Luke asked me about my work and seemed pretty pleased that his favorite Baptist Communist had maintained her left-wing ways.
“I’m glad you didn’t outgrow it, Rachel,” he said. “Or move to Berkeley.”
“I didn’t stay in Texas all my life,” I reminded him. “I lived in Indianapolis for a time.”
“With Robert?”
“Yes. He was transferred up there.”
“Did he come back with you?”
“No,” I replied.
“The divorce?”
I sighed.
“What about you?” I turned the tables. “I know you got out of Texas. Your mother used to write all about your adventures in her Christmas letters. First stop was Atlanta where Luke Jr. was born. Then Chicago where Kimberly and Patricia were born.”
I stopped short, a little embarrassed to have retained so much detail about his life.
“Go on,” said Luke looking pleasantly intrigued.
“Mommy stopped talking about the letters,” I explained. “I think because they stopped coming.”
“TJ’s our youngest,” Luke supplied. “He was also born in Chicago.”
“Then you moved to Virginia?”
“That’s right.”
“And here you are,” I said. “The tumblin’ tumbleweed back in good ol’ Texas.”
“No place like home,” replied Luke raising his wine glass again. “If I could, I’d click my heels together.”
“To home,” I said tapping my own glass to his, and letting the heel comment pass.
The waiter came to clear the dinner plates, but a substantial portion of food remained on mine. Just like old times. The waiter offered to box it up for me.
“Would you like to see the dessert menu?” the waiter asked.
“I’ll just have coffee,” I answered.
“Me too,” agreed Luke.
“Regular or cappuccino?”
“Oh!” I said eagerly. “Cappuccino please.”
“Two cappuccinos,” Luke ordered.
“Very good, sir.”
“Still a picky eater too, I see,” Luke commented when the waiter was gone again.
“I always did lose my appetite around you,” I confessed.
“Not sure I like the way that sounds,” he said, frowning.
“Don’t worry,” I laughed drinking more wine. “It’s a compliment.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It’s physics, right? Two different things can’t occupy the same space at the same time.”
“I’m not following.”
“Let’s just say I’m too excited to eat.”
Luke smiled.
“I should make you explain yourself,” he said.
“But you’re too much of a gentleman,” I replied.
“And you might’ve had too much to drink,” said Luke splitting the remaining wine between us.
The cappuccinos came in enormous cups, topped off with foamy beige clouds dusted with cinnamon. St. Ives was my new favorite place.
“Does this remind you of Les Amis?” I asked.
“A tad more sophisticated,” replied Luke.
“And a whole lot more pricey,” I sipped my coffee and smiled.
Les Amis was a coffee house near the university campus. Luke and I had spent hours there sorting out life. In the fall and winter it had usually been a little too cold despite the big fireplace in the middle of the room. In the spring and summer there had been mosquitoes. But it had been our place. I wondered if Les Amis was still there.
There was a muffled tapping from underneath the table and Luke grasped his left knee. The tapping stopped. I had seen muscle spasms before, but this was Luke.
“Nerves,” he said with a crooked grin.
What else could he say? And it was after nine now anyway.
“The cups are bigger here,” I changed the subject back to the cappuccinos. “But Les Amis’ was better.”
“Still the proletariat snob?” asked Luke.
“Probably. You still an avowed capitalist?”
“Absolutely.”
“Amazing,” I said shaking my head.
“What?” he asked.
“Richie Rich and Orphan Annie.”
“More like Charlie Brown and Lucy,” Luke laughed easily.
Except Lucy wasn’t hopelessly in love with Charlie Brown. Or maybe she was. Despair, depression these might make you crabby and mean. And boring.
Eventually the generous cups of cappuccino ran out, taking with them the evening. Already the waiter had brought the check. Luke’s Visa was affiliated with American Airlines. He must travel a lot I thought. Perhaps he flew the kids here, just not often enough to suit his mother. Was Christina still a Mrs. Sterling? Or had she taken back her name like me. Maybe she wouldn’t because of the kids. Appearances mattered.
“I’m really glad you called me, Luke,” I admitted.
“Me too,” he replied.
We smiled at each other.
“Ready?” he asked at last, officially signaling the end of the evening.
I nodded and stood up as Luke pulled on a pair of leather gloves. Unlocking his breaks, he pushed back from the table, and for the first time I was forced to see completely his wheelchair and paralyzed legs. I kept smiling through it, however, determined not to let him see the effect. Walking on ahead, I reached the door first and opened it for him, but he moved behind me and took the handle of the door away from me.
“After you,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied.
“Have a nice evening,” the hostess called after us.
“Thank you,” I paused to return to her.
For an instant I wondered what she had made of us, the wounded knight and his adoring protégé.
“Where’d you park?” Luke asked when we were on the sidewalk. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
The very common phrase was jarring.
“Okay,” I said, nonetheless thankful to have any excuse to hold onto the evening for a little while longer.
Walking along beside him, I was able to look down and see the top of Luke’s head. I wished that I couldn’t and swore to myself that I’d never touch my cell phone in the car again. When we reached my car, Luke took the keys from me and opened the driver-side door for me.
“I’m really glad you called,” I repeated myself, reluctant to get into the car. “Running into your mother, how lucky was that?”
“Pretty amazing,” he agreed.
“I know. I couldn’t believe it, right? At the Bath & Body Works.”
“It was only the mall, Rachel,” Luke smiled wryly. “Not the moon. Now get in.”
“I know,” I said obeying him. “But still.”
Instead of handing me the keys, Luke rolled in closer between the door and car and reached inside the car to put the key into the ignition. I felt his back rub against my breasts. I didn’t breathe and balled my hands into fists to keep from touching him.
“Drive safely,” he told me once he was outside the car again.
“I will,” I said.
I felt dizzy but it wasn’t the wine.
“Goodnight, my old friend,” he said warmly.
“Don’t say old to a woman,” I scolded him playfully as I tried to regain my composure.
“Can I still say best?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered immediately, nearly tearing up again. “Always.”
Since his gloves only covered half of Luke’s hands, leaving his fingers free, I felt them cool under my chin as he lifted my face drawing it towards him. By the time he pressed his lips against mine I had closed my eyes to enjoy the taste of his mouth. I could feel the hardness of his teeth, smell the faint scent of coffee and cinnamon. I luxuriated in the kiss, yet I compelled my tongue to stay in its place inside my mouth because he did. But he was still Luke to me and in every way that mattered.
When the kiss was over, his breath came as a sigh into my face.
“Goodnight, best friend,�
� he said softly.
“Goodnight,” I whispered breathlessly.
Rolling himself back, he closed the door between us. Hastily I rolled down the window.
“Thank you,” I said, for the evening, but also for the moment just passed. Surely it meant something.
Luke nodded, and finally I started the car. He rolled back further. I wanted to see him again, but how, why? My condo was a second floor walk-up. Would he want to just meet for coffee? He never let me pickup a check. What could I offer him?
“Want to meet for lunch sometime?” I asked.
“Sounds good,” answered Luke.
“Okay!” I said a little too excitedly. “You’ve got my number.”
“I do,” Luke agreed. “I’ll be in touch.”
FIVE
Of course I had Luke’s number too, at least his cell phone number. I could also call him. But I didn’t. Not the first day after, or the second one either. Maybe it was because every time I looked at my cell phone I was reminded of the texting teenager. Did Luke relive it—the accident—when his cell rang? I didn’t want to cause him to do that. But there was another reason why I didn’t call too. It was because Luke didn’t call me, and I wondered whether or not he ever would again. Can I still say best? He still thought of me that way? How was that even possible? And it probably wasn’t particularly healthy for either of us.
I was dying to talk about it with Corrine: about seeing Luke again, and the wheelchair, and the way he had kissed me. For sure Mommy was off limits. I had spent a lot of time convincing her that some kind of foolish unfulfilled feelings for Luke had not contributed to my break-up with Robert. I couldn’t risk setting her off down that road again. The less said about Luke to her the better.
But maybe I could risk talking it over with Corrine. There were plenty of opportunities to tell her about it: at work, while we were at Jazzercise class, when we were standing in the queue at Starbucks, but still I kept completely silent about any of it. It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard plenty of stories about Luke, she had: about my first time, about the-one-that-got-away, and all the if-I-had-it-to-do-all-over-again confidences that women shared with each other once friendships were comfortably established. I had supplied endless details. Just never Luke’s name. In my lost-love stories, he had been as perfect as a remembrance, as ethereal as a ghost, turning into a mythological inhabitant of Eden, a resident of Olympus. To make him flesh and blood to Corrine now would surely generate a host of questions it just seemed easier not to deal with.
Even though such questions were constantly populating my brain as interrupting thoughts from which I hurriedly fled only to wind up right back with them again. How much had he changed? What did he think of me now? Could we really be friends again? Would it be like old times, or like that one time? Which one did I want? Did I still want what I had always wanted, in the words of Seinfeld’s Elaine, the this, that, and the other. And what about the wheelchair? What did it mean? Could it even be like it was?
Friday night I was home—probably waiting for the telephone to ring—but keeping myself busy doing the laundry. When the laundry was done, I took a shower because it was time to go to bed. The hot water felt good and combined with the scent of juniper to dissolve the hyper-vigilant state I was weary of living in. Why must hope be so resilient? Luke had kissed me—so what? It was just a friendly gesture. Friends kissed all the time. Hadn’t I kissed him first? On the cheek, yeah, but still. He’d call me when he got around to it. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. He certainly must have a life. I did. I was too old to be sitting around waiting for the telephone to ring. It was enough to know that he was basically okay. I was out of half-and-half. I should go grocery shopping tomorrow.
By the time I was washing off a second coat of body wash suds, the telephone did ring. It must be after ten. Mommy was usually in bed by now unless she had some important news or juicy gossip that couldn’t wait. The phone kept ringing while I made up my mind to try to answer it, which meant wrapping myself in a towel and dripping water on the floor.
“Hello,” I said in a voice that revealed the dash to the phone.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Luke asked.
“Oh! Luke,” I said glancing at the clock radio by the bed. “Uh-uh no. No! Hi!”
“Hi. Hope it’s not too late.”
“No. No, I-I was just in the shower.”
“Oh sorry, then I better let you go.”
“No! I mean it’s okay. I-I was getting out. I have a towel.”
“That’s all?” he chuckled.
A blush covered me from head to toe.
“I’m-I’m covered,” I tried to say nonchalantly.
“Too bad,” replied Luke.
I shivered. Like old times, he still enjoyed teasing me. It was silly to be thrilled but I was. For a time there was silence. I had never known what to say.
“So I called to see if I could take you up on your lunch offer,” Luke supplied finally.
“Oh—for sure!” I said, dropping the towel. “When would you like to get together?”
“Tomorrow okay?”
“Yes. That would be fine, Luke.”
Maybe I should have hesitated at least a little, as if I had to mentally check a busy schedule. Must I always be too easy for him?
“One o’clock okay?” he asked.
“Um-hmm,” I replied again without a second of hesitation.
God—I was such a pushover! I clutched the telephone receiver tightly to contain myself and sat down on the bed.
“Great,” said Luke. “I’ll pick you up.”
My joy faded. There was no elevator in my building. Luke could not come to my house. How could that be true?
“Oh…uh,” I stammered. “Uh…”
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I uh…I live on the second floor. There’s no—”
“Elevator,” he finished for me.
“No,” I confessed. “I’m sorry.”
“Does that bother you, Rachel?”
“Yes, of course,” I said immediately. “I mean…that my building’s not-not accessible. I didn’t think…well it’s an older building. You know, before there were codes.”
But not before there were wheelchairs and the people who needed them. I felt as guilty as the builders.
“Is there handicap parking?” Luke asked.
Thinking for a minute, I realized that I didn’t know.
“I’m not sure,” I was forced to admit. “I can check.”
“Don’t do it now, for God’s sake,” Luke laughed. “I’ll just call you when I get there and you can come down.”
For at least a quarter of a century I had been lamenting the fact that I couldn’t fit into the world of Lucas Sterling. Now all of a sudden he couldn’t fit into mine.
“Okay,” I said.
“So we’re good then?” asked Luke.
Did I sound sad?
“Yes!” I answered quickly. “Yes of course.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replied.
“Okay,” I smiled happily once more.
There was silence again.
“Guess I’d better let you get back to your shower,” Luke said.
“I’m all done,” I reminded him.
“Where’s the towel?”
“On the floor.”
“Must be a little chilly.”
I blushed again.
“I’m okay,” I laughed nervously.
“I’m sure,” Luke concurred.
“I’m glad I was able to catch the phone.”
“Me too. It’s kind of late, and you never were much of a night owl.”
“No-no, that’s okay. Really. I’m glad you called.”
“Had to. Even though it was your turn, you know.”
“My turn?”
“Yeah. But then you always were a little slow on the uptake.”
“I don’t like to bother people,” I lamely explained.
“I know. Tha
t’s what you say.”
Did I? Corrine complained that she always had to call me, and even Mommy called me more than I did her. And poor Robert, it was always left up to him to keep in touch.
“Okay,” I agreed. “You’re right, but I didn’t have your number. I mean your home number.”
“You have caller-id, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have it now.”
“Okay, Luke. I get the message.”
He laughed merrily, having scored his point.
“Good. But as I said, not a quick study,” he teased.
Was Luke Sterling really back in my life? Was I really hearing his voice, his laughter, not just remembering it or dreaming about it in my sleep?
“I’ll get it together,” I promised in my defense and as a self-made assignment.
I wasn’t a girl anymore. He wasn’t a boy either.
“Just pick a place for lunch,” Luke told me. “I’ll be happy with that.”
It felt the same. He was the captain and I was the crew. It felt the same and it felt good.
“Consider it done,” I replied.
“So where are we going?” Luke asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll just have to call you and let you know.”
SIX
Eager for it to be true, it didn’t take me long to let myself believe in the miracle of our reunion. There were lunches and dinners, cappuccinos and conversations, even a movie. Individually we both had changed, and a lot, we must have, but together we were managing to be the same friends again. Once more the this was getting to be as good as the that. And the other? Well let’s just say I was willing to go without it again too.
We exchanged affectionate pecks on the lips to say hello and goodbye, although none of them like that first night in my car when we had said goodnight. The warm but dry gestures were all agape, the Biblical acts rightly shared between a brother and sister. It was truly better this way. Eros had shot a fatal arrow through our us the last time; and if I had to choose between having Luke and having sex then it was a no-brainer. Luke like this was absolutely better than no Luke at all.
It wasn’t about the wheelchair. Luke was still Luke. He was more filled out in the shoulders and chest. His arms were thicker. Maybe there was the tiniest hint of a paunch, but unlike me he couldn’t help it, otherwise I knew he would have, since Luke had always been a little vain about his physical appearance. He also couldn’t help that there were little creases around his eyes, and gray not only in the hair on his head but pushing through in the stubble on his chin. Granny liked to say that old-age was the price you had to pay for living. And in any case Luke Sterling could still inspire admiring looks. The chair wasn’t always obvious, and even when it was he was so smooth, even graceful, maneuvering it with athletic proficiency around and over the assorted obstacles that could be anywhere.
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