The Stories We Tell by Patti Callahan Henry Page A

‘They’ll forget about it by tomorrow,’ I told her. ‘And if they tease you again, you tell them that they’re a dingle.’ Then—just like my mother would have said—I said, ‘This too will pass.’ And Willa’s perfect answer was, ‘Now that’s a dingle.’ And the name was reborn.”
    â€œOkay, you’re right,” Max says. “Those platitudes are dingles. It’s just what you say when you don’t know what to say.”
    â€œExactly. So I guess sometimes nothing is better than dingles.”
    â€œTrue.” Max touched my hand, and quietly we all returned to our work.
    Halfway through the hour, Francie asks, “Did you ever think about making Number Four A ‘Search for the Truth’ instead of ‘Search for the True’?”
    I shake my head. “Nope. We wanted it to be for everything that is true, not just one truth.”
    â€œHow apropos,” Max says.
    â€œYou and your highfalutin Latin words.” Francie grins at him.
    â€œActually, I think it’s French,” he says.
    â€œMaybe if you spent less time with your printing presses and books, and more time out chasing girls, you’d talk normal.” Francie ducks as he pretends to throw a pencil at her.
    â€œYou can use the word in one of your songs and then you can thank me later.”
    Across the room, Francie’s cell rings with the sound of cowbells. “Be right back.”
    Max stands. “I need to pick up a quoin key from Cameron. I’ll be back in a few.”
    â€œI’m headed to the hospital,” I tell him. “I’ll stop on my way and get it for you.”
    â€œReally? That’d be great.”
    I walk back to my work space and Max follows me, points to an invitation tacked to my bulletin board. “Don’t forget about the party this weekend.”
    I groan and drop my hand on top of my head. “Shit, I totally forgot.”
    I take the invitation from the board and read it again.
    Eve and Cooper Morrison
    & Mayor Stanton
    Invite You to Celebrate
    Savannah’s Philanthropist of the Year
    Averitt Cooper Morrison IV
    Benefiting
    HOME RUN
    Music, Small Bites and Libations
    This is followed by the date and time.
    Max takes it from me. “‘Small bites and libations.’” He doesn’t even try to hide his laughter.
    â€œShush,” I say. “I know this is not your kind of party.”
    â€œYou should probably cancel, Eve. You can’t have a hundred people at your house in a couple days.”
    â€œI can’t cancel,” I say. “It’s too late. The quartet. The caterer. God, what a mess.”
    â€œThe quartet. I could definitely jam with them. Maybe Francie could join them.”
    I scrunch up my nose and shoot him a sideways glance.
    â€œSorry,” he says. “I couldn’t resist. Seriously, though—can I do anything?”
    â€œCome to it?” I ask.
    He shakes his head. “Anything else?”
    I grab the invite from him. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ve got to make some calls and then…” My voice trails off and I drop the paper on my desk.
    â€œI’m sorry, Eve.”
    â€œIt’s just life,” I say. “It gets so tospy-turvy, so wiggly and squiggly and…”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œThat’s what Gwen says when I say ‘I love you.’”
    He gives me a smile, but I can feel its sadness under my ribs like a heavy weight.
    â€œDon’t look at me that way,” I say.
    â€œWhat way?”
    â€œLike you feel sorry for me.”
    â€œEve…” He touches my cheek but quickly pulls his hand away. “I never feel sorry for you. I just wish there was something I could do for you.”
    I turn away because I feel the need to bury my head in his shoulder, to wrap myself around this man and let him hold me until everything is gone—all the problems, all the pain, all