I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh. I’ve seen Evan anxious a handful of times, usually when we’re waiting to receive test results or we’re about to sit an exam. But I’ve never seen him all jittery and frightened over something like this. The Bransons give off the vibe that they’d have a moose head displayed on the wall above their dining table right next to a handpainted family portrait.
“Well, I’m making progress with Marie,” I say, glancing to the door that leads to the living room, feeling my heart squeeze a little. “I think she really needs this.”
Evan’s expression softens. “Do you not want me to mediate?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ve got this,” I say, opening a cupboard to find a packet of chips. “Try not to spook yourself even more.”
He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m going to step outside for a minute.”
I pout, patting his shoulder. “You go do that.”
Evan scoffs, shrugging my hand off his shoulder before walking down the small hall toward the front door. After hearing it open and close behind him, I grab a bowl for the chips and some dips from the fridge, and bring them into the living room.
Marie’s face lights up when she sees me. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”
“The food from the oven wasn’t exactly edible,” I laugh, pushing the coffee table slightly closer to her.
She grabs a handful of chips, talking through a mouthful. “You’re an angel.” I laugh a little to myself. I’m pretty sure that’sthe first time anyone has called me an angel in a sincere way. Marie nods to the front door. “Is everything okay with Evan?”
“Yeah, he just needed some fresh air.”
“Not a fan of the animals?”
“Nope.”
Marie nods, speaking her next words softly. “They were never my idea. My husband, Thomas, would have had the whole house full of them if he could.”
I smile. “Where is Thomas now?”
“He died over ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. She shrugs, giving me a warm but sad smile before settling deeper into her chair. “Do you want to talk about him?”
“I would love to.”
I don’t know how long we talk for, but it feels like hours. Marie tells me all about Thomas and how they met as kids. They were friends for years, went to different high schools and colleges, but it wasn’t until they both graduated that they got together. As cynical as I am about fate, their story makes me believe that it can be true for some people that no matter where they go or who they are, they will always be drawn back to the same person. And, for Marie, that person was Thomas.
At some point Evan finally came back inside, and Marie let him listen in on the stories. As someone who can barely remember what they had for dinner yesterday, her memory astounds me. She tells each story with detail, with meaning, with love. I can see the exact moment her eyes and her body language change as she drifts from one story to the next, even acting out parts that she can remember. I stopped taking notes a while ago, and just let myself listen and learn. She asked me to promise not to mention this to my parents, and I do my best to assure her I won’t. They’ll have to knowsomethingso they know I reallycompleted the task, but I’m sure I can find my way around not disclosing who the interview was with.
When the conversation comes to a natural end, she walks Evan and me to the door. It’s well into the evening now, and there are a few fairy lights marking the path through the trees.
“It was so lovely to meet you, Scarlett,” Marie says, and she surprises me by trapping me into a tight hug. My face is smushed into her chest as she holds me tighter, and Evan gives me a goofy thumbs-up from where he stands beside me. She squeezes me again before pulling away. “Thank you for listening to me.”
“Anytime, Aunt Marie.”
We all exchange goodbyes and Evan and I start back down the path through the woods. We’re quiet for a while, listening to the stillness of the night and the occasional chirp from the trees. Evan’s already a few steps ahead, not bothering to wait for me to catch up.
“Why are you walking so fast?” I ask, already out of breath as I try to keep up with him. He doesn’t answer. I bump my shoulder into his arm. “Are you seriously that scared, Branson?”
“No, I just want to get home before dark,” he says, biting out the words.
“I don’t know if you can see without your glasses, but it’salreadydark.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, shrugging. “Still.”
“Are you going to turn into a pumpkin if you’re not home before midnight?” I say, fake-gasping. Evan turns slowly, giving me one of thoselooks.The kind that says, ‘don’t push me,’and it only makes me want to push him even more.
He turns back, returning to his angry speed-walking thing.
