Just a Little Reminder

by Tracie Puckett

  “Julie is psychologically traumatized,” he said, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “I told you—not seconds before I left—not to go poking for information. I left her here because I trusted that you would respect those boundaries. Now, if you said something to her, or she said something to you, I need to know. These nightmares have to be triggered by something.”

  “I only wanted to help,” Grace said, and her voice quivered. “I thought I could help her understand—”

  “You thought you could help her?” Luke asked, and I found it astonishing that he’d gotten angry with Grace of all people. “She’s been through hell and back, Grace, and you thought you could help her?”

  “She just needs a friend—”

  “No,” he snapped, and Grace whimpered. “She needs patience… and insight, and that will come with time. She doesn’t need you to tell her what’s right and what’s wrong. You had no right to butt-in—”

  “That’s enough, Luke,” Lonnie said, and Luke silenced at his father’s order.

  “I’m taking her with me,” Luke said, and suddenly his arms were tucked beneath my body and lifting me from the couch.

  He cradled me to his chest, carried me across the living room, and somehow managed to get through the front door without dropping me. I nuzzled against his shoulder as he carried me outside and put me in his car. It was only when he settled me in the seat and leaned in to secure the seat belt that I opened my heavy eyes.

  “Hey, kid,” he said quietly, and his face was only inches from mine. The seat belt clicked, and his eyes quickly met mine. “Give me a second to grab your stuff and we’ll get out of here.”

  I nodded, and he took a few steps back. Grace waited on the front porch with my bags in hand, and she appeared to say ‘sorry’ as Luke grabbed my things and turned away.

  He returned and opened the back door to toss my bags on the backseat. A moment later, he nestled in behind the wheel and started the engine.

  “Where are you taking me?” I whispered, no longer fighting my heavy eyes. I’d suddenly become keenly aware of the fact that Luke had just whisked me out of his parents’ house with no intention of taking me back.

  With a slow glance in my direction, he shrugged a shoulder and managed a half-smile.

  “Home,” he said, checking the mirrors before backing out on the street. “I thought you’d wanna shack up with me for a couple of nights.”

  “But you said….” My words slurred together. I pinched the bridge of my nose to ease the aching tension in my head. “Too much risk….”

  Luke half-laughed and shook his head.

  “We wouldn’t be us if we weren’t taking risks, right?” he asked under his breath.

  I managed the faintest smile, and then his hand found mine.

  “We’ll be at the apartment in a few minutes, and then you can get back to bed, okay?”

  I looked out the window and shrugged.

  “Doesn’t much matter,” I said. “I’m not really tired anymore.”

  “Okay,” he said, glancing away from the road for just a second. “You hungry?”

  **

  Monday, June 10

  “And that was…?”

  “Last Wednesday night,” I said, still sitting straight on the couch in Dr. Norwood’s office.

  “And how many nights did you stay with him?”

  “Three.”

  It didn’t matter much that I told her about the non-nightmare related events in my life, but I always found the need to tell Dr. Norwood about every minute detail—within reason, of course.

  Okay, so not every minute detail.

  It was nice being in control of who knew what and why, and there were just some things I didn’t feel comfortable sharing.

  Was it imperative that she knew I’d sleepwalked on that first (and only) night at Lonnie and Grace’s house? Yes. Did she need to know that I’d been a diligent little notetaker, sighting every little detail I could remember from every single dream? Yes.

  But did she really need to know that I’d only talked to Derek once since coming home from Piqua? Did I have to tell her that he’d become some ultra-happy, carefree spirit with this incredibly optimistic outlook on life? Did she really need to know that every tiny quality I loved about my friend had ceased to exist the night he killed his father? No.

  But telling her about Luke was kind of intriguing. In a way—a very, very tiny way—it almost felt like I’d gotten the opportunity to share my deepest, darkest, dirtiest little secret with my best friend.

  The only difference was that I was simply detailing my day-to-day experience to my therapist.

  Yep… the lowest of low.

  Dr. Norwood didn’t show the slightest bit of interest in the fact that I’d temporarily shacked up with my sexy, wounded policeman boyfriend. Kara, though—I felt my stomach drop a little; God, I missed her—would’ve fallen at my feet for details of the past few days. She would’ve been on edge, drooling to know everything from how he acted all the way down to our late-night sleeping arrangements.

  “And the nightmares have stopped?”

  “Yes.” I said, raising my chest proudly. “Completely.”

  Dr. Norwood lowered her pen and leaned forward.

  “When was your last dream?”

  “Thursday night,” I said. “At Luke’s. It’s the last one I can remember, anyway.”

  “And the last time you were here we discussed the idea of trying something new,” she said, tilting her head to read my sheepish expression. “How did that go for you?”

  “It didn’t. I didn’t do it,” I said, feeling a strange sense of guilt. “I mean, I did, but not at first.”

  “But eventually?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She nodded slowly and watched me with wide eyes.

  “Why do you think the nightmares have subsided, Julie?” she asked, and it wasn’t because she wanted to hear me say because I listened to you, Dr. Norwood. She was genuinely interested in my take; I could see it in her eyes… she wanted to know what had finally made the difference.

  “Luke.”

  “Luke?”

  “The nightmares have stopped because of Luke.”

  “How do you mean, exactly?” she asked, and this time she set the notebook and pen aside on her desk. She leaned forward and watched me intently. “What did he do, Julie? Tell me how he helped you.”

  **

  Chapter Six

  Five days earlier….

  Wednesday, June 05 | 11:15 p.m.

  “Alright,” Luke said, holding the door open with his foot. “Come on in.”

  After packing my bags into the car and leaving his father’s house, Luke and I stopped off at the 24-hour pizza joint—his idea, not mine (believe it or not)—and placed an order to go. We’d sat and talked for a good twenty minutes while we waited on our order to come up, but Luke didn’t mention anything about the dreams, the sleepwalking, or the fact that his dad and step-mom didn’t want the added stress of taking care of a mentally unstable teenager.

  He didn’t have to say anything; I could see it in his eyes. Lonnie had called him to come and pick me up… they didn’t want me there.

  We were finally at the apartment, and Luke had insisted on carrying everything up without help. With one of my overnight bags slung over each of his shoulders, my purse hanging from his neck, and our food order clutched in his hands, he wouldn’t even let me open the door for him.

  He was trying to prove something. Macho man, maybe?

  Regardless, it was cute to watch.

  After I slipped by him and into the apartment, he moved his foot from in front of the door, and it came crashing shut.

  “Let me take that,” I said, taking the pizza from his hand.

  I carried the box to the kitchen and dropped it on the counter. After stowing my two bags and purse in the corner of the living room, Luke pulled off his shoes and followed me to the kitchen. He retrieved two plates and two glasses from the overhead
cupboard.

  “Water?”

  “Sure,” I said, and he filled both glasses with water from the refrigerator.

  I opened the pizza box and added a couple slices to each of the empty plates. I carried them over to his small kitchen table, but I was immediately interrupted by the sound of Luke clearing his throat.

  “This isn’t a formal dinner, Jules; you don’t have to eat at the table,” he said, nodding over at the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Eyeing Luke—I mean, come on; that was suspicious, right?—I scooped up both plates and headed for the living room. I sat down on the sofa and put the food on the small coffee table in front of me. Luke handed me both glasses, asked me not to put them down just yet, and turned back to the kitchen to retrieve two coasters. He brought them in, set them on the table, and took both of the glasses and placed them in their rightful places.

  “Okay,” Luke said, only halfway through his first slice by the time I’d reached for my second. “Truth or dare?”

  I nearly choked as I swallowed the mouthful of crust.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “What?” he asked innocently, looking as though he didn’t see anything wrong with the question he’d just asked me. “Isn’t that what girls do when they have sleepovers? I’m just trying to be a good host.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, almost laughing. “That’s definitely something twelve-year-old girls do when they have sleepovers.”

  “Oh, right,” he said, taking another bite. “I get it. You’re scared. No big deal—”

  “Pa-hah! Scared?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Okay, then,” he said, nodding at me once. “Truth or dare?”

  I let go of a heavy sigh to clearly indicate my aggravation. Not that I had any reason to believe our little game of Truth or Dare would get out of hand, but I had every reason to believe it was Luke’s way of trying to get me to open up. If I picked truth, he’d ask me something about therapy. If I picked dare… well, who knew?

  “Dare,” I said, because that was clearly the lesser of two evils.

  Luke’s lip quirked up almost instantly, and I suddenly found myself wishing I’d just admitted to being a coward.

  I really didn’t want to play along….

  “I dare you,” he said slowly, and then he rubbed his chin. “I dare you to reenact—in vivid dramatic detail—your fall through the attic floor this afternoon.”

  I dropped my jaw and stared at him in disbelief.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, throwing both hands up. “I have a hard time believing it was as bad as you’re saying it was.”

  “Do you not see my eye?” I asked, pointing at my face.

  “You’re not getting out of it,” he said, pointing at the open space between the coffee table and the TV. “You have some acting to do, Julie Little.”

  I glared at him for a moment before dropping my plate back on the table.

  “Atta girl,” he said as I stood up.

  “I hate you.”

  “I know.”

  I spent the next five minutes doing exactly what he’d dared me to do. And maybe I wasn’t the best actress in town, but I thought I did a pretty great job delivering a fairly accurate play-by-play. He seemed amused throughout the entire reenactment, but I started to wonder if he’d even wanted to see it in the first place.

  It almost seemed as though he’d only dared me to do it because he knew that it would make me laugh.

  And it had.

  I’d made such a fool of myself.

  After ‘falling through the floor’ for the second time that day, I threw myself back on the couch and stared at him.

  “Don’t think you’re getting off so easily,” I said, tucking my feet up beneath me. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

  “Truth,” he said immediately. “Definitely truth.” He pointed over at the spot where I’d just acted out the attic scene. “I don’t do dares… for obvious reasons. I’m not about to make an idiot of myself.”

  “Oh, shut up,” I said, and he smiled. “Truth… truth… truth….” I pursed my lips together.

  I could’ve thought of something serious, but then I feared that he’d turn around and throw that back in my face with a serious question of his own.

  To keep things as light and carefree as possible, I nodded once and asked, “If you had to get a tattoo, where would you get it, and what would it be?”

  “If I had to get a tattoo,” he said, squinting at me. “What makes you think I don’t already have one?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” I said, grinning slyly. “But I’m confident that you don’t.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Interesting,” he said, nodding slowly as he tried to read my goofy expression. “Then, I’d have to say… a pretty little butterfly on my right ankle.”

  “You would not,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m so glad to see you’re taking this seriously.”

  “Your turn,” he said, kicking his feet up on the table in front of the couch.

  “Really?” I asked. “That’s the answer you’re sticking with?”

  “Of course.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Truth or dare?”

  There was no way—no way in the world—I was going to pick dare again after what’d happened the first time.

  “Truth.”

  “How do you know I don’t have a tattoo?”

  I suddenly felt my face flush as I thought back to Piqua and remembered our first morning in the cabin together. Luke had just gotten out of the shower, wet and naked (for the most part), and he had no idea that I’d watched him from the balcony as he sifted through his bag of clothes.

  I’d spent too long watching him, admiring everything from his thick arms to his strong legs down to his missing toe.

  I’d studied him closely. I eyed every bit of him that I could see.

  And unless there was a tattoo hiding somewhere beneath that small towel—which I highly doubted—I knew he didn’t have one.

  “I may have seen you naked,” I said, arching an eyebrow.

  Luke’s eyes widened for a minute, and he shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh, but it is,” I said, unable to restrain a laugh. “Piqua. The cabin. You. Shower. Naked. Noooo tattoo.”

  “You saw me in the shower?”

  “Not in the shower,” I said. “But after a shower, yeah. You pranced right into the living room wearing nothing but a towel; what was I supposed to do, look away?”

  “You were asleep.”

  “No, I really wasn’t.”

  He dropped his jaw and tried to act shocked, but his acting skills were only up to par with mine.

  “I feel so violated.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I teased.

  Luke and I continued our game for a while. As much as it should’ve been the most embarrassing thing I’d ever done, I truly enjoyed every second. We leaned toward truth a lot more than dare, and in turn I’d asked some pretty interesting questions. My favorite was probably do you ever plan to tell Lonnie the truth about Rebecca and Molly?. And then I learned just how loyal he was to keeping his sister’s secret. He swore he’d never tell his dad until Rebecca was ready, and he assumed she was getting closer every day….

  Luke’s questions were a little harder to answer than mine, but he never came close to asking anything about therapy.

  We ended our game sometime after midnight, and I helped Luke clean up the small mess we’d made since coming back to the apartment.

  “Okay,” Luke said, sweeping my bags off the floor by the door. He kept a reasonable distance as he led me down the hallway. “Bathroom,” he said, pointing to the door at the end of the hall. “My room,” he said, looking toward the closed door on the left. He nodded at the door on our right, reached around my waist, and pushed it open. “Your room.”

  Luke’s guest bedroom was everything I’d
expected—small, but clean.

  I let my eyes wander the room, but there wasn’t much to take in. There was a tidily made bed positioned against the farthest wall. A small nightstand—holding a silver lamp and an alarm clock—sat to the left of the four-poster bed. A five-drawer dresser stood next to the closet, and—other than a few unlabeled boxes stacked in the corner—that was about it.

  “The sheets are clean,” he said, but I hadn’t doubted it. I’d come to expect that everything at Luke’s place stayed clean. “And it’s late, so….” Luke’s words faded into a yawn as he carried my bags over to the bed. He placed them on the mattress and turned back to me with a half-smile. “See you in the morning, then?”

  “Are you telling me to go to sleep?” I asked, standing in the middle of the hardwood floor.

  “Do whatever you want, kid,” he said, almost smiling as he brushed by me and turned back in the doorway. “But I’m heading to bed. Four a.m. comes faster than you may think.”

  “Okay,” I said, opening my arms to invite a hug.

  Luke stepped forward and accepted my gesture, and I could’ve drowned inside his hold. His strong arms smothered me, pressing me against his warm chest.

  “Thanks for everything,” I said, hoping he knew how genuinely I meant it. “I’ve had fun tonight.

  “Good.” He squeezed me a little tighter. “Sweet dreams, Jules,” he whispered. “And I mean that, okay? Kick those nightmares in the ass.”

  “Yeah,” I said, nuzzling into his shoulder. “I’ll do that.”

  “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

  I nodded once, and Luke backed away.

  “Night.”

  “Night,” I said, watching as his chest rose with one deep breath. He backed across the threshold—still watching me with a blank expression—and then he turned, opened his bedroom door, and ducked inside.

  I walked across the room, opened my bag, and pulled out a pair of pink cotton pajamas. I tossed the rest of my stuff into a corner and carried my night clothes to the bathroom (which—to no surprise at all—was immaculate from floor to ceiling).

  I admired the glossy white tile beneath my feet before letting my eyes study the rich navy paint on the walls. And it wasn’t until my gaze landed upon Luke’s shower stall that I caught a breath in my throat and closed my eyes.