For the most part, Evan liked to stray away from the topic of Olivia. Eloise was a relative stranger. He barely even spoke of Olivia with George and Danny. George looked up to Olivia more than she even had with Stephanie, and Danny had always told Evan that she was part of the family, so speaking of her, even breathing her name, would dredge up way more painful memories than any of them should have to deal with.
Or maybe he was a coward. Either or.
Retrospectively, freezing up was among the worst things he could have done. He knew that now. Breathing a slow, deep breath through his nose, he turned to look at Eloise when she spoke. She was smiling. She had… no clue. "She was," he said softly, his tone soft and his expression dark. She was… the most beautiful woman I've ever known.
He figured that his reaction to her reaction, the desolation so unmistakable that he could feel it on his face, warranted some kind of explanation.
So, sucking in a breath and hoping that with the air came a little bit of courage, Evan's eyes fell closed as he started to speak. "She was my wife. She's gone now." He should have explained more. He probably should have, at that. But he figured, Eloise was a smart person; she could piece two and two together. "For three years…" he finished.
He slid the page from beneath her fingers, not wanting to look at the penciled embodiment of the only woman he'd ever loved anymore. Not for now, anyway. So he flipped to a blank page.
Forcing back the emotion that had bubbled up, he reached beside him and gathered his box of colored charcoal pencils, handing them to Eloise. "Here," he said, voice still soft and filled with emotion. "Draw how you feel."