“You don’t agree?”
“I don’t care about money. That’s not my idea of security.” Evan made a face. “I’m sure that sounds arrogant or ungrateful coming from a foster kid who was lucky enough to be adopted. I am grateful for that kind of security. For the roof over my head and the food on table. But it’s not enough of what counts.”
“What counts?” I asked softly.
“How you feel when you’re there. Home. It’s not the same word as house, is it? Not even close.”
I nodded, my fingertips dancing over the water. “I know what you mean. My guardian—a cousin of my mother’s—he’s a trucker. Switches companies a lot to get the longest hauls. That’s why I transferred to Wilson so late. We move constantly. Every six months or so, at least. And he rents houses or apartments, but they’re not a home to settle down in, you know?”
“I think I do,” Evan said.
I don’t know why I kept talking; I felt like I hadn’t said so many words in a row out loud in ages. If ever. But I did, and I didn’t worry about it. Evan listened intently, and I thought maybe it had been a long time since someone had spoken to him more than a short string of words in a really long time too.
“We came from Missouri before Iowa,” I told Evan. “In the suburbs of Kansas City. We had an apartment, not a house. And it sucked.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, not because it was small or anything—which it was. But because…Okay, so my bedroom overlooked the parking area, right? And every so often a car would pull up at night, like dropping someone off. And they’d just idle their car in the parking lot, lights on, talking loudly with whomever lived in our building, and it just fucking irritated the hell out of me. They weren’t even being vulgar or playing loud music, they were just idling their car and talking for the whole complex to hear. And every time it happened, I would feel so…unstable. Like, this was supposed to be my home, right? And the parking lot was sort of my driveway, and these people would just hang out there. And I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me but there they were, at my home, and there was nothing I could do about it.”
I scowled, and slashed at the water.
“I know that probably sounds totally insane,” I continued, “but I hated that apartment. If I think about what my ideal life might be, it’s not having a big house all gated up or anything. I don’t want that. I don’t need a lot of money or stuff. I just want a little place, somewhere near a beautiful mountain or forest or lake that I can wake up to every morning and look at it while I write. My place. My home, and I wouldn’t have to leave it six months after I settled in. I don’t need much. A little life, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
I looked up sharply to see Evan watching me with his eyes that could be described as the color of ice, but that always looked to me like the sky on a cloudless, hot summer day. That gaze…it just wrapped around me, like my reverie, meshing and blending with it, until I was almost there, in my own place with a view of something beautiful in the window, and strong arms holding me…
I blinked and surged back in the water. I’d just unloaded some deep, secret of my heart to an almost total stranger. I remembered how I’d first thought Evan would be the one willing to spill his guts to anyone who would listen. Turned out that was me.
But I was right about him being a good listener. He didn’t judge or question, or even add his own commentary. He just let me put it out there, and it was okay, and he was already moving on to something else. My embarrassment floated away like so many dead leaves.
“So, Jo,” he said. “Is that short for Joanna?”
“Josephine. After Jo March from Little Women. It was my mother’s favorite book. If you haven’t read it, Jo was the writer in the family.”
“So your mom knew you were going to become a poet early on,” Evan said, grinning. “Before you were born, even.”
I smiled. “Doubtful. I think she liked that Jo was the strongest sister. Mentally strong. Jo didn’t fall into the arms of the first guy who liked her, like my mother did. Mama was young and she fell hard, but she didn’t get the happy ending she envisioned. I think she admired Jo March, who knew her own mind and found true love in the guy who least looked the part.”
Evan stretched his arms out, skimmed his hands over the water. “Your mom sounds like a wise lady.”
“Not really. She moved me and her around a lot when I was a kid, on a whim almost, chasing some dead-end job or another. She was sweet and fun, but I don’t think anyone would call her wise. We lived with my dad’s family when I was older and she needed help, and none of them took her seriously.” I cut the water with my hand. “She wasn’t mentally strong herself.”
Evan shrugged. “Who is?”
I smiled in gratitude. “No one I know,” I said and splashed water at him.