10. Luke
CHAPTER 10
Luke
“Well, I’ll be damned. The prodigal son has returned,” my father announces with a ghost of a smile, a cigarette dangling between his lips. His steps come nearer as I close the car door.
“Hi, Dad,” I reply when he gives me a slight slap on the shoulder.
The shape of the house looks better and better every time I come home, and this time it’s no different. It seems like my dad finally got himself a few chairs for the front porch. The paint job doesn’t look bad as well; the stucco looks almost as white as the white button-down shirt I have in my duffel bag.
“Bianca is on shift at the hospital,” Dad says, his hand turning the doorknob to close the door. “Rebecca has a singing lesson, but Bianca will pick her up on her way home.”
“Singing lessons, huh?”
He chuckles, putting a hand on the back of his neck. “She’s really good, too. I went to one of the concerts.” My dad smiles as he stares at the ground. “Just a bunch of kids. But yeah, your sister can do the falsetto or whatever they call it.” When his eyes finally meet mine, the honey color is tainted with guilt. “It was Bianca’s idea. She went to a PTA meeting in my place and the teacher brought it up.” When I don’t say anything, he continues on the ramble. “We’re a two-income household now, Luke. So you know?—”
“No, I get it.” I make my way to the kitchen, getting myself some water. The whole ride here was fueled by an energy drink. I need something that's not going to give me a heart attack. “It’s great for Becca. Happy for her. You don’t have to feel bad for providing for your daughter.”
“Luke, listen.” But then he sighs and decides to cut himself off. “Yeah, she’s happy. Bianca has been great with her. Since Gigi doesn’t come around anymore, the girls have been bonding. I’m pretty sure they’re happier when I’m gone than when I’m here.”
A sober and nervous Vincent Palmer is a chatty Vincent Palmer, similar to his drunk persona. Only the talking points are different. Usually I let him go on without saying anything, not wanting to prolong the conversation with either alter ego, but not this time. “Gigi doesn’t come around?”
“Gigi hasn’t been home since the funeral, son.”
I don’t know why, but that doesn’t sit right with me. When Bianca became a Palmer, I could have sworn that these two wouldn’t last long in Kinsdale Springs. Not after having a life in New York. I was waiting for that phone call or message to arrive where Dad would tell me that he was getting a divorce, but the news never came. It wasn’t until I started following Gigi’s social media a few months after them moving here that I realized why—the New Yorkers turned into townies. Scrolling through her feed and seeing the pictures was like looking at a zebra embracing a life in the aquarium living amongst fishes. But she looked like she was having the time of her life. Why? I have no goddamn clue.
“Luke Palmer! In the flesh!” Ross approaches me, arms open and ready for a man-hug. “Surprised to see you here.”
“Well, you invited me,” I say with a laugh. “Congratulations on the engagement.”
Just as Ross lets go of me, June, his very pregnant fiancée, is pulling me into another hug. The last time I saw her was when we buried Andrew. I smile at the memories of her babysitting me when I was younger, bribing us with bags of candy as long as I wouldn’t tell her parents that Ross would come over and the two of them would disappear upstairs. My child mind believed them when they told me they were only listening to music upstairs. They were most definitely fucking. Hopefully, not in my room.
“Congratulations, June.”
She squeezes my shoulders and stares me up and down. “You turned into a stunner, Luke.”
“I do what I can,” I say, smiling.
“Alright, we’re going to go greet the other guests. Go mingle.”
As June and Ross say hello to the other guests, linked at the arm, I take a look around to observe the familiar faces that are here tonight. I bet Andrew would have loved to be here. He used to beg his parents to drop him off at my place when he knew June was babysitting. The guy had a big crush on her as a kid. He would have loved the self-service bar set up at the corner, too.
I make my way there, fully intending to make myself a rum and Coke. This town is small enough that you can walk home if you’re too drunk to drive. My car can stay parked here and I can pick it up tomorrow when it’s time for me to go back. I don’t want to stay longer than I need to. After breakfast with Becca, I’m out.
I’m pouring myself a drink when I hear a familiar voice greet me. “Hi, Luke.”
“Hi, Rachel,” I say, putting the Coke bottle in its original place. My head snaps up when I realize who the person is. Rachel from church. “How, uh, how are you?”
“Good,” she answers. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I live with my sister now in Aldenborro.”
“I haven’t. Good for you. Must be nice to live together.”
I have mostly only paid attention to the back of Rachel’s head, usually at church. Now that she’s in front of me, my mind is going at a hundred miles an hour. Not because I like her, though. Because of something entirely different.
Rachel is slender, blonde, and has blue eyes. Although she’s attractive, as far as I know, she was never popular in school. Maybe not at the bottom of the hierarchy, but not at the top of the food chain, either. She and Gigi couldn’t be more different. Hell, she and Andrew couldn’t be more different. Would he cheat on Gigi with her? It seems like the only thing they had in common was church.
“Rach, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what is it?” she asks with a smile as she screws the cap of the soda back on.
“Did you sleep with Andrew?” I ask, deciding to just cut right to the chase.
She looks at me in horror. Even under the poor lighting, I can see the color leaving her already pale skin. “Uh, no? Where…where did you hear that from?” She’s smiling, but judging by the sound of her voice and the way she can’t look me in the eye, I know she’s lying.
Fuck.
“Did you?” I don’t actually need to hear a verbal confirmation, but fuck me…
“Please don’t tell her,” she mumbles before hurrying away from me and joining her friends.
Running my hand through my hair, I pull out my phone and do the one thing I know can’t wait. Something I should have done weeks ago. I text Gigi.
Are you free tomorrow? We need to talk.
Gigi was telling the truth. And I shat on it. You’re a fucking asshole, Lucas Palmer.