Evie made a face at him. “Don’t be rude.”
“How can stating a fact be rude? You are the wife of a professional athlete.”
“Formerprofessional athlete, and you used a tone.”
“Yes, that is one of the requirements for producing speech.”
“Can you turn around? I’d like to go home now.”
Whit laughed, and they spent the remainder of the drive alternating between teasing each other and catching up. Evie askedabout Merritt only once, and he explained their working arrangement before redirecting the conversation to focus on the actual logistics of finishing Helen’s book. Evie let him.
He was really very glad she was here.
But not nearly as glad as Annie.
“Evie!” she squealed when the back door opened in the carpool line at the Foothills School.
“Annie!” Evie said, matching her niece’s enthusiasm.
Annie scrambled over the console to squeeze her aunt while Whit scanned the carpool line for Noel. When he found him, Noel saw him, too, but rather than approaching the car, he only waved meekly. Whit almost grinned, wishing that Merritt were here to see this.
“So,” Evie said as they drove away, “how’s third grade? Tell me everything.”
Annie hardly needed the invitation. Within fifteen minutes, Whit had learned more about the inner workings of Annie’s life than he had in the past two months—who her new friends were, what her teacher was like, math concepts she was finding especially hard to learn. And then, in response to a single question of Evie’s, she spilled her guts about what had been bothering her. She had been crying herself to sleep over some drama between her, her friend Liza, and a new girl at school, but the issues had been resolved and things were now back to normal.
Whit felt shame folding over him, like a thick quilt stitched through with worry. Why hadn’t Annie been able to tell him this? How much else had he and Annie not talked about? How many things had he forgotten to ask?
“And,” she said from the backseat as they rounded the turn to the house, “today was library day, and Dad, I got another Lois Lowry book.”
She was rummaging through her backpack as she spoke, until she came up with a copy ofNumber the Starsin her hands.
“Oh,” Whit said, “that’s one of my favorites—but I didn’t read it until I was nine or ten.”
Annie grinned at the rearview mirror. “Mrs.Pryor told me she thought my reading was advanced enough.”
Whit caught a glance from Evie out of the corner of his eyes and grinned back, proud. “I’m sure it is.”
“And she said it’s one of Merritt’s favorites. Will you tell her I got it?”
Whit felt his eyebrows rise and cursed them for the betrayal. Evie’s throat made a little sound, and if Whit hadn’t been driving, he would have closed his eyes rather than bear the weight of her now full-on glare.
“Definitely,” was all he said, resolutely ignoring the giddy, villainous way Evie was tapping her extended fingertips against one another.
After dinner, Evie volunteered to read with Annie before bed while Whit cleaned up the pizza night debris in the kitchen. When Evie came back downstairs, she was looking mischievously at him.
“I’ve been exceedingly good, Whit.”
Whit finished wiping crumbs from the counter into his hand before he stood up and looked at her.
“I do not like where this is going.”
Evie placed her phone on the counter and leaned against the fridge, arms crossed and feet bare. She was wearing sweatpants and a huge Montréal Carabins T-shirt that was clearly Édouard’s from college. Whit felt like they were back in one of their parents’ kitchens.
“You have a young woman coming into your house—”
“She’s basically my age.”
“—writing Helen’s book for you—”
