“I’ll need to report this,” I tell her.
“I’ll come with you.”
I get a flash of the empty seat beside me at Mum’s funeral.
“Okay, but this time, you need to see it through.”
I can tell by the way the words seem to smart her skin that it hurts. Amnesia or not, she needs to take some responsibility for what she did, because the abandonment theme has loomed large in my life, and I can’t take any more of it. And now here’s Evie, historically one of the worst offenders, and I’m just handing her everything.
Experience tells me this can only end badly.
It also tells me I will be reckless enough to take the risk.
74
Evie
Bree unmutes the TV and is about to eject the DVD, which has been playing a blank screen for the last fifteen minutes, but then it bursts into more footage. The first shot is of people’s feet. The camera operator is walking through the crowd and getting the viewfinder lined up to focus on the church, and then it cuts out. What is this, the blooper reel? There’s another shot where the sound isn’t right and then one that’s out of focus, taken before the service started, of people arriving for the ceremony. They must have included this raw footage by mistake.
“I wonder if anyone’s ever watched this?” Bree asks.
We’re about to turn it off. I’ve had enough. But then some audio begins of the sound guy looping up a lapel microphone before we went into the church.
“We picked these up in Japan,” the tech is saying. “Neat, aren’t they? Perfect for weddings. You don’t notice them, and the sound quality of the vows will be top-notch. Testing, testing. Yeah? Right. Good to go!”
“Okay. I’m really doing this!” we hear me say nervously. My voice sounds young and unsure and shaky.
“You look beautiful,” Bree is saying. But I’d assumed she wasn’t there! “Are you sure about this?”
There’s a pause, and I can imagine myself trying to assemble conscious thought.No, I’m not sure, but it’s too late to back out now. Everyone’s waiting …
Bree slams her finger on the stop button. “Oh my God. I didn’t know they were recording that.”
Drew and I snap around to look at her.
“Keep playing it,” I say calmly.
“I don’t want to.” She’s tearing up already.
“Press play, Bree.”
“Please don’t make me listen to it,” she says. “If I could go back, Evie …”
I take the remote control out of her hand and aim it at the TV.
“Just say the word, Evie.” Now it’s Dad’s voice. “We can call the whole thing off.”
“You wouldn’t have to lift a finger,” Bree insists.
Now it’s the muffled sound of me crying. “Aren’t you meant to support me, no matter what?” I say. My voice is frail, laced with fear. Even without the full details, I want to tell myself to run.Say yes, Evie. Let them stop this for you.
Bree sits quietly on the couch, head in her hands, while I listen to her say, “Evie, I’m sorry. I just can’t stand beside you and watch you make the biggest mistake of your life.”
Then there’s the sound of footsteps retreating and a door banging. Did she justleave?
It’s only 10 a.m. and I’m mentally drained. The more answers that fall into place, the more confused I become, and my head hurts from trying to reassemble the picture.
“Drew and Bree have gone to the bakery for breakfast things,” I tell my parents, after knocking tentatively on theirbedroom door. Mum and Dad have slept in. Or maybe they’ve given us space. Either way, being alone with my thoughts is too much to bear, and I need them. “Can I come in?”
