by Taylor Dean
“Wait. What did she see in the alcove?” Jill asked, absorbed in the story.
“Her husband’s dead body, lying in a pool of blood.”
Jill let out a shaky breath. “So . . . he’s . . .”
“A ghost,” Troy confirmed. “He walks her to the elevator in silence. Several people are in the elevator already. Her husband whispers in her ear, ‘Look no one in the eye.’ She does as he says, her hands shaking and her knees wobbling. When the elevator opens, the lobby is filled with nameless, expressionless people, staring blankly and wandering around aimlessly. ‘Just walk forward,’ her husband says and she obeys. He walks her to the glass door at the front of the hotel and pushes the door open. ‘Go,’ he says. ‘Don’t ever come back. Don’t even look back.’ The glass door closes, but the husband stays inside the hotel. Panicked, the wife turns back and tries to open the door. It’s locked. The husband stands there, his hand on the glass, a last farewell. ‘No!’ the wife screams. ‘Come with me.’ He shakes his head in the negative and mouths the words, ‘I love you.’ Suddenly the expressionless people come forward and the husband is engulfed by the masses, disappearing in the crowd. The wife turns and runs to her car.”
Troy didn’t say anything more as he looked between them with a sly grin.
“And?” Luke asked.
“And that’s the end,” Troy finished with a satisfied air.
The buzzer on the oven began to beep and Jill nearly jumped out of her skin. “That’s the creepiest story I’ve ever heard. You have a sick mind, Troy Kelley.”
“Pays the bills,” Troy said, offering them a nonchalant shrug.
“How do you sleep at night?” Jill hid her shaking hands. She’d always been a wimp when it came to scary movies or stories.
“Like a baby.”
Luke frowned, seeming a little disturbed. “How do you come up with that stuff?”
“Just comes to me.”
“And you think Luke’s mind is in the gutter?” Jill asked.
“Oh, I know it is, and always has been.” Troy went back to cutting zucchini.
“That’s me. The original degenerate,” Luke joked, but Troy’s manner toward Luke bothered her. If he had the chance to toss a dig at Luke, he did it with no hesitation. A little friendly humor would’ve softened his taunts, but there was none.
Jill pulled the eggplant out of the oven. “Hot!” she hollered automatically.
“Why do you do that?” Troy asked.
“Sorry, it’s a habit. When you work in a busy kitchen with lots of people bustling around, there are several things we yell out as a common courtesy. It helps to prevent accidents. When we’re carrying something that’s hot, we yell, ‘Hot!’ If we are walking around with a knife in hand, we yell, ‘Sharp!’ If we are turning a corner, we yell, ‘Corner!’ If we are coming up on someone’s back, we yell, ‘Behind you!’ It’s just kitchen lingo. Keeps everyone safe.”
“Huh. Smart.” Troy loved hearing details about being a chef and Jill loved having someone who wanted to hear about it.
She continued. “When something is almost done cooking we yell, ‘Two away!’ It means it’s about two minutes away from being done. When we’re out of something for the night, we yell, ’86 it!’ It means take it off the menu. If we have a limited amount of a menu item for the day, we might say, ‘I’ve got 8 all day.’ That would mean we only have 8 servings for the day and that’s it. Sometimes it’s like learning another language.”
“Interesting,” Troy muttered as he returned his concentration to his task.
It was two hours later when they finally took their leave. Troy loved everything they had made and had even taken a plate up to his mother, who wasn’t feeling well.
Luke patted Troy on the back. “See ya, buddy.”
“See ya, Luke.”
Luke and Jill went to his house and snuggled up on the couch. “Why is Troy so . . .?”
“Grouchy?” Luke provided.
“Um, yeah.”
“When he hurt his legs, he changed. He became bitter and sullen. That’s not the real Troy. I knew the real Troy and I just pretend that’s who he still is. I know he’s still in there, I see a glimmer of him every once in awhile. I ignore the rest.”
“You’re a good friend.” Jill noticed a new frame on his bookshelf. “Is that us?”
“Yep. It’s from my mom.”
Jill got up to get a closer look. It was a picture of the two of them, one that his mom had snapped. Luke stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her. Their cheeks were pressed together and they were both smiling at the camera. The wood frame was personalized with their names emblazoned across the bottom half—Lucas and Jillian.
“Heads up, my mom loves personalized stuff. You might even say she’s a woman obsessed.”
“I remember that from your birthday party. It’s sweet though. I love it.”
“If every present you’d ever received in your life was personalized with your name, you’d be on my side.”
“Like what?”
“Mugs, key chains, pens. The list goes on. And on. And on.”
“Show me.”
“I don’t wanna scare you away.”
Jill placed her hands on her hips. “I wanna see.”
She followed Luke into the kitchen. He took a large bowl out of the cupboard. It said, “Luke’s Popcorn Bowl.”
Jill stifled a laugh and he cast her a dirty look. “What else?” Her curiosity was stoked.
He opened a cupboard, revealing several mugs that said “Luke” on them. “You cannot drink from these, they are mine,” he told her mock-sternly.
“I’ll remember that next time I’m thirsty.” Jill tried to hide her smile and failed. “Is that all?”
“I wish.” He opened the hall closet and took out a large fake pumpkin. It had a capital G emblazoned on it in a flowery script surrounded by fluerons.
“What do you do with it?” Jill asked, swallowing a giggle.
“It’s for the doorstep in the Fall. It’s never seen the light of day and it never will. I’m not putting it out, so don’t ask me to.”
“It’s a . . . thoughtful gift.” A shout of laughter escaped and she covered her mouth. “Sorry.” It wasn’t really the type of gift one gave to a bachelor, even when he owned his own home.
“Feel free. I’m with you a hundred percent. Christmas is pure torture.”
“Anything else I should be aware of?”
“Follow me.”
Luke went up the stairs and she followed. On the way up he pointed towards a large wooden sign on the wall—without looking at it—that screamed GRAHAM RESIDENCE. “It was a housewarming gift.” He sighed.
When his parents decided to purchase a smaller retirement home on the outskirts of town, Luke bought his childhood home from them. They’d given it to him for a price well below market value. He had the place completely renovated. It was modern and updated, bright and airy. Jill loved his home. However, she’d assumed the Graham Residence sign had been left behind by his parents.
It would appear not.
He paused at his bedroom door and pointed with a flourish of his hand to a stylish plaque on his door. It read “Luke’s Room.”
“In case you were wondering where you are, now you know.”
“I’m so relieved. I was feeling a little lost,” Jill told him, tongue in cheek. “Was this from your childhood?”
“I wish I could lie and say yes. But, nope, it was a recent gift. If she comes over and doesn’t see the things she’s bought me being used, her feelings are hurt. I’m doomed.”
“So the doorstep pumpkin does makes an appearance every once in awhile?”
“It might have spent one very long evening in the entryway, but that’s as far as it got. And it was begging to be put back in the closet the whole time.”
“So, your initial-wearing pumpkin can speak?”
“It won’t shut up.”
“What does it say?”
“It says ‘
Please put me out of my misery.’ It doesn’t want to live.”
Jill snickered as she followed Luke into his bedroom. She hadn’t seen Luke’s bedroom before. It was masculine, clean, and sleek—if you didn’t count the plaque on his door or the pillow on a chair in the corner that screamed “Lucas.” On his dresser sat a wooden valet with LUCAS GRAHAM etched on it. He opened his closet door. A hook on the door announced, “Lucas.” He pulled a t-shirt out of his closet that said “Luke” on the upper right breast. Then he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. It held his initials, “LCG,” in block lettering.
Sidetracked, Jill noticed several track trophies on Luke’s closet shelf. “Hey, why don’t you have your trophies on display?”
He shrugged as if they didn’t matter. But Jill could’ve sworn a fleeting look of anguish washed over his face.
“Just never wanted to have ‘em out.”
He changed the subject quickly when he held up a duffel bag with L. GRAHAM embroidered on it.
“Okay, make it stop. I’ve seen enough,” Jill said, finally giving in to her laughter. “Is there more?”
“Tip of the iceberg. Just wait until Christmas. It will be your turn. Who knows, maybe she’ll find you a stepstool with your name carved into it.”
“Hey, no short jokes, buddy.”
Luke chuckled right along with her, then his expression sobered. He approached until they stood face to face.
“Listen, Mr. Army-Cop Man, this proves you are a big ole softie.” Jill let her eyes roam his features, loving every slope and valley.
“Guilty,” he said, his voice a mere whisper.
He clasped their hands together for a moment, then slowly glided his fingertips up her arms, until he reached her shoulders. Still using his fingertips, he traced the lines of her face, as if a blind man memorizing every detail.
When he leaned forward and their lips met, he allowed the meeting to remain as light as his touch.
“I loved watching you cook tonight. You’re pretty amazing, Jillian Claire Barrett,” he said in between feathery kisses.
They’d been dating for two months now and Jill knew she was madly in love with him. No doubts.
“I think you’re pretty amazing yourself, Lucas Graham.”
Jill loved his soft and sweet kisses. But tonight something palpably changed between them. His arms wrapped around her and tender and gentle transformed to passionate and fervent. Jill knew it took them both by surprise.
Luke paused, just to simply look at her, both of them breathing a little heavily, both of their hearts racing at an abnormal speed. She could feel his heart beating wildly against her chest, matching her own crazy rhythm. The kiss resumed, at once turning deep, and yet somehow it also felt profound because of the underlying message it conveyed. Jill received the meaning in his physical communication even before he said it out loud.
“I love you, Jill,” he whispered with his lips pressed to hers. “I love you.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d said it—and she hoped it wouldn’t be the last time.
21
Luke and Jill
April 2003
Present Day
“I love you, Jill,” Luke whispered, bringing her back into the present.
After dating for five months, Luke had proposed on a cold January day. They’d scheduled their wedding for April, only eight months after they’d met. Was it too fast? Had Luke been unsure of them as a couple?
Jill held his face in her hands. “Luke, I can’t marry Troy, I won’t marry Troy. You know that, right?” Had she made herself clear on that subject? “How can I marry Troy when I’m in love with you? We’re back together. Everything has changed.”
Yes, everything had changed very quickly. Things had always moved quickly between them. Their engagement had only lasted for two months, however, when Luke called off their wedding one month before the big day.
“You’d really take me back, Jill?”
“I already have.”
“Don’t say that. Not yet. Wait until you’ve heard the rest of my story.”
“You’re scaring me.” He helped her up and said nothing. His silence scared her even more. Feeling curious, Jill said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do . . . do you know why I agreed to marry Troy?”
Luke nodded and avoided her eyes. “Yes.”
Jill felt her stomach clench with anxiety. “Oh. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”
He didn’t comment. “C’mon, let’s get back to the ranch house.”
Luke was about to throw together sandwiches for lunch, when she stopped him. “Let me make lunch.”
He agreed willingly. Jill investigated the contents of the cupboard and refrigerator, noting what was available to her, and quickly came up with a lunch idea. She combined a box of corn muffin mix, an egg, a can of cream corn, a can of chopped green chiles, and several handfuls of grated mozzarella cheese. She then fried spoonfuls of the mixture in butter, making perfect little corn cakes. After mashing an avocado, she mixed in a can of Rotel and topped each corn cake with a dollop of the makeshift guacamole. Next she mixed chives with sour cream, and added another dollop to each corn cake to finish off her invention. She promptly tasted one and was pleased with the combination of flavors.
Luke polished off at least six, all the while mumbling about how delicious they were. Jill felt pleased with his response. Perhaps he was changing his mind about frou-frou food.
They sat at the table, lingering. “I don’t want you to leave, Luke. The thought of you in a war zone scares me.”
“I’m in Civil Affairs. It doesn’t mean I’m out of danger, but our job helps to maintain peace. We interact with the civilians in the area we occupy to minimize problems and help our forces to be successful. Part of that might be making sure communities have water and electricity. We might help ensure schools and hospitals are re-built. Whatever supports our mission there. We spend a lot of time working with the local government.”
The job suited Luke’s personality. “Do you have to go?”
“Yeah. Can’t get out of it. I knew it was a possibility when I joined the Reserves. That was before I met you.”
He reached out and held her hand across the table. They studied each other’s faces, saying so much to one another without saying anything at all.
“What happened next, Luke?”
He was quiet for so long, Jill wondered if he was going to answer. His voice was soft when he finally began, “I didn’t see much of Troy for awhile. We were both healing and neither one of us were mobile. Troy was in and out of the hospital. He had to have a few surgeries where they did skin grafts to cover exposed bone.”
Jill suppressed a shiver. Troy had been through quite an ordeal.
Luke went on. “I saw him at his dad’s funeral. We were both in wheelchairs, so it wasn’t as if we could seek each other out. He didn’t look at me or acknowledge me. Not once. The day I got that huge cumbersome cast off, I went straight to his house.”
22
Luke and Troy
February 1988
Fifteen Years Earlier
Luke maneuvered the crutches, glad to only have a brace on his leg now. He felt as though he’d lost fifty pounds. He missed Troy something awful. He’d been bored out of his mind while his leg took for darned ever to heal. He wanted to ride bikes, roller blade, or go swimming. Anything that didn’t mean he had to sit still. But he wasn’t allowed to do that stuff yet. First he had to do dumb, boring physical therapy.
His mom invited Troy over to watch TV with him on several occasions. Mrs. Kelley said Troy didn’t feel like going anywhere or seeing anyone. Luke wished they could read comic books together or something. If they had to stay inside, at least they could do it together. But Mrs. Kelley kept saying Troy wasn’t ready to see anyone. He wouldn’t even talk on the phone.
Troy was really, really mad about his feet. Luke didn’t think he was a freak, he thought he was a hero. He
hadn’t told a single soul about Troy’s toes and he never would. He hoped Troy wasn’t mad at him anymore. Luke wanted to tell him thank you for saving him. Troy was so cool. He wasn’t just cool, he was awesome. He was the best friend he’d ever had.
Mrs. Kelley let Luke in with a big smile. When she saw his cast had been removed, she hugged him so tight he couldn’t breathe and then she wiped away tears. She told him Troy was in the family room and hurried off to the kitchen saying she was making cookies.
Luke entered the family room. The drapes were drawn and the lights were low. The sofa had been unfolded to make a bed and Troy laid on it, his heavily bandaged feet propped up on a pillow. He was playing a video game, his fingers flying over the buttons at lightning speed.
“Hey Troy,” Luke said.
Troy didn’t even glance at him. “Hey.”
“Got my cast off.”
“Good for you.”
Luke swallowed, feeling disappointed. Troy was still mad at him. “Still gotta wear this brace for a couple weeks though.”
“Boo hoo.”
Yep, still mad. Luke wondered if he should leave. There wasn’t any room for him on the couch bed. It was covered with books, tablets, pens and pencils, cards, various magazines, and crossword puzzle books. All things to relieve boredom.
Luke stared at the glass-door bookcase in the corner of the room containing all of Mr. Kelley’s track trophies. The shelves were lit up, highlighting the awards. Besides the TV, it was the only light in the room. Somehow he felt as though he shouldn’t look at them, as if the action betrayed Troy. The bookcase would never be filled with Troy’s track trophies. It all seemed sad and depressing to him and he wished he could turn off the lights in the bookcase. It couldn’t be good for Troy to stare at it all the time.
“Can I open the drapes?” Luke asked.
“No. I like it dark.”
“This your sick room?”
“Don’t have a choice. I can’t walk yet.”
Luke had spent most of his time in the family room too. He hated being cooped up in his bedroom. His dad carried him to his bed at night, giving him a change of scenery.
