Chapter 25 Luca
Back home in the driveway, Emery hits the garage remote, and the door rolls open to reveal an empty space where I know my work truck used to be.
I realize there’s nothing I can do with it for now, but its absence makes me feel weirdly hollow. “Where’s my truck?”
“Oh, shit, sorry.” She puts her hand on my arm. “I had Crash come get it earlier. You can’t use it for now, and I’d rather have the car in the garage while you’re home recuperating so that Betty next door can’t track my every move.”
“Why doesn’t she like you?”
“For starters, we’ve already established that I work a lot.
I don’t think she approves.” She frowns as she carefully steers her car into the tight space.
“I’m not very domestic or particularly talented in the ways a woman her age probably thinks a wife should be.
She loves you and thinks you deserve better.
There’s also my job. Most people just take things at face value, but I always got the sense that she never bought the story.
I’m probably being paranoid, but I can’t shake this sense that she’s hovering over us. ”
“I’m sure you’re overthinking it.” Carefully, I climb out once she’s put the car in park. My leg is sore from all the walking, and it takes me longer to stand than I’d like.
“She came over the other day,” Em says, walking around the car to the house. “She wanted to talk to you, and I said you weren’t feeling well. You talk to her almost every day; she’d know immediately that something’s off.”
Honey barks excitedly when she hears the door open, and I follow Emery into the house through the garage door, watching her routine of dropping her keys in the ceramic bowl, kicking off her shoes, washing her hands before grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water.
She lifts it to her lips, drinking deeply.
Her throat is long and smooth, and the urge rises up inside me to move closer and press my mouth there.
“Won’t she think that’s weird?” I say. “If she goes from talking to me every day to never seeing me?”
Emery walks to the living room, letting Honey out of her crate. Honey bounds excitedly forward, straight to me, where she presses her head into my palm for attention. Careful of my leg, I crouch down, pressing my face to her fur. “Hey, baby.”
Sending her hand down Honey’s back, Emery says, “Honey-girl, do you need to go potty?”
Honey is very on board with this plan and races to the back door. We follow, letting her out and watching her noodle around the lawn.
“There’s more,” Emery says, leaning against the doorway.
“I’m almost positive she saw me the night of your accident.
She’s older, and I have to imagine her eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but I think she saw me inject you with the compound—” To illustrate, she lifts her arm and brings it down hard enough to get through a sternum.
Holy shit. It really would look like I was being stabbed.
“Then I put you in my car and drove away, and she hasn’t seen you since. ”
“Fuck.”
“Yep, fuck. She said there was blood on the ground, which there was, but when she went back to take a photo, it was gone.” At my questioning look, she adds, “Annie has a friend who ‘takes care’ of that kind of thing.” She taps a finger against her mouth.
“Do you send a thank-you note for a situation like that? He was super thorough.”
I rub my hands over my face. This whole thing just keeps getting weirder. “So, this neighbor lady thinks you, what?” I ask with a laugh. “Killed me?” When Emery doesn’t even smile, I stop laughing.
“I think so, yeah.”
“You’re saying this woman thinks she saw you murder me and do something with my body—”
“Probably bury you in the backyard. Or had Crash do it when he planted the trees.” She lifts her chin to indicate the new row bordering the property. “Ooh, maybe she thinks Crash and I are having an affair and planned it together.”
“Jesus Christ. And she still hasn’t called the police? I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“She used to have the police out in the neighborhood all the time, for everything from speeding to jaywalking to someone’s porch light being too bright.
I think they’ve warned her to not waste resources again, and she’s a stubborn old bird, so I’m sure she’s determined to play private investigator now. ”
“Wouldn’t the simplest solution be for her to just see me? I’m not actually dead.” I grin over at her. “At least not dead anymore. I mean, come on, Em, she’s just one person.”
“Luca, what’s Betty’s last name?”
“Carter. No, Carson.” Emery shakes her head. “Cooper?”
“Caldwell. What time do you go to work in the morning?”
I should know this. “Early?”
“What is Betty always complaining about?”
“Uh…”
“Speeding. Parking violations. Paint colors. Rogue butterfly plants. Yes, she’s just one person, but the last thing we want is the police snooping around.
There’s too much surveillance footage from all the home security cameras and community watch programs. We don’t want to give anyone a reason to dig back into them and start asking questions. ”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Okay, fine. You’re right.”
Emery stands in front of me, her hand on my chest. “You know I don’t want to be right, right?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“We’ll just have to work on getting your memory back. Or cramming like you’re prepping for a test.” Pushing up to her toes, she presses a kiss to my cheek and joins Honey outside. “It’ll be just like college!” she says over her shoulder.
“I didn’t go to college,” I say, but they’re both already outside, Honey darting around the backyard, getting her zoomies out.
I start for the fridge before realizing what I just said.
Is that true? Do I remember not going to college or am I just assuming because nobody has mentioned it?
It’s always sounded like I went straight from high school to working with Crash.
Going to the living room, I sink into the couch, trying to parse out what I’m feeling.
Slightly anxious, high-strung, confused.
Horny, if I’m being truthful. Which isn’t surprising, really.
Today has been a lot. From the kiss at the beach, to the situation with the neighbor, and the fact that I don’t know a real memory from an imagined one.
I have the urge to run, to swim, to move, and I wonder if that’s what I used to do when I was tense or thinking through something. I have the weird sense that my body is too big for my skin, and I’m uncomfortably antsy.
Emery has come in and is laughing at something Honey is doing in the bedroom. I want to ask her about the college thing, but I think I need a few minutes.
“Would it be okay if I took Honey for a walk?” I call to her.
Emery comes back down the hall to the living room, frowning. The setting sun coming in through the front window catches in her hair, painting her skin in a fiery glow. “Alone? Outside?”
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “Outside. Unless there’s a treadmill in a closet somewhere I haven’t seen.”
“Luca, you don’t have to ask my permission,” she says softly. “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”
“No, I get why you’re worried. I promise I won’t talk to any neighbors or do anything to raise suspicions. It’s getting dark, so they won’t even see me. I’ll wear headphones and look completely unapproachable.”
Laughing, she tilts her head. “You? Unapproachable? As if that’s possible.”
I scratch my neck, wincing. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, because that’s not really what this is about, but I need something. “I just… feel a little restless, like I need to move.”
She reaches for my hand, and I’m not sure she realizes she’s done it; it seems so instinctive. I twist my fingers with hers so she can’t pull away. “What are you anxious about?” she asks.
“Is ‘everything’ the wrong answer?”
“Of course not.” A beat passes. “Are you anxious about us?”
“No,” I say, surprised that it’s the truth. “Today was amazing.”
“It was.”
“I want to remember what we had.” I pull her closer, soaking in the warmth of her skin. “I’m so attracted to you,” I say, and I know she feels it, too. “But—”
“You don’t have to explain,” she says. “I understand. Do you want me to come with you?”
“I think I’d like to go alone?” Other than jerking off in the bathroom, I haven’t done anything alone since I came back—showering, eating, sleeping, dressing. I can see the worry in her eyes—after all, I was out on my own at night when I was hurt—but I need to do this.
“You sure you’re up to it?”
“I feel good,” I tell her. “A little stiff after the drive home, so a walk will be good. Maybe when I’m back we can watch a movie?”
With a nod, she squeezes my hand, her smile mirrored in her dark eyes. “A walk and then a movie. Sounds good.”
I breathe in, filling my lungs. The sun is gone and it’s quiet and cool out, the night air heavy with condensation. I’d been right: it had rained a bit in the afternoon, and the sidewalks are still dark with moisture.
Wearing a sweatshirt with the hood up, I grab my cane and head out in the opposite direction of Betty’s house, careful to make sure I’m not visible from any of her windows.
The moon is high and casts a silver net across the sky.
On our street, most of the homes have their porch lights illuminated.
A handful have lights on in the front windows, but others are shut up tight, curtains drawn.
Crickets seem to be everywhere. A car drives by; a kid on an e-bike whirs past, but it’s mostly quiet.
No wonder nobody saw anything Friday night.
At my side, Honey lifts her head at the sound of a dog barking somewhere in the distance but quickly returns her attention to the ground in front of us.
She sniffs enthusiastically, like every smell is new and fascinating.
I know how she feels. My feet have likely been on this same sidewalk hundreds of times before, but I get to experience it—and everything else—for the first time all over again. A bizarre sort of silver lining.