Luckily, Scout had responded well to the first course of meds, and ended up only having to board at the clinic for three days. Randy guessed he’d eaten something rotten; sometimes food poisoning in dogs manifested with the same symptoms as an infection.
He showed no signs of it now, as he greeted me, barking and tail wagging in a circle when I climbed out of my car. I opened the rear door and let Trixie out, too. When Evan had invited me over, he’d insisted that I bring her along. The house his father had lived in and had left to Evan was about ten minutes from my place, and was located on several acres of flat, lush land. The house itself was a newer rambler with lots of windows and a porch that circled around the back. The enormous gray outbuilding that served as Richmond Automotive was about a hundred yards away from the house and had its own driveway. There were a variety of vehicles parked by what looked to be a rolling garage door; Evan had said since he’d taken over for his father, business was as strong as ever. His brother hadn’t even come to their father’s funeral; apparently, he was a financial adviser who worked on Wall Street and told Evan to ship whatever token his father might have left him. I found it comforting, actually, that Evan knew a little about dysfunction, that he didn’t have some picture-perfect family. It made me a little less self-conscious about my own. I doubted that I could tell him about Brooke and Natalie—I hadn’t even told Randy and Lisa about the daughters I’d given up. Just the thought of mentioning the loss of my children made me feel as though I were teetering on the edge of a dark abyss. Uttering a single word about them might cause me to plummet.
I made my way up the walk to the house, holding a plateful of brownies I’d baked for our dessert, trying to erase a twitchy sense of uneasiness. I hadn’t told Evan about the years I spent in prison, either. I wasn’t sure if there was a protocol for that kind of thing—was incarceration a fifth-date conversation or something that should come later? Should I have done it right away? I wasn’t even sure what it was about Evan that had made me give him my number, let alone say yes when first he asked me out. All I knew was that from the minute I saw how he was with Scout, the unabashed tears he’d shed in worry over the animal he loved, I felt as though I’d met someone who might understand me.
I knocked on the door, both Scout and Trixie dancing excitedly at my feet, and a moment later, Evan answered. “You made it,” he said, giving me a big smile that helped assuage my nerves. He stood back so I could enter, then took the plate I carried from me. “These look amazing. So do you.”
My cheeks flushed and I dropped my eyes to the floor. “Thanks.” I’d worn a short black skirt, black tights, and a purple sweater. I forced myself to look up at him again, taking in his casual outfit of jeans and a dark green pullover. “You look nice, too.”
He closed the door behind me, leaving Scout and Trixie outside to play. The stereo was on, and Eric Clapton crooned the chorus of the heartbreaking “Tears in Heaven,” a song that always made me think about my girls, because even though Eric Clapton’s son had died and Brooke and Natalie were still alive—at least as far as I knew—I had lost them all the same. There was a large plaid cushion that rested in front of the fireplace—Scout’s bed, I assumed. The living room wasn’t huge, but it was filled with a comfortable-looking brown leather couch, a couple of recliners, and a standard coffee table, which was littered with newspapers, several automotive magazines, and a coffee mug.
“I hope you don’t mind I didn’t pick up,” he said. “I actually think it’s a good idea for people to see how the other really lives. I’m not a slob, but I don’t exactly keep things neat.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Are the dogs going to be okay out there?”
“They should be,” he replied. “Scout already knows this property like the back of his paw.” He smiled, and so did I.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as we made our way into his kitchen.
“A beer would be great,” I said, eyeing what looked to be a simple but functional galley kitchen. The walls were painted light blue, the appliances were white, and the cupboards were oak. The air smelled of onions, garlic, and some kind of citrus.
Evan set the plate of brownies on the counter and then reached into the refrigerator to pull out a couple of Coronas. “Would you like a glass?” he asked, and I shook my head. He smiled again, popped off the caps on both, and then handed me one of the bottles. We clicked their long necks together as we both said, “Cheers.”
I took a swig and then glanced at the stove top, which had a large pot on the front left burner. “What are we having?” I asked, grateful for the warm, soothing sensation that filled my body after that first swallow. I wasn’t a big drinker, but I did enjoy a beer or glass of wine on occasion. Especially on nights like tonight, when my nerves were a little on edge.