The last time Evelyn laid eyes on him, he was sucking his thumb furiously, his blanket tangled around his little body, sweat making his soft blonde hair curl. Dozing in fits and starts, he called out for Teddy in his sleep. She tucked his bear into the playpen near his face and he instinctively pulled it close, curling his arm around its neck and burying his nose into its body. His brother, at the other side of the playpen, was out cold.

Once his breath was steady, Evelyn nestled two bottles of warm milk into a corner of the pen, just in case, and stood in the dim light, taking one long last look. She switched off the lamp, put on her hat and coat and closed the door behind her quietly. She descended the stairs in her stocking feet, her purse and small holdall in hand. She’d wait in the diner down the road till Wayne got home and pray the boys wouldn’t stir till then.

At the foyer, she slipped on her shoes and gloves and stepped out into the cold. At the diner, Evelyn took a seat in the booth at the far end of the front window. Three large cedars out front hid her from view, but she could still see their brownstone down the road. She ordered coffee and a slice of rhubarb pie, though she had no appetite. She desperately wanted a drink, something to calm her nerves, but didn’t dare. Ordering alcohol would only draw unwanted attention. Bad enough she was alone at the diner on a Friday night. She recognized the girl waiting on her table and smiled.

“Fresh baked today,” the girl said. “Sure you don’t want a scoop of vanilla on the side, sweetie?”

“No thanks,” Evelyn said. “This’ll be fine.”

“Goin’ on a trip?” the girl said, glancing at her luggage.

“Yes,” Evelyn replied, trying to hide her irritation. “Going to the city to visit my mother,” she lied. “Just waiting for the Greyhound.”

“That’s nice. It’ll be along at nine sharp,” the waitress said. “You got plenty of time. Enjoy the pie. Just let me know if you need a top-up on the coffee, hon.”

Evelyn couldn’t wait to get back to the cold anonymity of Toronto where no one called you sweetie or honey or gave a damn where you were going, so long as you didn’t get in their way. She pulled out her book and pretended to read, all the while watching the street. Wayne would be pulling up any time now, tanked, tired from his week on the road, looking for dinner. She’d left a plate of corned beef and cabbage under foil in the oven. Evelyn sipped her coffee, glancing at her watch. Eight fifteen, eight twenty, eight thirty-five. Dear God, she needed him to get home. If he didn’t, she’d have to call Mrs. Ward from downstairs. She’d left a key under the mat just in case.

At eight forty, Evelyn got the cheque and settled up. Grabbing a dime for the payphone, she went and used the facilities, then decided to give it five minutes more. Just as she was putting on her coat, she saw the brown Montego pull up to the curb in front of their building. A wall of relief and fatigue hit her, but she forced herself to stay alert. She sat down, took a last sip of coffee, and held her breath.

The lights in their apartment flicked on, one after the other, as Wayne prowled through the flat, like a panther, searching. The lamp in the boys’ room was lit, then extinguished. Wayne’s black outline loomed for a moment at the living room window, then disappeared.

That was it. Her cue to leave.

The bus came on schedule, just as the girl said it would.

 

***

Three years before – to the day – she’d met Wayne at a dance at the Palais Royale. There was a full moon that night, a sky full of white stars. It was her birthday. She was twenty-two, fresh out of college and ready to start her life. There, right in front of her, was what looked like the man of her dreams. He whisked her around the floor and made her swoon afterward in the parking lot, where he told her all about his ambitions, one warm hand inside the bodice of her dress, the car windows fogged.

They became an item and Evelyn was pregnant in no time. She broke the bad news to Wayne, quaking, but, much to her surprise, he was chuffed, his unbridled enthusiasm contagious. He’d always wanted kids, he said. It was as good an excuse as any to tie the knot. Evelyn let herself get caught up in his giddy excitement. They planned a wedding against her father’s better judgment, Evelyn becoming more defiant with each of her father’s pedantic warnings.

Since his wife’s death ten years prior, he’d become increasingly protective of his daughter. He said he wanted her to be self-sufficient, focus on her education and career, but truth be told, he enjoyed having her to himself at home so he could pursue his research and go about his business as he pleased. He liked a warm meal at the end of the day. When it came to beaus, no one was good enough. Thankfully, they’d been few and far between, Evelyn being a rather serious girl and mature for her age.

Wayne’s arrival on the scene came as a surprise to everyone. He was older – definitely not wiser – yet Evelyn seemed utterly taken with him. She hung on his every word, found his cornball jokes hilarious, and blushed at his constant fawning. It both perplexed and embarrassed Evelyn’s father, annoyed at his daughter who, heretofore, had been level-headed.

He couldn’t warm to Wayne, even after he saw their union was a foregone conclusion. Though he was an academic, he was not drawn to bluster. Wayne – with his overblown promises and ostentatious gifts – rubbed him entirely the wrong way. If his girl was going to leave him for some other man, he thought, she should at least make it worth her while. Not choose a small-minded travelling salesman who went around pulling the wool over people’s eyes. He stated his position plainly to his daughter and assumed Evelyn would come to her senses. Waiting it out where children were concerned usually did the trick.

There was a wrinkle though. He didn’t know about the bun in the oven.

Evelyn had never contemplated having children, but once it was happening, quick decisions were required and Wayne took charge. They’d get married, head east to Brockville where his family lived and figure out the rest later. The move would do them good. A short stop in his old stomping grounds, then on to Montreal. He was gunning for a top job at his company’s Quebec head office. He’d earn his stripes – Salesman of the Year, Chairman’s Club – then be a shoo-in. Till then, he’d be on the road, selling farm equipment along the St. Lawrence. It’d only be for a couple of years, but well worth it in the end. He promised that, in Montreal, once the little gaffer was running around, Evelyn could do her teacher’s training. It’d be a fresh start.

Evelyn had been to Montreal once on school exchange. She’d liked that it was cosmopolitan, marvelled at the culture, food and fashion. Even back then, she’d noticed the women had a European flair, sexy and confident. Her teacher had it, too. She’d say to the girls: “Il faut toujours marcher d’un pas déterminé.” Always walk with a determined step. Evelyn could see herself living there. Her French was good. Eventually, she’d get a university degree and a job teaching. She’d grown tired of being her father’s handmaid. Sure, in some ways, she enjoyed more freedom at home than most of her friends, but still, she was trapped, like a chicken in a henhouse.

They said their goodbyes after a small wedding at Knox College, where her father taught history, and headed to Brockville. Wayne’s mother had set them up in a tidy two-bedroom near King Street. It was furnished in hand-me-downs, odds and ends from the family garage, starched doilies and Afghans, hand-tatted and crocheted by the Women’s Auxiliary. Wayne’s three sisters came and went like they owned the place. They were excited to show Evelyn around town, awfully proud of their sleepy enclave. It was Brockville this, Brockville that, named for the Hero of Upper Canada, home to the United Empire Loyalists, Canada’s first railway tunnel and site of its biggest bank heist. It made Evelyn’s eyes glaze over.

She barely tolerated her busy-body mother-in-law, and dodged the sisters as much as possible, numbed by their constant clucking. She had nothing in common with them, nothing to say. She tried to make friends at church, now that she had to attend services, but all anyone could talk about was the baby, the baby, the baby, and that bored Evelyn more than anything.

Thankfully, they all made casseroles, which Evelyn accepted gladly. She was ravenous and consumed shocking quantities of food to nourish the alien growing inside her, watching, horrified, as her belly stretched and grew. Her once delicate ankles and feet swelled like the bloated bodies of decaying animals. With each passing month, as she expanded outward, her body taking on gargantuan proportions, Evelyn withdrew, becoming more and more solitary. Wayne’s sisters eventually learned to leave her alone.

She liked it when Wayne was on the road. Most afternoons, she’d nap, then take a lazy walk along the river, stopping at the library for her holds. She’d find a bench and would and sit and stare across the river at Morristown, daydreaming about New York, wishing she could just go there and disappear into the crowd.

On weekends, Wayne would resurface. He’d take her for drives along the Seaway, showing off sites she’d already seen. At night, he’d be in his cups, morose and critical, expecting to be waited on like a guest, never lifting a finger to help despite her waddling heft. He’d disappear with his sister’s husbands to the local bar at night, driving home smashed, reeking of smoke, sometimes sex.

As her confinement drew close, Evelyn sank deeper and deeper into a dark cave. She wanted out, but knew no way. She couldn’t admit to her father she’d married a drunk who was never going to sell enough backhoes to get them past Cornwall, never mind to Montreal. Even if she left Wayne, she couldn’t go back. That would be like being given keys to the cell and locking herself back in.

When her pains came, Evelyn taxied to the hospital, gladly received the anaesthetic and woke the next day in a light-filled room, all cleaned up. The nurse thrust the baby, tightly swaddled, into her arms. It mewled like a kitten and Evelyn couldn’t help thinking that, if she’d given birth to a cat, she’d have had a better idea what to do.

Wayne, sobered up for the big occasion, sauntering in with a bouquet of glads – which Evelyn despised. Proud to have produced a son in a family of girls, he doled out cigars, got shitfaced Saturday night celebrating his progeny, then hit the road Sunday as usual, this time leaving his mother in charge, even though Evelyn begged him not to have her come stay.

She supposed she should have been grateful for her mother-in-law’s solicitous offers to cook, clean, do everything under the sun, but she felt smothered. And nothing she did for the child was right. Don’t lift him that way, you’re letting him get rashy, he needs a burp or he’ll get colic. Evelyn wished the woman would just nurse the baby on her own pendulous breasts and be done with it. She had no interest in being a food source herself. Her once perky champagne-coupe breasts were big as ten-pin bowling balls and hard as rock. In the shower, they spouted milk like fountains. Her crotch was stitched up and inflamed. The child, colicky and clingy, simultaneously sucked the energy out of Evelyn and breathed new life into his grandmother, who looked like she was settling in, no intention of leaving.

Evelyn weaned the baby quickly, but, just when she was finding her footing again, his brother was conceived, Wayne drunk and randy, Evelyn too tired to resist. She felt the shackles of motherhood closing tightly around her limbs. It was not what she’d bargained for. She had a lot to learn about a good many things, but Evelyn knew from the start that she was the wrong person for this job.

 

***

Those early years after she arrived back in Toronto were a mixed bag of relief and sorrow, pain and healing, recalling and forgetting. Evelyn floundered about in the muck of her decisions, staying away from everyone, her own family included. It was the only way to keep her will strong and her shame at bay. Her father died after a brief illness not long after she returned to the city, so she moved back into the house, finished her degree and started teaching, putting her past firmly behind her.

She never tried to contact Wayne, simply signed the divorce papers when they came. She’d already transferred her savings plus a good chunk of her inheritance to him for the boys. It was a sizable amount, and would set them up nicely, so she felt no guilt on that front. When she saw Wayne’s marriage announcement in the Whig-Standard, she felt relieved.

For the next many years Evelyn threw herself into her work and did well at it. She was able to maintain a reserve about her that most teachers seemed to lack, so was promoted quickly to Department Head and made it to school Principal in record time. From there, she moved on to college administration, vowing never to follow in her father’s footsteps and become an academic. She was far too practical for that. She kept her nose to the grindstone, and, for the most part, enjoyed her work. It was her life raft, and kept her from sinking. She stayed productive and kept busy. When evening came, she quelled her anguish with a bit of wine and a quarter sleeping pill each night and woke refreshed. She was the obvious choice for college President when the incumbent retired.

Being in a position of power enjoyed by few women didn’t leave room for friends or romantic relationships, and it was better that way. Her life was full enough. Keeping her distance was essentially part of the job description. She avoided social events, skirted nosy questions about marriage and childbirth, feigned membership in the Childless Women’s Club. Over the years, she’d told the few lovers who’d noticed and bothered to ask that the small C-section scar above her patch of pubic hair was the result of a still-birth, which killed her desire to have more. She steered clear of students as much as possible, not wanting to betray her decision by caring any more than absolutely necessary for another person’s child. She nodded to all the crying mothers in her office who said “You have no idea – you don’t have kids.”

Fair enough.

 

***

She hadn’t seen or heard from either of her sons in over twenty-three years, yet she’d always known it would happen, maybe even secretly hoped it would, though she’d basically done everything in her power to prevent it. Her secretary, Louise, said a young man had called several times, giving only his first name and insisting on this day.

What was he doing coming to see her? Making a bold statement? A request? She wasn’t sure. How could she know? She’d left so long ago. The last time she’d seen him he was barely two, and a few hours ago, he turned twenty-five.

Lou being Lou, and not knowing the truth, was worried. “Shall I ask the Registrar’s Office if they can place him? Run a background check? Line up Security?”

Evelyn just smiled. She let Louise go early, assuring her she’d manage on her own.

“I’m happy to stay,” Louise persisted. She was curious as hell and Evelyn knew it. Louise didn’t like to be left out of anything, and rarely was. She knew when Evelyn had a migraine, needed rescue from a gasbag professor, was desperate to pee. She was on a first name basis with Evelyn’s doctor, lawyer, housekeeper and hairdresser. She shopped for her – for nylons, toiletries, staff gifts, even groceries. Louise was her bodyguard, her conscience, her partner in crime. There were no secrets between them, except this one.

“I’ll just show him in when he arrives and then go.”

“No, that won’t be necessary, Lou…but thank you.”

“Okay,” she said, mildly offended. “I’ll get the coffee ready. Anything else? Some pastries?”

“A plate of cookies’ll do. And a jug of water.”

“Consider it done.” Louise hesitated. “He doesn’t sound stable. I’ll let security know you’ll be on your own.”

“Also not necessary,” Evelyn smiled, “…but I know I can’t stop you.”

Louise gave Evelyn a hard stare, turned and exited her office. Evelyn felt such gratitude for all Lou did, for how loyal and trustworthy she’d been from the start. She wouldn’t be where she was without her. Old-school, the picture of discretion, not once in twenty years had Louise betrayed Evelyn’s confidence. But on this, Evelyn knew she could not be forthcoming without losing critical ground. Louise and her husband had tried for years to have a child, spent thousands on IVF and almost divorced over the whole mess. Louise would always respect her less if she knew.

Evelyn stood firm. And Louise knew when to stand down.

“Enjoy your night, Lou. Thanks for understanding. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early. I’ll need you to help me get ready.”

After Louise left, Evelyn answered a few emails, then ate the half sandwich Lou had left in the bar fridge, though she wasn’t hungry. She used the washroom, then brushed her teeth, as she always did before meetings. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered, for a split second, who he’d resemble, but quickly pushed the thought out of her head. By five o’clock, she’d cleared her in-tray, dealt with all urgent calls and approved her speech notes for the upcoming Board meeting. After that, she sat in her office and stared out at the courtyard, glad it was off limits to human life.

When the new wing was constructed, she’d been given a choice on the location of her office – either overlooking a private garden or facing the quad, with its long, curved, lantern-lit path to the dorms. The board had thought it would be a good gesture to choose the quad – a show of openness, a way to appear connected to the students. But Evelyn didn’t succumb to pressure. She chose the garden. It was tranquil and kept her focussed. On difficult days, when she needed to prep for a tough meeting, or steel herself for a challenging discussion with overbearing parents, she could look out at the lush green square with its quiet bamboo waterfall at one end, the stone statue of Athena at the other, and regain her composure. She’d never cared what others thought of her, so she was firm in her decision when the Planning Committee asked, despite the raised eyebrows. After all, she was the one who had to carry the weight on her shoulders and knew what she needed. Today, especially, she was glad she hadn’t wavered.

The hallways of the college got quiet after the cafeteria closed for the evening. Faculty and admin staff were gone, save for the odd prof avoiding his wife, lingering in his office into the night. Students had left for home or were tucked into their dorms, studying, drinking, unwinding. Evelyn liked the quiet. Just the janitors and security, and they never bothered her. It was the best time to think and get work done. She often had toast and tea for dinner, working late, having been fed well by Louise through the day. She wasn’t exactly alone, but the next best thing.

At 6:45, she unlocked the outer door marked ‘President,’ then retreated back into her office, locking herself in. She wasn’t afraid, just didn’t like surprises. A small bell would ring once he was there. Louise had given him instructions. He was to sit in Reception till summoned.

Evelyn poured herself a tall glass of water and waited, trying hard to keep her mind blank. She had no idea what to expect – no clue what he looked like, what the timbre of his voice would be, how he’d smell. Over the years, she’d never allowed herself to think about that baby scent – milky and sour on waking, clean and fresh from a bath. There would’ve been no point. She’d loved to touch his curls though, soft as duck down, and to rub his back to settle him to sleep, the way her mother had whenever she spiked a fever. But that was a very long time ago, and she’d given up any right to remembrance. She stared out at the bamboo waterfall and watched it fill and empty, over and over, tipping out its contents when it could hold no more.

When the bell chimed, Evelyn stood and smoothed the skirt of her suit. She opened her door and saw him sitting at the end of the row of chairs. He still had his coat on and was practically doubled-over, face parallel to the ground, long hair tumbling forward. He looked like he was praying, but she knew he was not. He smelled strongly of cigarettes, and even from where she stood, she could see half-moons of dirt under his long fingernails.

“Hello, Neal,” she said, clearing her throat. “Please come in.”

He looked up abruptly, as though not expecting to be called, then bent to gather up his things – backpack, water bottle, coat and newspaper, all in disarray on the floor. She watched him shuffle awkwardly in.

“Have a seat,” she said politely. “Either chair is fine.” She’d decided not to use the sitting area in her office with its coffee table and low, comfy couches, preferring the protection of the heavy oak desk between them. “How was your trip in?”

“Fine,” he said, quizzically. “I took the subway down.”

So, he lived in the city. She’d had no idea.

“Would you like coffee? It’s fresh.”

“No thanks. I don’t drink coffee. Just coke – when I need caffeine.” His voice was low and gravelly, the bass of a man. She wasn’t expecting the sweet tiny voice he’d had at two, but, still, it shocked her.

“Ah,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t have soft drinks. Just coffee, tea or water. Would you like a cookie?” Louise had set out some Peak Freans. She pushed the plate forward.

“No thanks,” he said firmly.

“Okay then,” she said, reaching for a coffee cup. “I hope you don’t mind if I help myself?” Her hand trembled slightly, so she set the cup down to pour. Then she sat back with her hands clasped in front of her on the desk and waited. She found it best to hold back, not speak first, whenever parents or students came to see her with a grievance. Saying nothing somehow gave her the upper hand.

The boy kept his eyes cast down and off to the side, as though he were tracking a slow insect crawling across the carpet. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then sat, lips pursed, pale as a ghost, emitting a white-hot nervous energy. Normally, Evelyn was fine to wait it out, but the silence was paralysing.

She cleared her throat. “So…how does it feel to be twenty-five?” She couldn’t bring herself to say Happy Birthday.

He jerked his head up, startled. Had he thought she’d forgotten? A pained expression settled over his face when he realized she’d known all along.

“Pretty much the same as twenty-four I guess,” he mumbled.

“Well…” she hesitated, “it must be somewhat significant, or you wouldn’t have chosen this day to come.” She figured she may as well hit the nail on the head.

“I just thought…” he started, looking out the window, “I don’t know. I just thought it might be better to start the next twenty-five knowing the truth.” He looked back in but couldn’t meet her eyes, focussing instead on the bookcase behind her.

“I see,” Evelyn said. “But you could have written – or called. You obviously knew where to find me. Why’d you come in person?” She wasn’t trying to give the poor boy a hard time, but she wanted to cut to the chase. She could feel herself starting to sweat under her suit jacket. She needed to know what he wanted from her.

“I just…I guess I wanted to hear it from you directly, in person. It’s the only way I’d be able to tell if you were lying or not.”

Evelyn looked at the boy and felt a pang of pity. Poor thing, she thought, he didn’t know her in the least. She could tell him anything and he’d never know the difference.

“You want to know why I left, I presume?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he snapped.

“I suppose. It’s only natural.”

“What the fuck would you know about what’s natural?” He glared at her.

Evelyn drew in a quick breath. She couldn’t see his eyes clearly behind his thick glasses, but she knew he was seething. Normally, she’d insist on no swearing when an angry student came in, but she let it pass.

“Well. I guess you’ve had a version of it. From your father…and his family. It’s probably not far off from the truth. If the hard facts of the situation are really the truth.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s just that…yes, I left you…both of you…”

“Alone.”

“Yes, alone. But…”

“In shitty diapers for fuck’s sake. We could’ve died. Who does that?” His voice was raised, angry.

Evelyn forced herself to remain calm. She wrung her hands under the desk where he couldn’t see them and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. She would not let that happen. Not one drop or she’d lose control of the situation.

“Neal, what you don’t know, whether it makes a difference or not,” she said, pacing herself, “is that I waited across the road – at a diner that used to be there – to make sure your father came home. I waited and watched till your dad pulled up, parked and was inside. There’s no way he could’ve known that, but it’s true. I only got on that bus once I knew there was an adult to tend to you both.” She decided not to tell him that her backup plan had been Mrs. Ward – that she wouldn’t have risked going back if Wayne hadn’t shown up.

“But why didn’t you take us with you?” His eyes were plaintive, like a toddler on the verge of a meltdown. Evelyn had to look away.

“Oh, your dad and his family, they’d never have left me alone if I’d taken you with me. But to be honest, it’s not something I contemplated – running off with the both of you. I wasn’t cut out for motherhood. I knew that from the get-go. I did feel bad, but I needed to escape…”

“You felt bad?”

“Well, clearly, ‘bad’ doesn’t capture it. It was agonizing at the time. But, once I was on the bus, I could breathe again. And I knew if I wanted to continue breathing, I’d have to keep going.”

“What kind of mother does that?” he said, shaking his head. Evelyn could see flakes of dandruff falling on his shoulder.

“The kind I was, I suppose. I always felt like I’d somehow landed on the wrong stage, memorized the lines to the wrong play. I didn’t belong in my own life. I never wanted to be a mother. Not for a second…”

“Tough shit! We didn’t ask to be born!”

“Oh, I know. It’s so complicated, Neal. I was young, barely your age. I felt so… so desperate…” Evelyn’s voice trailed off.

“So, you took care of yourself and walked away? Impressive.”

“I knew I’d be no good to you or your brother if I stayed.”

“So you were doing us a favour? Because you cared so much. I get it now. Glad we got that sorted out.” Neal began nervously shaking his leg, a habit Evelyn couldn’t abide.

“Yes, I took a bus and left town. Walked away from my life – and yours. All that’s true. But it doesn’t tell the whole story.”

“Well, that’s why I came. To hear the whole fucking story. So let’s hear it.” He leaned back in his chair, one long arm slung over the top, and stared at the wall of books, chewing his lower lip, livid.

“Okay,” Evelyn said, but she was at a loss for words. She felt like a world-class idiot for not having prepared something. The queen of planning down to the last detail and here she was, winging it. And, nervous as he looked, Neal was tougher than she’d expected. She took a breath and braced herself.

“I don’t know how much you know. Before I met your dad, I’d been taking care of my older brother and waiting on my father hand and foot for ten years. My mother – your maternal grandmother – dropped dead when I was thirteen, so I became the housemaid – cooking, cleaning, washing, doing everything, basically. I was the only female in the house and it all fell to me. My needs became inconsequential. Any plans I had were shelved. It was pretty miserable for a young girl to see her life erased that way. So, when your dad – and you – came along, getting married and moving out seemed like…a plan. But things didn’t go as expected. They never do. He was gone all the time, floundering at work, drinking heavily, squandering what money we had, and I was lost – on my own in a strange town with a baby. First one, then two. It’s an old story. A shotgun wedding and I went from the frying pan into the fire. In Brockville, I was a fish out of water, completely isolated. Any dreams I had left were quashed. Everything just started closing in. I knew if I’d stayed, my lights would go out. So I did what I had to, to survive. That may sound dramatic, and I don’t blame you for hating me, but it’s the truth. I had no choice. I had to go.”

“Everyone has choices,” he countered. “You could’ve at least checked in. Or sent money. Done something.” His disdain was palpable.

“Well,” Evelyn said, “I left your father all my savings plus the inheritance my mother left me. It was a sizable amount. I guess he never told you. I didn’t ask him to.” She wasn’t about to make Wayne the bad guy. After all, he’d hung in.

Neal kept his eyes trained on her while he chewed, silently, at his already raw cuticles. He wasn’t having any of it. It was unnerving.

At a loss for what to do, Evelyn kept on. “Listen, Neal, I was just a kid trying to keep my head above water. Of course I thought about being in touch, but didn’t want to cause more harm. I’m sure your father did his best in a bad situation. When I heard he’d remarried, I was relieved. I hope your step-mother’s been good to you both?”

Good to us?” Neal snorted. “You’ve gotta be kidding. Let’s see…she married a drunk who was on the road all the time and left her with two catatonic sons. She smoked and drank as much as he did and had three kids of her own from three different guys. She couldn’t handle any of us. Sure, she kept us alive – which is more than you did – but no, she was not good to us. And when she was angry, which was a lot, she took it all out on Adam.”

Evelyn’s stomach lurched. “How is Adam?”

“It’s really none of your goddamn business, but he’s a mess, thanks to you. You fucked him up good. Maybe he’s the smart one. He wants nothing to do with you.” Neal bent forward again and drew a deep breath. He finally exhaled, sat upright and said, “I don’t know why I came. This was a big fucking mistake.”

There was a long silence.

Evelyn looked at her son. There really was no way to explain what she’d done. It was the right thing – the alternative would have killed her – but she couldn’t expect him to empathize. He was damaged goods and she’d had a go with the sledgehammer before he could walk a straight line.

Evelyn wanted to say something – anything – to soothe the boy’s ragged soul. She wanted to tell Neal that something had died within her when she left, the loss sitting within her like a benign tumor, pale and lifeless, a reminder of what might have been. Her ropey scars had pulsed lividly in the early years, but were now numb and dormant. Only occasionally, when she heard a particular children’s song, or caught the scent of the mock orange that grew lush in the Brockville cemetery where she’d wandered with the boys, did they throb. During waking hours, she never slowed down enough to feel.

Sleep was another thing entirely. There, both boys lurked, hiding in dark, wet alleys – sometimes malnourished waifs, searching for food in trash bins; other times pale-skinned addicts with tracks on their arms, bruises on their bodies, matted hair and hollow eyes. She often dreamt she was floating on a makeshift raft in the ocean, while in the distance, her boys were cresting rough waves, flailing, screaming for help, gulping salt water as sharks or pirates circled. The worst was when she dreamed of a natural disaster – earthquake, tornado, tsunami – a deafening roar in each instance. She’d run frantically – through a field, down a road, on a stretch of beach – pushing her body to its limit, fleeing. Inevitably, she’d run past the boys – sitting helplessly, wailing – saving herself, not looking back.

Evelyn would wake drenched, twisted in her sheets, gasping for air. But then, slowly, she’d turn and look out the window and return to herself, knowing all was as it should be in the universe.

Evelyn knew she couldn’t say any of this. It would come out sounding disingenuous, insane or, worse yet, maudlin. All she said was that it wasn’t him, or his brother. It was any child. She couldn’t be mother to any child. She had no regrets. She’d have done more damage if she’d stayed.

She knew he’d never understand. He was a victim. But he was also a man. Neither he nor his brother would ever feel caught in the same way.

Evelyn stood and stepped closer to the window, crossing her arms to the cold air seeping in. She knew Neal might go soon. This could be the last time she saw him. She could see his reflection as he sat staring in the other direction. In profile, his face and body were the spitting image of her father.

He picked up his backpack and held it to the front of his chest, the way he used to hug his bear. It looked like he might cry and Evelyn knew, more than anything, she could not bear that.

Using an old technique she had for breaking impasses in tough negotiations, she  smoothed her hair and turned toward Neal. “You know what? I’m famished. The cafeteria hasn’t closed yet and they make a pretty good burger. You hungry?”

Neal turned and looked up at his mother with an openness she never expected. He hesitated, then nodded. Yes.

Evelyn swallowed hard. Then, doing the unthinkable, she walked down the empty hallway, ordered two burgers, two fries and two cokes, and had dinner with her son. She’d never once eaten in the cafeteria – Lou always picked up whatever she needed. The place was almost empty, but she knew this would get back to Lou. It might even make the rounds depending who noticed, but somehow, she didn’t care.

They ate in uncomfortable silence, each chewing laboriously, averting their eyes the entire time, then stiffly said goodbye.

Evelyn watched him go from the school’s front window, lumbering across the quad, his backpack creating the elongated shadow of a hunchback, his big feet turning slightly inward the way hers did. As he receded into the velvety darkness, she stepped outside, craning for a last glimpse, relieved to see him resurface each time he passed beneath a lantern on the cobblestone path, his golden curls flashing.

Just as she was about to head in, Neal turned and waved. Drawing in a quick breath, Evelyn raised her palm stiffly in reply. Then she smiled, hoping he could see her face, and watched him vanish into the night.

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  • Shirley B. Phillips is a Canadian author who recently retired from a thirty-year career in government where she served as a Deputy Minister. She lives and writes in Toronto.