The Accomplice(3)

“Do you like people?”

“Not as much as they like me,” Owen said. “Hmm, I think that came out wrong.”

“I get it, in a way,” Luna said.

Her experience was the exact opposite, which allowed for a certain inverse understanding.

Luna seemed wise beyond her years, Owen thought. She was subtly enigmatic. It would take some time to figure her out, but he was willing to put in the effort.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Owen said.

“Like what?” Luna said.

Vague questions never seemed vague to Luna.

“I don’t know,” Owen said. “What do you do when you’re not convulsing?”

It was a dangerous joke. When a moment of silence passed, Owen thought he’d gone too far. Then Luna laughed, a big, deep laugh, the kind of laugh you can’t fake. He loved the sound of her laugh. It was like the first time you take a drug.

“I think we’re going to be friends,” Owen said.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Luna replied, even though she secretly hoped that would be the case.

That was the day it all began. Luna and Owen. Owen and Luna. Their names would be inextricably linked for years to come. The one steady thing in their unsteady lives. Before long, neither would be able to imagine a life without the other. It would be hard not to admire the strength of their bond. However, if you were in their orbit, you might come to realize that it was a dangerous place to be. Not everyone there made it out alive.





October 7, 2019


Luna was watching coffee brew. It was seven-thirty a.m., caffeine withdrawal ramping up, brain still fogged and incapable of any heavy lifting. Still, Luna thought, this is not a good use of my time. Not that she could think of a better thing to be doing at the moment. Her husband, Sam, had a thing about waiting for the coffee to finish brewing before you poured a cup. He once suggested it was like the grown-up marshmallow test. Luna didn’t think that was the best analogy, but the mere suggestion that she’d fail that test had changed her entire morning habit.

Luna heard two quiet knocks on the back door. Only one person used that door. You had to unlatch a side gate and circle around the house. It was just easier to use the front door. Irene Boucher, however, didn’t care about easy. The doorbell took a picture of you, which was stored on some random company’s hard drive. They were not going to take her picture.

Luna opened the door, got a look at Irene, and laughed. That morning, Irene was wearing a red Fila shell suit. It wasn’t one of her better ones, Luna thought. She also had on a thick gold-plated chain that Luna had given her for her last birthday. A joke of sorts. It was the kind of thing that a movie mobster might wear. Irene really liked the chain, in an unironic sort of way.

“Is Tony Soprano your fashion icon?” Luna had once quipped.

Irene’s earnest response: “Paulie and Christopher wore the best tracksuits.”

Irene had a closet full of them. Some velour, some polyester, in a strange rainbow of colors. She was most loyal to Fila and Adidas. She wore them for comfort and because she could exercise at a moment’s notice when she had them on. Irene was compulsive about physical activity. She ran, hiked, lifted weights. She was the sort of person who would suddenly drop to the ground and do a set of push-ups or lunge her way across the room.

Irene exercised so she could maintain the diet of a teenage boy under no supervision. She was the only middle-aged woman Luna had ever met who ate doughnuts and pizza on a regular basis.

While on occasion Luna might join Irene for a run, most of the times Irene dropped by, she’d end up in Luna’s kitchen drinking coffee for an hour. She’d hit the pavement after that.

“Am I interrupting something?” Irene asked.

“No. Come in,” Luna said. “Coffee is almost done.”

Irene followed Luna into the kitchen. Luna’s phone rang. She showed Irene the caller ID. Leo Whitman.

“Ignore him,” said Irene.

“He’ll just keep calling,” Luna said. “One minute.”

Luna answered the call. “Hi, Leo. I told you ten. Yes, it’s still ten. Okay. I’ll see you then.”

Luna silenced her phone and placed it screen down on the counter.

“You’re still helping him?” Irene asked.

“I’m vetting résumés and arranging interviews. He swore he’d hire someone this week.”

“Remember,” said Irene, “he’s really good at asking for things and he doesn’t know when to stop. You have to have boundaries with Leo.”

“I know,” Luna said.

“Thank you,” Irene said.

Irene knew the only reason Luna was helping him out was so that she didn’t have to.

“What’s new?” Luna said as she removed two mugs from the cupboard.

“I’ve been listening to this podcast about Bigfoot,” Irene said as she opened the refrigerator, checked the inventory, and closed it.

“You’ve mentioned it,” Luna said. “You want toast?”

“Nah. If you want to survive a Bigfoot attack, offer it food and don’t cry.”

“What happens if I cry?” Luna asked.

“It’ll punch you in the face,” Irene said, smiling. “I think that’s my favorite Bigfoot fact.”