Where she belongs.
Maybe it’s a shot in the dark, and I’m only dredging up painful memories for the both of us, but I can’t help hoping that maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance for me to change the ending to this tragedy I wrote.
Seven.
EVA.
I wake full of energy, determined to get things back to normal. Finn’s games are just a distraction, I remind myself, sending me down the rabbit hole of memories and long-forgotten desire. I was doing just fine before he waltzed back into town, and I’ll be even better when he waltzes back out– off to his new life in the spotlight again.
A kiss means nothing. Child’s play. Hell, we got up to way worse when we were teenagers, and now I’m a grown woman, it shouldn’t even be a blip on my radar.
But damn, what a kiss that was.
I shower and dress in some cutoffs and a sweater, then set about planning my day. Lottie teases, saying I’m old before my time, but I love the quiet solitude of my routine here, getting things in order and enjoying the silence before the week ahead. Usually I dive straight into chores, but today, I find myself heading for the mudroom downstairs, and the old trunk I’ve been hauling from housesitting gig to housesitting gig all year.
My acting crate.
I lift the lid, and feel a strange pang of wistfulness in my chest. It’s all here, from the printed pages of my very first role in the school play, to the old vintage books I’d order online and then learn by heart, muttering the great monologues in my dark bedroom at night until the words were printed deep on my soul. I fish out an old velvet cloak, musty now, from my turn as Lady Macbeth in the senior play. I remember mom recording it, proud in the front row. How that audition reel got me my big break at drama school in New York. I still know those lines better than anything, how it felt to be onstage captivating the room with every word.
“Out, out damn spot,” I whisper under my breath.
It’s funny how my speech impediment never tripped me up onstage. I was still stumbling through my sentences when a teacher assigned us a poem to learn for class. I was so nervous getting up in front of the class, I wanted to die. They would all laugh at me, I just knew it. But when I opened my mouth, the words came out perfectly, so clear it’s like I didn’t have a problem at all. It was like a ray of sunshine cutting through the darkness of all my pain and insecurities. I realized that I could recite other people’s words without hesitation. There was something about having a script that gave me the confidence I needed. That’s when I fell in love with acting. Bringing someone else’s character to life, I could speak clearly, fearlessly. No stumbling, no stammering, no hot flush of shame. I was good enough.
No, scratch that. I was great.
I still wonder; if I hadn’t dropped out of drama school, would I have had a chance to make it? I know it’s a one in a million dream, but I feel like I bailed before I even tried. I was too busy trying to drown out my heartbreak to focus on my craft. Other classmates went to auditions every morning before school, and spent their nights in extra workshops and sessions. But by then, I was already swept up in the glitter of neon highs, chasing the party from dive bar to flashing clubs in a futile effort to wipe Finn from my mind and heart. I went off track, and blew my one chance to chase my dreams.
Could I have made it? I guess I’ll never know. I close the case with a sigh, turning my attention back to the day ahead. I stop by the rescue first to visit with all the dogs. Edith is out when I arrive, and my chores there take no time at all, so after checking on the puppies and Chester, I head to the grocery store in the next town. I know Lottie passed party-planning duties over to Dee, but I can’t help picking out some balloons and streamers in bright, cheerful colors. Then there’s her favorite ice cream cake, cookies, chips. My cart is almost full before I rein myself back in and start ticking off my own list.
My phone buzzes as I’m stocking up on paper towels. It’s Sawyer. I check the message, smiling.
‘It turns out most vets are failed stand-up comics. Save me from jokes about bitches and hos’.
I tap back a response. “I’m afraid I’m neutered on that.”
‘oww.’ He sends a dog emoji. ‘See you when I get back.’
I put my phone away, feeling better already, but my good mood lasts only another ten paces, far enough for me to turn the corner and run straight into Cami Foster. I cringe and try to turn my cart around, but it’s way too heavy to make a subtle exit. She sees me and lets out a gasp.
“Eva! Oh my god! How are you?”