Chapter 15
Luke
I grab my coat and head for my car. This should be interesting.
Why do we use the symbol @ to mean “at”?
I suppose now that we have the internet, it’s come in handy for email addresses.
But it was invented centuries before that.
Why? Who decided that a two-letter word needed shortening?
I could write a and t more quickly than I could write an a and then draw a partial circle around it.
Same with the ampersand, by the way, which spared us the agony of writing the three-letter word and. And why that weird loopy shape that nobody can draw correctly? What is that, Picasso’s portrait of his mother?
I open the door to Allison’s house, greeted by the aroma of pot roast, then by Allison herself, wiping her hands with a cloth. She kisses me on the cheek. “Let’s just have a nice meal, maybe some wine,” she says. “It’s been a tough day for everyone.”
I’m not sure it’s been so tough on everyone.
Finley, for example, sipping a glass of wine in the kitchen, doesn’t seem too distraught.
Sure, he came to my court hearing, supported the team and all that, but I didn’t get the sense he was too torn up about the whole thing.
No, if I had to wager, I’d bet he was enjoying himself, seeing me take a fall like this.
It was probably a nice break from chasing every skirt in town or wasting his time on get-rich-quick business opportunities that never come to fruition, which as far as I can tell are his only two hobbies these days.
He’s looking at something on his phone and chuckling to himself, shoulders bobbing.
I still hear his laughter from back in the day: Age thirteen, riding a shopping cart we stole from Conger’s Grocery Store down the hill behind Langford Park, crashing triumphantly into the grass.
Age fifteen, setting off a fistful of fireworks we definitely weren’t supposed to have in the driveway of my house, Fin striking the match with theatrical flair, yelling, “Run!” a second too late, tripping over each other as the sparks shot sideways and singed the hedge.
The moment of panic, when I thought I’d set the bushes on fire, then laughing ’til we couldn’t breathe, doubled over.
Look at him now, how far he’s drifted. Allison first discovered Fin’s infidelity less than a year ago, when she learned he was doinking this woman at their country club, Anna Cortese.
But I wondered about him for years, even if I didn’t say anything to Allison, not having any proof.
Ever since he lost his job during the pandemic, he’s been at sea, grasping for validation.
I’m not sure it would’ve made a difference if I had said something to her.
She’s stayed with him so far. His golf injury, being laid up all those months, seemed to bring them back together after the Anna Cortese affair.
She no longer talks to me about Fin or their marriage, which I take as a sign that they’re patching things up.
Me, I’d have dumped him and made it hurt. Though I would’ve done it with a smile.
Thus Allison’s nickname for me, “Smiles.” Short for the “Smiling Knife.”
“There he is,” Fin calls out as I enter the kitchen. “Wine?”
I grab a piece of cheese off a plate Allison prepared. “I’ll pass. I need to keep my head on straight while I figure out how those oxycodone pills got inside that car.”
Allison, washing dishes at the sink, glances in my direction but stifles a comment.
“Y’know, it could’ve been Trinity’s brother,” says Fin. “Without Trinity’s knowledge. Max could’ve been stashing Oxy in her car. She might not have even known.”
“Good thought, Fin. Good thought.” I pick up a grape and pop it in my mouth. “Hey, you were prescribed Oxy, weren’t you, for your knee?”
“I was prescribed it. I wouldn’t take it.
That stuff’s bad news. Hang on.” Fin looks at his buzzing phone.
“Gotta take this. It’s Griffin. The Magno-Creme licensing thing,” he says to Allison, presumably his latest start-up venture.
He marches out of the kitchen, phone against his ear.
“Yo, Griff! Give me some good news, brother.”
Allison does a half-turn and gives me a sidelong look.
“What?” I ask, though I know exactly what she’s going to say.
She makes a face, mimicking me. “ ‘I need to think about how those pills got inside that car’? ‘Hey, you were prescribed Oxy, weren’t you, Fin?’ You don’t say anything without a reason.”
“Sure I do,” I deflect. “Last week, I lectured you about how people misuse the phrase ‘let the cat out of the bag.’ ”
“True,” she concedes. “I’ve never been so bored. Anyway, something on your mind?”
“Actually, yes,” I say. “I’ve decided to plead guilty.”
When Allison returns to earth after a brief freak-out, asking me twice to repeat myself and then confirming that I have not completely taken leave of my senses, I explain that the sooner I put this behind me, the better, that I prefer to look forward, not back.
“That’s a lot of coach-speak bullshit,” she says. “You know this will implicate Trinity, and even though she doesn’t return your feelings, you’re willing to fall on the sword for her. No.” She folds her arms. “It’s out of the question. I won’t let you.”
I draw back. “Excuse me? I think you mean you won’t stop me. It’s my decision.”
“You’ll lose everything. You’ll never coach baseball again.”
I shrug. “I doubt that’s true. I won’t coach for a year or two, but someone will give me a second chance sooner or later.”
“Sooner or later?” She throws up her arms, walks in a circle. “Just to protect a woman you love who doesn’t love you back?”
I ignore that remark. “Let me ask you something, not as my sister but as my lawyer: Would I get prison time? For a first offense, if I plead guilty? Honestly.”
She doesn’t want to answer that question, but duty calls; I’m a client asking his lawyer for advice.
She puts her hands on the island as if to hold herself up.
“There’s a chance they’d offer a plea that spared you prison.
Probation. But the judge doesn’t have to accept that recommendation.
The judge might want to make an example of you and give you a few years inside. Real prison time, Smiles.”
I slowly nod. “Ask the prosecutors what they’d accept. If it’s probation or even a few months in prison, I’d be willing—”
“No, no, no. Luke, listen to me.” She comes around the island.
For a moment I don’t know if she’s going to hug me or wrap her hands around my throat.
Instead, she grips me by the shoulders. “Let’s just wait and see.
There’s no need to rush into a decision.
Two days from now is the preliminary hearing.
Let’s investigate, look into this. Who knows what we might learn?
Don’t—please don’t take the fall for something you didn’t do. Give it time.”
I wiggle away from her. I’m not in the mood to be handled.
Not to worry, little sister. I’ll give it all the time it requires.
And I have no intention of taking the fall.