Little Do We Know(45)

He was wearing that same varsity jacket he always had on. He looked tired, but better. Clean. A lot healthier than he had that night a week earlier.

“Luke?” I scanned the porch for Emory, but he was alone. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Hannah.” He jingled his keys nervously and kept looking over his shoulder. “Can I come in?”

I still had no idea what he was doing at my house, but I opened the door wider and he stepped inside. I looked down at my blue-and-green plaid school uniform, wishing I’d changed when I got home.

“Wow! This is so weird,” he said as he walked around the house, his gaze moving up and down as we moved from room to room. “Your house is exactly like Emory’s but flipped.”

“Yeah, all the houses on this block share the same floor plan. They’re mirror images.”

He was still looking around, taking it all in. “Her living room is over there.” He pointed at my kitchen. “And her kitchen is over there,” he said, pointing at my living room.

As he said it, something in the living room caught his eye. I followed his line of vision to the giant wooden cross hanging above our fireplace. On the mantel beneath it, I saw my most recent school picture and an old family portrait of the three of us.

Luke walked toward it. “Is that your dad?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He stared at it for a long time, and I was relieved he was no longer looking at me. It gave me time to catch my breath and think of something to say.

“He looks nice,” Luke said. “It’s been bugging me.”

“What has?” I asked.

“That I didn’t know what he looked like.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I started babbling. “Do you, um, want something to drink? We have lemonade, water, milk…” I realized I sounded like we were on some kind of little kids’ playdate, so I added, “Coffee,” even though I hated coffee.

“I’m good, thanks.” He looked around again. “Can I—?” he asked, pointing at the living-room sofa.

“No, I mean, yes, sit down,” I stammered. “Please.” I’d never been alone with a guy in my house, let alone one I watched die in my front yard.

He jingled his keys again, caught himself, and went to stuff them into the front pocket of his jeans. When he leaned forward, he grimaced.

He groaned and swore under his breath. “Sorry. They took the staples out this morning, but I’m still sore. I keep moving like that and forgetting how much it hurts.”

I sat in one of the armchairs opposite him.

“I didn’t expect to be this nervous. It’s just that…” He gestured toward Emory’s house. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Oh,” I said.

“You’re probably wondering why I am.”

I bit down hard on my lip while he combed his fingers through his hair and stared at the cross above the fireplace. Or maybe he was staring at our family portrait again. I couldn’t be sure.

“I didn’t remember at first. I assumed Emory was the one who found me the other night. And when I brought it up, she didn’t correct me. But I guess that’s understandable.” He picked a loose thread on his jeans. “But I know now it was you. And your dad. So…I guess I just…wanted to come by and thank you both.”

He looked up at the cross again, and then back at me.

“Actually, that’s only part of the reason I came by. I…kind of…need to talk to someone. I mean, not someone.” He tripped over his words. “I need to talk to you…about what happened to me that night.”

Out of habit, I reached for the tiny silver cross pendant around my neck and held it between my thumb and finger, squeezing it until I felt the sharp points dig into my skin. “What do you need to know?”

“Everything.” He sighed. “These last few days have been so strange, and this is going to sound really weird, but for some reason I think you’re the only person who will understand.”

“Okay…”

“I don’t know where to start,” he whispered.

I thought about the trick Dad always used on me when I had a big thing to tell him. “Start with something easy, like the day of the week.”

“Hmm. Okay.” He smiled nervously. “It was a Friday,” he said, and from there, the words seemed to come easier. He told me about the game, how he got hurt, about the party.

“I honestly don’t remember making the decision to drive over here. I guess I was kind of on autopilot.” He took a deep breath and locked his eyes on mine. “I was hoping you could fill things in after that.”

Every time I thought about that night, I felt sick to my stomach. It was all still there, in vivid detail, hiding in the corners of my mind.

As we sat there together, I filled him in on everything. Standing in the kitchen. Watching his car roll straight into the curb. How I could see him inside, slumped over the steering wheel.

Then he got quiet.

“Can I show you something?” He reached into his pocket, grimacing in pain again as he pulled out his phone. He tipped the screen in my direction.

It was paused on a video of a girl with short hair, dark skin, and a long scar that started at her right ear and ended next to her mouth. Her name was in white block type at the bottom left-hand corner of the screen: Sienna, 19.