It was all a lie, a fantasy, and I acted impulsively and naively.”
“It was all a fantasy . . . why . . . because you were happy? Do you think it can’t be real if it makes you that happy?”
“Apparently not.”
“Evie—”
“I just . . . I thought he was better. I thought he would never hurt me.” The tears spilled free.
Greer hurried across the room to wrap her arms around me. She was shorter than me and her bump was in the way, but she did her best to hug me. When she finally released me, she said, “No one is perfect, Evie. And no matter how good a person is, it would be rare for them to go through life never hurting anyone, unintentionally or not. Have you?”
I knew I’d hurt people unintentionally in the past. And I knew I’d hurt Roane by leaving.
“No,” I whispered.
“Then why,” Greer asked gently, “should Roane be held to a higher standard than you hold yourself? Why should all of them be? Sounds to me like they liked you so much, they were willing to band together just to help their boy keep you permanently in his life.”
I sucked in a breath, feeling like she’d punched me in the gut.
Confusion swamped me as those doubts I felt from the moment I’d gotten in that cab swam up to the surface.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
* * *
• • •
Carmel was a very pretty city in Indiana. Driving through its streets brought back wave after wave of nostalgia and memories. Although I’d grown up in the lower-income side of town, when I was in college, Phil got a promotion to management in the industrial equipment manufacturing plant where he worked. This meant he and Mom could move to a nicer house, although I think it was a struggle to keep it since they had Mom’s rehab bills to pay.
I’d offered up my inheritance a long time ago to cover those bills, but Phil had stubbornly refused.
They lived on a picture-perfect suburban street, where every house was the same except in color. They all had triangular slate roofs and a Palladian porch, but some were red brick and others were painted pale blue, lemon yellow, or light gray.
Mom and Phil’s house was pale gray, but while most others on the street looked like they’d recently had a fresh coat of paint, theirs was looking a little in need of love.
After I parked the rental car in the drive behind Phil’s truck, I’d barely taken a step out of the vehicle when the front door flew open and Phil appeared.
He hurried down the porch steps, and as I got out of the car, he met me with a bear hug.
That’s all it took in my fragile state for me to burst into tears.
I’d emailed him with a heads-up about the broken engagement.
His arms tightened around me, and I inhaled the familiar scent of the laundry detergent he and Mom used as I soaked his shirt with the apparently never-ending supply of water my eyes produced.
“There, there,” he said gruffly.
I felt his hold ease, and as I looked up, surprised he was pushing me away, I saw the reason why. Mom stood, tears in the hazel eyes I’d inherited from her, holding her arms up to take me into them.
And I went.
Collapsing into her and crying now for so much more than what I’d lost in England.
* * *
• • •
Sitting in my parents’ air-conditioned living room on a hot day in Indiana, holding a glass of iced tea, I told myself at least there was AC in the States.
Phil had grabbed my luggage and brought it into the house as Mom and I took our reunion inside. My stepfather had left soon after with some excuse about buying groceries, but I knew he was getting out of the way so Mom and I could talk.
We’d filled the time so far with wiping our eyes and making small talk while Mom brought a jug of iced tea into the living room with a plate of homemade cookies.
“I’ve really gotten into baking since I’ve come home,” she said, offering me a cookie.
Not hungry, I promised I’d try one later.
Homemade baking just made me think of Caro.
To distract me, I blurted, “I’m angry at you.”
Mom flinched, tensed, but gave me a tight nod. “I know.”
“I’ve tried not to be. But I’m angry that your addiction was stronger than your love for me.”
“Oh, Evie, that’s not true.” Her eyes filled with fresh