it all the way to Philadelphia—a swing so hard he almost knocked himself over. And then there was just Dean, walking to the dugout, wearing exactly one-third of a smile.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, EVVIE HEARD someone pull into the driveway and cut the engine. She went to the window and saw a low-slung black Miata, from which a woman in khaki pants and a green sweater-coat was coming into view. Evvie waited, and sure enough, there were five quick knocks on the door, which Evvie’s ear heard as I-don’t-have-all-day.
But when she opened the door, the woman was smiling rather warmly, clutching a leather notebook in one hand. “Can I help you?” Evvie asked her, suddenly feeling stumpy and lumpy and like she wished she’d thought to pull her hair back.
“I’m Ellen Boyd. I’m with Beat Sports.”
It didn’t mean a lot to Evvie, but she’d seen the name. She knew enough. “Can I help you?” she repeated.
“I’m looking for Dean Tenney. I understand he lives with you.”
It wasn’t a secret that Dean was renting here; he’d been in town long enough to be greeted at the gas station and the grocery store, and he had a flock of admirers among the girls who sat around the coffee shop all day, drinking sugar bombs with whipped cream and never seeming to gain an ounce. A few people had even gotten up the nerve to tell him how much they’d liked watching him pitch. When she’d seen it happen, he’d smiled and said thank you and followed with, “What do you do?” or “What are you shopping for?” or “Do you think it’s going to rain?” Or, if he got desperate, there was always, “What’s your favorite way to cook a lobster?”
But it wasn’t a secret. He lived there. So she said it: “Yes, he does.” But almost immediately, she rewound the question and her answer in her head. “Well, I mean, yes, he lives in the house. He doesn’t live with me. Like, he doesn’t live with me, we don’t live together. There’s an apartment in back.”
“Is he at home?” Ellen Boyd with the leather notebook wanted to know, even though Evvie suspected she’d waited until his truck wasn’t here to show up.
“He’s not, no. I can take your business card if you like, and I can ask him to call you.” This was what Andy had done for Evvie when a couple of reporters came around knocking, asking about Tim’s accident. She still had the cards in an envelope; she’d never looked at any of them.
“Could I ask you a few questions?”
“Oh. No, I can’t be helpful. You should talk to Dean.”
“Would you happen to know if he’s been drinking since he’s been here?”
Evvie’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m curious about how he’s doing. Has he been drinking since he’s been here?”
“I don’t know what you’re asking, but I’d like you to go, I don’t have anything else to say.” She started to close the door, but Ellen put her hand on it to keep it open.
“Totally understand, but you’ll be helping him if you answer a question or two, because then I really can go. If it’s no, say no, but if it’s yes, you can get it over with and I won’t be back, okay? Do you know whether he’s having issues with his mental health?”
Evvie paused. She pulled the door back open and stepped into the doorway. “You should get off my porch.”
“Did you and Dean know each other while your husband was alive, or did you get together more recently, or…?”
Evvie’s head felt light. “Listen,” she said, making every syllable the precise equivalent of every other, “you’re standing on a porch my father rebuilt when it was ninety-five degrees outside. I grew up here and I know everyone, and nothing will happen to me if I kick you down those steps with your notebook and your shit shovel.”
“So you don’t want to get into how the two of you got involved.”
Evvie grabbed the notebook out of Ellen’s hand and threw it. It landed with a thump in the grass. “You dropped something.” Evvie nodded toward it and pushed the door shut.
Once it was latched, she leaned back against the door. “Oh shit, oh shit,” she whispered to herself, letting out a hoarse, nervous chuckle. She spun around and peeked out the window. She wondered whether Ellen Boyd would be out there, calling the police, reporting that Evvie Drake had destroyed her property and