You'd Be Home Now (92)

He has a black knit cap pulled down low over his forehead. And an eye patch.

“You like it?” he asks. “Makes me look pretty villainous, right? Wanna see?” He makes a show, like he’s going to lift up the patch. There are scars crisscrossing his face from where his head went through the windshield.

“Jeremy told me about it,” I tell him.

“How is my little brother, anyway?” He takes a drag on his cigarette.

“He misses you.”

Luther flicks his cigarette into the snow, shrugs. “Hand it over.”

“No,” I say, standing my ground, “not until I see Joey.”

Luther looks back at the car and whistles.

The door opens and slowly, Joey steps out. Gingerly, like he’s sore or sick. He’s not wearing the orange Hank’s Hoagies shirt anymore, but he has the charcoal-gray hoodie on. I can’t see him very well in the darkness.

“Joey,” I call, my heart beating fast. “Come here. Come by me.”

But he stays where he is, his head down.

“Not until I get the stuff,” Luther says.

I hold the backpack tight. It’s the only thing I have to do to get Joey back, just hand it over, and then I can take him home, get him help. Do it better this time. I know we’ll all do it better this time.

“Emmy, I don’t have a lot of time here,” Luther says.

He reaches out his hands, and like I’m dreaming, like I’m weightless, I hand it to him. He kneels down and unzips it, starts pawing through it. “Nice, nice,” he murmurs. “What was it, anyway?”

    “Joey!” I shout. I start walking, but Luther reaches out and grabs my leg with his hand. It’s my bad leg and, still kneeling, I slip in the snow, falling next to him.

“What was the combination to the safe? I’m curious.”

“It was a song. Just a stupid song my dad sang to me when I was little.” I try to wrench my leg out of his grasp, but he tightens his grip.

“Basic. I knew it.”

“Joey, get in the car!” I shout. He starts shuffling toward me, but then he stops.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask. “What did you do to him?”

“He’s high, Emmy. What do you think?”

I struggle to get up, but he’s still holding my leg. “Why did you do it, Luther? He was trying to get clean and then you…you just walked in and gave it to him. How could you? He was supposed to be your friend.”

Luther gazes at me, snow frosting his knit cap. “I did it because he’s my friend, Emmy. He’s the only friend I ever had, you understand? We got each other. I get him. You guys never got him. Told him he was stupid and lazy. Broke him down, piece by piece. But I always picked those pieces back up. That’s what friends do. I missed him. Weird, right?”

He zips the backpack up with one hand while holding my leg. “I spent a lot of time thinking in juvie, Emmy. A lot. In between trying not to get my ass kicked. And you know what? Parents are fucked up. They never really see their kid for who they are. Everything a kid does different, a parent tells them they’re wrong for it. They have this idea of what a kid should be rather than what the kid is.”

    He lets go of my leg and I scramble up, toward Joey. I’ll drag him to the car if I have to.

Luther catches my arm. “Not so fast. Not yet. I’m gonna walk back to my car and drive away, okay? He’ll stay here. Don’t follow me. Don’t call the police. I know you have someone in your car, too, but I’ll forgive you. Dark woods, a girl alone with a bad guy, I get it. We’re even.”

He lets go of me, holding out one hand for a second, like I’m a deer that might sprint, like he’ll block me if he has to.

“Stay,” he warns.

I can feel Joey so much my skin burns. My heart burns. He’s still just standing there, not looking at me.

Luther says, “I have to ask, Emmy. Does it freak you out to be here? Because of…you know.” His voice is eerie.

“It was just over there, remember? Do you think her blood is still in the creek water, with my eye?”

I feel like I might throw up.

Luther laughs.

He walks backward toward his car, watching me. He opens the car door, slings the backpack inside, slides in. Starts the engine. Slowly drives forward, turns, and then drives around my brother, still rooted to his spot.

I start walking, quick. I want to shout Joey’s name, but I’m so full of fear and hope that I don’t even have room for words.

Luther stops the car.

Joey lifts his head.

Even in the dark, I can see how shadowed his eyes are, how thin his face has gotten in such a short time. Something has morphed inside him. Whatever he did before the accident, whatever he was, he’s not even that anymore.

    He’s something else. He’s gone far, into a place I’m not sure I can reach.

“Joey, please.”

“It was my idea,” he says, so low I can barely hear it over the hum of Luther’s engine. “I’m sorry, Emmy. Just go home now.”

And then he gets into the car and Luther peels out of the clearing and down Wolf Creek Road, me screaming in the snow after them.





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