I search his voice for anger, but I hear none. Still, I let go of his hand and get back up so I have the distance that I need to answer honestly. Standing by his bed, I shake my head. “I couldn’t do it. I was seventeen, and my heart was in a million pieces. It wasn’t some kind of or…selfishness that stopped me. I promise it wasn’t. I would have given this all up if it had felt like the right thing.”
Once again, my eyes leak, as I look into his eyes and tell him this—my darkest secret. “I knew someone else could do it better. The Deckerts—her…parents—they wanted her so badly, Landon. Their whole world was right for her, and mine just wasn’t. I feel like I should hate myself, like maybe something’s broken with me. That I didn’t…act really illogical and run away to somewhere. Raise her in the trees.” I wipe my eyes, and Landon manages a small smile. “But really, I’m just grateful that it worked out like it did. I love them, the Deckerts. I love her. I see her, Landon. That’s part of the reason I came here for school. Their family had moved here.”
He nods, tight-lipped, and I can’t read his face. Does he hate me? Does he blame me? How could he not?
After a moment, though, he reaches for me, and I sit back down on his bed with my breath held. His eyes on mine are warm and kind, not blaming. My fingers grip his, and I try to give him more.
“When my heart stopped hurting for a baby right then, I knew she’d have a good life. And she does.”
He swallows, nodding.
“Do you hate me?” I ask, through my aching throat.
“Evie…I could never hate you.”
“Do you wish you could?” I whisper.
“No.” He shuts his eyes. His shoulders, drawn up tightly, slowly deflate. For a long time, he’s just still, his big hand limp in mine. I think he’s asleep when, in a murmured rasp, he says, “I found my mother, Evie. She has…four…other kids.” His hand twitches, and his eyes crack open. “Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “I…took somethin’ earlier.”
“Don’t be sorry at all. You need that stuff.” I set his hand back on his lap and push the pillow by his head a little closer. I’m leaning in to place a kiss on Landon’s cheek when Billard walks in, looking so serious, it sends a shot of panic through me. He walks up to me and looks down, pushing a finger up against his horn-rimmed glasses.
“I’m sorry, next of kin,” he says in a friendly tone. “I hope you’re not too scarred from being in the OR.”
“No—I’m fine.” A necessary bluff…
He motions me out into the hallway, where he says, “You should have told me. Stuck up for yourself.”
I smile sadly, shaking my head. “I hesitate to say this out loud, but…I wanted to watch him. Over him,” I clarify. “I couldn’t have stood not being in there. I would rather have to cut than not be there.”
He nods, and then he winks. “That’s a surgeon for you. We’re a different breed. I would do the same for my wife, no doubt. Still, though, I’m impressed you did it. Well done.”
“I don’t really feel that way,” I answer honestly.
He claps my shoulder. “Sometimes you don’t.”
Twelve
Landon
“Yeah…so tell me all about that. If you want to.”
Evie’s fingertips stroke my forearm, and it feels so good, it’s a struggle to think straight enough to answer her.
It’s the middle of the night, five-days-going-on-six after the wreck, and she’s sitting on the edge of my hospital bed, tracing circles on the inside of my arm after washing my hair with dry shampoo. I’m pretty sure it didn’t work, but her hands in my hair—good stuff.
I flex my wrist to wrap my fingers around Ev’s arm. She understands my wordless request; her hand clasps mine in response, and our fingers lace together.
I lean my head back against the top of the bed and shut my eyes. I do want to tell her.
“Almost two years ago,” I say, with my eyes still closed, “I hired a PI.” My lungs start into a fortifying breath, the way I’ve done for my whole life, but pain stops me short. I freeze, clenching my jaw.
Evie’s hand squeezes mine. I squeeze back. I take a few more shallow breaths and try to think around the pain.
“The PI…he traced her by my name.” I look at Evie, who is listening with wide eyes. “He checked around the time of my estimated birth for a baby born in the Asheville area with the name James Landon. Turns out, I was born near Fairview. My real birthday is March 5. And my mother’s name is Laura Stern.”
“Wow…”
“She’s a high school physics teacher. When she…left,” I whisper, “she was twenty.” I swallow hard, then let my eyes find Evie’s. “Came from poverty,” I say in an impassive tone. “She was arrested once for trying to buy drugs from an undercover officer. PI said she told a woman at her church back then that she had let me go live with my dad.”
Evie’s eyes widen, and I shake my head to shut down her excitement. “Nothing on him. PI thought she didn’t know.
“When I was six,” I go on, “she remarried…to another teacher. And they applied to foster children.” I inhale deep enough to ache, and shake my head. “They got rejected. Couldn’t pass the background check. The drug arrest, I’m thinking. Perfect, right?”
My body hurts so fucking much. Telling this story hurts. But I want Ev to know. I want to hear her thoughts. Despite what happened between us—what she didn’t tell me—I still love her just the same. I need her just the same.
So I continue, even though I hate to talk about it. “Not long after that, they started having kids. Three girls and a boy. They live in Charlotte now.” I bite the inside of my cheek and shake my head. “You know…I almost dislike that the most. That she left Asheville. Isn’t that illogical?”
Ev strokes my hand and leans in closer. “I don’t think so.” I’m wearing a back brace, and I’m leaning back in the bed, so I can’t really move closer to her. “I can understand that,” she says softly.
After a quiet moment, Evie lets go of my hand and shifts to sit beside me in the bed, hip to hip with our backs against the raised mattress. She takes my hand gently in hers again, and rests her head against my upper arm.
“You’ve never met her,” she surmises.
“No. I want to, though. In my head…I have these fantasies where I say all this shit to her. Where I tell her that she’s a fucked up bitch—and where I tell her I’m a surgeon, and she’s thrilled and cooks me dinner.” I laugh darkly.
“Do you want to, really?” she asks. “You want to meet her?”
“Of course. But I think we know how that ends.”
“No we don’t. And listen—I think anyone would feel this way. You want to have some clue of where you came from. That’s just normal.”
“Ashtyn’s lucky that she knows you.” I can barely say the words without my damn throat knotting up.
I can’t turn my torso to see Evie’s face, but I can feel her chest expand. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you. God, I’m sorry. When we were younger, when you showed back up that time and Emmaline talked to you you—” her voice cracks. “I had gone off to this…camp thing. Kind of like a rehab almost.”
My chest tightens. “What?”