“You looking for me?” Evangeline said.
* * *
—
THE WIND JOSTLED THE RAMPS AND DOCKS, the sailboats and fishing vessels, set them all into confused, jangling motion. A STOP sign, embedded in broken concrete, had been jackhammered up and deposited nonsensically a few parking spots over. It glowed under a lamp, the wind whipping it into high-speed vibration, blurring the white of the word into the sea of red. We sat facing the marina, the car damp and close, filled with the sharp edge of sweat and something like panic. Evangeline opened the back door.
“No. Stay there.”
She closed the door, but I felt her behind me, perched forward in the seat. “Why don’t we go home?” she said, the heat of her breath on my ear.
“I’m not ready.”
“If I could only—”
“Quiet!”
Evangeline drew a sharp breath. She was right to be afraid. Reason had abandoned me, replaced by a rage that blossomed like blood spreading through water. I was bright with it. So many people I hated as I sat in that dank car, the night wind beating against it. I hated not only Jonah but his mother, Lorrie. I hated Katherine for leaving and Peter for telling me what he knew. I hated my son for having died and myself for having allowed it. I hated Evangeline for her youthful beauty and the way it could seduce a boy like Jonah. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to tear her apart in search of my son.
I reveal this because there is no point to the telling if I hide what causes me shame. If it repels, so be it. But I wonder whether urges—urges we refuse to act upon—make us worthy of contempt. Doesn’t evil and its violence stalk us all, forever seeking points of entry? Shouldn’t our resistance to these atavistic urges be the criterion upon which we are judged?
As for the beast, it lives. It has always lived. It is one of God’s terrible guises.
Evangeline remained forward in the seat, expectant. I gathered myself and said, softer now, controlling my anger, “I need a few minutes. I’ll break the silence when I’m ready. Stay where you are. Better I can’t see you.”
“But the rearview mirror.”
I glanced up and there were her eyes, swollen and shadowed. I flipped the mirror away, and Evangeline went quiet. Over the past week, she’d learned my habit of reflection, my “weirdly long” pauses before a reply. It exasperated her, but she knew that efforts to force communication would only prolong my need. A minute went by and then another. She slumped back with a sigh.
Who could fault me for my withdrawal? For imagining my own throat being slit, half hoping it would happen? I didn’t know who this child was or what she was capable of. She had demonstrated a fearfulness of the truth, a ferocious imagination and a propensity toward manipulation—an animal scrabbling to survive, for herself and her child. Only a fool would attempt to engage such a creature without adequate stillness of mind.
We sat in the dark, and I heard her breathing, congested as if she’d been crying, and my rage was replaced by a sudden, fierce desire to comfort her. But I did not, because I could not trust the rampages of my heart. I watched the rocking of the boats and the swells of the Sound, and eventually my inner storm passed into those waves that lifted and rolled.
After an hour, I was ready to speak. Evangeline lay covered with the blanket Rufus used when he traveled with me. Though it must have smelled foul, she had it pressed to her nose as if a comfort. Her breath was slow and rhythmic, and her lips made small whispering motions. It was nearly eleven, and the urgencies of the day had dissolved. I could no longer make sense of how this sleeping child—or a friend who appeared to have spoken the truth—had provoked such rage in me.
* * *
—
I HEADED HOME, MY MIND AND BODY CLEAR. A certain peace existed in me then, a gentle affection for Evangeline and even myself. Perhaps of everything that happened that night, this is the most difficult to explain.
25
The next morning, Evangeline got ready for school as if nothing had happened. Why people insisted on carrying around the stink from prior days when it could as easily be ignored—if not forever, at least for a while—she didn’t understand.
She expected to find Isaac at the table silent and stern, so serious, always so serious. But he was at ease in his slacks and button-down shirt, reading the morning paper, smiling and saying good morning. She half thought she’d imagined the night before, that the disemboweled backpack, her mother’s rotting clothes, the two of them in the wind-buffeted car, were nothing more than side effects of pregnancy, dreams gone wild and real.
Isaac stood as if to get her breakfast, and she felt a twinge of affection, the way he was willing to pretend with her that nothing had changed. She motioned for him to sit. “I can manage toast and juice.”
“You should have more than that.”
“I’ll grab a banana at school. Maybe some eggs. The cafeteria’s open early, right?”
“It is. You got money?”
She shifted, uneasy, wondering if he kept tabs on his cash. She made it a rule to never take more than twenty percent of what she found, but some people watched every dollar, and she now had a feeling that Isaac was one. “Enough for some cafeteria food.”
“Let’s talk about money at dinner. I’m thinking you need an allowance.” He said it casually enough, but when he looked at her, she could tell he knew exactly how much was missing. And that confused her even more, because wasn’t that one more reason he should be kicking her out?
“And we should talk about a few other things,” he said. “Certain reports that need to be filed.”
Evangeline, who was putting down a piece of toast, stopped and stood very still. “What kind of reports?”
“Principal Thibodeau reminded me there’s state paperwork due.”
She turned. “That guy with the jaw?”
“That’s him. The state requires notification of abandoned minors—”
“I’m not abandoned! I told you, my mom died. That’s not abandoned!”
Isaac raised the situation with the aunt, the homelessness.
“Don’t you want me here? Because if you don’t, just say—”
“Yes,” he said with a firmness that soothed her heart. “I want you to stay. And I hope you can. The state may have something to say about it. They may find a different place for you.”
She sat across from him. “But not if you don’t tell them, right?”
“I’ll try to work something out with Principal Thibodeau, okay?”
“Today? You’ll work on it today?”
“Not today. My schedule’s packed. Tomorrow, probably. No one’s going to kick you out in the next day or two.”
Evangeline stared at the table a minute, then stood, picked up her backpack, and headed to the mudroom. “Gotta go.”
“You’ve got time. Eat your toast.”
She promised she’d get oatmeal at school and walked into the drizzle of a predawn morning.
* * *
—
AS SHE JOGGED DOWN THE ROAD, the sky brightening behind a dark ridgeline, she hardly noticed the rain. She had a single thought: she would not be handed over to the state. Certainly not by that guy in the principal’s office.