“Yes, sir. I want to keep her out of trouble.”
He lifted his chin. “You care, huh.”
“Damn right.” The words came quickly, sure. I had never felt more sure of anything.
“Okay,” Dad said, standing. He looked down at me under his brows. “Let’s get you out of here.”
There’s a photo of my dad from the day Jake was born, holding the little wrapped purple potato like a football. The long line of his mouth had become crooked with joy and awe. He’s looking up at my mother, the photographer, with dewy eyes.
I had a strange thought once, that my dad, through no fault of his own, hadn’t had one of these moments at my birth. That was why I continued to disappoint him, because we never connected, and I never knew what he wanted from me.
But when we glanced at each other as he left the room, I knew one of two things was true: that either I had been wrong all along, and we had had one of those moments to bond as infant and father and we had just forgotten; or, because I’d never witnessed such a look on his face—a look of surprise, sympathy, admiration, a look that said you are capable of great things—today, I had been reborn.
Cassie
I was sitting on my floor, my possessions scattered around me. When my phone rang with Luke’s name on the screen, I froze. It rang again. I couldn’t answer it.
I hadn’t heard anything since the text from Jake yesterday. Now Josh van Ritter had made good on his promise to e-mail us. We’d head out for our first stop, Galveston, tomorrow. Next to me was a travel coffee mug, two pairs of underwear, some Bruce Springsteen records. All stuff I had collected from Toby’s. Over his bourbon, my soda water, and Nora’s advice, I’d finally told him that I had slept with Luke. When we’d parted, we’d exchanged a cold hug. It would get better.
I would get better, at least, if I wasn’t put in jail. The phone buzzed, and Luke’s name appeared again. The vibrations hammered the floor like a woodpecker.
What if the investigation was deeper now? What if he was calling me to say the police were on their way? Guessing was worse than knowing. I answered.
“I’m downstairs,” he said.
My heart jumped into my throat. “It’s open,” I said, and seconds later, I heard his heavy footfalls on the stairs. I tried to keep myself from shaking.
If we were now both charged with fraud, he could be bringing news of prison, or some abstract version of prison I had been visualizing for two days. Either way, I would be living with people who wanted to hurt people, people who were stuck and angry and beaten down by the world. No, I would not be living with them. I would become one of them. The Loyal would be dropped from Wolf Records before we could even play one song. Nora and Toby, screwed out of their big chance. And every other part of my identity—my music, my friends, my mom—would be stripped from me and, considering how difficult it was for felons to get jobs, might never be returned. I should push past him now, I thought. I should run.
I opened the door. At the sight of him, tall and clean, everything inside me seemed to float. He had lost the tension that was always there since I’d known him, the line in his forehead and between his eyebrows, this feeling of get me out of here.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.”
Our voices were hushed, though they had no reason to be.
“Can I come in?” he asked. Messages passed in nanoseconds. We were back in Frankie’s Lexus, scoffing at the absurdity of the eye contact exercise. We were across from each other at city hall, holding sweaty hands while the orange-shirted officiant rambled through the Serenity Prayer. We were in his dad’s backyard, laughing at JJ trying to climb on Mittens’s back. What did we do to each other? What did we do?
“Depends.”
“What do you mean?”
I sputtered, embarrassed. “I mean, what’s happening? With the charges?”
He smiled. “I can explain here, or I can explain inside. Whatever you want.”
“Come on,” I said, and stepped aside. We landed on the futon.
“How was the show?” he asked, as if he had just dropped in for a friendly chat.
It was magic, I wanted to say, I wish you could have been there, but the words couldn’t get past the pulsing fear. “It was great,” I pushed out. “Luke, what’s going on?”
He scooted to face me. “The lawyer said I have a case. He said it’s almost a sure thing. I’m pleading not guilty.”
“Not guilty,” I echoed. “Wait, you keep saying I, not we. Am I not—？” I began. “Okay, start over. How did they know to arrest you in the first place?”