Leo
Page 3I study him for a minute. Good God, I thought he was good looking before. But up close, this man is devastating, all square jaw, straight nose and deep brown eyes. If there is any imperfection to him at all, it's that he's a little too perfect, if that's possible. He's tall and broad and very masculine with a shadow of stubble on his jaw that looks more purposeful than unkempt. And when he laughs like that, I swear a piece of my soul, the part of me that keeps secrets even from myself, tries to lunge towards him, like his happiness is an invisible pull to my own heart. It's crazy. I don't even know this guy.
"Okay," I say, "Well, the gig is up. Why are you following me?" I narrow my eyes at him again. But truthfully, I'm not nervous. There are absolutely no danger vibes coming off of this guy at all. And I've contended with just about all brands of human f**kery. You could say I'm an expert in human f**kery.
Then he does something to knock me off balance completely. He runs his hand through his thick carmel brown hair, drops his head so he's looking up at me, and raises his eyebrows in a gesture that looks shy and doubtful, yet sexy as hell. And I almost swoon. That, right there. That's his deal sealer. I bet that look has girls all over the city dropping their panties right on the spot.
But then he speaks and I snap out of it. "I've been that obvious, huh?" and he has the grace to look embarrassed. He takes a step towards me. I take a step back. He stops. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says, sounding like my distrust of him is truly hurtful. I mean, really? Need I remind him again that he's a creepy stalker? And truly, I'm not afraid of him, but I don't know him either and a healthy distance from strangers is never a bad idea.
"Yes, you've been THAT obvious. Enough games. I want to know why you're following me."
He seems to consider whether to answer me or not. Then he looks me in the eye and says softly, "I knew Leo. He asked me to check on you."
CHAPTER 4
My world comes to a screeching halt and I freeze, my mouth falling open. "What?" I croak out. With one name, he's left me a trembling, reeling mess. I steel myself though. This stranger doesn't need to know that. I straighten up and ask in a stronger voice, "What do you mean you knew Leo?" I don't let on that I'm afraid of what that past tense means.
Of course, I've wondered a thousand times if something happened to Leo, convincing myself that something had to have happened to Leo for him not to have contacted me all these years, and especially for him to break his promise to me about writing as soon as he arrived in San Diego. My mind came up with a million scenarios over those first few months about why my beautiful boy disappeared from my world… a car wreck on the way from the airport to their new home… surprising a robber in their house as they arrived...
When I was 16, I went to the library and sorted through California newspapers from the week he moved, in search of any news stories about the untimely demise of a mom, dad and their teenage son. Each fruitless search brought both relief and frustration.
I even created a fake account on Facebook once and looked up his name but came up with nothing. I didn't keep an account of my own. There were too many people from my past who might attempt to contact me and that I did not need.
The problem was, I had precious little information about Leo's family to go on, except for the fact that his adoptive father worked in a hospital. I didn't know if that meant he was a doctor or an administrator or what, but that piece of information, the city they were moving to, and Leo's name and age is all I ever had to work with.
Of course, my resources were small, a library computer and old newspaper microfiche, so it's no wonder I never got far.
After my unsuccessful attempts at finding any information on him, I made a vow to myself that I would stop wondering all the time. It was too painful. And so on my 18th birthday, the day he had promised to come for me, I closed my eyes and pictured him smiling at me on a roof under a winter sky and that's where I left him in my mind.
He moves slowly towards me and gestures to the other side of the step I'm sitting on, asking silently for permission to sit. I nod. He sits on the other side of the stairs, one step down, turned slightly towards me and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his muscular thighs and I catch a whiff of his cologne, something clean and woodsy and delicious. He sighs and says, "Leo died in a car accident last year. We were friends, teammates in school. We all thought he might make it for a couple days, but he didn't. We visited him together and he pulled me aside and told me a little about you. He made me promise to check on you to make sure that you were okay, that you were in a good place, happy. He knew I was moving here to work for my dad's company, and that it would be easy for me to check up on you in person." His brow is furrowed and he's talking slowly, as if he's making sure to deliver the information he's giving me in just the right way. He's also leaving something out. I don't know exactly how I know this, I just do.
I feel numb and confused and I'm silent for several minutes. "I see. What exactly did Leo tell you about me?" I finally ask, glancing down at the man. He's watching me intently.
"Just that he knew you in foster care and you were special to him. He said you lost touch but he'd always wondered about how your life turned out. That's really all."
I don't say anything and so he continues. "I moved here in June, but it took me a couple months to settle in. Then I finally had the time to dedicate to being the creepster I had promised to be." He smiles at me, looking up through long carmel lashes. But it's a sad smile now. Unsure.
I offer a small smile in return. I will not let on how much his words about Leo hurt. We lost touch? And all those years he was alive and well and living in San Diego and never once wrote to me or called or tried in any way to get in touch with me? Why? I don't even know how to process the fact that I've just learned that he died. I need to go home and curl up in a ball for a couple of hours. I need to process this. I stand shakily, and the man jumps to his feet beside me. I wipe my clammy hands on the front of my jeans.
"I'm sorry to hear about Leo," I finally say. "It doesn't sound like you know a lot about our history, but Leo is someone who… broke a promise to me. It happened a long time ago, and I don't think about him anymore. There was no reason for him to send you to check on me. If he wanted to know how my life turned out, he should have contacted me himself before… well, before.
"All the same, it was nice of you to keep your word to your friend. And now you've done your job. Here I am, fine and dandy. Mission accomplished. Dying wish fulfilled." I force a weak smile but I'm pretty sure it comes across more as a grimace. He doesn't smile back. He looks worried.
"By the way, who do I have the pleasure of calling my own personal, creepy stalker?"
He does smile then, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Jake Madsen," he says, still watching my face closely.
"Well, Jake Madsen, a.k.a. creepy stalker, obviously you already know that I'm Evelyn Cruise. And you already know to call me Evie." I reach my hand out to shake his and when he grips mine back, it's like tiny sparks pass between our skin, suddenly all I am is my hand. All the other parts of my body, not being touched by Jake Madsen, have ceased to exist. It's the strangest thing and I wonder if he feels it, too. Judging by the way he's staring intently at our hands, a small smile lifting one side of his lips, he does. Okay, so I guess I have chemistry with this man. Big surprise. Who wouldn't have chemistry with a man who looks like he does? He's probably laughing inside and thinking, Another one? Really? I'm sure women melt in the streets at his feet daily. And the fact that I'm thinking about melting in the street for a man after I've just heard that the love of my life is no longer of this world has me really, really confused and not just a little bit weirded out. I need to leave.
I'm the first one to pull away and when I do, he frowns and looks up into my eyes.
"Bye, Jake," I say and turn and walk towards my apartment.
"Evie," he calls and I turn around, "You're gonna miss me, aren't you?" He's smiling.
As soon as I close the door behind me, I sink to the floor, roll into the fetal position and I weep for my beautiful boy, my Leo. My tears are tears of sorrow and loss, confusion and hurt. They are tears for the boy I lost and the boy who threw me away. I have been angry and hurt for so many years, but I find that I can still feel grief in knowing that Leo's beautiful soul no longer walks this earth, and the pain in that definitive knowledge is almost too much to bear.
Finally I fall asleep right where I am, but I already know from past experience that you don't have to be awake to cry.
CHAPTER 5
Evie is 10, Leo is 11
Dinner in this place is always organized bedlam. My job is to fill the water pitchers and get the glasses for everyone. I stand at the sink filling the second of three tall pitchers while all the other kids move loudly around me, fulfilling their dinner duties. There is talking, laughing, and some fighting amongst the older kids.
I sit down at the table in my usual spot, only this night is different as the new kid, Leo, is sitting sullenly to my left where Alex, a twelve year old kid with big ears used to sit. He left three days ago, off to a more permanent foster home. This place is really just a holding tank for kids who need immediate placement. We'll all end up somewhere different, eventually.
This is Leo's first night here. Leo was in charge of putting the napkins out and I notice that he put them on the right and they're supposed to go on the left. I only know this because I like to read books like Ann of Green Gables, and Little House on the Prairie, and I pick up random things like that from the stories.
As we sit waiting for the food to be set on the table by our foster parents and their two teenage daughters, one of the other foster kids, a thirteen year old girl named Allie with acne and a muffin top that looks painful to me because of the way she accentuates it with the tightest pants she can find, flicks a pea at me from a bowl that has just been set on the table.
"Hey, little whore," she whispers, drawing out the word, and puckering up her lips in a ghastly impression of someone working a kissing booth in hell. "I heard your whore mother didn't show up in court today. She must have been busy sucking someone's dick in an alleyway for pocket change. The apple never falls far off the tree, you know."
My eyes widen and I feel tears burning the backs of my eyes. I will not cry. I will not cry. I stare down at my plate.
Of course, there are no secrets here in this house. Those who want to, can easily enough listen in as the social workers meet with our foster parents in the living room at the front of the house. Then the rumors spread. We are all painfully aware of every nightmare each of us has endured to bring us to this melting pot of despair.
And I know Allie's secrets too. I know that her mother died and that her father basically lost his mind and couldn't work and couldn't take care of Allie and her sister. But I don't say a word.
I'm holding Willow's hand in mine under the table as she sits to the right of me and she squeezes my hand gently, her wide eyes staring at her plate.
I don't answer and Allie soon enough finds something of more interest than me and my silence.
After a minute, I look up and the boy named Leo is staring at me. I stare back, but he doesn't look away.
"Why are you looking at me?" I hiss at him, my cheeks turning hot, filled with shame for the exchange he just heard.
He just keeps looking at me for a moment, and then he shrugs. "Because I like your face," he says, but now a corner of his mouth is quirking up in a half smile.
I know he's teasing me, but it doesn't feel mean and I like the way his words make me feel. I look away, but I'm holding back a smile now, too.
CHAPTER 6
I wake up the next morning feeling like I was hit by a mac truck. I still feel a lump form in my throat when I think of Leo dying in a car accident. I close my eyes and once again, I picture him, still smiling at me from a roof in wintertime. For the second time in my life, I leave him there in my mind.
I climb into a hot shower, taking all the time I want, not caring in the least about my hot water bill. Today is going to be about comfort. I'm going to laze around, eat ice cream, read and then head to Nicole and Mike's house for dinner. It's just what I need.
I take time drying my hair until it falls down my back in dark waves and dress in dark, skinny jeans and a white wraparound sweater that hits just below my butt. It's always made me feel pretty.
I realize I don't have any ice cream in the house and so I decide to head to the store for at least two pints. I'll run an extra mile tomorrow.
As soon as I step out the front door of my building, I see Jake leaning against a car, arms crossed and smiling straight at me. He's wearing a pair of worn looking jeans and a gray long sleeved, thermal shirt over a black t-shirt. This is the first time I've ever seen him wearing jeans, even during the week he followed me around town. It does not escape me that Jake Madsen fills out a pair of jeans really well.