Just a Little Honesty (7 page)

“Yeah,” I said, silently agreeing that Luke had probably been one of the better looking babies I’d seen in my time. Of course, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. It was hard to imagine that anyone with a face like his could’ve ever been hard to look at—even as an infant.

Luke turned the page to reveal another handful of old photographs. Most of them, as I should’ve guessed, were of his mother. Every now and then a picture would slip by that didn’t feature her front and center, but it was a rarity.

“Who’s this?” I asked after we’d gone through the first five pages. There was a picture in the upper left corner of the page that showed an older woman—probably nearing her sixties—as she sat in a swing on the front porch of a log cabin.

“My gran,” he said, and now his smile was wider than it’d been in days.

I studied the picture a little closer and then looked back to Luke. “Is this…” I pointed at the cabin in the picture. “Is this the same place?”

“One and the same. It’s where my mom grew up,” he said, throwing a glance around the cabin. “It’s nothing special, but it worked for the two of them. After Mom moved to Oakland, met Dad, and started a family, Gran considered selling the cabin and moving down south. But Mom wouldn’t let her. It was their home, you know? So, to keep Gran from getting restless and selling the place, Mom brought me up every summer to stay. It gave Gran something to look forward to, and Mom loved coming back just as much. But after Mom passed,” he said, and his chest rose with a heavy breath. “Gran just had a hard time being alone. There were just… too many memories, I guess.”

I studied the woman’s brown-eyed stare in the photograph before I turned back to Luke. “What happened to her?”

He almost half-laughed, but he was able to retrain it. “Florida happened to her,” he said. “She spends half of her years down south in the company of her friends, and then she comes back every summer; and she’s never alone. I try to spend as much time with her as I can afford to.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, running a finger over his grandmother’s picture.

“That’s… really cool,” I said, looking around the cabin, and suddenly it became a little easier to understand why Luke looked at the place the way he did.

He turned the next page as if he was satisfied with where we’d left the conversation. The following page was littered with pictures of him from infancy to childhood. In another photo—around the time he was probably three—Luke sat wide-eyed and grinning on his mother’s lap. She sat in a rocking chair—the very rocking chair Luke had monopolized since our arrival—and held him against her chest.

“This is my favorite,” he said, and he traced his mother’s face with a finger. “Mother’s Day.”

And as he ran his finger across the picture, it stopped short just at his mother’s neckline, right where his head rested gently against her skin. I didn’t know if his stop was intention or if it’d only been an impulse. Either way, both of our eyes studied the picture a little closer, and my heart suddenly felt heavy.

“Luke,” I said, almost breathlessly, and I never took my eyes off of the photograph. In fact, I leaned closer to make sure I was seeing it correctly. “Is that my—”

“Yes,” he said, and before he could turn to the next page, my hand found his and stopped it.

“But I thought—”

“You thought wrong.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t see how it was important,” he said, trying to turn the page yet again. And though he tried to act as though he didn’t think it was important, everything in his eyes told me otherwise. It was a big deal; it was a
very
big deal. He just didn’t want to be vulnerable enough to admit it.

He hadn’t just made a sweet gesture the night he’d come to my house, made me dinner, and presented me with a late Christmas gift. The night I opened that box—the night he closed the clasp on that necklace around my neck—he’d said a whole lot more than I’d ever really known.

He hadn’t gone out and spent hours looking for the perfect present; he hadn’t been trying to compete with Derek at all. His gift hadn’t cost him a dime, but it had still cost him a lot courage and trust.

He’d trusted me enough to give me his mother’s necklace… and it never came with a list of conditions. He’d never once preached at me the importance of keeping it safe, clean, or properly stored. He’d never given me any indication that his gift had any kind of sentimental value; he’d never even asked for it back after we broke up.

“You… you gave me your mother’s necklace?” I asked, still holding his hand. And in that moment, he must’ve just only realized I still had a firm grasp on his fingers. He looked down and watched as our hands held each other’s, and his face didn’t show the slightest change in expression. “Why?”

“I wanted you to have it,” he said, but he still hadn’t met my stare. “
She
would’ve wanted you to have it.”

“She would’ve hated me,” I said, trying not to smirk.

I couldn’t imagine a mother liking any girl who was a distraction to her son, and—in earlier months—that’s exactly what I’d been. My presence at the station during the job-shadowing program, the early morning runs, the shooting that landed him in the hospital, and everything that had happened since… all major distractions.

“No,” he said, now squeezing my hand beneath his. “She uh….” He shook his head and repressed a laugh. “She always had this crazy notion that I was stubborn.”

“
No
,” I said, and I made sure not to skimp on the over-exaggerated eye roll.

“And if I knew my mother,” he said, trying not to smile at my sarcasm. “I know she probably would’ve tried teaming up with you to ‘fix’ me.” He smiled, but it quickly faded. “She wouldn’t have hated you at all, Julie. You guys….” He sighed and shook his head, seemingly swept away by the memory of his mother. “You would’ve been great friends.”

I smiled too, and Luke finally turned to meet my gaze.

“She would’ve loved you because you’re as no-nonsense as she was.”

I managed a smile and nodded, but I didn’t say anything else. After a few silent minutes passed and neither of us exchanged another word, I started to pull my hand back, but Luke held it tighter.

“Julie,” he said, and I suddenly sensed his face turning into mine. He inched a little closer and dropped his head. “I’m sorry things have gotten this screwed up.”

“Life happens, Luke,” I said, feeling nervousness creep slowly into my throat.

“You know I could make you happy, Julie,” he said, brushing a hair from my eyes. “I could give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

I nodded, but I didn’t let a single muscle on my face move.

I never doubted what Luke could give me. He probably
could
make me happy, but history hadn’t been his best friend. He’d never once proved that he cared about my happiness. He’d lied to me, kept things from me, and acted as though I didn’t have a trustworthy bone in my body. He hadn’t respected me…he hadn’t even tried. What he presented in those few words made me question everything. It was an intriguing offer, it truly was. But I had to be smart enough to consider the fact that Luke could talk a good game, but it was in his carry-through that he always fell short.

I let a few quite minutes pass before I opened my mouth to respond—still unsure of what I was going to say—but I couldn’t find my voice.

“I know you’re sorry,” I finally said, but it took every ounce of courage I had to say that much.
I knew he was sorry
; I didn’t want to dismiss his regret so easily. I had no doubt that Luke felt terrible for all the pain he’d caused me in the last few months, but I didn’t know where to go from there. I’d become so numb to his apologies that I’d almost given up hope that any ‘sorry’ would ever suffice. But it actually meant something that time, and I couldn’t quite figure out why.  

After another silent minute, I dropped my head and shrugged. “I want to believe things could change for us, Luke. But I don’t know that they ever will.” I took a deep breath and bit back a wall of tears. “I fought too hard for you when you weren’t ready, and that was my mistake. But now that you’re ready, and now that
you’re
in the fight… I’ve lost hope.”

Luke didn’t say anything; his expression didn’t indicate that he’d registered anything I’d said. So, to avoid any more hurt or humiliation, I pulled myself off the couch and walked toward the bathroom.  As much as I wanted to turn back and steal one last glance of his face before he shut down (as he inevitably would), I couldn’t muster the courage to look over my shoulder.

I didn’t want to see the sadness in his eyes; I didn’t want to give in. I didn’t trust myself enough to stay strong, and something about Luke had always made me falter. I had to keep walking…. 

I retreated to the bathroom and shut the door behind me, taking a deep breath once I had the extra barrier. Turning to the sink, I cupped my hands beneath a cold stream of water and splashed it onto my face. It did enough to wash away the few tears that had fallen, but it did nothing to bring me to my senses.

If I wanted to get beyond this night—if only for a few hours or a long night of sleep—I’d have to wash the whole day away. So, quickly stripping my clothes to the floor—and thankful that I’d left my suitcase in the bathroom after my morning shower—I turned to the shower and stepped into the tub.

But no sooner than I closed the curtain and the hot water began beating down on my skin, the bathroom door creaked open.

A few faint footsteps echoed in the room, and I knew that Luke had only waited to come in so I’d have no choice but to hear him out.

“Luke,” I said, letting out a slow breath. “You have to learn boundaries.”

“Jules,” he said, and his voice was so low that I could barely hear him over the running water. “You told me once that you weren’t going to stop pursuing me until I told you to. And then I screwed up, and I don’t know how else to say I’m sorry.”

Other than the sound of the running water as it pulsed against my skin, the room fell silent for a few long minutes.

“You may’ve lost hope, Julie,” Luke said, and his voice was louder and full of confidence. “And that’s all on my shoulders. I’ll gladly take responsibility for every ounce of doubt you feel. But we have to be stronger than this. Give me a chance to make this right; let me prove myself to you.
I’m not going to stop until I’ve tried everything.
Until you tell me that you’re out, until you can look me in the eye and tell me that there’s no future for us, I
won’t
give up on you. I love you, kid. I have a shitty was of showing it, but I’m trying.”

He paused, and I took that pause to mean it was my turn to talk. But again, like earlier in the evening, my voice failed me.

“You can tell me to stop,” Luke said, no longer waiting for a response. “And I’ll walk away. But until I hear those words…I’m holding on.
I
won’t lose hope.”

CHAPTER SIX

Sunday, April 07 | 11:58 p.m.

I never responded.

I never gave him the answer or the clarification he was looking for. I simply waited for him to walk away—which he eventually did—and I carried on with my shower… and being alone with my thoughts had turned out to be an incredibly dangerous thing.

I had to pass through the living room to get to the stairs, and I was fearful that Luke would only hound me for some kind of reaction. But I somehow got lucky when I slipped by without as much as a glance. He never looked up, and I never looked over.

I couldn’t manage to get myself up the stairs and tucked into bed without thought of what had unfolded in the few hours leading up to the night. It had all started so normally that morning—him hating me, me hating him—and then the day ended in a situation that felt like nothing but insurmountable.

I closed my eyes a thousand times, but no matter how tight I held them, they always snapped back open. I should’ve known better than to think that my second night in the cabin would go as smoothly as the first. I tossed and turned for hours without any hope of ever falling asleep.

There was too much weighing on my mind.

On top of everything that had happened with Luke, I couldn’t quit thinking of everyone I’d left back in Oakland.

I kept wondering why we hadn’t heard more from Charlie. Surely they’d caught up to Milton by now. It didn’t seem possible that he could’ve stayed on the run—or in hiding—this long. I could only assume that, given the circumstances, he had to have someone on the outside helping him hide from the police.

And every time I let the thought cross my mind, I couldn’t help but hear Luke’s voice.

If I can’t make you see what kind of man Derek Milton really is, then I guess you’ll just have to wait and see it for yourself. I just hope that—when that time comes—you’ll be alive to realize that you were wrong.

It couldn’t be; I’d never doubted Derek before, and I didn’t
want
to start doubting him. But there was always a possibility that he’d only gotten close to me to help carry out his father’s plan. All I could do was hope that my irrational thinking was nothing more than Luke’s foolish words going to my head.

I rolled out of bed sometime after midnight. I walked quietly across the second floor and stopped short at the balcony railing. I looked down on the living room and watched as Luke sat—wide awake and alert as always—staring at the same old book of photos.

I turned and walked toward the stairs, taking each one as quietly as possible. Luke looked up and watched as I stepped onto the first floor landing and his brow furrowed.

“Everything okay?”

“Can’t sleep.”

He nodded and shut the book as I came closer. He’d already pulled the sofa bed out, so I took a seat on the corner of the springy mattress and watched him closely. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

His lips twitched at my question, but he nodded. “Sure.”

“Will you… will you put your personal feelings about Derek aside for a minute and tell me something?”

“I can try,” he said, scooting forward in his chair. “What do you want to know?”