Somewhere Between Black and White (19 page)

Evie nodded through short breaths, but
looked up when she felt the presence of a visitor. Christian stood in the
doorway, and something pattered through her stomach. God, why did she have to
get the patter? Would she ever be able to let go of the boy she fell in love
with?

Abby excused herself, giving Christian’s
arm an affectionate pat on her way out. Christian remained frozen in the
doorway. Evie briefly met his eyes, before averting her gaze to where her toes
made a little peak underneath the blanket.

“Damn you,” she whispered. Realizing
that she was still gripping her chest, she let her hand fall to her lap.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could
see him hesitate in the doorway, waiting for some sort of permission from her.
When she didn’t give it, he inched into the room and took the chair beside her.
He stared down at the floor as he took her hand in both of his. Evie didn’t
pull away, but she would not acknowledge him. She felt his eyes settle on her,
imploring, and she drew a short breath as another bullet ripped through her
chest. Christian squeezed her hand, almost painfully, and buried his head in
her lap. His back and shoulders were tense, rigid with emotion.

Evie didn’t want to feel bad for him.
But she did. She didn’t want to continue loving him. But she did. She always
would, and she knew it. 

Powerless, her hand clenched his for a
fraction of a second. Her response, however brief, did not go unnoticed. He pressed
her fingers to his lips.  

The doctor entered, pushing a rolling
tray ahead of him. Evie’s mouth went dry at the sight of the syringes and
small-bore catheters he would use to drain the fluid from around her lungs.
Christian sat upright.

“Well, are you ready for some relief,
Miss Evelyn?” the doctor asked.

Evie exhaled. “I’m way past ready.”

“Is hubby staying?” The doctor began
arranging the necessary items on the tray.

Christian looked at her. “I want to stay.
Please . . . let me stay.”

The doctor paused to eye them briefly, as
if he sensed a double meaning in Christian’s request. “That’s all up to the patient.
What would you prefer, dear?”

The few times that Evie underwent this
procedure in the past, she had requested that Christian wait outside. He always
became so anxious whenever one of her health issues reared its Medusa-like
head, so she tried to shield him. But he was not her child. He was her partner.
And in many ways, she had been treating him like a child, not trusting him, not
allowing him to take care of her, when at times that’s what she so desperately
wanted. Studying his face, she now recognized that’s what he wanted, too.

“I’m staying,” Christian stated.

Evie pursed her lips and stared at
Christian a few seconds longer, then gave the doctor a brief nod.

“All right, then,” the doctor replied.
“Young man, why don’t you help her into this seat over here?” He directed him
to an armless chair that was brought in for the procedure. “Close the door, and
bring over that extra rolling table and a pillow for her to lean on.”

Christian did as instructed. As the
doctor placed the sterile draping over Evelyn’s back, he added, “Your only job
now is to sit there and hold her hand.” 

Christian sat down across from Evelyn as
she rested her arms on the table, mentally readying herself for the puncture. 

“I will hold your hand,” he whispered.
“For as long as you’ll let me.” His hands remained on his knees as he waited
for a sign that she welcomed his touch. His eyes entreated.

Uncertain, but with a guarded yearning
to forgive, she believed he was truly sorry. That he never meant to hurt her.
However, the trust was now damaged in a most unimaginable, maybe even irreparable
way. It would be a long, grueling journey. 

She stretched open her fingers to accept
his offering.  

An unexpected but profound sense of
relief swept through her, and she didn’t even feel the stick of the needle. Her
only awareness—his hand gripping hers.

Twenty-Four

Christian leaned on the arm of his chair
as he watched the even rise and fall of Evie’s chest. His hand held hers in a
loose grip, his thumb stroking her fingers. His guilt mingled with his
long-held sense of worthlessness, reminding him of the events in his life that
planted the seeds of bad decisions, the deep-seated roots of inferiority that
grew from them.

The torment began in early junior high,
when he first moved to Las Vegas. The teasing, the intimidating comments, the
occasional shoves in the hallway. Although he made every attempt to stay under
the radar, it wasn’t in the cards. Christian told himself that it was just
going to be a bad year because he was new, that the next year would be
different.

It was different, all right. It was
worse. And it seemed the harder he tried to be invisible, the more noticeable
he became. It was as if he had a target on his forehead, and he had no idea why
it was there or how to remove it.

By the time he started high school, his
spirit had been well shredded. He kept it from his parents, but he could no
longer stomach the thought of going to school each day. He was six feet tall, one
hundred thirty-five pounds soaking wet, and didn’t know how to fight. When he
finally went to his father, he insisted that Christian learn how to defend
himself. 

His father worked with him, got him a
heavy bag and taught him how to punch. Christian embraced this time with his
dad, but a nagging inside whispered that when the time came, he wouldn’t have
it in him. He would be a disappointment. No matter how much his father wished
it, he would never be a fighter. He was a scrawny, artsy, uncomfortable kid.

Then one rainy day during his junior
year, the moment of truth, the test, finally came. As Christian was leaving
school, Ryan, a kid who had been messing with him since junior high, yanked
Christian’s backpack from his shoulder and flung it into a puddle. Ryan stood
there with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, silently challenging Christian
to do something about it.

It was now or never; blood surged
through Christian’s body. But he remained frozen, unable to react.

Ryan sauntered deliberately toward him,
then gave Christian a controlled, purposeful shove. At the rage in Christian’s
eyes, Ryan mocked a look of alarm before a haughty grin spread across his face.
When Christian still did nothing, Ryan closed in, his face inches away.

“That’s what I thought.” Ryan turned
toward his two friends, who were standing close by. “What a fucking pussy,” he
said. The boys laughed as they started to walk away.

Somewhere in those next few seconds,
Christian lost awareness of his surroundings. Everything became a pulsating blur.
The next thing he knew, he was on top of Ryan, pounding him without mercy. The
only bit he could remember before things went bad was the utter shock, even panic,
in the bully’s face.

Before he could truly revel in the
moment, Ryan’s friends pulled him off. Ryan sprung from the ground—then the
three of them proceeded to beat Christian to a bloody pulp. He had no
recollection of how long it lasted before a security monitor appeared and saved
him.

He would never forget how his mother
recoiled when she laid eyes upon his mangled face, breaking into hysterical
sobs. That’s when he got scared; he hadn’t seen the damage yet. His dad was
momentarily paralyzed, then slowly made his way into the room. His mouth opened
and closed, a wavering smile on his face. “You did good, son,” he mumbled as he
gingerly wrapped an arm around him. 

Christian was relieved at his remark,
but never truly believed it. “Ah, you should see the other guys.”

“How can you be
joking
about
this?” his mother snapped before turning to the security monitor. “Have these
boys been arrested? Because they should be!”

“Ma’am, we’re still trying to work out
what happened, but word is that it was your son who threw the first punch.”

“If he did,” his father’s voice abruptly
rose to a holler, “the asshole deserved it! And then the piece of shit gets his
friends do his fighting for him, making it three against one!”

“John,” Christian’s mother whispered
with embarrassment.

In most cases, Christian’s dad was a man
of reserve. His day-to-day dealings as a pharmacist didn’t require him to be
aggressive or confrontational. However, at that moment Christian could see the
vein pulsing in his father’s neck as he continued his tirade against the
security monitor, the person who actually came to his rescue.

Ultimately, Ryan and his friends were
expelled, and Christian received a five-day suspension for fighting. Students
who had previously never gotten involved attested to the fact that he had been
bullied relentlessly before the incident.

When Christian returned to school,
things were a little different. Girls began issuing sympathetic, friendly
smiles, when before they never gave him a second glance. A couple of boys even
gave him nods of respect. All was quiet. But he never discussed any of this
with his parents, and right about the time he was beginning to feel like he
might want to stay, his family relocated to another part of town.

His mother wasn’t likely to let him stay
at that school anyway. She couldn’t stop talking about the whole incident;
Christian tried to do everything he could to forget it.

In the fall of 1992, Christian moved to
his new high school. He was invisible there, and it suited him just fine.

Until he fixed his sight on Evelyn. But
pursuing her was downright laughable, given his history. He’d never even had a
girlfriend, and she was breathtaking.

On his first day, he found a seat in the
furthest corner of the room in History class. Again, he tried to remain hidden.
The teacher briefly introduced him to the group, and Evelyn was the only person
in the room who didn’t regard him with indifference. Instead, she turned around
and gave him a welcoming smile. He was so completely taken with her, he wasn’t
sure if he smiled back.

It was weeks, maybe even a couple
months, before he finally worked up the nerve to approach her. Without a word,
he handed her the sketch he had drawn during class, then disappeared around a
corner.  Since he had never seen her act unkindly toward anyone, he was
reasonably sure she wasn’t going to laugh at it, or embarrass him in anyway. 
At worst, she would ignore it altogether. 

Then again, what if he was wrong?  Panic
flooded him when he realized he might have just opened himself up to whole new
world of misery.

The next day, she waited for him outside
class with the paper in her hand. Christian stopped in his tracks, debating
whether to pretend he didn’t see her and head to his locker instead. How stupid
was that? He had been dying to talk to this girl. And she didn’t have any of
her friends with her, so maybe she wasn’t there to ridicule, or make him feel
like some kind of low-life stalker. He decided it was probably safe to proceed,
and forced a casual grin.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“Um. . . .” Evelyn toyed with the strap
of her backpack with her free hand. “This drawing . . . it’s amazing.”

He didn’t know what to say. “It’s
nothing.”
Shit! Did that sound arrogant?
“I mean . . . thanks.” His face
felt like stone.
Smile at her, you idiot! 

Evelyn gazed down at the picture, giving
him time to admire her long, thick lashes, the occasional strands of gold in
her dark hair.  Being this close, he could catch the scent of her floral
shampoo.  There was something very frail about her, and it made him feel a
little less gangly than usual. She had the tiniest wrists he’d ever seen; her
narrow frame seemed almost breakable. Yet her interactions with others revealed
an ease and grace he longed to have in himself.

“How long did it take you to do this?”
she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” His gaze wandered.
“Ten minutes?”

Evelyn’s eyes darted from the image to
him. “Nuh-uh!

“Yeah.” He nearly chuckled. Nearly.

“God, I wish I could draw like that! How
did you learn to do this?”

He shrugged. She was really impressed. A
girl had never been impressed with anything about him. The way she looked at
him—she could
see
him.

And it was terrifying.

Evelyn waited for him to say something,
but she would be waiting an awfully long time. Worried an ignorant statement
might fall from his mouth, his brain shut down.

“Well, I guess we better get into
class,” she said. Instead of folding the paper, she stuck it flat in between
the pages of her textbook to smooth out the creases. She was keeping it!

“No one’s ever drawn a picture of me
before. Thank you.”

He
was a goner.

Looking back, Christian remembered how
amazing it felt to have Evie smile at him, admire his talents. He’d been damn
lucky she even spoke to him that day, all those years ago. How could he have
done something so stupid as to betray her?