Chapter 38
Lukas
TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD
Two packages of ham and a bag of sliced cheese.
I wander the aisles of the local market, waiting, hoping that maybe, something will appeal to me.
That I’ll have some spark of an appetite and eat for joy, and not just to stay alive.
Aisle by aisle, my heavy steps wander, and I find myself in the juice aisle, ready to reach for a pack of sports drinks when the label of a bottle of pomegranate juice catches my eye, the ruby hue making my chest ache.
“What do you think, baby?” Magnolia applies another layer of gloss to her lower lip before she leans back, adjusting the mirror in my passenger seat so the sun shines on her. “It’s called Pomegranate Punch, I just got it today.”
With her gaze still locked on her lips in the mirror, I lean back in the driver’s seat, stretching my arm out to rest on the back of her seat, and I take her in.
She’s fresh from ballet class with one of my sweatshirts drowning her thin frame.
Her legs, covered in tights, are curled under her, and I can already see the swelling starting in her feet.
I’m sure I’ll be massaging them tonight, just like I do most nights after she gets out of a long day in the studio.
“Lukas,” she calls, turning to face me. She reaches up, pulling the pins out of her sleek bun, and her soft blonde hair falls down in messy waves over her shoulders. She rakes her fingers through her scalp, eyes locking with mine as she combs her hair.
“What’s that, baby?” I muse, and she cocks her head at me.
“Are you even listening?”
“I always listen to you, sweetheart.” I lean forward, reaching over to grab her left foot, and when my thumb digs into the arch like she loves, she groans and her eyes roll back in her head.
“Good, Lord, that feels incredible.”
Using my grip on her foot, I tug her across the seat, and she squeals when I pin her underneath me. “You were asking what I think of your purple plum lip stuff,” I murmur, my mouth hovering just over hers.
“Pomegranate Punch.”
“Mmmmm.” I lean in, brushing my lips over hers. The taste of fruity something meets my tongue, and I deepen the kiss when her fingers rake over my scalp. She grips my hair, and her leg comes up to wrap around my hips.
When I pull back, she pouts, and I plant another soft kiss on her lips. “I think I love Pomegranate Punch, and I sure as hell love you, baby.”
I take one step back, then another, my eyes refusing to lose sight of the pomegranate juice until I’m a dozen or so feet away. Then I spin, muscle memory taking hold and I leave the juice aisle, taking a right and walking two aisles over.
My eyes scan the row of whiskey. Each bottle sitting idly on the metal shelf, staring at me, just begging me to wrap my hands around its neck.
It’d be so easy, I tell myself. Just throw a fifth into the basket next to my sad loaf of bread and basic lunch meat.
You can go home and crack the bottle before your shoes are even kicked off by the door.
I bet it’d hit the spot. That first burning sip would be enough that maybe I could relax.
I’ll bet a glass or two would calm me down.
Half the bottle would put me right to sleep.
Maybe I’d dream of her, maybe I wouldn’t.
But I know staying awake most of the night hasn’t helped.
No matter how I toss and turn, how many times I punch my pillow or kick off the blankets, my thoughts won’t stop spinning.
Memories of Magnolia flood my mind and fill my vision until I’m screaming.
Punching the pillow next to me as if it’s the reason I’m alone, sleeping next to the ghost of her.
If it’s not Magnolia I dream of, it’s Collins. It’s the men we lost.
Many nights, I dream I’m sitting next to that rock, and I can hear their screams, knowing that they need me to help, but when I try to move, I’m stuck. My body’s buried halfway in the ground.
I’m reaching for the bottle when a shopping cart comes into my side view, and I turn at the same time a frail voice calls out to me, “Well, look what the wind blew in.”
Nana.
My basket drops to the floor and my arms are flung open wide.
Magnolia’s Nana Margie takes one shaking step toward me, and I meet her the rest of the way, bending over as I wrap my arms around her petite frame.
I hold her as tightly as I can without breaking her, and her arms come up to rest along my back.
“Lukas William Hart, how I’ve missed seeing your handsome face around. ”
I smile into her white hair, pulling back to take a good look at her.
“I think you’re a little biased, Nana.” She smiles up at me, and for the first time in a long time, the pain sitting at the center of my chest lets up, just a smidge.
Magnolia’s family has always been kind to me.
They supported our childhood friendship, and when we told them that our teenage friendship had grown into a real relationship, they all looked at one another as if to say, “It’s about damn time. ”
There were many afternoons that Magnolia and I would go to Nana's house after school to help her out. We’d use the excuse that we wanted her homemade cookies, which we did.
But after Mags's grandpa had passed our freshman year, we never wanted Nana to feel alone. I’d mow the lawn while Mags vacuumed and did the laundry, and Nana would cook us dinner, making sure to pack a plastic baggie of cookies for us as payment.
Mine were always gone before I had hit the gravel road back home.
Wednesday night dates with her were the highlight of my week before I deployed.
Now that I’m back home, I have to take the long way from town to the farm, otherwise, I’ll drive by Nana’s house.
I’ve been avoiding it. I couldn’t stomach the idea that someone as kind as Nana might hate me for what I’ve done.
“How's my favorite girl doing?” I ask as I pretend to look her up and down, smiling as I do. “Seems to me like you get younger each time I see you.”
She pretends to scoff at that, letting go of me to stand back with an arm reaching out to balance at the base of her grocery cart.
“You always were so good to me, Lukas.” She pauses for a minute, and I can see her wise gaze assessing, reading through the paper mask I’ve worn since the day I stepped off the plane back in Iowa.
“I’m glad to see you home, Lukas. And thank you for your service. ”
I hate the cliche “thank you” and “welcome home” that people throw at me in the name of patriotism.
I didn’t join the military with the sole need to serve my country.
I don’t want the praise. I joined because I’m a coward.
The real heroes died out there. The men like Collins who were ready to spend their lives protecting our freedom.
I don't deserve anyone to notice that I’m back.
But I’d never tell Nana that. So instead, I nod, swallowing my disdain thickly. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“How long have you been back?”
“Couple months.”
“And you’re working on the farm?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod. “Still not sure what the long-term plan is.”
The long-term plan had always been whatever Magnolia wanted.
We should’ve been married right now, or at least engaged, and I’d be looking for work in whatever town, whatever city she had made her home.
But I let myself fuck it all up. Now, my plan is to not sleep, apparently.
To spend my days scouring through old memories and my nights hating myself.
“Well, if you ever get bored, I know an old lady who would love a visit.”
I smile at that, one of the first genuine smiles I’ve given in quite a while. “You know I’d love any excuse to come hang out with you. Maybe you can find a job or two to keep me busy.”
We stand in peaceful silence for a moment, our attention flicking around from her shopping cart to the random person that passes by, before I muster up the courage to ask what I’m dying to know.
“How is she?”
I can’t help it. Chalk another weak moment up to my lack of self-discipline these days. I may not hear from Mags anymore, but it hasn’t stopped me from wondering about her every single day.
Nana’s soft smile slowly falls, and she looks to the side, nodding at another shopper as they pass by. “She’s doing her best.”
I laugh awkwardly. “And what does that mean?”
“She’s had a rough time … with everything.”
Her response is vague, and that’s probably for the best. I don’t need one of my favorite people in the world to say the words. I don’t need to hear that I let her down, that I broke her heart. That I made the sweetest girl there ever was, cry.
I can feel the dam ready to break, and I know I need to get the fuck out of the grocery store before it does.
I’m about to move in for another hug, to lie and say that my parents are waiting on me back at the house, when Nana drops the final bomb that snaps the last bit of strength I had in me.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but she started seeing someone. ”
I stumble back as if she had physically shoved me.
Of course, I hadn’t heard—everyone around me knows they can’t mention her name. I never did the social media thing, and any friends of hers that liked me in the past sure as hell wouldn’t talk to me anymore.
The shock that’s radiating through my system must be evident on my face, because Nana reaches for me, her bony, cool hands taking one of my calloused ones. “She’s trying, Lukas, that’s all. That’s all she can do. I’m not going to lie and say that I was happy to hear it either, but…”
I want to say I’m sorry, that I still love her, and I can’t think of any fucking thing but her, but I’ve already done too much damage.
Magnolia deserves love. She deserves a man who doesn’t wrestle with his demons every day.
A man who would be able to provide for her and be the safe space she needs.
She doesn’t need a man who’s dying inside, a slow death caused by his own idiocy.
“I want her to be happy.” That’s all I can manage to say.
And it’s true. I wish that happiness was with me, like we used to be, but it’s still true.
Her head tilts to the side, and a sad expression crosses her face. “So do I. And I want to see you be happy, too.”
I clear my throat with a rough cough, looking away from Nana and back to the shelf of whiskey that seems to be calling out for me louder than ever before.
“Well,” I rasp, offering out my arm to Nana. “Does the pretty lady have any other shopping to do, or can I walk you to the register?”
She takes my arm, her small frame leaning on me slightly for balance.
Picking my grocery basket off the floor, I set it inside the cart, and with one hand on the handle, I escort Nana to the checkout lines.
We make small talk as I place her items on the conveyor belt, and I make sure to give her another hug with a promise to come see her this week.
And when she turns to pay, I let a lie slide out of my mouth when I tell her that I forgot to grab something from the back.
I leave her to pay for her groceries and move around the store, taking the long way around so Nana can’t see me break. So she doesn’t see the handle of whiskey I reach for, laying it down in my basket next to my loaf of bread.
Once Nana is out of the store, I pay for my pitiful groceries, tucking the bottle of whiskey into the crisp paper bag, out of sight from anyone but me.
Then I’m out of the store and into the darkening parking lot, steps away from the door of my pick up truck, and seconds away from cracking the seal on the whiskey when a car door slams, and a chipper voice calls out for me,
“Lukas!”
I pause, tightening my grip on the bag in my arms, and I twist my head, pasting a fake smile on my lips when I turn to see who is calling out to me.
Candi Peterson waves, standing at the hood of her small SUV.
Candi is somewhat new to Copper Ridge from what I hear.
She moved here a few months before I was discharged back home, and I’ve run into her from time to time at The Tipsy Tractor.
Her crush on me is obvious, even if she hadn’t told Harper she was interested, but never in my life have I been able to choke up feelings for someone other than Magnolia, so her interest has always fallen on deaf ears.
“Hey, Candi, how are things?”
She takes my greeting as an invite, and closes the space between us.
Her perfume hits me, and I try to see her from a new perspective.
She’s pretty, no doubt. Petite with long dark hair and a big smile.
I can acknowledge her looks like the warm-blooded man I am.
But when I look at her, I can’t ignore the fact that I feel … nothing.
“Lukas?” she prods, and I realize I must have zoned out.
“Sorry about that.” I shake my head, and adjust the bag in my arms, switching it to the other side. “I, uh … I’m glad I ran into you, actually.” I take in a slow, steady breath, willing the sting in my throat to subside.
I need to do this, I tell myself. Magnolia is seeing someone. She’s dating. She’s trying to move on from us, and even though it’s going to hurt like hell, maybe I need to try to do the same.
“I, uh … I was wondering if you’d like to grab dinner sometime.”
THE END