“Seriously. Don’t cut in the lunch line seemed to be the main thing. It was interesting.” Evelyn looked at the gray bay before her and thought that she would have liked a similar consultant to guide her through New York life. Don’t try to upstage the alpha female; that was probably a rule that held both in New York and in prison.
Charlotte applied some Vaseline to her lips. “It’s still impossible to see your father in, what, orange scrubs? Is that what they wear? Do you think they let him bring his pomade in?”
“He doesn’t use pomade.”
“I’m sorry, Evelyn, but it’s time you knew the truth. That hair doesn’t just happen. There is serious product involved.” Charlotte swiveled her head to look at the HOT COFFEE sign on the ice-cream parlor. “Can we stop? I’m dying for caffeine.”
“I can get you caffeine, but we’re not going here,” Evelyn said. “You’ll be pleased to learn that I get an employee discount at the best coffee place in town.” She cast it as a joke, unsure what Charlotte’s reaction would be.
“You? You’re working at a coffee place?” Charlotte squinted. “For real?”
“Yep. And in the evenings I’m a waitress at the Hub. You want beer and burgers, talk to me.”
“Evelyn Beegan, a barista-slash-waitress?”
“Char, they’re jobs, okay?”
“No,” Charlotte said. “No. I actually think it’s good.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I think it’s really good. You’re working, for one. That’s a good step, seriously.”
It started to drizzle as they passed the Ioka, advertising Knocked Up, coming to Bibville months after it had been released elsewhere. The Caffeiteria’s outside light shone yellow on the wharf, where the gray-blue sky now matched the water. Inside, the afternoon guy was wiping the counters and slipped Evelyn two free day-old almond croissants along with the girls’ coffee. The rain was still just pleasantly speckling the ground, and Evelyn and Charlotte sat outside on one of the benches overlooking the winter harbor.
Evelyn tore off a corner of her croissant and wondered if she should bother trying to sound casual. “So how is everyone?”
Charlotte put her croissant in her lap. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you. Pres is in rehab, Ev.”
“No.” Evelyn had been bracing for gossip that made her feel left out, not severe life changes among her best friends; she had been hoping that Preston was doing just fine. Evelyn put her head in her hands. “The last time I saw him, Char, at Sachem,” she said, looking at a piece of popcorn underneath the bench, “I told him everyone knew he was gay.”
“Evelyn.”
“I know. I know. I was drunk, which isn’t an excuse, but he just, he just turned away and then ran down the steps and that was the last time I saw him or talked to him.”
“God, Ev. What made you say that?”
“I think I hated it that he was calling me fake, and I felt like he was being so fake about this really core thing. I’ve thought about it a thousand times. If I could take it back, or handle it differently, believe me, I would. It couldn’t have helped with his drinking.”
“Oh, Ev.”
“I had a scorched-earth policy when I left, I guess. When did Pres go in?”
“A month ago. He smashed into a tree when he was driving to Boston. I talked to him about it before he clammed up about the whole thing, and he’d swerved because he thought he saw a dog dash in front of his car. I’m not sure he really did—it was past midnight and a dog probably wasn’t out then—but he kept saying the dog looked like Hamilton. He got a DUI, but the idea that he could’ve hit a dog when he was drunk, I think that’s what made him check in and stay in.”
“Oh, God, Char. That’s so scary. He wasn’t hurt himself? With the tree?”
“Bruised up, but air bags and seat belt. He paid for the tree’s restoration, actually. It was some kind of prized elm.”
“Char, I should’ve tried harder. After that scene at Sachem, I should’ve apologized, or knocked on his door, or done something. I just felt like he didn’t want to see me—I’m sure he didn’t want to see me—and then everything imploded. Pres. Jesus. Is anyone there with him? His parents?”
“They don’t allow visitors during the first several weeks but I’m sure they check in on him.”
“Has Nick called him? Camilla? Were they in touch with him during the accident and all that?”
“I don’t think so.”