Every Little Thing

41

|| Reed ||

Evelyn showers several more times, and my stomach turns and tightens every time I hear the water cut off. I listen closely, hearing her shift in the tub, occasionally letting out a small grunt of pain. This lasts for a few minutes until she turns the water back on and restarts the cycle all over again.

Just when I think she's about to go at it for what seems like the thousandth time, however, she emerges. Her hair is twisted at the nape of her neck, dripping onto my T-shirt and flannel pajamas. She moves to the couch silently, and I shift to make room, putting away my phone immediately.

"Hey, there." I say, careful to keep my voice light. "I was just about to turn on a show or something. Anything you want to watch?"

She releases a breath out of her nose and leans into me ever-so-slightly, skin damp and warm and smelling of citrus. I take that as a no and start flipping mindlessly through channels, bouncing from cooking shows to laughter-filled sitcoms to infomercials about some seemingly life-changing vacuum (only six payments of $38.99!).

Finally, we stop at a wildlife documentary about cheetahs. I settle in next to Evelyn as we watch, listening to some elderly thrill-seeker with a thick, Australian accent narrate.

"The thing about cheetahs," he says, pointing to the camera dramatically, "Is that once they find the thing they're after, they don't stop."

The camera pans to one of the cats themselves, running at seventy miles per hour across the savannah.

"They're one of the most devoted animals in the Serengeti—they might spot something that's closer and more convenient to catch, but once they've made up their minds, they won't stray away from it. They are committed until the very end."

Suddenly, his words seem weightier, as if they hold more meaning. I glance over at Evelyn, and she's already looking. A small, pained smile graces her lips, and that's when we both realize the relevance of the idea—commitment, devotion. Always following someone, no matter what.

"How about them cheetahs," is all I can bring myself to say, and her face breaks into silent laughter. She slaps at my wrist and I let out a nervous chuckle.

It's just a stupid documentary, I tell myself, but as we continue to watch, I continue to make the connection. I am committed to Evelyn, no matter what. No matter who might be more convenient for me, I am never stopping until Evelyn is safe.

I'm snapped from my thoughts as she leans forward now, fingers scrambling for her notebook and pen. I hand them to her, and she writes, tongue sticking from the corner of her mouth in concentration.

I guess I'm a cheetah.

I laugh and loop an arm around her shoulders, giving them the slightest squeeze. And even though it's stupid and pointless and totally cheesy, I take the pen from between her fingers and write,

Me, too.

________

The next morning, I wake up before the sun even begins to rise. I walk into Hallie's room, making sure Evelyn's still asleep as I cross into the kitchen, tearing out a piece of notebook paper and leaving her a message.

Evelyn,

Went job-hunting. I'll be back be six tonight. There's food in the fridge. Maybe we can watch this tonight?
Call me if you need anything.

Stay safe,
Reed

Beside it, I leave my old VHS copy of The Breakfast Club. I can't help but smile thinking about the two of us, curled up on the couch and watching an emotional John Bender rant about the reasons behind his delinquency. She'll love it, I'm sure. It's an Evelyn Moore kind of movie.

With that thought, I step away, casting one more reluctant look over my shoulder before I head out the door, into the crisp morning air without Evelyn, leaving her alone for what feels like the very first time.

_______

The coffee shop on the corner isn't hiring. The bakery a few blocks down needs a job filled, but it's a manager's position and I have exactly zero experience. The bookstore where Evelyn and I first discovered She is filling positions, but I won't hear from them for what looks like another two months. The grocery store is closing down, the gas station is willing to pay me a dollar an hour to scrub grimy toilets, and the frozen yogurt shop has just filled their last spot.

I learn all of this and more before noon, and it feels like my entire body has been tied down with lead weights. My feet practically drag themselves to my car as I start it up and search in vain for the next job opportunity. I keep Hallie on speakerphone to help me stay awake and determined.

"I wish I could help financially," she says, and the sound of shuffling papers fills the background, "But all my money's going straight into school. I've been mooching off my roommates' groceries since I got here."

"Yeah," I mutter, just loud enough for her to hear me. "I—I just don't know what to do. There are so many loose ends that need tying, you know? Things can't just happen this way."

"Reed, they already did."

And I know she's right, that there's no reversing the irreversible, but I can't bring myself to think of it—I can't bring myself to imagine a world in which all of these problems aren't somehow resolved. Georgina and Evelyn's friendship. Evelyn the vague recollection of her father. Evelyn and her mother, coming to terms with what happened. Evelyn and me, trying to figure out how the hell we feel about each other.

There are too many things going so terribly wrong that there's no way in hell I'm not getting a happy ending. Because every story deserves a happy ending, and Evelyn has been through too much for too long not to have her own.

Of course, I don't say any of this to Hallie. She doesn't see my white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, nor feel the anger pulsing through my veins whenever I think about this impossible situation. She doesn't hear the sharp, stifled cries that I have learned to keep from escaping. She doesn't know how this feels.

So instead, we sit in silence, the staticky tension building up like a brick wall, rising before my very eyes. I try to keep myself focused on something—anything—but the fact that I feel like I'm watching Mom all over again, taking care of someone helpless and hopeless and in desperate need of saving.

But the only difference is, I couldn't save Mom. I still have a chance at saving Evelyn.

Eventually, I pull in to the empty parking lot of a run-down pet store with a large WE'RE HIRING sign posted in the front, adorned with cartoon paw prints. I smile in spite of myself, watching a litter of puppies scramble to the window as I get out of the car and hang up on Hallie, making my way to the entrance.