Romantic Love Stories Take Their Own Road

Evy McKenna pushed her head deeper into her pillow and pulled the covers over her head. "Yes, I know," she said to the bedside clock, stubbornly aware that she should be up by now. Indeed, she should be on her way to church, dressed and groomed and bursting with news of the recent delightful turn her life had taken.

But she wasn't, because the day was starting out quite differently from the one she'd envisioned a mere twenty-four hours before. The "turn" had taken another, crueler twist.

She felt a tremor, then the rhythmic little paw-steps of one of her cats padding toward her head; then, pawing at her covers and hair.

"Go away," she said. "I'm asleep." Then, with a pang of remorse, she turned toward the attention-craving kitty. Her three cats were her only companions now; she didn't dare test their affection, lest she be left with no one at all. She petted Thea, who instantly began purring. Evy brightened a little, looking around the room at her beloved cats, who gazed at her expectantly.

Her thoughts turned toward her kids. Davin, in his first year of college, and Juliana, away at boarding school on the East Coast for the second half of high school, had left home a week apart. The despair washed over her again; a tear formed at the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek into her pillow. The unfairness!

Kids usually go away to college, she reasoned, so Davin's departure had been expected.

But Juliana's switch to the snooty boarding school was pure spite-not on Juliana's part, for they'd always enjoyed a good relationship. But on Evy's ex-husband's part-it was he who held the money and therefore all the cards in this unjust game called life.

Daddy had bribed Juliana with the promise, realistic or not, that if she graduated from this top-drawer school, she'd get into the college of her choice, full scholarship and all. So Juliana had left, bubbling over with grand expectations and the excitement of traveling all the way across the country to this Ivy League prep school-leaving Evy alone with her three cats and her self-pity.

Life was so unfair.

Evy had briefly glimpsed a bright spot in her future. It had begun as a lark, really-almost a joke! Perusing the personal columns in the Sunday paper a week ago, she'd smirked at the poor desperate souls who resorted to such means of finding a mate. There certainly were a lot of them! Some of these people might be nice people after all, though. Maybe they were normal people, just too busy to meet people in normal ways. Maybe they were onto something...well, maybe it was worth a look.

She began to read: Men Seeking Women.

Too old...too young. Smoker-forget it. Too sedentary...too uncultured. Atheist-forget it. Hmmm....

"Must love dogs." Hmmm! "SWM, looks 40" (didn't say how old he really was); "brown/gray; mustache, trim beard; 6 feet tall, fit; craftsman; loves dogs, movies, music, outdoors. Seeks single female, age compatible, race unimportant, for companionship, maybe more...."

Evy read the ad again a couple times, looking for a reason to reject Mr. Must Love Dogs...but she couldn't. Maybe not all of these people were so bad after all. Maybe they had just run out of ideas on how to meet people and were tired of being alone.

She folded the newspaper with the personal column on top and placed it in the outgoing newspaper pile. Next day, she pulled it out and put it on the coffee table. The day after that, she picked it up, seriously contemplating responding to the ad. She'd be aloof, though, not needy or even particularly interested-just curious.

She almost did it.

Then she had a better idea.

"Must love cats," Evy wrote on the ad form. "SWF, 42, looks 35; auburn/green; 5'7", trim; pet groomer; loves cats, art, literature, sightseeing. Seeks sincere man, age compatible, race unimportant, for companionship, maybe more...."

There. If Mr. Must Love Dogs isn't so self-absorbed as to miss this, Evy thought, he'll respond for sure. If anyone else responds, forget it. I'm not that desperate.

The e-mail responses trickled in. She studied them, mulled over them, visualizing each respondent until she could picture Mr. Must Love Dogs composing those words to her. She e-mailed him back.

"It's Evy," she says, rhyming it with Chevy, the first time they speak by phone. In e-mail, of course, you can't tell; some people mistakenly pronounce it Ee-vee. "It's short for Evangeline," she explains. "My father was a professor of literature."

"Evy," he repeats, and she likes the way he makes her name sound. His name is Justin. No last names, they agree, until they meet.

He's a custom home builder and furniture maker. Some people gladly pay a lot of money for the pieces he makes, he says-genuinely surprised, not fakely modest. He describes his work, and she sees strong, supple hands gliding over gleaming wood. He has a German shepherd-Siberian husky mix named Jake. And he doesn't have a cat, but he likes them-so does Jake.

That's it. She must meet him. Coffee on Saturday at ten o'clock, at a little place just off the highway, ten minutes from her home in California's rural north. He's coming from about 30 minutes down the highway.

She decides to wear her naturally wavy hair in an "messy chic" sort of arrangement, twirling part of it into a bun and letting the rest fall freely over her shoulders. She'll put on a teal sweater and jeans. She'll look nice but doesn't want to look as if she's trying to look nice. She'll take a book, to look busy in case he's a little late.

He doesn't ask if she's pretty; that's good, because she certainly doesn't want a man who likes her for her looks.

Evy walks on air for a few days.

Until Saturday morning, when he never showed up. It was the right day, right time, right place. But why would he show up-for her? She'd been such a gullible fool! After forty-five minutes, she ordered a coffee drink to go. She went home to her three faithful companions. She took the back road, instead of the highway, so if the gray late-model light pickup he'd described happened to come along, she wouldn't see it. To be still waiting after forty-five minutes, when he hadn't even bothered to call-he had her cell phone number, after all, but she didn't have his-was disgraceful.

Lucy, Madeline, and Thea were all asleep on her bed when she came in and threw her things onto it, greeting them in a high, forced-cheerful voice, trying to shove out of her mind the reality that a man had stood her up. Good thing she hadn't asked for his phone number. If she called, he'd think she cared. And she didn't. Life was exactly the same as it was a week ago, before she'd ever heard of Mr. Must Love Dogs.

Justin and Evy. Evy and Justin. She'd already started to like the way that sounded. And she liked the way her name sounded when he said it. And she liked his laugh, and the way he talked about his dog and his work and his daughter-who wasn't really exactly his daughter, which he'd explain later, he'd said with a chuckle-and his life. She flung herself onto her bed and cried.

Now, Sunday morning, having silenced the noise in her head long enough to get a few fitful hours of sleep, she started crying again. Her kids were far away and a nice man didn't want to meet her after all.

Then she scolded herself and got up to feed her cats. Pulling on a watch-plaid robe, she looked in the mirror at her puffy eyes, her cats swirling around her ankles. She wouldn't check her e-mail; she normally took Sunday off from the computer, and she wasn't going to make an exception just because Mr. Must Love Dogs might have some lame excuse for not showing up.

Now that it was too late to go to church, Evy decided to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee or two and peruse the Sunday paper before taking a shower and then just sitting around all day. Opening the front door to a crisp fall morning, she bent down and picked up the paper. She took a deep breath of the delicious air before closing the door, making the deliberate decision to believe that it wasn't so bad, that some man she didn't even know couldn't possibly ruin her life by not being there when he said he would. Autumn was her favorite time of year, when the air smelled of evergreen and coming rain, and she could wear sweaters.

She unfolded the newspaper onto the table to scan the headlines. She poured a cup of coffee and looked back at the paper. At the bottom of the front page, a brief story with a picture caught her eye. "One seriously injured in highway accident." In the picture was a mangled truck-a smallish gray pickup, the front driver's side all smashed in. It had been northbound at the time of the accident, the caption said, swerving off the road when a southbound vehicle drifted over the centerline, then overturned.

The other driver, a teenage boy, corrected just before impact and escaped injury.

"Dear God," Evy said out loud. The accident had occurred about 9:50 Saturday morning; the victim, a man about forty, unidentified until next of kin could be notified. He'd been taken to the hospital with possible broken bones, facial lacerations, and suspected internal injuries.

No, it can't be. It can't be. But it must be! It made perfect sense. Justin was on his way to meet her for coffee, just as he said he would, when the incomprehensible accident happened.

Then it was her fault! She gulped down her coffee and headed back to her room. She had to do something. She had to go see him! But they'd never let her into his hospital room-she was a stranger. She couldn't even pretend to be a friend or relative. She didn't know his last name!

She would figure out something while she showered. A new thought entered her mind. What about Jake? The paper hadn't said anything about a dog. Surely it would have, had a dog been involved. Unless the dog was ejected from the truck and ran away! He might be injured-or lost!

Now Evy had a mission.

An hour later, she was parked on a side road near the accident site. She felt creepy and voyeurish, like those weird people who revisit the scene of a crime they committed. Evy kicked a few pieces of broken glass and plastic, then looked around. There was no sign of a dog. But why would there be? Acknowledging the futility of her mission, she headed home.

Tomorrow's paper would tell the victim's name and the latest on his condition. Evy called her kids, as she usually did Sunday afternoons. Davin sounded busy and a bit disinterested, as he usually did. Juliana sounded unhappy, as she often did. "I don't like it here, Mom. Dad wouldn't even know it if I wasn't here-he's too busy with his girlfriend and her kids. He said we were going to do things together, but we don't. Not since her."

Evy sighed and decided not to mention Justin or the accident. Juliana had enough on her mind, and Evy could do so little to help her.

"Accident victim recovering," Monday morning's paper said. Justin Benedict, 46, had regained consciousness and was stable enough for surgery.

Evy picked up each of her cats and hugged them.

A few days later, she stood in the doorway of his hospital room. He had bandages covering much of his face and didn't move. A girl of about fourteen sat on the edge of his bed, reading to him. Evy assumed the girl, a striking mix of dark-skinned ethnicities, was a hospital volunteer-until she looked up and, seeing Evy, turned to Justin and said, "Dad?"

Evy inched closer to the bedside, but there was no way he'd know her, with the bandages and the pain medication.

"Justin..." she began.

"Evy," he said.

"Oh!" said the girl, lighting up with recognition. "He's been talking about you. I wasn't sure if he was dreaming. But you're real."

Evy tried to put her questions in some kind of order. Whatever Justin couldn't answer, Chloe-that was the girl's name-seemed more than able to.

Jake? Visiting Chloe's grandparents, along with Chloe, at the time of the accident.

Chloe? That question seemed to have answered itself; Chloe was the daughter who wasn't really exactly his daughter, but that would get sorted out later.

The other driver? He'd get a community service sentence. He was just a kid; he was remorseful and cooperative. Justin felt no anger.

His prognosis? Well, she wasn't going to ask. Everything that had happened to him, people routinely recovered from.

Evy kept looking for telltale signs that she was intruding, but Justin and Chloe seemed to want her there-never mind that it was her fault he was lying in a hospital bed in the first place. She sat down, and as they chatted, Justin became more coherent.

"Did you like my ad?" Chloe asked. "It was really my idea. I was going to put 'Handsome Nice Man,' but-"

Justin interrupted. "But what kind of man calls himself handsome? And what woman would go for that?"

Chloe giggled, and Evy laughed, but Justin didn't. "Handsome," he said. "That's kind of humorous, isn't it?"

"You'll heal," Evy said.

Saturday at ten o'clock, it was a week since the date that didn't happen. Life had taken yet another turn in that short week-this one mysteriously promising, like when you take a wrong turn and discover a better way.

Sunday afternoon, she called the kids. Davin was his usual busy disinterested self. Juliana was even unhappier than usual.

"Mom, I hate this. I'll have Thanksgiving with Dad and the girlfriend and those bratty kids. At least Davin will be there. But I can hardly wait to come home for Christmas."

After the phone calls, Evy started looking at plane reservations online-even though she usually took Sundays off from the computer.

Then she went to the hospital, as she had every day, before, between, or after her pet grooming appointments. Chloe was perched on Justin's bedside, reading, as usual. She was home-schooled, it turned out, by her grandmother-Justin's mom. It was still a mystery just exactly how Chloe was related to Justin. Chloe's angelic face belied a wisdom far beyond her years. Juliana would like her.

Justin was as upbeat as he could be under the circumstances. Yet his frequent mention of Jake, and missing him, and his concern for the dog, who had no idea what had happened, inspired Evy to do something useful. Another week went by. Juliana sounded even unhappier, and the only thing that made her unhappiness bearable was the thought of having her home at Christmas.

"When I come home for Christmas," Juliana said, "I'm not coming back. I don't care about any Ivy League school. And I'm not telling Dad."

Evy bought a one-way ticket, willing to take whatever revenge her ex dished out. Justin sat in a wheelchair, his bed neatly made. Evy broke into a grin the moment she saw him: the bandaging on his face had been reduced to a few patches, the swelling greatly reduced, his gray eyes really meeting hers for the first time.

She sat on the bed next to Chloe, quizzing them about their favorite Thanksgiving dishes and making out a grocery list. Whatever could be turned into a portable Thanksgiving feast, she'd prepare it and bring it.

"My grandparents will bring stuff too," Chloe said brightly. "This'll be the best Thanksgiving ever. You know why?" Evy waited for her to explain. "'Cause you always appreciate things more after you almost lose them. I have the best dad in the world. He hasn't always been my dad, you know. I almost forgot...." Her voice trailed off, and she looked solemn for a moment-probably remembering a past that was a lot less pleasant than the present. Then she smiled. Then she hugged Evy. "It's all because of you."

Evy hugged her back, squeezing back tears.

"You could hug me, too, Evy," Justin said. "If it hurts, I'll just consider it physical therapy." She put her arms around him, though he could not properly hug back; gently at first, then tightening her embrace as he melted into it.

"Thank you." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"You should do that more often," Chloe said.

Evy sighed, energized. "Christmas will be even better. My kids will be here. It'll be like a big family get-together."

Justin wheeled his chair around, facing away from her; Evy felt a chill. "Evy," he said, turning his chair back toward her. "I appreciate that you came here, when you didn't have to. That meant a lot to me. The fact that you keep coming back isn't lost on me, and I get it that you're not concerned what I'm going to look like when my face heals.

"But realistically...I'm leaving this place in a wheelchair, you know."

She knew he was reading her thoughts-thoughts that neatly tied their futures together, without regard to any harsh realities or troubling unknowns. "This is a hospital," she said evenly. "Everyone leaves in a wheelchair."

For a fleeting moment, he looked at her as though she must be the most naïve person on the planet. As she met his gaze, his expression softened. Then he laughed. Then he nodded, then laughed some more. "Yeah," he said. "Everyone does indeed leave a hospital in a wheelchair."

Evy and Chloe exchanged smug looks.

"Dad," said Chloe, "Evy is right. This really is going to be the best Christmas ever. And New Year's-and everything after that. And all of us are going to be better than we've ever been before."

An orderly appeared at the door. "Mr. Benedict," the man said tentatively, "if your family would like to accompany you down to the courtyard, your parents are here to see you."

Justin, Chloe, and Evy all exchanged puzzled looks. But while Justin's was genuine, Evy's and Chloe's were feigned: they knew what it was about, for they had arranged it. "Why don't they come up?" Justin asked.

"Well," the orderly said, leaning in conspiratorially, "they have a big dog who won't make it past the nurses' station." "Jake!" Justin said, his voice breaking. He looked at Evy and Chloe, who were starting to tear up too, seeing the happiness they'd helped create. "Girls," he said, "let's go see my dog."

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