Page 52 of When I'm Gone
The front room was dark, but he could make out the curve of carpet where it met the tile entryway. The house smelled of onions and potpourri, not at all familiar, and the carpet was a fluffy shag instead of the tight Berber of his childhood. But the ceiling fan was the same, the lights covered in those frosted-glass cuplike fixtures. Annie’s feminine laugh floated out from the kitchen, and the deep rumble of a male voice followed it. Luke pulled his eyes away from the fan and followed the voices, his feet sinking into the unfamiliar carpet, his pulse beating in his ears.
The kitchen was on the other side of the living room. To get there, Luke had to pass the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The last time he was in that hall, it was covered with blood. Logically he knew it wasn’t still there, but he still averted his eyes as he passed by. His feet were heavy, as though they were trying to tell Luke to turn around and go back. Then he heard Andy’s voice, and the world turned still around him.
“This house is great for a family. It’s been totally redone, inside and out. New plumbing five years ago, new carpet very recently, and the appliances are all still under warranty.”
“Wow, did you know the previous owners?” Annie asked, sounding distracted, probably wondering what was taking Luke so long.
“It’s a small town, so we all know each other pretty well, but lately we’ve had a lot of out-of-towners redoing houses and renting them out during the summer. I grew up in this town, so I did know the family who lived in this house before it became a rental cottage. Went to school with their kid.”
“You did?” Annie sounded actually interested, even though she didn’t know this used to be Luke’s house.
“Oh, yeah.” His voice deepened like he was going to share a secret. “It’s a very sad story. The father was an alcoholic, used to beat the mom and the kid. One day, when the mom was pregnant, the dad came home blasted and ...”
No. Luke refused to listen to Andy Garner tell this story. His feet woke up again and let him walk the last three steps into the kitchen. As he rounded the corner, Annie was leaning back against the white laminate counter. Andy Garner stood in the middle of the gray-tile floor, tan dress slacks with a belt, tailored blue shirt tucked in neatly. He definitely hadn’t grown since their last meeting, still a head shorter than Luke. Every other thing about him had changed: his hair, what was left of it, was neatly trimmed, his clothes actually fit, and his midsection was thick, with twenty extra pounds.
“Hey, honey,” Annie said in a singsong voice, “you made it.” She stood straight and waved Luke over. That’s when Andy Garner turned around with his hand extended, ready for a shake. It only took two steps before he stopped in his tracks.
“Luke? Luke Richardson? Hey there! What the heck are you doing here?” He seemed happy to see him. “You want to buy your old house? I thought you hated this place!”
“Maybe I want to buy it so I can tear it down,” Luke quipped, an unexpected flash of anger escaping from deep within. Annie pushed off the counter, standing at attention.
“This is your house?” she asked quietly, like she was confused that he hadn’t told her this information earlier. Andy glanced back at Annie and back at Luke.
“Wait, you got married again?” he asked. It sounded more like an accusation than a question. He could hear the word Andy had left out of that sentence. “You got married again ...already?”
“No.” Forget the plan. There was no way Luke was going to let Andy Garner act as the morality police. “She’s just a friend.” Andy snuck a quick look at Annie, who was standing erect, arms crossed tightly, face completely white.
“When she called,” he tipped his head in Annie’s direction, “she said she was your wife. Said your name was Charlie Fairbanks. What the hell is going on here, Luke?”
Andy’s voice surged, all friendly curiosity gone. Luke instinctively took his hands out of his pockets, ready for a fight. He’d never hit a man before, but he wasn’t about to let Andy Garner get one in without any warning, especially not in this house. No one was going to hit him in this house ever again.
“I needed to talk to you,” Luke said simply.
“And calling my office didn’t seem like an option?” Andy’s signature sarcasm leaked through his professional exterior. For a moment Luke could see him like he had on the quad—oily hair, baggy clothes, steely brown eyes.
“This conversation needed to happen in person.” Luke paused to gauge his response, but Andy’s face was hard and mocking. No sign he knew what was coming. “Tell me about Maranatha House, Andy.”
After the words left his mouth, it took a few seconds for them to register with Andy. But when they did, Luke could see the impact. Andy let out a deep sigh and shrunk at least three inches, like one of those Thanksgiving parade balloons deflating.
“Natalie promised me she’d never tell,” Andy said, using up his last bit of oxygen. He took another breath; this one stuttered as it went in. He placed a hand over his eyes. “My wife doesn’t even know.” His voice was thick with emotion now. He looked up, panic in his eyes. “You aren’t going to tell her, are you?”
Luke’s mouth was completely dry. So, it was true. How could it be true? Every time his mind took him to this moment, the moment when he found out Will was not Natalie’s first child and that his wife had been lying to him his whole marriage, he’d talk himself out of it.
He’d remind himself that Natalie hated dishonesty. Once, when they were kids, she’d gotten two gumballs out of the vending machine at the IGA, so she went to the counter and gave them an extra quarter. The owner was so impressed he’d put a picture of her behind the help desk with the words “Most Honest Customer” underneath. She’d never had a speeding ticket, cheated on a test, or snuck candy into a movie theater. How the hell did she keep this a secret?
Annie cleared her throat, still standing by the sink. Forming words became difficult through the red haze of anger creeping in around Luke’s vision.
“Luke,” she whispered, “you okay?”
He ignored Annie, narrowing in on Andy, who was standing in the middle of the room with his hands still over his mouth. He took a deliberate step toward the ever-shrinking man.
“Maybe we should tell her,” Luke growled through gritted teeth.
“Luke”—Annie’s voice was full of caution—“you never said anything about talking to his wife.”
Luke curled his hands into fists, over and over, wanting to hit something, someone. He’d spent so much of his life forcing himself to be gentle, kind, to never let anyone flip the switch inside him that might turn him into his father. Now he was close, closer than he’d ever been, to surrendering to the force of a man who still haunted the memories of his childhood, even though he was long in the grave.
“I think she has a right to know.”
