Sweet Nothing (16 page)

I ignore the pain in my body to focus on the debris cluttering my mind. Weighing on my heart. If only I could talk to Aria. We’d sit on her bed, cross-legged in the sea of stuffed animals she refuses to give away. And she’d ask all the right questions. And she wouldn’t judge me for not telling Luke about our family, when he’s told me everything about his.

All of this is impossible, I know. She would hate me if she knew I’ve been hiding my past. She’d never understand that I’ve done it to protect myself.

A memory overcomes me; burrows its way to the front of my consciousness before I can stop it.

—
We can protect you,
said one of the agents at the door. It was raining. I was alone. They’d been watching the house for days. They knew I was alone.

—
I don’t need your fucking protection. He’s my father.
I throw my weight behind the heavy wooden door and start to heave it shut. A strong palm smacks the wood, stopping me in my tracks.

—
You know how many lives he’s wrecked, Ms. Halloran?

—
No, I don’t. It’s his work. It doesn’t involve me.
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the 
truth. I didn’t know the specifics, didn’t know just how far his crimes reached. But to say that his affairs didn’t involve me was so incredibly wrong. Of course they did. They always had.

—
We just want to talk to you. That’s all.

—
No, you don’t. You want me to give you something you can use against him.

—
If you had enough for a warrant, you’d be inside already.
I couldn’t believe how calm I sounded. How afraid I felt of the rage beneath my cool exterior. I hated that my father had put me in this position. That he was forcing me to choose between what was right, and family. I hated that my mother was going about business as usual, when she must have known. My father had told me just a few days earlier that he’d been relieved to see it all end. So why couldn’t he end it himself?

—
It’s just a few questions. And a chance to do the right thing.

—
You can’t be here when he gets home.
I scanned the street. No sign of my 
mother, my father, or Aria. I turned from the doorway and the agents followed me inside.

A mile from home I double over, gasping for air. My chest is so tight, I can hardly breathe. Sweat stings my eyes and runs into my mouth. I swipe it away with the hem of my t-shirt. I’m overcome with feelings of betrayal, with a fury I’ve never felt toward him. Or never acknowledged. I’ve spent so much energy hating my mother, fearing for my sister, that I haven’t held my father accountable for the lives he’s ruined.

Everything in my body is screaming for me to give up, but I pick up the pace again, ignoring the pain. How can I be angry with Luke for trying to be a good father to his little girl? I’m still hurt that he hid part of his life from me, but I can’t blame him for holding back. For being protective of his family.

My soles slam against the sandy pavement. A few blocks from the cottage, I break through an invisible barrier. My body buzzes with fresh energy. Resolve. With every step, I’m looser, more clear-headed.

My legs feel like jelly by the time I reach home. I kick off my sneakers and nestle my socks inside them. Inside my room, I peel off my damp running clothes and toss my cell on the bed. I’m about to shower when the phone rings. It’s Luke.

“Hey. Hi.” I whip a towel from the hook on the back of my bathroom door and pull it tight around me.

“Hi. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Nope. Just got back from a run. You still at school?”

“Yeah.”

I can hear him breathing on the other end of the line. The hesitation is thick.

“Hey, Luke?”

“Hey, Elle?”

“Did you have something you wanted to ask me?”

He coughs. “I just wanted to see if maybe you wanted to have dinner over here at my place. I don’t know where you are with things, or—”

I’m uncertain of my answer until I hear it. “Okay.”

“Really? Okay?” I can tell from his voice that he’s smiling. Relieved.

“Well, my alternative is vegetarian tacos, so…”

“So really, my dinner invitation is rescuing you from an evening of questionable meat substitute.” His laugh is stilted, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

“That’s one powerful dinner invitation.”

“Pick you up at six?”

“Ummm…” I haven’t had the chance to explain to the girls that Luke isn’t the cheating bastard they think he is. “Maybe I should come to you.”

“I’d better stay away from enemy territory, huh?”

“It’s for your own safety.”

“See you at six.”

After a quick shower, I tear through my closet, wondering if I own an outfit that says
Sorry I jumped to conclusions, but you should have told me about your kid. And yes, thank you, I do look hot.
I settle on a cobalt blue bandage skirt and a blousy black silk tee with barely-there sandals and a chunky gold bracelet.

It’s the right choice, judging from the look on Luke’s face when he opens the door.

“Woah. Wow.” He looks incredible himself, in his usual jeans and a crisp light blue shirt that makes his eyes glow. His hair looks soft and wet. I want to run my hands through it.

“Hey. Thanks. You, too.” I extend a chilled bottle of white. “Peace offering?”

His face darkens. “Oh, I…” He must see the panic on my face, because he takes the bottle and pulls me inside. “I mean, thank you. That’s really sweet.”

“But…”

“But I don’t drink.”

“Oh. I didn’t know. Sorry.” I can’t tell if my body is hot from the run or the embarrassment. “I can take it back, or—”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll pour you a glass. Come on in.” Haltingly, he leans toward me. His lips land somewhere between my jaw and my mouth.

I burst out laughing and lean into his chest. He smells amazing. Like grass after the rain.

“What?” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head.

“This is so awkward!” I groan into his shirt. I can’t help but run my hands over his strong, defined back. “Why are we so…awkward?”

“We’re fine,” he insists. He sets the bottle on the entrance table and wraps his arms around me. Squeezes me so tight, my ribs hurt. “We’re starting over, in a way. But we’re going to be fine. Trust me.”

“Okay.” I relax into him a little.

“Here. Let me get you some wine.” Luke nudges the door closed behind me. Inside, tribal music sounds over the speakers. It’s still light outside, so the chapel is awash in color from the stained glass windows. A few pillar candles flicker on the dining room table.

“It smells unbelievable in here.” I drop my bag and cell by the door and follow Luke to the kitchen. “What is that?”

“Salmon risotto.” Luke bends over a pot on the stove and stirs it with a wooden spoon. “I’ll let you sneak a taste when it’s ready.” He uncorks the wine and fumbles around the cabinet over the stove, finally producing a wine glass. “Here we go.”

“Are you sure this isn’t weird?” I settle onto a carved wooden bar stool on the other side of the island. “I don’t have to drink if it bothers you.”

“Not at all.” He pours the wine and slides the glass across the island, then grabs a sparkling water from the fridge and twists off the top. “I don’t mind if you drink. A few years ago, I just decided not to.”

“How come?” I tense.
Should I not have asked? Am I getting too close, too fast?

But Luke doesn’t hesitate. “I never told you much about the accident that killed my folks, did I?”

I shake my head.

“We were hit by a drunk driver.”

“Oh, God, Luke…” I reach across the island and squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back. “Once I got into college, I found myself drinking more than I should have. Probably not a ton more than the average college kid, but still. I made some stupid decisions when I was drunk.”

Like sleeping with Ashley.
I don’t say it because saying it would be cruel. And I can tell by the clouds in Luke’s eyes that he’s thinking it anyway.

“I love Lilah,” he says forcefully.

“I know you do.”

He clears his throat, staring down at the countertop. “So once I found out I was gonna be a dad, I knew I had to change something. I didn’t want to set a bad example for my little girl. And since Ashley’s struggled with drinking, I don’t keep anything in the house.”

“So you haven’t had anything to drink in, like, five years?”

“Not much. I’ll drink a glass of champagne on New Year’s Eve, or at a wedding. But that’s about it. Does that bother you?”

“Of course not! I love that you made that kind of decision for your daughter.” I take a small sip, feeling a little self-conscious. I like that having a child made him more responsible. His daughter is lucky that way. “My mom… had a drinking problem. She went into rehab a few times when I was younger.”

His forehead wrinkles. “Before she died? You said your parents had passed away, right?”

A chill runs through me, despite the heat in the kitchen and the wine. I don’t want to lie to him. And I can’t tell him the truth. “Not… exactly. I said I lost them.”

“Okay. I’m officially confused.” Luke turns down the heat on the risotto and joins me on the other side of the counter. We sit facing each other, our knees barely touching. Everything about him tells me I can trust him: the way he’s looking at me with care and just the slightest bit of concern in his eyes. The way he waits patiently for me to speak; doesn’t push me to say what I’m not ready to say. Still… I have no idea how he’ll react if I tell him the truth.

“I know. It’s… confusing.” I reach for my glass. The wine inside ripples slightly. I’m shaking.

“Listen. Elle.” Luke takes my glass and places it gently on the counter. Then he takes my hand and rubs it between his. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper. I stare at the center button on his shirt. He must have dressed quickly; it’s only halfway through the buttonhole.

“I mean it. We haven’t known each other all that long, and it’s okay to hold back on some things if you need to.” He laughs. “I did! Have you forgotten already?”

“I know.” But it’s not the same. His having a child is a big deal. Life-changing, obviously. But not shameful. Finally, I glance up at him. His eyes, his face, are so caring and warm and open that I want to rest in them forever. “It’s just hard to explain. My parents aren’t dead, actually. They just… my dad did some things—some really awful things—and I don’t speak to them much anymore.”

I’m stunned into silence the moment the words leave my mouth. It’s the most honest I’ve been with anyone in a long time. And he’s not suddenly fascinated and dying to know details, or looking at me like I have three heads, or even awkwardly changing the subject to make me feel better. He just nods thoughtfully and we’re quiet for a while, until the lid on the risotto pot starts to jump. He gets up and takes the pot off the stove, then sits across from me again.

“You know, when I was a really little kid and we lived in Greece, there was this market we’d go to almost every day. To get fresh bread, and whatever we needed for dinner that night. And the lady who ran the place had these baskets of rock candy at the front of the store. And every time we’d go, I’d ask my mom if we could buy some, and every time, she said no.”

“You poor, deprived child,” I smile. “
Rock candy?
Is this an ‘uphill in the snow both ways’- kind of story?” I finish my wine and Luke pours me another glass.

“No.” He narrows his eyes at me before he hands me the glass. “Are you going to interrupt the whole time?”

“Sorry. Continue.”

“One day I decided that it wasn’t fair that she always said no, and on our way out, I stole some.”

I mock gasp. “You horrible, horrible excuse for a human being.”

“It was bad!” he insists sheepishly. “I ate it on the way home, and I’m sure my mother knew, because for one thing I wasn’t that slick. And for another thing, my father sat me down after dinner and asked me if there was anything I wanted to tell him.”

“And did you, Mr. Poulos?” I feign stern disappointment, swirling my wine in the glass. I can picture Little Kid Luke, with a mass of dark curls and sugar and guilt smeared all over his face.

“I did.” His chin drops to his chest, and he laughs, too. “I think I burst into tears, or threw up the candy, or something like that. I felt so guilty.”

“Awwww. And the moral of the story is
don’t steal grocery store candy
.” I reach out and squeeze his forearm.

“No, we haven’t gotten to the moral of the story, because somebody I know keeps interrupting! Drink your wine.”

I obey.

“I just felt awful, and I was afraid that my dad hated me, and I remember sitting in his lap and begging him to forgive me. And he said something that I’ll never forget.”

“I’m listening.”

“He said, ‘Taking responsibility for your actions means they no longer hold you captive. You are more than the mistakes you have made.’”

His words slam into me.

“Probably one of the best lessons he taught me. And so here, Ms. Sloane, is the moral of the story. You—” he leans close, resting his palms on my knees and looking into my eyes. “—are definitely more than whatever it is your parents have done.”

He draws me to him and kisses me, hard. Hard enough to make me forget who I am and what I’ve done.

Elle,

It’s strange, the way things feel so normal. Yesterday, I just slipped back into my usual routine, class and homework and ducking upstairs before Mom could get too drunk and start calling me a bitch or yelling about how you betrayed the family. It’s almost like none of the last six months happened at all. That’s not exactly right, but you know what I mean. I just had the feeling like maybe things might be okay, eventually. I feel almost guilty about it… isn’t that strange?

Love you for infinity,

A

When I wake up the next morning, I have no idea where I am. I sit up and rub my eyes, my lashes brittle with mascara. The room is cast in a colorful veil of weak light. I’m wrapped in a rich chocolate throw, stretched out on a yellow couch. Luke’s yellow couch. There is a wine glass and an empty bottle on the table.