Page 123 of It's Always Been You
Frowning, she scans my lackluster appearance with curiosity as she strides past me. Wiping a hand down the front of my stained shirt, I close the door behind her, feeling self-conscious. It’s three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, and I’m still in my pajamas—a fact I’m not exactly proud of.
I’ve had a rough morning. Heck, a rough week. I needed to veg out on the couch with some takeout while watching one of my favorite war films.
I gesture for Evie to make herself comfortable, and she bounds toward the couch, surveying the messy space. “Not just any therapist,” she continues, wrinkling her nose at the coffee table cluttered with empty takeout boxes. “But someone Gladys recommended. Once a week.”
“That’s great, Evie. What inspired that?”
She looks down. “Working for you.” She smiles up at me. “Well, Grandma,too. I’m trying to take better care of myself. Not just for me, but for the people I love.”
I nod slowly, pleased for her. “I’m proud of you, Spitfire.”
She sighs heavily, sensing my next question. “You were right when you said I don’t really . . .dealwith things.” Her face falls, and she picks at her thumbnail. “At least, not in healthy ways.” She pauses, glances up at me. “I just had a conversation with Dad about Mom, and it made me realize some things.”
“Oh?”
Sinking down onto my couch, she begins bagging my trash. “Yeah.”
I hurry over and shoo her hands away. “I’ve got it.”
She melts against the couch, allowing me to clean up the rest. “I’ve been totally unfair to Dad,” she explains. “Not just to him, but to you, too.”
I set the bag of trash aside. “Unfair to me?”
She swallows, her eyes falling as she reaches out to clasp my hand. “Yeah.”
I study our joined hands and rub my thumb along the ridge of her knuckles. It’s been so long since we’ve touched like this. She’s been so busy over the past month that we haven’t had the chance to talk. “What do you mean?”
“Well . . .” She takes a deep breath, retracts her hand. Picks at her thumbnail again. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Especially since I started seeing my therapist.”
“About?”
“About what happened between us,” she whispers. “Lately, I’ve been reading through all my old diary entries.” I wince, and she laughs meekly. “Just to reacquaint myself with what happened.”
I cringe, wondering what else she wrote about in her diary.
“Anyway, I realized that you were fighting your own battles at the time. You were a new Christian, and you only wanted to help me deal with some of the stuff I was going through because you love me, and that’s what you do. We got close because of it, and . . . well”—she rakes in a breath and combs a hand through her hair—“it just happened. But it wasn’t premeditated. You never set out to hurt me. I understand that now.”
“Evie . . . that doesn’t excuse what I did.”
“I know it doesn’t. But I just needed you to know that I’m sorry. Because you tried to stop it, and I all but pressured you into it.”
I laugh incredulously. “Youwhat?”
She blushes. “You tried to say no that night. Remember? But I ignored you.”
I laugh despite myself. “Sweetheart, you hardly coerced me into bed.”
She rolls her eyes. “Look, all I’m saying is it takes two to tango, Brandon. I’m sorry for pinning all the blame on you and then icing you out afterward. It wasn’t fair or right.”
What Evie doesn’t seem to understand is that my attempt at talking us out of the act was half-baked at best. Unfortunately, I was young in my faith, and old habits die hard. That particular habit—jumping into bed with women—went down screaming with Evie. I wanted that experience as much as she did.
So I gave in to the temptation.
“I was the one who ignored you for weeks on end afterward,” I whisper brokenly, glancing away as I recall how ashamed and embarrassed I felt afterward. I acted like a coward. “You have no reason to apologize. Everything was my fault.”
“No,” she insists, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at her. “See, that’s what I’m saying. Itwasn’tall your fault.”
“But it was.”
