45. Luke
FORTY-FIVE
LUKE
“Why the fuck do I keep getting birdseed on inventory day?” I grumbled, resisting the urge to crumple the paper on the clipboard and walk my ass out of the hardware store.
Connor offered me yet another pass, but I thought it’d do me good to stay busy.
These days, I clung to most excuses to avoid being home.
Home reminded me too damn much of Maggie.
I kept finding reminders of her—a pink hair tie under the couch, a tube of lip gloss behind the nightstand, and long, stray, honey-blonde hairs on my couch, in my bed, on my flannel jacket. They were almost as plentiful as the dog hair Ellie left behind on every surface.
She was everywhere.
And yet, I hadn’t heard a fucking peep from her since she made it to the hospital over a month ago.
I’d started and deleted so many texts these past several weeks that I lost count.
But every time I pulled up our message history, that photo popped up.
Maggie cradling a baby in her arms. There were bags under her eyes, but they were hardly noticeable in comparison to the joy on her face.
She was where she belonged.
And I was . . . here.
“If you want to show up early and print off the inventory sheets next time, then you can choose the assignments.” Connor was trying to rile me up, and it was working.
“I don’t have to be here,” I reminded him.
“Then leave.” Connor challenged me with a smile on his face. I wanted to punch it right off.
“Connor, why don’t you go grab us some lunch,” Dad said, clapping him on the back. “I’ll help your brother count the birdseed.”
“I don’t need help,” I muttered as Connor headed out the front door.
“Is that so?” Dad posted both hands on his hips and stared me down. Which was impressive considering I had five inches on him. “You’re biting the heads off everyone who gets near you. This is worse than when Raquel left.”
“Can we just get this damn inventory over with?”
“So you can what? Not go home?” Dad set his clipboard on a stack of boxes I’d yet to unpack.
I gripped my clipboard tighter.
“You think I don’t know what this is?” Dad pressed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“When your mom died—”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Tough shit. I’ve tiptoed around your mother’s death for you for three years. I’m done. If I want to talk about my wife, I will.”
His admission gave me pause. Did I shut him down when he tried to talk about Mom? When I stopped to think about it, I could easily recall half a dozen examples that backed him up. Which meant there were many more. Fuck, I didn’t realize how harsh I’d been.
“I thought I was helping you.”
“That’s your problem, Luke. You think you know what’s best for everyone.
But you never ask.” Dad pulled a five-gallon bucket off the shelf, turning it upside down and sitting on it.
“If you think it’s not hard to go home and not see your mother everywhere just because it’s been three years, you’re wrong. ”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Don’t play stupid, son. You’re better than that.”
Because he’d seen right through me, I gave up the fight and pulled a bucket of my own from the shelf to sit on. Maybe it was time I kept my mouth shut and started listening.
“I miss her every damn day. I’d give anything to have her back. Don’t think I don’t blame myself for not going to Denver with her that weekend. Maybe she’d still be here. Maybe we’d both be gone.”
“It was supposed to be me.”
“She asked me first,” Dad said, and that shut me up. “I saw the way you looked at Maggie. I recognized the way she brought you to life, because that’s how Brenda was for me. It’s been hell living without her.”
Dad pinched his lips tight, his eyes suddenly shiny as he stared at the floor. The only time I’d ever seen him cry was at her funeral. But now I wondered how much pain he hid from us kids. How much pain I dismissed simply because I thought not talking about Mom was what he needed.
“Maggie’s still here, son.”
“She’s not coming back.”
“Did you ask her to?”
“We had an understanding—”
“Bullshit. You two thought you could keep things casual, but went and fell in love. And before you deny it, the whole damn town watched it happen. The only thing I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell her how you feel.”
“How do you know I haven’t?”
“Because, despite how much you might look like your mother, you definitely inherited my idiotic stubbornness. I’d bet the store you let her leave without telling her you wanted her to come back.” Dad stared at me hard. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I couldn’t.
“By not speaking up, you made her choice for her.”
“I didn’t—”
The bells chimed overhead, and Dad popped to his feet. “Mayor Chambers, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“Joe, you know better. Call me Rosalyn.” They’d had the same conversation ever since Rosalyn was elected. “I was looking for Luke. Seen him?”
I stood, bracing to hear what I did wrong now. Was she here to lecture me on how harsh I’d been to my officers lately? I’d snapped enough times they were avoiding me.
“What can I do for you, Mayor?”
The bells chimed again, Connor this time, returning with a bag from The Trailhead Café. As much as I loved their sandwiches, I hadn’t had an appetite in days. Maybe longer.
“I was hoping you had Maggie Holland’s contact info.”
“What do you need that for?”
Dad shot me a look, and I cleared my throat. Fuck, I really was a grouch lately.
“I have something for her. And strangely enough, not a soul in this town has her number. They were all so used to seeing her in person that no one bothered to exchange numbers or emails or anything. I asked the book club to track her down on social media, but it’s like she’s a ghost.”
“Why didn’t you or anyone else ask me for her number sooner?”
Rosalyn quirked an eyebrow, challenging the stupidity of that question with one hard look. “Because we saved poking the bear as a last resort.”
Fuck. I was the bear.
“What do you have for her?” Did I have a right to ask? No. But I had a suspicion I already knew the answer. If this had anything to do with our conversation out at the pumpkin patch last month, the mayor was planning to offer Maggie a job.
“You know what it is,” she said, confirming my hunch.
“A job offer.”
“Between Frank and myself, we were able to pull a few strings. If Maggie wants to be Bluebell Springs’ VSO, the job is hers.”
“Do you have the offer on paper?”
“Why?”
Maybe Maggie would accept the position. Maybe she’d settled in Lansing and wasn’t interested in moving yet again. But there was only one way to know if she’d come home.
“Because I’m going to take it to her.”