Purple Hearts(85)

My heart pounded. “Yeah! Yeah. I’m glad you— Yeah, we should definitely talk.”

I tossed my keys on the front table and headed toward the couch. Before I could sit, he touched my arm. I stood, waiting, my face on fire.

“I want to tell you something. I’ve been wanting to, but I just couldn’t . . .” He shook his head and took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “I have to be completely honest with you.”

“Okay,” I said, letting out a nervous laugh. “Should I be scared?”

“No, not scared, I think, but I’ll understand if you’re upset,” he said, his voice dropping, deep and more serious than it had been in a long time. I folded my arms. “I told you I owed money to a friend from my hometown. And that’s true, but it wasn’t the whole truth.”

I nodded, braced, waiting for him to go on. I wasn’t stupid. His explanation had been vague, and it had been vague on purpose. I assumed that was for my benefit. He was my business partner, not my confidant. At least not until a few days ago.

Luke searched for words, and when he couldn’t find them, he looked me straight in the eyes. “He was my dealer.”

I felt my eyes widen. “Dealer of what?” I said.

“OxyContin. Or any other opiate I could get my hands on. Vicodin. But mostly Oxy.”

I’d known in the back of my mind that his mood swings weren’t natural. He’d been struggling to stay sober this whole time, tempted by the very drugs that’d been meant to help him through. I remembered that day he had given me earplugs, how his head had lolled on his shoulder.

“How long?”

His face contorted, trying to keep back tears. I reached out to squeeze his arm, his shoulder.

“Sorry.” He pushed on his eyelids. “This is hard. It was just recreational when I was a teenager. Then two years ago I realized I was addicted. But I couldn’t stop. So I got clean and joined the army, and . . . here we are.”

“Why didn’t you tell me right away that you were sober?” I searched myself for anger, for a feeling of betrayal that he hadn’t leveled with me. But as I stared at him, at the way his hand gripped his cane, the stiffness of his leg, the way his shoulders hunched as if bracing himself, I couldn’t find it. All I found was a man who’d been through hell.

“I didn’t think you would want to . . .” He made quote marks with his fingers. “Be with a person who got involved in that kind of stuff.”

“You mean be married to you?” I smiled.

“Yeah.”

“Well.” The jumping-gut feelings returned. “I wish you’d been honest with me . . .”

He smiled back, reluctant, then bigger. “You’re not upset?”

“I’m not happy, but hell . . .” I shrugged. “I was no stranger to recreational drug use in college. It could happen to anyone. Especially with opiates. That stuff . . .” I sighed. “I don’t envy you.” I swallowed. “So what now?”

“I gave him all the money I owed, and now we’re done.” Luke stepped closer.

For some reason, I began to get uneasy. Maybe it was a delayed reaction. Or maybe that he had started to talk about his dealer again. I still didn’t know the whole story about that, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to just yet.

I had meant “what now” with his sobriety. And mostly, I had meant “what now” with us.

“He used to be my dealer. Key words, used to. So, yeah, I plan to stay sober. Sober as a . . .” He looked for the phrase.

“Sober judge?” I said, trying to smile, opening and closing my hands, trying to shake off the feeling that something had wound tight around me. “I can’t totally dive into it with you before the show, but I want to know more. And help you.”

“Of course. I just . . . wanted to tell you. Anyway.” He paused, shaking his head. The sensation wound tighter, for some reason. “He won’t bother anyone anymore.”

I wanted to reach out to him, to give him a hug, but something wasn’t sitting right. The way he phrased it made me pause. “What do you mean, ‘anyone anymore’?”

Luke’s mouth dropped open, and he closed it. All of the composure of his confession had left his face. He hadn’t meant to say that. He began to stammer. “Well, like, you and me . . .”

“What?” There was something else he wasn’t telling me. Then it hit. There was a reason why his eyes had flashed with anger after he left the duplex two nights ago. Why he had offered to pay for the TV. My insides were a tidal wave. “No. No. Wait, really? No.”

“What is it?”

“I think I’m going to puke,” I said.

I could feel him stepping closer. “Cassie.”

“Don’t come any closer.” I felt my hands form fists. I resisted the urge to hurl them at his chest. “Did your dealer fuck with my mom? Did you bring that on my mom? Tell me the truth.”

Luke tried to hold my gaze, but couldn’t. He lifted his hands to his face. “Yes, that was him,” he said, hollow.

“My mother!” I shouted. My beautiful mother, my heart, my only family, huddled on the ground near her car. Her pajama pants getting dirty in the street. Shifting into Spanish when she spoke to the cops, because that kind of fear was too deep for her second language.