Just a Little Reminder

by Tracie Puckett

  So I held his hand and cried with him… for the next three hours.

  Thursday, June 06 | 5:00 p.m.

  I found Luke on the couch leaning over a pile of bills and other random junk mail. He’d transformed the coffee table into a makeshift desk; there was a spread of papers (color-coded and labeled), paper clips, a stapler, a calculator, and an electronic label maker.

  He looked up as I came in, but only long enough to force a smile around the ink pen pressed between his lips.

  “Hey,” I said, hanging my purse on a nearby coatrack.

  “Hey, kid,” he said, pulling the pen out of his mouth. He looked back down at his paperwork for a moment, and then he started sifting through the colored paperclips. He eventually found the one he’d been looking for—baby blue—and then looked back up to me. “Good day?”

  Hmm… good question.

  After trying to (unsuccessfully) talk myself into a shower and ending up at Bruno’s, I spent the better part of the morning talking and crying with Matt; listening to him talk about his heartache had been just as emotionally taxing as living through a break-up of my own.

  Matt fell asleep on the couch sometime after two o’clock, and it was only after I was certain he was sleeping soundly that I finally went upstairs and enjoyed a long, long, long, hot bath. Bruno’s bathroom—I remembered vividly—was just as clean as Luke’s, and that made me feel a lot more comfortable with the fact that I’d stewed in his Jacuzzi tub for well over an hour.

  I left Bruno’s house feeling emotionally exhausted, but physically rejuvenated. Matt still hadn’t woken by the time I left, so I left him a note of love, support, and encouragement, and then I headed out with both of my bags in tow. I used Luke’s key to let myself back in the apartment, and that pretty much brought me to….

  “Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Good day.”

  Luke slid the clip over the paper in his hands as he looked at me, and I continued to stare at him in awe.

  It struck me as a little odd that the man I’d just played a friendly game of Truth or Dare with the night before was the same man sitting just a few feet away from me—obsessively organizing and color-coding his mail.

  Lucas Reibeck had always been a bit of a mystery, and I’d never really been content with that fact. The longer I knew him, the more I felt like I didn’t know him at all. And as each day passed, I only found myself longing to know all the things he didn’t want me to know. It wasn’t so much curiosity that kept me interested in Luke’s obsessive-compulsive tendencies. It was just the fact that I loved him, and I wanted to know everything about the man I loved.

  I wanted to talk to him, probe him with questions.

  I wanted to know how long he’d been compelled to act the way he did.

  But I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t say a word.

  The one thing Luke had asked me—in return for his openness and honesty—was to learn to respect the fact that he wasn’t going to share every detail about his life. He felt that I had a tendency to stick my nose where it didn’t belong, and I had a hard time finding a good argument for that. Because I, Julie Little, had a terrible time minding my own business. And yes! Nosiness was in my blood, so it took every ounce of restraint I had to go against those natural tendencies.

  Yes. I wanted to know everything about him, and it made me crazy that he didn’t want to share. But who was I to point fingers? It seemed a little hypocritical to get upset. I had no right to complain because I’d been doing the same thing to him all along.

  I could do exactly what I’d been instructed to do, exactly what Dr. Norwood had asked—open up, divulge my deepest, darkest secrets, and wait idly by while he formed some kind of response.

  But how would that help? There were so many risks that came with honesty.

  What if I opened up and confided in him? What if I told him everything I’d told Dr. Norwood, everything that I’d told Grace? Would he finally be comfortable enough to talk to me? Would he let me in? Or would he just sit there and stare, unable to come up with any kind of response? Would he finally realize just how toxic I was and ask me to leave? Would it be too much for him?

  I pulled my purse off the coat rack again, carried it across the room, and sat down on the couch next to Luke.

  He kept his eyes fixed on me as I reached inside the largest purse pocket and dug around. Through countless receipts, candy wrappers, and a few too many tubes of lip gloss, my fingers finally brushed across the one thing I’d been searching for.

  “Prazosin,” I said, revealing an orange pill bottle. I slid the sealed container across the table and avoided his stare. “Dr. Norwood says I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress—I guess that wasn’t really a secret. She thinks it’s the over production of adrenaline in my system that’s causing the nightmares, and this medicine is supposed to help.”

  Luke eyed the pill bottle for a second, and then he met my stare.

  “I’ll be honest,” I said, licking my dry lips. “It might as well be candy. It hasn’t helped at all.”

  I pulled the dream journal out of the front pocket and clutched it between my fingers.

  “And I told you about these—the rewritten endings to my nightmares.” I said, flipping through the pages.

  Luke nodded, and I flipped through the pages to find a recent entry. It was one of the only few that talked about him, but it was also the one that I felt was most important to share. But as I searched for that particular entry in the journal, it wasn’t anywhere to be found. The perforated edges along the spine indicated that it’d been ripped out.

  I ran my fingers along the rough edges and dropped my head.

  “Oh, god,” I whispered. “It’s gone.”

  A brief smile crossed Luke’s lips, and he lifted a single finger. “Hold that thought.”

  He got up, disappeared down the hallway, and returned a few minutes later with a small box. He sat down, handed me the box, and then took the liberty of removing the lid.

  “All thirteen,” he said.

  I looked down at the thirteen paper airplanes I’d fashioned out of the floral-printed pages of my dream journal.

  “You picked them up?”

  “I couldn’t leave ‘em in the street, Jules,” he said, almost looking embarrassed to admit it. “And I couldn’t throw ‘em away.”

  “Why not?” I asked, sifting through the tattered planes. “They were just trash.”

  I dug around for a second and found a crumpled plane buried toward the bottom of the box—one that I’m certain (judging by its dirt-stained edges) had taken a long stroll through the historic district—and pulled it out. I could see the writing on the inside, and I knew before I even opened it that it was the missing entry from my journal.

  I held the crumpled piece of paper in my hand as I found the nerve to tell Luke about my nightmare.

  It wouldn’t be easy. After all, admitting my fears and insecurities to anyone was hard, but to Luke… I was never ready to admit my imperfections.

  “I’ve had the same dream three times,” I said, trying to smooth the wrinkles on the page. “It always starts with the two of us going home to West Bridge.”

  Luke half-smiled.

  “We’re standing on the front lawn of my parents’ house, the house where I grew up. You’re admiring everything from the trees, to the grass, to the beautiful girl on your arm.” Luke’s half-smile stretched a little wider. “In my dream, Mom and Dad are still alive, but we never see them. It’s just implied; we talk about them like they’re alive, inside the house, and waiting on us. I mention how much Dad loves you, and that seems to really make you happy. But… we’re there for a reason. It’s not just an ordinary, casual visit. And... God, this is embarrassing,” I said, shaking my head. Unable to look him in the eye, I rubbed the back of my neck and avoided his stare. “We’re there because you want to talk to Dad about something. You…want to ask him a question.”

  I paused and took a deep breath, and I shook my head. />
  “You want to propose to me, but you want to ask for his blessing first.”

  Luke closed his eyes, and I feared that I’d already said too much.

  What better way to scare your boyfriend than to start talking about marriage?

  “You go to ring the bell, but the door’s already open. And we go inside yelling for my parents, but they’re nowhere around. And then the whole house drains of color. Everything becomes black and white. You disappear. You’re just gone. And then I see this giant pool of blood at my feet. Mom screams. Two gun shots. And then I wake up.”

  Luke finally opened his eyes, and his stare slowly drifted back to meet mine. He watched me for a second, and then his gaze fell to the paper airplane I’d held while I talked.

  “And you had to rewrite the ending? Leave out the bad parts?”

  “Yeah,” I said, lifting the paper in the air.

  Luke watched my fingers grip around the page, and then he took it from my hands and set it aside on the table.

  “You don’t want to know?”

  “I have a pretty good idea, Jules,” he said, taking both of my hands. His brown eyes softened as he watched me for a few long seconds, and then his fingers gently squeezed mine. “I’m sorry that I’ll never get the opportunity to meet them or ask for their blessing. And I know that’s the ideal ending, kid, and if there was any way I could make it happen, I would. But….”

  “You don’t have to say that,” I said, managing a half-smile.

  “No, I do,” he said, and his eyes glossed over. “Because you need to know.”

  “Luke,” I said, squeezing his hands. “I didn’t tell you these things to get some kind of response from you. I didn’t want to hurt you or make myself feel better. I simply wanted you to know because I love you, and I think it’s time that I stop keeping so much from you. You deserve to know what’s going on, and I have no right to keep it from you.”

  “Julie,” he said as if he’d sensed an ulterior motive.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not trying to guilt you into opening up to me, Luke. I know you’re not ready, and I respect that. I just want you to know that I trust you enough to know the truth, and when you’re ready—if you’re ever ready—you can let go and trust me too.”

  He pressed his lips together and held his breath, but then he managed a few slow nods.

  “I’m going to go to bed now,” I said, collecting the pill bottle, dream journal, and paper airplane from the table. I tucked the first two in my purse, slung it over my shoulder, and stood up. The plane, though, I stared at for a few long seconds. Taking a deep breath, I finally unfolded the creases I’d worked so hard to perfect and revealed my barely legible scribbles.

  “I want you to read this, Luke,” I said, handing it to him again. He took it, but his eyes never looked down. “I love you,” I whispered. “But please don’t assume you know what’s written on that paper; don’t assume you know what my ideal ending is until you’ve taken the time to read it for yourself.”

  **

  Monday, June 10

  “Did he say anything?” Dr. Norwood asked. “Did he mention anything at all about your alternate ending?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Not once. He never said a word.”

  “Really?”

  “Never,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s been five days since I gave it to him; I honestly don’t think he’s read it.”

  “Okay,” she said, sitting taller. She seemed surprised—about as surprised as I was—to learn that Luke hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to learn about my deepest, darkest, innermost hopes and dreams. “But you found peace in opening up to him, telling him how you truly see your future playing out?”

  “I guess, yeah.”

  “And that peace of mind helped you sleep,” she said, but it sounded more like a question.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding once. “I went to sleep that night and dreamed, but it was different.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know… it was just different.”

  **

  Chapter Nine

  Three days earlier

  “Mom!”

  I ran for the stairs as fast as I could. I didn’t know where the strength had come from, but I’d somehow fought the gravitational force that’d tried to paralyze my body. I fought it, and I moved so quickly that I tripped over my feet as I rushed up the staircase and closer to the sound of my mother’s cry.

  I reached the second floor and darted for my parents’ bedroom, but the room was empty.

  Another scream.

  I followed the sound back down the steps, stopping dead in my tracks as I reached the middle of the staircase. I clung to the banister as my eyes fell to the pile of dead bodies stacked at the foot of the stairs.

  Mom….

  Dad….

  Matt and Charlie….

  Derek….

  Kara….

  Lonnie and Grace….

  Bruno….

  All dead.

  But where was—

  “Julie!” Luke’s loud voice echoed through the room.

  I watched as he rounded the corner and stopped quickly. His eyes were fixed on the dead bodies at his feet, and it was only when I sobbed that Luke’s stare snapped up to meet mine.

  “Jules,” he nearly whispered, and he stepped over Matt’s lifeless body. He climbed the stairs quickly, whisked me off my feet, pulled my head into his shoulder, and shielded my line of sight as he carried me out of the house.

  Once outside and back in the yard, the color began restoring itself.

  No more black.

  No more white.

  No more shades of gray.

  I cried against Luke’s chest as he held me tight, and he pressed a long kiss to the side of my head.

  “I thought you were dead,” I cried, tasting my salty tears as they crossed my lips.

  Luke tightened his hold and dropped his mouth close to my ear.

  “Listen to me,” he said, keeping a steady voice. “I’m never going to leave you, Julie. Never. I—love—you.”

  Friday, June 07 | 9:00 a.m.

  “How’re things at Kara’s?” Charlie asked, setting his fork aside and leaning back in his chair. He rubbed his bulging belly and released a quiet burp.

  “Excuse you,” I said, and we both smiled. My uncle nodded once and then adjusted himself against the back of the chair.

  It was a warm morning, and we’d gladly taken advantage of the outdoor seating just beneath the awning at the district’s outdoor café. Charlie had called an hour earlier and asked me to join him and Matt for breakfast. Matt, as Charlie had just finished telling me, opted to cover Rebecca’s morning shift at the floral shop across the street instead of joining his family for an early meal.

  “Julie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “How are things going at Kara’s?” he asked again, and I lifted my napkin to my face to hide my guilty expression.

  Oh boy.

  Deep breath.

  “Honestly?” I asked, putting the napkin aside after discreetly wiping the corners of my lips. “I’m not staying with Kara.”

  Charlie sat up and leaned closer, and his eyes stared forward in an intense gaze.

  “We got into a fight,” I explained, looking down at my plate. “She said she never wanted to talk to me again.”

  And then I spent the next five minutes reliving the argument Kara and I had on the street, and I didn’t look up at my uncle once to gauge his reaction.

  “She doesn’t see Mattie as anything more than a high school boyfriend,” I said, shaking my head. “And he looks at her and sees the love of his life. And truthfully, I don’t think it’s fair that she’s mad at me. I didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m sorry, but I’m not going to apologize to her. He loves her, and she broke his heart. The things she said to him… unforgiveable, Charlie.”

  He nodded once, and a thin layer of tears glossed over his eyes. It was easy to see
that he hurt for his son. Heck, I felt it too. Anyone who knew Matt knew that he loved with all of his heart. Even if his intentions were too grand and unfair—as Kara seemed to believe they were—he’d only meant well.

  And now his heart was broken into a million tiny pieces, and there was nothing anyone could to do help him.

  “And since you didn’t stay with Kara?” he asked, lifting a brow. As much as I’d hoped my story would divert the inevitable direction of his questioning, Charlie was a pro. He knew when he was being steered away from the truth, and he knew just how to bring the conversation back full-circle. “Where’d you go?”

  “I ended up at Grace and Lonnie’s,” I said, knowing that that nugget of information was crucial to share.

  Matt already knew that I’d been staying with Luke, and I knew for certain that Bruno did too. And that meant there was a great possibility that Charlie was bound to find out from one of them, and the last thing I wanted was for him to learn the truth from anyone but me.

  “Okay,” he said, letting his chest fall with a large exhalation. “Grace and Lonnie. Good. I can deal with that.”

  “But that didn’t work out,” I said, not giving him much time to enjoy his relief. “I had a nightmare, and… apparently sleepwalked.”

  “Sleepwalked?” Charlie asked, leaning forward again. “When did that start?”

  “The other night, I guess,” I said, shrugging a shoulder. “I ended up getting out of bed, running down the stairs, and beating the crap out of Lonnie because he wouldn’t let me out the front door.”

  “Oh, honey….”

  “And I don’t remember it happening,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “But I don’t think Lonnie wanted me there. I think he saw me as a danger to his and Grace’s safety—”

  “So you’ve been staying with Luke,” Charlie said, and it wasn’t a question. His lips thinned as he watched me, and then he shook his head and looked down to the table. “Julie….”

  I’d honestly expected him to yell. I thought he’d throw things, curse at me, and even mumble under his breath. But Charlie didn’t do any of those things. He just sat straighter, and his breathing steadied as he watched me with sad eyes.