Page 52 of Back to Square One

“We heard it, too,” Becca said, as she and Jazzy came up from the basement, hand in hand. She waggled her eyebrows lasciviously before reading the room and realizing something was happening. To her credit, she shut right the hell up, which was a very un-Becca-like thing to do.

Stevie’s eyes met Rowan’s, and her expression was hard to read. It wasn’t anger, exactly. Disappointment? Definitely. Worry? A bit, yes. Rowan swallowed.

Sara went on. “And you guys”—she made a gesture between Claire and Evie—“are not together, so I’m told. So, what the hell is going on?”

Evie looked panicked. Then Rowan noticed how the color had drained from her face, how her dark eyes had gone wide with…was it fear? She clenched and unclenched her right hand, and her throat moved as she swallowed. Rowan wanted to walk over and sit next to her, hold her hand, offer support for…whatever it was that was stressing her out so much. But something held her back. Was it Claire and her proximity? Rowan’s feet wouldn’t move, as if the soles had been glued to the dining room floor.

“Jesus Christ,” Claire muttered. She looked at Evie and tipped her head, her expression almost sad. “I can’t do this anymore. I love you, but I can’t. And neither should you. These are your friends, Evie.” She held Evie’s gaze and said quietly, but with an almost frightening certainty, “Tell them or I will.”

Evie’s throat moved as she swallowed again. Her gaze held Claire’s for what seemed like hours, but was actually seconds. Then she looked down at her hands and swallowed again.

“Tell them,” Claire repeated, but this time, her voice was softer. Kinder. Her expression, which had been hard as stone just a moment ago, eased up, and she moved across the room to sit next to Evie on the couch. She put her hand out, presumably for Evie to take, and Rowan could barely hear her as she whispered, “I’m right here.”

The only sounds in the house came from outside. A distant boat motor, the muffled shout of somebody down the shore, the call of a seagull as it flew overhead.

And then Evie gave in. Rowan could see the exact moment it happened. Her shoulders dropped, her head bowed. She let out a long breath, and she took Claire’s offered hand, held it tightly. After clearing her throat, and she began to speak, so quietly everybody leaned forward the slightest bit so they could hear.

“About three years ago, I wasn’t feeling well. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact problem, but something was…off. I was tired all the time, like bone tired.” She glanced up at Rowan, who suddenly had a quick flash of a phone call from Evie telling her she had a doctor’s appointment and then she’d meet her for lunch. It came and went so quickly, though, Rowan couldn’t grab on to any of it. “My doctor was concerned and ran several tests.” Another flash of the next phone call—Evie letting her know something had come up at work and she had to go back to the office and would miss lunch. She blinked rapidly, the onslaught of memory throwing her slightly off balance. Evie cleared her throat again and looked up, meeting the gazes of her friends, one by one. “I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.”

Gasps went around the room, along with a couple of cries of surprise. Justine’s hand went to her mouth. Becca muttered, “Fuck.” Stevie’s eyes shimmered with unshed wetness.

And Rowan? Her heart felt like it was going to hammer itself right out of her rib cage. What had she just said? Three years ago, they’d still been together, still been a couple. Evie had been diagnosed with MS and—

“You didn’t tell me?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but Evie heard it somehow from across the room. “How…?” Rowan shook her head. “How could you not tell me?”

Evie glanced at Claire, who gave her hand a squeeze. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just…ugh.” She shook her head. “It’s gonna get bad. I don’t know when. I don’t know how long it’ll take. But it’s likely gonna get bad.” She lifted her hand. “I’m already feeling it in my joints. The tingling. The weakness in my muscles. I’m tired all the time.”

Things started to fall into place. Evie’s constant flexing of her fingers and hand, her surprise naps, the myriad pill bottles she’d seen that morning on the dresser, Claire’s hovering.

Claire.

She sat there, being Evie’s rock, and Rowan had a blast of such anger and jealousy that shot through her, it felt hot, like her blood had turned to lava in an instant. “How could you not tell me?” It was louder this time, and faces turned to her.

“Rowan—” Claire began, holding up a placating hand.

“Shut up,” Rowan snapped, her eyes never leaving Evie’s. She waited.

Evie’s swallow was audible.

Rowan’s anger felt like something she could grab on to and hold, but there was also a growing sadness that was nearly as big. She did her best to soften her voice just a touch. “I was your girlfriend. We’d been together for nearly two years. In love for nearly two years. What the fuck, Evie?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Evie said softly, and now her eyes shimmered with moisture.

“You couldn’t tell me?”

“I couldn’t burden you with this.”

Rowan blinked at her for what felt like a long time as she tried to comprehend the words. “What?”

“It could get bad, Rowan.” Evie’s voice was stronger now, certain. “I will eventually have trouble getting around. Moving. Standing. Walking. I’ll likely end up bedridden at some point down the line.”

Rowan shook her head. “And?”

Evie sighed and shook her own head. “You don’t understand.”

“No. I don’t. So help me.”

“I couldn’t do that to you!” Evie’s words echoed through the first floor, and it was as if there were no other people there, only Rowan and Evie, and Evie was crying openly now. “Endless medication and constant appointments and days when I can’t get out of bed. Depression and anxiety and watching me wither away right before your eyes…” Again, she shook her head, almost violently this time. Her eyes locked on Rowan’s as she enunciated each word. “I couldn’t do that to you.”