you need some.”
“I’d rather have a drink.”
Fred offered her his arm, and she slipped a hand into the crook of his elbow. “It’s too early for that,” he said lightly.
“Well, it’s too early for ice cream too, then.”
“Nonsense. Besides, you’re too thin. Did they stop feeding you when they locked you in the tower?”
“Hah.”
“Now let me guess. Butter pecan?” Evelyn made a face. “No, you’re right. Too simple. You wouldn’t go for a plain flavor.” He stared at her for a moment. “Rocky road?”
She smiled wanly. “Lucky guess.”
“No. I know you, Evelyn Bergman. Like it or not. And I know something else—there’s not a broken heart on this earth that ice cream won’t help.” Evelyn let herself be led into the ice cream parlor, where Fred ordered two rocky road cones.
Evelyn touched her tongue to the ice cream initially to satisfy Fred, but it was hot out, and she found herself eating to keep it from dripping everywhere.
“It’s melting too quickly,” she said, trying to keep up.
“You’re telling me.” Fred circled his with his tongue.
“We’re going to be a sticky mess.”
“We can clean off in the ocean.”
“And you’ll drive two hours home in wet clothes?”
“If it put a smile on your face, I would.” Evelyn shook her head but did smile briefly before licking her cone again to keep it from dripping all over her hand. “Don’t you feel better now?”
“You may have been right about the ice cream,” she conceded.
“Ice cream? I’m mortally wounded that you didn’t see through that one. There’s no magic in ice cream. It was my charming company that made you feel better.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Fred, you are impossible.”
He stuck out the hand that wasn’t holding his ice cream. “Hello, pot. I’m the kettle. It’s nice to meet you.” She laughed, and he gave up, throwing the rest of his cone in a trashcan. “Come on. Show a stodgy old Plymouth guy around this bohemian town.” She switched hands for her ice cream, suddenly hungry enough to finish the whole thing, and put a sticky hand in Fred’s proffered arm.
They ate a late lunch after their walk through town, then wandered down to the small beach dotted with rocks. “Not the most creative with names up here, are they?”
Evelyn bent to undo her shoes, and Fred followed suit. “Says the man whose hometown was named for a rock.”
“Yes, but a very famous rock. This is just a port filled with undistinguished rocks.”
She shrugged, picking up her shoes and gesturing for him to follow her down to the water. “Yes, but it’s one of the only towns not named for someplace in England. We can give the Pilgrims who settled here some credit.” Evelyn waited as Fred bent to roll the hem of his pants into cuffs, and then they walked along the water’s edge, the waves licking their bare legs. “Besides, what would you have called it?”
“Evelynport.”
“Cute. I wasn’t born yet when they founded this place.”
“That’s no excuse for a lack of foresight.”
“Witches and seers historically didn’t fare well here.”
“Fair enough.”