The Accomplice(10)

An envelope slipped out. A business envelope, addressed to Luna “Grey”—last name in quotes—the original address covered with a forwarding label. The letter was opened with a neat slice across the top. A small piece of rice paper rested inside. Owen would have put the letter back if it weren’t for the quotes.

Luna heard the rustling of papers but figured he was reading the Markham Gazette. Owen checked over his shoulder, saw the slow rise and fall of Luna’s duvet. He quietly removed the paper and unfolded the sharp creases. There was no greeting or salutation, just four words written in clean box letters.

You’re going to hell.

Owen read the note again. There was no logical explanation for why Luna would save a cryptic message with the suggestion of future damnation. Nor could Owen work out a probable motive for the missive itself. An enemy? An unhinged ex? Both seemed wrong. Maybe it was a joke. An inside joke? Yes, that was it. He checked the postmark date. It was only a few months back. If he had come upon the envelope in a more innocent fashion, he would have asked Luna about it, but that was out of the question. Once, Owen had searched the outside pocket of Luna’s backpack for a pen. You would have thought he’d broken into her room and read her diary, the way she reacted.

It should be noted that Luna did not keep a diary.

There was a knock at the door—specifically, two loud and two soft knocks. Owen felt like a hammer had hit his heart. He shoved the letter back in the envelope and clamped the book shut.

“Hey, Luna, are you in there?” Mason said from the other side of the door.

Owen turned to Luna. She peered from beneath the covers and put her finger over her lips. She and Owen remained as still as possible. Mason knocked again, with the same two-loud, two-soft pattern.

“Luna, it’s Mason. You awake?”

The doorknob wiggled but didn’t budge.

“Luna, don’t worry,” Mason said, just above a whisper. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Mason shuffled away. Luna felt light-headed.

“Well, now,” Owen said, smiling broadly. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“It’s not what you think,” Luna said.

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t vow secrecy over nothing. Come on, Luna, spill it.”

“Nothing to spill,” Luna said.

“Did you guys fool around?” Owen asked.

“No.”

“You sure? Maybe a little over-the-shirt action. You can tell me. Who am I to judge?”

“Stop it, Owen.” Luna refused to make eye contact. She got out of bed and began tidying up the already tidy room.

“We all make mistakes,” Owen said. “You were stoned and drunk. That’s the exact recipe for bad decisions.”

“I said stop.”

“Wait. Do you like him, like him?” Owen said.

Luna spun around and glared at Owen. She had an expression of anger so electric, Owen would later imagine that she had flames in her eyes. But despite the look of fury, her voice remained measured—disturbingly so, Owen thought.

“You will stop. Now,” Luna commanded.

Anyone else would have found Luna terrifying in that moment.

“That was amazing,” Owen said, beaming. “Do it again!”

Luna fought back a smile, her fury extinguished. It was almost embarrassing how quickly her mood shifted. Only Owen could do that.

“I have an idea,” Owen said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Out where?”

“Who cares where we go? We’ll have an adventure.”

“I need a shower,” said Luna.

“Shower. Then adventure.”



* * *



—

Owen and Luna had no plan or destination in mind. Owen got behind the wheel and Luna navigated according to some vague directional whim.

Right, left. Straight. Keep going straight. Stay on this road no matter what. It’s going to take us somewhere.

They stopped for coffee in Rhinebeck. Owen insisted they go to the café that had a line out the door, because clearly that’s where the good coffee was. While the pair were queued up, Luna noticed that every time she moved, Owen closed the gap between them, standing way too close, as if he was blocking her back from the light. Luna could feel him there hovering. She scowled. Generally Owen respected her space but never when they were in line.

“What are you doing?” Luna asked.

“What?” Owen said.

“Why are you always right there? You have a space problem.”

Owen took a step back. “No. You have the space problem. You get really jumpy when people stand behind you. I figured I was better than a stranger. That’s why I do it. Remember when you shouted spaceman at that guy when we were waiting to take our school ID photos?” Owen said, laughing.

“I said, ‘Space, comma, man,’?” Luna said.

“I know. But it wasn’t clear to him,” Owen said. “Or anyone else.”

Luna, recalling all the times Owen had played bodyguard to her neuroses, smiled and punched him in the arm. “That’s weirdly nice of you.”

“It’s for the greater good,” Owen said.

Luna thought about it, sighing, exhausted by her own neuroses. “I’ve got a lot of things, don’t I?”