All About Evie (ARC) Read online

  I tried to breathe through that tingling, happy thought. I wasn’t glad that my dear Virginia Alpaca was sick, but I was suddenly all a-jittery at the thought of going to see Marco, my handsome vet, who moved here almost a year ago. I called and made an appointment, then called the bookstore and told one of my employees, Tiala, that I would be late.

  “You know Maeve is coming in, right, Evie?”

  “Shoot. I forgot. I’ll come by.” Maeve is the bookkeeper and accountant. I had all the paperwork here at home. I had worked on it last night, then promised myself a mystery book. I ate a slice of raspberry pie while I tried to figure out who did it. I was wrong!

  I pulled on clean jeans, lacy white lingerie, and a flowing white cotton shirt with a slightly too-low V and embroidered red roses on the front. I brushed out the tangles in my hair and pulled on gold hoop earrings and red, gold, and yellow bracelets that Jules bought me when she went to Mexico. I slipped my

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  feet into red flip-flops, put on some of Aunt Camellia’s pink rose lotion called Let Me Love You, and was ready.

  I grabbed the paperwork, then tried not to smile and giggle like a fool at the thought of seeing Marco.

  It is fortunate that Virginia Alpaca likes to ride in my truck. I put a rope around her neck and asked her to stand up. She refused at first because she is not feeling well, so I had to go and get a treat. That did it. She stood up. Behind us Alpaca Joe spit and followed us out. I shut the gate on him so he couldn’t come, and he bucked and spit more and made grumpy alpaca sounds.

  He gets anxiety when Virginia Alpaca is gone.

  Virginia Alpaca did not look back at all. Sometimes I wonder if Alpaca Joe is a little too possessive and she enjoys her freedom. She climbed in the truck. She’s not that big, only 115

  pounds, and I pushed the seat way back so it worked. In my back window I could see Sundance in my driveway, already eagerly waiting for me to come home, that sweet dog. I waved, and he barked back, tottering a bit on his three legs.

  I drove my truck past Rose Bloom Cottage, noting the red and pink and white roses getting ready to bloom all over the trellises and patios.

  I turned down the quiet roads, with all the windows down, passing farms, hills, valleys, and deer in a meadow. The water of the bay shimmered. Virginia Alpaca had her head out the window, like a dog. I parked across the street from my bookstore and said to Virginia Alpaca, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I darted across the street and headed in. I handed Tiala a folder full of invoices, papers, receipts, etc., for Maeve; grabbed a coffee; and waved to two employees, Ricki and Brenz, then headed back out . . . and ran straight into Virginia Alpaca outside my bookstore door. A group of people were taking photos of her.

  “What the heck, Virginia Alpaca?” I asked. “How did you get out? I thought you were too sick to move.”

  I swear she smiled at me. “Come on, now, you hairy Houdini.” She still had the rope around her neck, and I pulled her toward the street. We had to walk slow because she’s sick.

  Needless to say, cars on both sides stopped pretty quick when I

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  went to cross at the crosswalk. I waved to people on their cell phones.

  “Can I pet that weird horse?” a little boy asked, holding the hand of a little girl I assumed was his sister, near my truck. His sister was wearing a shirt depicting a gray cat with a long red tongue and a green tutu. He was wearing a Superman shirt.

  “You mean this naughty alpaca right here who escaped from my truck?”

  “Yes!” He grinned. “Yes. Is he a bad Al Paca?”

  “She is a bad alpaca.”

  He giggled. His little sister meowed like a cat, then they both petted and hugged Virginia Alpaca. Not all alpaca are nice.

  They can be bad-tempered. But not Virginia.

  Other kids ran up to pet her, and I discovered how she wriggled out of the car: Virginia Alpaca had somehow, inexplicably, opened the door handle with a hoof. She had watched me walk into the bookstore and had come to find me. She is an adven-turesome soul, and she doesn’t like to be alone.

  We drove off, Virginia Alpaca’s head sticking out the window, people waving and laughing as we drove through town toward my handsome vet.

  When I arrived at Marco’s vet clinic, there were a number of people with their pets in the waiting room, including a sheep, two dogs, and an iguana, which was lovingly held by a little girl named Bella Mae, who was crying. Bella Mae was wearing a purple shirt with a green iguana on it that said IGUANA LOVER.

  “Miss Evie, can you tell me if Mr. Pitto is going to die?”

  “No,” I told her, knowing this kid and knowing what she was really asking. “I can’t tell you that. I’m not a vet.”

  “I know that. But you can see the future with your magic crystals.” She sniffed, sobbed.

  And there it was. “No, I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” She stopped crying, and her face scrunched in frustration. She stomped her foot. “Everyone knows it, Miss Evie. Everybody on this whole island knows you’re magic. So tell me: Is Mr. Pitto going to be okay?”

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  The day I start getting premonitions about animals’ health and demise is the day I take a sailboat out to the middle of the ocean and sink it while singing, “I’m a crazy fool.” I took a guess. “Yes. He’s going to be fine.”

  “He is?” Her face lit up.

  “Yes.”

  Her mother looked at me, relieved. I’ve known her mother, Jolla, since I was thirteen.

  “See? Now can we go home, Bella Mae?” Jolla said. “Mr.

  Pitto is an iguana. I’ve told you it’s normal for him not to move much.”

  “No. I’m going to talk to Dr. Marco about Mr. Pitto because he’s being too quiet.” Bella Mae stomped her foot again and glared at her mother. Then she stuck out the iguana with both hands so he could glare at her mother, too. I thought Mr. Pitto did a fine job of glaring.

  “She’s exactly like you,” I said to Jolla.

  “She’s rebellious and difficult,” Jolla said. She seemed frazzled.

  “No, I’m not!” Bella Mae stomped her foot again.

  “Hi, Evie,” Gerald Stokes said, standing up and walking over to me. Gerald is about thirty-eight. He wants to date me. I am not interested, but he is a good man. Kind. Glasses. Independently wealthy because of some tech company. A startup or something. I don’t know.

  “Hi, Gerald. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. The boys aren’t. They ate something they shouldn’t have. Bruno likes to eat my socks even though it makes him sick, and his brother likes to gnaw on shoes. They’re not bright.”

  “They don’t look too happy.” The dogs were unnaturally quiet.

  “That’s what eating shoes does to you, I suppose. And socks. Not healthy.”

  “No.” His face was drawn. He loves those dogs.

  “Marco can fix them.”

  “I know. Say, any chance you’d like to go to dinner?”

  “No, but thank you.”

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  “My mom would,” Bella Mae said, swinging around with Mr. Pitto held right in front of her. Poor Mr. Pitto.

  “Bella Mae, shhh!” Jolla said, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why do you say shhh, Mommy?” Bella Mae said, irritated, swinging Mr. Pitto back again to glare at her mother. “I don’t like when you do shhh. I don’t like shhh. I’m only telling Mr.

  Gerald you would go to dinner.” She whipped back around to Gerald. Mr. Pitto glared again. Or maybe he was simply getting motion sickness. “She eats pizza. I mean, she can eat a whole pizza all by herself. So if you go to O’Dante’s for pizza, I’m letting you know. You need to buy one for her and one for yourself. You have to feed her a lot and—”

  “Bella Mae!” Jolla snapped, standing up and putting her hand on Bella Mae’s shoulder. “Stop it. I do not eat whole pizzas by myself, and you don’t need to tell anyone that.”r />
  “Yes, you do.” And there went Mr. Pitto again, but this time he went up, up in the air above Bella Mae’s head to make her point. The iguana was now inches away from being a hat. His little feet tried to walk. Or run.

  “I’m sorry,” Jolla said to Gerald. “I’m working with her on her manners, but she is poorly behaved.”

  I know Jolla, and she didn’t mean it like it sounded.

  “I am not behaved poorly.” Bella Mae leaned forward and glared once again at her mother, Mr. Pitto swinging in the air over her head. “I am good behaved.”

  She was going to be a hellion. Exactly like her mother when we were running around in high school doing crazy stuff.

  “Bella Mae,” her mother said, so stern.

  “All I am saying, Mommy,” Bella Mae huffed, “is that Gerald asked Miss Evie out and she said no and you would say yes.

  Why does that make me behaving poor?” She turned to Gerald.

  “She thinks you’re handsome.”

  “Oh, my God,” Jolla said. “Please. Bella Mae, stop.”

  “My mom is behaved poorly sometimes.” Bella Mae now held Mr. Pitto with one arm as if he were a baby, his stomach in the air. He seemed stunned. This was so undignified for him!

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  “But most of the time: Nice. Want to hold my iguana? Miss Evie says he’s going to be fine. She can see the future.”

  “No, I can’t,” I said, but it was weak.

  “Yes, you can!” Bella Mae insisted, cross again and turning on me in frustration, Mr. Pitto almost flying right out of her arms.

  “Do you want to go to dinner with my mom and feed her up with a whole pizza?” She turned back to Gerald, who seemed confused, but not as confused as Mr. Pitto.

  “That’s it.” Jolla, blushing, grabbed Bella Mae holding the embarrassed iguana and dragged her out of the waiting room.

  “You should think about asking Jolla to dinner,” I told him.

  “You’ll never go out with me?” Gerald smiled. He was cute, but not for me, and I knew he was asking a serious question that needed an honest answer.

  “No.”

  “I like your honesty.”

  “I don’t always like it, but I can’t do the whole fake-talk thingie. It makes me feel nauseated, so there it is.”

  “Okay.” Gerald thought about things, his gaze shifting to the window where Jolla was dragging Bella Mae out while Bella Mae held poor Mr. Pitto in the air. This was not a pleasant day for Mr. Pitto at all. If he wasn’t sick walking in, he would be sick by the time he arrived home.

  “Evie?” Gayle, Marco’s assistant, said. “You ready? Marco said to bring Virginia Alpaca out back.”

  “Yes. See ya, Gerald.”

  “You broke my heart.” He clasped a hand to his heart and feigned dying.

  “You’ll live, buddy. Go guzzle a beer and watch football or another mind-numbing sport like other men do, and you’ll be all better by halftime.”

  I headed outside to be with Virginia Alpaca, where I’d put her in one of the stalls, behind the clinic, while I waited for Marco.

  I tried not to get nervous. I am a tough bird on the outside but not so tough on the inside, hence: breakdowns. Three of

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  them in the past, to be precise. When I’m going to see Marco the result is: jitteriness and gangs of butterflies in my stomach all fluttering around.

  I decided to distract myself. I pulled a chocolate bar out of my purse. I would eat only one today. For courage and nutrition. If I had part of a second one after dinner, it would not count as two, because part of a chocolate bar doesn’t count.

  Marco’s property is stunning. He has five acres, and the houses on either side of him are on the farthest ends of their property, so he can’t see any neighbors.

  He has a view of the ocean, and a dock, where he has his boat. I looked away from the boat as an overwhelming, regret-ful sadness drifted over me.

  Towering fir trees rim the property, but where his home and clinic are, the sun shines right on down. He also has a stable and a red barn, and his meadow is used for animal rehabilitation.

  His home is within a short walk to the clinic. I have never been in it. It’s a light gray with black trim and about twenty-five years old, but I know that he and one of the only two contractors in town worked nonstop to gut the kitchen and put in new wood floors and take down a couple of walls. I’ve heard it’s modern and filled with light and windows.

  I have always wondered what it looks like inside but have not allowed myself to go spy. I’ve been tempted to spy. I would dress in all black if I could still squeeze into my black jeans, get night vision goggles, grab Jules, climb on the deck, and peer in. I have not yet lowered myself to that pathetic level, but it’s tempting. I would like to see him in his natural nude state.

  I saw Marco with another horse and his owner in the distance. He was checking the horse’s back, his hands gentle but firm. I did not think of his gentle and firm hands on my back, as that would have made the gang of butterflies in my stomach flutter all the harder. I did not think of his gentle and firm hands on my front, either, undoing my lacy white bra, as that would have made me all skittery with passion. I did not think of his gentle and firm hands pulling me into his naked tall body because that could not happen.

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  My heart ached. He smiled, and my heart ached again. He was smart, deep, insightful, and easy to talk to. Plus, sexy.

  I took a huge bite of my chocolate bar. I was here to get Virginia Alpaca fixed. That’s it.

  I could not fall in love with Marco. And even if I was in love with him already, I had to can it. Stomp it down. Get rid of it.

  My premonition about that was quite clear.

  I started eating the second chocolate bar in my purse. I would stop halfway through so the calories would not count.

  “Hi, Marco.”

  “Hello, Evie. How are you?”

  “Really fine. Very fine. Uh. Oh. Fine.” His smile had me melting. Maybe that was both chocolate bars melting in my stomach, but still. It was a delicious feeling. “Virginia Alpaca is sick.” And I’m a little bit glad of it so I can visit you. Does that make me a horrible animal mother? It does. It so does. I love you, Virginia Alpaca!

  “Let’s take a look at her.”

  We went into the clinic’s room for large animals. I watched him examining Virginia Alpaca. He was kind and soothing when she became nervous and started moving her feet, swinging her head. He handled her carefully. He palpitated her stomach, checked her respiration and heart rate, asked me a lot of questions about her eating, etc. “I think she has a mild case of colic.”

  “It’s not too bad, then?”

  “No.”

  I sagged with relief. I love Virginia Alpaca. She’s a fighter.

  She’s shy and she’s bold. She comes up to me every morning to say hello. She’s definitely the boss between her and Alpaca Joe. I am sure she is a feminist.

  “Thank you, Marco.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll take a blood sample to be sure, and I’ll hook her up to an IV and get her hydrated.” He did both while I watched him. He was so competent, so soothing. When he was done, he pulled off his gloves, washed his hands, smiled at me.

  “So how have you been?”

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  “Good. Working at the bookstore. Taking care of the animals. Making sure my aunts and my mother stay out of trouble.

  Reading books. The usual.”

  He smiled at me, but I saw what was behind his eyes. “I don’t think anything about your life is usual.”

  “It is. All usual.” Except for the premonitions. I was positive he knew about my premonitions. It was a small island. People talk. My guess is that he thought I was absolutely bonkers or delusional, or he respected my privacy and didn’t want to con-firm that I am bonkers or delusional.

  “I heard your mother and aunts brought the house down the other night at Bennie’s bar.
”

  Oh groan. I pet Virginia Alpaca to soothe her, although she seemed calm. I think she has a crush on Marco, too. “You heard about that?” I’d heard what was happening and headed down to drive them home as I knew they would need a sober driver.

  Everyone in the bar was singing along, swinging beer mugs back and forth through the air.

  “Small island.”

  “They had too much scotch. It’s their sinful drink. My mother says it catches up to her when she’s not looking. Plus, those three have scotch contests and throw them back like drunken sailors.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know why they do that. They’ve been doing it since I was a kid, but you would think in their seventies some of this would have slowed down.”

  “I thought it was hilarious. Heard they got up on the tables and danced to ‘Greased Lightning.’ ”

  “It’s their go-to dance together. They’ve choreographed it. It’s better, if I’m honest, than if those three dance individually.”

  “Why?”

  “They like to wriggle around a lot. They’ve got that whole hip-swinging thing down.” My aunt Iris, tough as she is, could swing those hips like a twenty-five-year-old stripper. I’ve heard she still turns on men forty years younger. “It’s a bit lewd. Suggestive.”

  He laughed. “They keep things exciting around here.”

  “You could put it that way.”

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  “I heard you got up on the bar and danced and sang, too.”

  “I had to,” I said primly. “Family loyalty. And they told me they wouldn’t come home unless I sang with them. It was bribery, clearly.”

  He laughed.

  Not only do my mother and aunts sometimes drink too much scotch and dance at one of our two bars, my mother and aunts invent impromptu parades. One parade was “Bring Your Pet.”

  They didn’t get a permit, “officially,” but the mayor is a longtime friend of theirs and scurried around, found a permit, and stamped it an hour beforehand, then he went home to get his pig, Pinkie. Mayor Than loves Pinkie and refuses to eat her. The streets were closed off downtown for horses, dogs, alpacas, goats, sheep, and cats in cat strollers, many in ribbons and hats and other animal costumes.