"Hello, Billie, I'm Chris."
Oh … this was Chris. I'd wanted to ask Evan about the letter, but I decided that he would tell me when he was ready or rather, if he was ready. In many ways I was relieved because the androgynous quality of his name had had me imagining an ex-girlfriend.
"Shall we sit?" Chris said, gesturing to the dining room.
Chris held out a chair for me. The table was set with linens and ice water.
"You've changed, Evan. I haven't seen you since … "
"The funeral," Evan said.
Chris nodded, his smile faltering. "I wasn't sure if you knew I was there."
"I did, even though I wasn't fit to receive guests that day."
"How could you be?"
"Thank you for the flowers-ten years too late, but thank you."
"I got your card. You already thanked me."
"That was probably Tilla. She picked up a lot of my slack."
"I figured you weren't capable of writing that neat."
They both shared an awkward chuckle.
"What else is new?" Evan asked.
"It's been ten years. My new is stale by now."
"So what else is stale then?"
"I have a son. He's four."
"That's great. You got a picture?"
"You don't have enough time for all the pictures I got."
"Try me."
I would have excused myself to give them privacy, but Evan's hand rested on my knee like he was asking me not to. I put my menu to the side to look as Chris scrolled though the photos on his cell phone, narrating each setting for us. His descriptions tugged at my heart almost as much as the photos did. There was something special about being in the presence of a proud daddy.
"Cute kid," Evan said.
"He looks just like you," I added. "Adorable."
"Hear that, Wright? Your girl thinks I'm adorable."
"That's not exactly what she said."
"You don't have to look at the menu, Billie," Chris said, taking it from me.
"I don't?"
"I took the liberty of ordering for us."
"You come here a lot?" Evan asked.
"This is my place."
Evan whistled low. "Very nice."
"I have your mom to thank for a lot of it."
"My mom taught him how to cook," Evan explained.
Chris looked around the restaurant before leaning toward me, dropping his voice to an octave shy of conspiratorial whisper, "I was in danger of failing home economics and she took pity on me."
"I didn't even know it was possible to fail home ec," I said.
"Don't tell anyone or my reputation might be shot," he said, putting a finger to his lip.
I raised my hand. "I pledge Scout's honor."
"Were you a Girl Scout?" Evan asked.
"I was, but they kicked me out."
"How did you manage that?" Chris asked.
"I thought we were supposed to eat all the boxes of cookies they gave us. It turns out, we were supposed to sell them. Who knew?"
They both laughed.
"So you and Evan were friends in high school?" I asked.
"I was really Owen's friend. We were in the same class."
"Owen and Chris were best friends," Evan said.
"I'll never forget how happy Owen was when you were awarded the football scholarship. You'd think he'd won it."
I tilted my head at Evan. "You had a football scholarship?"
Evan shrugged.
"What does that mean? Are you not sure you got a football scholarship?"
"He got one-a full ride. He was good, Billie. Like Heisman Trophy good."
"That's all once-upon-a-time bullshit, Chris."
"No, man, that's back-in-the-day real."
I wondered how it was possible that the more I got to know him, the more mysterious he became to me. It hurt at some level that I had to hear things second hand from Chris and Tilla. Had Evan's life taken such a dark path that he couldn't even be proud of his accomplishments?
Two waiters stepped up to our table, carrying trays laden with steaming food.
"Wow, this is quite a spread," I said, my eyes growing wide and stomach rumbling as each plate was set in front of us.
"You can't come to my house and not get fed," Chris said. "This is family style," he explained, pointing to each dish as he went along. "Almond-coated walleye, homemade macaroni and cheese, cheese curds, buttered beans and my personal specialty, Schweinebraten."
"What's Schweinebraten?" I asked.
"Pork roast. I deep fry it."
It was a heart attack waiting to happen. I could feel Mom's finger shake all the way across Lake Michigan.
"Thanks, Chris," Evan said, handing me a plate.
"Dig in."
We did. The food melted in my mouth and everything I tried was better than the last thing, but just to be sure, I tried the last thing over again. It got to a point where I wondered how unladylike it would be for me to unfasten the button of my jeans.
"That was some meal," Evan said, patting his belly.
"Amazing," I agreed, slouching back and patting my own tummy. "My compliments to the chef. Thank you."
"Thank you, Billie," Chris said as the plates were cleared.
"For what?"
"For being a girl who's not ashamed to eat."
"And thank you for being a guy who knows how to feed a girl who enjoys eating."
Evan cleared his throat. "Well, if you two are done with your complimentary buffet of compliments, I guess we should get down to it."
"I figured this wasn't a social visit," Chris said.
"Should I go?" I asked Evan.
Evan turned to Chris. "I would like her here, but it's your call. What I have to say might be difficult and personal."
Chris sipped his water until only ice cubes remained in the glass. "I don't mind either way. Why don't you just say it already? I've been waiting through this whole lunch to hear it."
"I've been waiting ten years to say it." Evan took the familiar envelope with its yellowing edges out of his pocket. It flapped like a white flag between them. "I found this in Owens's room under his mattress when I was packing up the house. It's addressed to you."
So it's not Evan's writing after all.
The air became thicker suddenly with that envelope waggling between them. I desperately wanted to clutch it from Evan in an effort to rid us of the tension-igniting paper.
Chris eyed it warily. "What does it say?"
"I have my suspicions, but I honestly don't know. I'm not even sure if he meant for you to have it or if he just wrote it."
"You never opened it?"
"It wasn't mine to open."
"Did you think it was yours to keep?" A slight edge crept into Chris' voice. The envelope still hovered between them, Evan holding it out like a peace offering. Chris crossing his arms, eyeing it with caution. I wanted to speak up for Evan. To defend him. To explain to Chris that this wasn't easy for him. But instead, I stayed quiet and small and hopeful.
Evan's voice was calm and apologetic. "No, and I can't tell you how sorry I am that I did. I figured I'd mail it to you one day, but after I took off, it actually got more difficult for me, not less. I wish I wasn't such a fool at eighteen. Hell, I wish I wasn't such a fool at twenty-eight, but either way, I'm here now doing what I should have done ten years ago. I can't change that mistake, Chris. You cared for my brother and he wrote this to you-or for you or about you. I don't know which. Either way, it belongs to you."
Chris grasped the end of it. There was a slight hesitation on his part to take it, just as there was on Evan's to release it. Evan expelled a long sigh-maybe one he'd held in for ten years, carrying around words meant for someone else.
Chris traced his finger over his name, following the strokes of the ink. He stared at it for a while.
"That's what I came to do. We should go," Evan said, taking out his wallet.
Chris held up his hand. "The meal's on me."
"I can't let you do that."
"Your money holds no weight in my house, Wright."
"You're not mad then?"
"I guess I'm not sure yet."
My spine went rigid at the ripping sound of paper tearing.
"Why don't you stick around and find out?'
"You're opening it now?" Evan asked.
"My curiosity won't keep like yours."
The light from the window illuminated the neat penmanship on the notebook paper. It looked to be only two paragraphs long. His lips moved as he read the words.
"Did you know Owen was gay?" Chris asked, folding the paper carefully before putting it inside his pocket.
"He told me. I'm ashamed at how I reacted."
"What did you say to him?" Chris's tone was harsh. I didn't care for it.