Just a Little Honesty

by Tracie Puckett

  “Do you wanna get out of the cabin tonight?” he asked, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs.

  “What are you suggesting, exactly? I wiped my crumby hands down the front of my jeans. “Last time I checked, Piqua doesn’t offer much in terms of entertainment. And I’m not—let me repeat myself one more time, not—going hiking. That one mile walk to and from the car is the most exercise you’re getting out of me on this trip.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of hitting the old drive-in just out of town.”

  “The old what?”

  “The drive-in theatre,” he said, and I still couldn’t tell if he was being serious. I hadn’t seen any such thing on the town map back at the diner. “It’s one of the last few remnants of a once great city. It’s about ten miles out, but it’s worth the drive. They only have one screen, and there’s no telling what movie they’ll play tonight, but they don’t start the film until eight. If we leave now, we can make it in plenty of time.”

  “You wanna see a movie?” I asked, trying to figure out if that was Luke’s way of sidestepping the boredom, or if it was some backward way of asking me on a date.

  “If it’s something you’d like to do, yeah,” he said, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t propping him against the wall. “What do you think?”

  “It’ll be late when we get back.”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding.

  “The walk back to the cabin’ll be dark.”

  “Yeah,” he said again, but he still wasn’t fazed.

  “Aren’t you even a little scared—”

  “No,” he said, and then dropped his head with a smile. “Are you?”

  I took a moment to consider the facts. Luke wanted to go out. He’d taken the time to come up and ask me nicely to join him, and if I didn’t go, he wouldn’t either. Obviously he wanted to get out, so who was I to deprive him of that? Besides, I didn’t hate the idea of spending an evening away from the cabin. It’d be fun.

  My only concern was that one-mile stretch of woods between the car and the house. I’d be lying if I said that the idea of walking that path in the dark didn’t terrify me to my very core.

  “Let’s go,” I said, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  “Alright,” he said, watching as I rolled off the bed. He turned to take the first few steps, and I followed right behind. It wasn’t until he was halfway down that he stopped and turned back, so I halted right behind him. “Just think,” he said, and I could hear a minuscule amount of mockery in his tone. “If you’re good, I’ll let you get some popcorn.”

  “Ah,” I said, wanting to kick him down the six remaining stairs. “How sweet of you.”

  Sunday, April 07 | 7:40 p.m.

  After the familiar walk back to the car, drive down the old dirt road, and a right turn back onto the highway, we finally pulled off onto a large piece of flatland just south of Piqua. It must’ve been the place to be on a weekend night because it looked as though every person within a fifty-mile radius had showed up to enjoy the film.

  Luke paid for our tickets at the drive-up admission booth and then made a turn to start looking for a prime viewing location.

  He weaved the BMW through a few rows of parked cars before he found a space at the end of the fourth row. He pulled into the spot, put the car in park, and then turned to me. “You still want that popcorn?”

  “Of course,” I said, opening my door. “Do you even have to ask?”

  Luke and I got out of the car and met just at the front. As I started walking toward the concession stand at the front of the property, Luke reached forward and grabbed my arm.

  “What?”

  He let his eyes wander across the field as he looked at the all of the parked cars. He watched as people gathered and talked, and he even smiled as groups of children ran to and from the concession stands.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, trying to meet his gaze. He nodded a couple of times, and then he looked down at me, and a bigger smile curved on his lips.

  “Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled a few bills out of his jeans, handed them to me, and nodded at the well-lit building up by the screen. “Go on. Go get what you want.”

  I turned to look at the building and then back to him.

  “Alone?”

  “You’re safe here, Julie,” he said, looking around again. “You don’t need me hovering over your shoulder every time you move. Just… keep your eyes open, and be smart.”

  “Okay,” I said, looking down at the wad of cash he’d just given me. “Do you… do you want me to get you anything?”

  “No,” he said, turning back to the car. “Just get what you want and hurry back. I’ll be waiting.”

  As I started to walk away, I threw a look over my shoulder to make sure Luke was really letting me wander off on my own. He took a few steps backward and settled himself on the hood of the car, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the large, white screen. He almost looked awestruck by the features of the drive-in. He was enamored by it, but I had absolutely no idea why.

  Making my way through the crowd of kids, teenagers, and couples, I managed to reach the concession stand a few minutes later. It was nothing special, just a small brick building set up a few feet away from the enormous projection screen. There was a single window on the front of the building where the two workers—both girls no younger than myself—served hungry moviegoers one at a time.

  I stood in line for a few long minutes and watched over my shoulder for Luke. I kept waiting to see him hiding behind a car, peeking up occasionally to see if I’d run away. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find him ducking behind a trash can or even army crawling through the crowd. It was too uncharacteristic of Luke to let me have that kind of freedom—no strings attached.

  When I stood in line for five minutes and still hadn’t spotted him, I assumed that meant he’d actually trusted me enough to walk away without fleeing.

  When it was finally my turn to order, I asked for a large bag of popcorn and paid the bubbly girl on the other end of the raised counter. She passed me my change—$4.75—with a smile and a nod of thanks.

  With my order in hand, I followed the others to the side of the building to dress my popcorn. I stopped at a small table and pumped (a few too many) squirts of butter into the bag.

  As I turned on my heel to head back to the car, something silver caught my eye. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it until that moment, but there it was—stuck to the side of the building and plain as day.

  I looked around again to see if Luke was anywhere in sight, but I didn’t see his face anywhere. I tucked the bag of popcorn in my arm and cradled it against my side as I opened my hand to count the change I’d gotten from the cashier. Carrying the three quarters to the pay phone on the side of the building, I looked over my shoulder once again. I picked up the receiver, inserted the change, and quickly dialed the only number that came to mind.

  It only rang through once before I heard a small bit of static.

  “Hello?”

  “Mattie,” I whispered, turning into the pay phone so that no one could see my face.

  “Julie,” my cousin said, and almost too loud. “Oh my God. Are you okay? Where are you?”

  “I can’t stay on,” I said, still whispering. “I only have a few seconds, and I’m not supposed to be calling. I got a minute away from Luke, and I wanted to check in.”

  “Are you safe?” he asked, and he sounded as if he was struggling to speak through tears. “Tell me you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, taking deep breaths. “What’s Charlie told you?”

  “Nothing—”

  “Okay,” I said, not holding back for a second. Matt deserved to know as much as I could tell him. “We’re settled in. We’re about six hundred miles out of Oakland in a little town called Piqua. It’s not anything to brag about, but it’s okay, I guess.” I tried to smile, but just knowing he was on the other end of the call brought
tears flooding to my eyes. “How’re things there? Has anything changed?”

  “We’re safe. No sightings,” he said quickly. “The town’s on high alert. They’ve shut down all the businesses and cancelled school—”

  “Okay,” I said, hating that I had to cut our call so short. “Listen, I have to go, but I’ll do my best to reach you again as soon as possible.”

  “Julie,” he said, and I could hear his heavy breaths as they passed through the phone. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” I said, feeling a tear creep down my cheek. “Me too.”

  And before he had time to say another word, I hung up the phone and turned back to the crowd. I half-expected to turn straight into Luke, but he was still nowhere in sight. I made my way back through the growing group of moviegoers—feeling uneasy and a little guilty—and I finally reached the fourth row. Luke was still seated on the hood of the car, and he smiled as I walked up to join him.

  “I said I didn’t want anything,” he said, eyeing the large popcorn bag.

  “I know,” I said, taking a fistful and shoving it in my mouth. “That’s why I didn’t get the jumbo size.” After I managed to chew up the fistful of popcorn without swallowing it whole, I turned back to Luke. I looked behind him and noticed that the top was down on his loaner sports car. “What’s with the dropped top?”

  “I thought it’d be more enjoyable this way,” he said, and I agreed. It’d be quite an experience to sit in the convertible with my feet kicked out the window while I enjoyed a classic movie (with a friendly(ish) face at my side). “Movie’s about to start,” Luke said, checking his watch.

  I took that as a hint that we should get settled in, so we both retreated to our sides of the car. I, like any normal human being, opened my door and slid inside. Luke, as if suddenly possessed by a sixteen-year-old version of himself, jumped over his door and into the driver’s seat.

  We settled in, tuned the radio into the drive-in station (as instructed by the admission officials when we entered), and watched as the projection began almost perfectly on time. Only a few minutes into the previews, Luke reached over to take a handful of popcorn, and I bit back the urge to swat his hand.

  And other than the subtle movements required for stealing my food, Luke didn’t move much during the two-hour (give or take) showing of Singin’ in the Rain. I did my best to keep my eyes from looking anywhere else but at the screen, but it was much easier to watch Luke as he sat comfortably in the driver’s seat. He’d let his guard down; he was too enthralled with the showing to notice that I couldn’t tear my eyes off of him.

  Sometime toward the end of the film, Luke tucked both of his hands up under his head as he looked on at the screen, still oblivious to my stare. And I couldn’t help but notice how happy he seemed; he was completely at peace.

  Sunday, April 07 | 10:45 p.m.

  Luke and I got back to the cabin sometime around eleven; it had been dark for hours, so the walk from the car to the house was probably the most terrifying experience of my life to date. But, just like he had the first time he walked me through the woods back in Oakland, Luke took my hand—for no other reason than to guide me along in the dark—and helped me find my way from the car.

  After we were safely out of the dark and back in the cabin, Luke shut the door and dropped his keys on a nearby hook.

  “Thanks for the movie,” I said, twisting my lips.

  I didn’t know what else to say. I could’ve thanked him for letting me have a few minutes of peace and quiet, letting me go off on my own, or finally trusting me enough to loosen his grip. But I could hardly see how that would’ve meant anything to him. I could’ve thanked him for being beautiful, having the perfect face to stare at, or a million other things… but all I could do was express my thanks for the night out.

  “Sure,” he said, heading back for his usual rocking chair. “You heading up to bed?”

  I looked up at the loft for a minute and then back to him, and he was already settled in and reaching for his photo book.

  “Luke,” I asked, watching as he opened the front cover. “What’s in that thing that’s kept your attention for the past couple days?”

  He ran his fingers across a page and then looked up. “Hmm?”

  Just like he’d been the first time I’d inquired, he seemed perfectly unaware of anything but the book in his hands.

  “Luke?”

  “Oh,” he said, shrugging, but he never tore his gaze away from the page. “Family pictures.”

  “Your family?” I asked, coming closer.

  “Yeah,” he said, and he still hadn’t looked up. He simply kept his head low and flipped through the same old pages he’d been flipping through since we’d arrived two days earlier.

  “Can I see?”

  His head suddenly jerked up, and he watched me in complete shock; the expression on his face looked as if I’d just asked him to strip down to nothing but his socks. He looked horrified by the question, but the horror wore off after a brief minute.

  “You want to look through my family photo album?”

  “Why not?” I asked, jumping over the back of the couch and landing softly on the middle cushion.

  “It wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, patting the cushion next to mine. “Come sit with me. I want to see what’s kept you so fascinated these past couple days. Show me.”

  He watched me hesitantly but eventually stood and took a seat on the couch. Careful not to brush my legs—and even more cautious about how much distance he kept between us—he looked at me from the corner of his eye.

  “Okay,” he said, opening the first page.

  There were only two pictures pressed beneath the old crinkly plastic. The first was a faded photo of a young woman—maybe in her twenties—as she stood in an open field wearing a beautiful sundress and an even prettier smile.

  “My mom,” he said, pointing to the picture. “This was a few years before she met Dad; it was about a year before she joined the force.”

  I studied the picture, and it struck me as odd that the woman was Luke’s mother. He’d only ever talked about her once, but he’d described her as nothing but rough, tough, and practically indestructible. I’d always imagined her looking a lot like her son—strong arms, tall stature, and always wearing a stern expression. But she was nothing like I’d pictured; she was petite, feminine, and far too beautiful. She had a soft face, an endearingly crooked smile, and the most beautiful brown eyes I’d ever seen.

  “Is this you?” I asked, pointing at the second picture on the page. It was yet another photo of his mother, but she was a little older and just a bit wider. Bundled in her arms and swaddled in a blue blanket, a plump, pink, newborn baby slept soundly against her chest.

  “That’s me,” he answered, trying to fight a smile. “I was a handsome devil, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I said, silently agreeing that Luke had probably been one of the better looking babies I’d seen in my time. Of course, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. It was hard to imagine that anyone with a face like his could’ve ever been hard to look at—even as an infant.

  Luke turned the page to reveal another handful of old photographs. Most of them, as I should’ve guessed, were of his mother. Every now and then a picture would slip by that didn’t feature her front and center, but it was a rarity.

  “Who’s this?” I asked after we’d gone through the first five pages. There was a picture in the upper left corner of the page that showed an older woman—probably nearing her sixties—as she sat in a swing on the front porch of a log cabin.

  “My gran,” he said, and now his smile was wider than it’d been in days.

  I studied the picture a little closer and then looked back to Luke. “Is this…” I pointed at the cabin in the picture. “Is this the same place?”

  “One and the same. It’s where my mom grew up,” he said, throwing a glance around the cabin. “It’s nothing special, but it worked for the
two of them. After Mom moved to Oakland, met Dad, and started a family, Gran considered selling the cabin and moving down south. But Mom wouldn’t let her. It was their home, you know? So, to keep Gran from getting restless and selling the place, Mom brought me up every summer to stay. It gave Gran something to look forward to, and Mom loved coming back just as much. But after Mom passed,” he said, and his chest rose with a heavy breath. “Gran just had a hard time being alone. There were just… too many memories, I guess.”

  I studied the woman’s brown-eyed stare in the photograph before I turned back to Luke. “What happened to her?”

  He almost half-laughed, but he was able to retrain it. “Florida happened to her,” he said. “She spends half of her years down south in the company of her friends, and then she comes back every summer; and she’s never alone. I try to spend as much time with her as I can afford to.”

  “Really?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said, running a finger over his grandmother’s picture.

  “That’s… really cool,” I said, looking around the cabin, and suddenly it became a little easier to understand why Luke looked at the place the way he did.

  He turned the next page as if he was satisfied with where we’d left the conversation. The following page was littered with pictures of him from infancy to childhood. In another photo—around the time he was probably three—Luke sat wide-eyed and grinning on his mother’s lap. She sat in a rocking chair—the very rocking chair Luke had monopolized since our arrival—and held him against her chest.