Little Do We Know(43)

“I won’t talk about it anymore, okay? Not unless you want to.” Dad stepped back and kissed my forehead.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I kept it to single syllables so he couldn’t hear my voice shaking.

“Go,” he said, pointing to the door. “You’re late. Get to class.”

As I walked toward the door, I raised my hand in Aaron’s direction. “See you,” I said.

“See you,” he said.





After Tuesday-night rehearsal, Tyler dropped me off at Luke’s house. I climbed out of the car, walked to the top of the steps, and opened the front door. “Hi!” I called as I dropped my backpack on the floor next to a pile of shoes.

I couldn’t wait to see Luke in his own room, in his own bed, and out of that horrible hospital gown and back in those old, falling-apart Denver sweats he loved so much.

“Emory?” Mrs. Calletti walked in from the kitchen, rubbing her hands on her SHIITAKE HAPPENS apron and looking surprised to see me.

I inched backward, feeling like I’d shown up to a party on the wrong night.

“Oh…Hi. Luke said you had a big rehearsal after school and that you weren’t going to be able to join us tonight.”

I’d mentioned having a late rehearsal, and Luke said they weren’t having much of a family dinner anyway since he was under strict instructions to stay in bed for the next two days. But he never told me not to come, and I never said I wouldn’t be there. I hadn’t missed a Calletti Spaghetti since Luke and I first started dating.

“But it’s Tuesday.”

She smiled at that. “Well, I’m really glad you’re here.”

I thought she was going to go back to the kitchen, but she stepped in closer. “We got home this morning. I thought being in his own bed would cheer him up, but he’s still in a bit of a funk. He’s barely eating. He’s been watching movies on his laptop all day. I keep trying to talk to him, but he tells me to leave him alone and let him sleep. And that’s a lie, because I know he’s not sleeping; I don’t think he’s slept much at all since the accident.”

It wasn’t really an accident, but I couldn’t think of anything better to call it either.

“He’ll be happy to see you. Go on up. Dinner will be ready in twenty.”

She headed back to the kitchen while I started up the stairs.

I usually raced past the family photographs that lined the walls, but that night, I took each step a little more slowly, studying the pictures as I went, lingering a little longer at the ones of Luke in jerseys going back to when he was a little kid. Same full lips and dark curls on a much smaller body, smiling and gripping a lacrosse stick.

I knocked on his door. No one answered, so I cracked it open. “You decent?” I whispered. No response.

When I stepped inside, I saw him. He was sitting on his bed with his back propped against the pillows, watching something on his laptop. His hair still looked matted, just like it had in the hospital all week. His eyes were bloodshot, and the dark circles underneath were even more pronounced.

When he saw me, he tugged on the earbuds cord and slammed his laptop closed. “What are you doing here?” he asked. He sat up straighter and winced, as if he’d briefly forgotten that it hurt to do that.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Good to see you, too,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m glad to see you, I just…I mean…I thought you’d skip it tonight.” He looked down at his comforter and then back up at me again. “If I knew you were coming, I would have cleaned up a bit. I just got home. I still smell like hospital.” His mom told me they got home that morning, but I didn’t call him on it.

I sat down on the edge of his bed with one leg tucked under the other. “I don’t care.” I came in close and kissed him. “It’s just me.”

“You’re not just you.” He reached for a chunk of my hair and twisted it around his finger.

“I brought you some things to cheer you up.” I reached into my backpack and pulled out a plastic bag.

“Cheap tabloid journalism,” I said as I dropped two magazines on his comforter. “So you can catch up on the latest celebrity affairs and whatnot.” I reached in again. “Sudoku. That was my mom’s idea. I have no idea how you do it, but she says it’s easy to figure out and it will keep your mind occupied.” I reached in one more time and pulled out a few paperbacks, dropping them next to his hip. “These are a few of my favorites. This one was a really good mystery, and this one,” I said, picking up another, “I read in, like, a day. I couldn’t put it down.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but I held my finger to his lips and raised one eyebrow. “No. Wait. There’s more.” I tipped the bag upside down and let the Mentos cascade out and land with a soft thud next to him.

He started laughing. “How many rolls did you buy?”

“Thirty-four. For your jersey number.” It seemed like a good girlfriend-y thing to do, and I thought he’d appreciate it, but his face fell and I suddenly realized what I’d done. He wouldn’t be wearing his jersey for a while. He was probably out for the season. He might not be number thirty-four ever again.

But he let it go. “I love it,” he said. He sat up to kiss me but then stopped short, clutching his side. “You’re going to have to come here. It still hurts to sit up. And move. And breathe. And pretty much do anything. They say I’ll feel better when the staples come out tomorrow.”