18. Then
T wo days after Donna tells me about the internship she’s gotten me, the one that will have me staying with them for another year, Luke shows up in my section again. He shouldn’t be here, and I shouldn’t want to stay right by his side while he is.
I arrive at his table with coffee and juice and a bagel before he’s said a word. They’re all I can give him for free, and even the bagel might be a problem. I’ll pay for it if Charlie notices.
He smells like sunscreen, and the saltwater drying in his hair gives it a little curl. There’s something inside him that seems to glow after he’s spent the morning surfing, something that makes me want to be near him even more than I already do.
“How were the waves?”
“Knee high and glassy.” There’s a tiny glint of humor in his eyes.
He surfs at Long Point in the mornings when Danny isn’t around, and Long Point has not had a “knee high and glassy” morning since the beginning of time.
They’re double overhead on their worst day, the water churned up and unpredictable thanks to competing breezes.
I smile. “Sure it was. I guess you’re not hungry at all, then.”
His eyes flicker from the menu to my face, his mouth almost twitching. “I could probably eat.”
I laugh. Luke “could probably eat” if he’d just cleaned out a buffet. Luke “could probably eat” if he’d just finished fourths on Thanksgiving.
“Same as last time?” I ask.
For a fraction of a second our gaze locks. By referencing the fact that he’s been in before, I’ve referenced that we’ve kept it a secret. I’m admitting I remember what he ordered, and I probably shouldn’t remember.
Something softens in his face. “Yeah. Same as last time.”
We haven’t done anything wrong, but as I put in his order—two eggs over easy, bacon, sourdough—I know I should end this.
I know I should return with a stack of pancakes and act as if his last visit meant nothing to me, that it didn’t manage to imprint itself in any way and that the tip he left isn’t still hiding dead in the center of Wuthering Heights .
But I wouldn’t do that to him, even if I wanted to.
Luke is like me—he’s alone in ways the people around us are not.
The Allens might claim to love us, but they aren’t family.
They can turn against us without blinking an eye if we displease them.
I want Luke to know that I see him, that I’m in his corner, that I won’t turn against him no matter what happens after this.
When his food’s ready, I set it in front of him like a gift. I remember you were here. I remember every word you’ve ever said. I see you.
“Do you get to eat?” His tone is devoid of inflection as if he’s asking a question that doesn’t matter at all, that doesn’t matter enough to even be asked.
Is he asking if I’m free? If I can sit down with him now? I’m not sure.
I sigh. “Yeah, but only later, once it’s slow.”
“Don’t take that internship.”
Something sags inside me. “Donna went to a lot of trouble to make it happen. I feel like I have to.”
His lip curls. “Exactly how much trouble did she go to for that internship you never implied in any way you wanted? She knows you don’t want to teach.
She wants you to teach. More to the point, she wants to make sure you stay nice and safe in her home, waiting for her son to come back and claim you. ”
“You’re making her sound evil and she’s not.”
He runs a hand over his face. “I don’t doubt she thinks she’s got your best interests at heart.
But she doesn’t care what you want from your life.
She’s decided it for you, and she’s guilted you into accepting it.
She just told you to quit your fucking job, the one that might get you a little independence, and go work full-time for free , Juliet.
Do you really think that’s entirely altruistic, or do you think maybe a part of her is scared of what happens when you don’t need them anymore?
Because I am fucking sure that’s a factor, no matter what she says to you or herself. ”
I swallow. “Donna isn’t like that. And she’s probably right. It turns out badly for most people.”
“If everyone stopped trying to do shit other people had failed at, we’d still be cooking over fire and wishing wheels existed. Whatever. I got you something.” He reaches to his right and hands me a small package. “It’s a mic. It attaches to your phone.”
I have no clue why he’d give me this or what I’d use it for. “Oh, uh…thanks.” I sound more confused than grateful.
“I thought you could use it to record yourself singing. I looked it up. People have gotten discovered just by sending in their home recordings, and that mic is supposed to have better sound quality than the rest.”
Five seconds ago, the package in my hand seemed weird and mostly meaningless.
Now, it’s as if he’s handed me something priceless beyond measure.
Not simply because he believes in me, in my ability to become something when no one else believes the same, but that he cares enough to show up here and insist on it.
I blink back tears. “I love it,” I rasp. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” He picks up his fork and stabs it into an egg yolk. “ Use it.”
* * *
I’m the one who sets up the GoFundMe for Luke.
He tells me no one’s going to donate but I’m hoping he’s wrong.
If we can just get him a few good boards—two decent shortboards and a board for big waves—that might be good enough.
There’s a pretty big contest in Santa Cruz this summer and everyone thinks he’d have a shot.
Maybe he’ll get some attention, get a sponsor or two, and build from there.
The pastor drones on at dinner about what Luke might do with a business degree—marketing, or car sales. He thinks I might qualify to work at a preschool later on, once I have this year of interning under my belt.
There’s nothing wrong with what he suggests. It’s just not what either of us wants. My gaze meets Luke’s.
“Just because they say it,” his eyes tell me, “doesn’t mean we have to listen.”
I smile in response. He’s right.