Or at least he used to be.
He worked the muscles in his jaw. Lori was out again; she’d been gone all day to some seminar on self-directed spirituality. She was on a high-protein kick lately—only red meat, eggs, and boneless chicken. Something about getting fuel from the lower evolutionary rungs. The girl had so many approaches to eating he couldn’t keep track of them.
Homework helped him pass half the evening, but he’d finished his last bit of reading, and really, he should’ve gone to the party at his parents’ house. He couldn’t hide from them forever.
Eventually they’d have to accept that he was different now. They’d have to stop grilling him about his faith and stop asking when he would change back to the Luke Baxter they knew and loved. They could take him like he was or not at all. And if they couldn’t, well, what did that say about their supposed faith?
Luke wiped at a spot on the window where his breath had left a circle of steam. Tomorrow he and Lori would attend a campus function for the Freethinkers Alliance. The group intrigued Luke more than the other clubs Lori dragged him to. Even with his new mind-set—the one that wasn’t theistic in nature—some of the clubs she belonged to were downright wacky. Anger Diversion Art? One World Optimization? Luke shook his head. Voice of the Trees?
No, he didn’t fit into much of Lori’s world. But the Freethinkers Alliance—or FTA—now that was a group that sparked Luke’s imagination. Tomorrow’s message was “Removing Bias—Breaking Down the Walls to Freedom.” And later that month they’d spend a few weeks on the relativity of truth. Luke could hardly wait for that discussion, especially after a lifetime of thinking truth could be found only by walking through the doors of a church or living a life founded on some archaic book of letters.
Luke raked his fingers through his hair and turned from the window. The apartment was meticulously clean. Lori was a stickler for organization. Inanimate objects had a more powerful aura when they were put in their place. At least that was her theory. She had a fit if he left his clothes on the floor, and after a few arguments about the negativity of sleeping next to a pile of day-old clothes, he’d learned to hang them up.
A clock ticked in the background, and Luke sighed. The party would be over by now and he couldn’t help but wonder. Had they missed him? talked about him? shared with each other how lost he was now that he wasn’t exactly like them? He sank his hands in the pockets of his jeans and headed for the kitchen. A bologna sandwich would help take his mind off his family.
He was halfway to the kitchen when the phone rang.
Only a few possibilities existed anymore, since Luke had lost most of his old friends. And the new ones—usually they were too busy being enlightened to think about something as mundane as calling to shoot the breeze. It was a part of his old life Luke missed, the social part. Playing basketball with his buddies, catching a movie off-campus, hanging out at Art’s Attic for a couple games of pool.
Freethinkers didn’t spend their time that way; wasn’t that what Lori had said? Basketball was a source of unnecessary competition, the kind that eventually led to war; movies were tailor-made for nonthinking middle America and contained political agendas and influential stereotypes that were harmful to freethinkers. And playing pool at a bar? Uneducated cretins and male chauvinists, that’s who found fun in such simple pastimes.
So much for any of his old gang.
The phone rang a third time just as Luke picked it up and punched the On button. “Hello?”
“Luke? Hi…it’s Mom.”
Here we go.… He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Hello, Mother.” He took the phone into the living room and plopped onto the sofa. His father hadn’t called in weeks, not since Luke snapped at him to get out of his business. But his mom called no matter what, once every few days at least. So why did she have to sound so strained and frightened, as though he might hang up on her the moment he heard her voice? He cleared his throat. “How was the party?”
“Good. Ryan and Kari announced their engagement.” She hesitated. “The wedding will be September twenty-first.”
“I figured that was it.” Luke closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Lori had his mother pegged. From the beginning, she’d said his mother emanated negative vibes. The whole vibe thing didn’t sit well with Luke, but it was hard to deny the tension between him and his mother.
“Ryan wants you to be in the wedding party.” Her voice trembled. “He wanted me to ask you about it.”
Luke squinted toward the window. “I’m not sure. Can I let him know in a week or so?”
His mother paused, and when she spoke again she sounded tired and old. “Kari’s your sister, Luke. Why wouldn’t you say yes?”
“Because.” He let his frustration out in a huff. “Maybe I don’t believe in marriage anymore, weddings and all that ’til-death-do-us-part stuff. And maybe I don’t want to stand up there dressed in some establishment-driven black tuxedo making a hypocrite of myself.” He eased back on his tone. “That’s why.”
“Well, then…” She didn’t seem to have an answer for that. “At least think about it. Ryan cares a great deal for you. It would mean a lot for you to be part of the celebration that day.”
“Fine.” He leaned forward and dug his elbows into his knees. His stomach hurt, but he wasn’t sure if it was the “bad vibes” or just the tension of his old life clashing smack against his new one. “I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “Luke, I have something else to tell you.”
A dozen possibilities flashed into Luke’s mind. Something had happened to Ashley or Landon…Maddie was sick again…or his father was passing on an apology. He waited.
“Reagan called the other day. She wanted to talk to you.”
At those first two unbelievable words, Luke felt the blood drain from his face, felt his heart beating hard in his throat, sensed the room begin to spin. His mother couldn’t possibly have said what he thought he’d heard. Reagan had called? His Reagan? She’d called looking for him? After how long—seven months? The idea was insane.
While his mother was waiting for his reaction, he grabbed a quick couple of breaths. The blood was returning to his face, but in small amounts. “Reagan?” He hated the way he sounded fifteen again, as though all the progress he’d made in the past half a year had disappeared at the mention of her name. “Are you sure it was her?”
“It was her, Luke. She apologized for not calling sooner, and she—”
“Wait.” His voice rose a notch. “Start at the beginning. I want to know everything.”
“I’m trying. We…we didn’t talk long.”
Something ignited a warning flare in the desert of Luke’s soul. “Did you tell her about me? You know, that I was living with Lori?”
His mother’s hesitation told Luke everything he needed to know. “What was I supposed to say, Luke? That you were upstairs waiting for her phone call?”
Luke bent at the waist and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Please, Mom. Start at the beginning.”
“Okay. She apologized for not calling sooner, and then she asked for you. I told her you didn’t live with us anymore, and that a lot of things had changed. She asked what I meant, and I told her.”
“Told her what?” Panic joined the other emotions vying for position in Luke’s voice. “What exactly did you say?”
His mother drew a slow breath, and when she spoke, her tone was stronger than before. “I told her the truth, Luke. That you’ve walked away from us and your faith and everything you once believed. That you never even stop by the house anymore, and that you are living with your new girlfriend.”
The words hit Luke like so many bullets. “You told her that?”
“Yes.”
Luke sat back and tried to assess the damage. Reagan must’ve been shocked. She might’ve stopped loving him the night of September 10, but the news would still have been hard for her to hear. “What did she say?”
“I think she was s
tunned, to tell you the truth. She said she hadn’t known. When I asked her if I should tell you she called, she said no.” His mother sounded sure of herself now. “In fact, she begged me not to tell you she called.”
The room was spinning again. “She…she begged you not to tell me?” Why had Reagan called? What if the details about his new lifestyle were such a shock that she ran away again, maybe never to make another attempt to contact him?
“Yes.” A sad sigh traveled over the phone line. “I almost didn’t tell you. But then…when you didn’t show up tonight, I thought you should know.”
“Know what?” Luke couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t fathom the idea that Reagan had reached out only to draw back, probably further and more permanently than before.
“The way your new choices are affecting people, Luke. People you used to love.”
Luke heard a key in the door and a few seconds later, Lori entered the apartment. Her face was pale, and it looked like she’d been crying. Her shoulders bent forward a bit as she set her books on the table. She rested there for a moment and then joined him in the living room. Luke gave her a little wave, pointed to the phone, and held up a single finger. He covered the speaker with his hand. “Be off in a minute.”
She nodded, stretched out on the opposite sofa, and closed her eyes. Whatever the seminar had involved, her aura and vibe level certainly didn’t seem stronger. Luke looked away from her and focused on his mother.
“Mom, listen…” Luke forced his head to clear. The desperation was gone from his voice, and he felt the room right itself. Why had he reacted so strangely? After all, Reagan had been out of his life for months. Thoughts of her now would lead nowhere. “You did the right thing. She had to know someday.”
In the cat-and-mouse game he and his mom seemed to be playing, she was now the mouse again. “So…what are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“About Reagan. Don’t you think you should call her, Luke? At least make some kind of contact?”
“She didn’t want me to know she’d called; isn’t that right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Look, Mom, I have to go. Lori’s home. Thanks for telling me; you thought that was the right thing to do and I appreciate that.” They were out of things to say, and Luke wanted to get away. If Lori was sick, then maybe she needed him—and that had happened only a few times since they’d been together.
His mother ended the call with a flurry of declarations—that his father sent his love, how much everyone missed him, and of course the point she never failed to make: everyone was praying for him.
When he hung up, Luke turned to Lori and studied her for a moment. She was small and well built, and he was used to sharing a bed with her. But he’d never really been attracted to her, not the way he’d been to Reagan.
She rolled on her side and opened her eyes. “What’d your mother want?”
“Just an update.”
For a few seconds Lori looked like she wanted more details, but she let it go. A low moan escaped her, and she reached around and pressed her fist into the small of her back. “My lower vertebrae are killing me. I did a self-assessment and visualization on the way home, but the pain’s still there.”
Luke wasn’t sure what to say. Couldn’t she talk like a normal girl, just once? As intriguing as he’d found her in the beginning, these days more often than not she came across as a self-righteous, academic snob. Reagan never would’ve been so—
He caught himself, stopping the train of thought before it picked up steam. Breathe, Luke…forget about her and just breathe. “How was the seminar?”
Lori cast him an indifferent glance. “I didn’t go.”
Luke stared at the woman he was living with. “I thought you took off class to go.” He waved his hands in the air. “It was supposed to be this big deal, remember?”
“So…I took off class and went to the doctor instead.” She pulled herself up and locked eyes with him. “Is that okay with you?”
He drew in a steadying breath. “Listen, Lori, if something’s wrong, you should’ve told me. Maybe I could help.”
“I’m fine, Luke.” She crossed her arms, and for the first time since Luke had known her, she looked young and helpless, more like a little girl than a college coed intent on changing the world. “It was just a doctor’s appointment.”
“All day?” He wasn’t trying to fight with her, but she didn’t look well. “What is it, the flu? a virus?”
“Look…” She was mad now. Her eyebrows came together in a sharp V as she stood and stared at him. “It’s my body, okay? I find it offensive that you would even ask.” She gave a sharp breath through her nose and turned toward their bedroom. Near the doorway she tossed him a final look over her shoulder. “And don’t worry. It’s not contagious.”
Luke watched her go and felt no remorse. He headed for the window once more and stared out. Lately he spent half his time in front of that single sheet of glass, looking at the world outside their apartment, wondering how life had gone mad. What would make a person hijack a plane and fly it into a building full of people? That had been the turning point, really. His life would be forever marked by how it was prior to September 11.…
And how it was now.
He leaned his bare arm against the cold glass and tried to focus. Back cramps probably meant it was that time of the month for Lori. PMS was hard on her, though she hated to admit it. Some weeks she would wax on about the virtues of menstruation and how it empowered women. Other times she called it a curse, a challenge men knew nothing about.
Luke always wanted to laugh when she said that, but he didn’t dare. If anyone knew about PMS it was a guy with four sisters. But Lori wasn’t interested in his opinion—at least not on anything concerning a woman. He shifted and let his other arm rest against the glass. That had to be it, PMS, and maybe she’d been in for a checkup. Not that a checkup would take all day, but if she didn’t want to tell him where she’d been, then so be it.
Right now, he didn’t care.
He watched a car pull into the apartment parking lot and drop off a young couple. The two laughed as they waved good-bye and headed toward the front doors. Too bad Lori was sick. It would’ve been a great night to check out the action on campus. A concert, maybe, or a reading at the library. Life was about more than special-interest meetings, no matter what Lori thought.
Luke’s mind drifted and he closed his eyes.
Where did Reagan live these days? With her mother in New York, obviously…the place she’d run off to on September 11. But was she happy? Had she enrolled in school and continued her education? Did she work at a café somewhere waiting tables or had she taken time off to mourn the loss of her father?
His words to his mother flashed in his mind: “You did the right thing. She had to know someday.” Luke gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t call Reagan—definitely not. Not when she knew how he’d changed. Not when she’d been so clear about his mother not telling him about her phone call.
Why had she called, anyway? Wasn’t it enough that she’d refused his phone calls for months on end? She walked out on their relationship. What right did she have to try to find him now? He studied the sky above Bloomington and felt his anger dissipate. Maybe she needed to tell him something, something urgent. Maybe her mother had been hurt…or her brother.
He caught his reflection in the glass and realized how long his hair was. He used to wear it short, his style conservative and clean-cut. But Lori told him a man looked better natural, with long hair and a beard, that in the crucial academic years it was important not to stifle any of himself or the power within him.
So Luke had grown a mustache and a goatee, but he had drawn the line there. Beards bothered him, even if the lack of one left him powerless in his crucial academic years.
He took a step back and caught more of his reflection. Even now—months after he’d made the decision to become someone else—he had trouble recognizing himself. Wavy hair d
own to his jaw, the unruly goatee and wispy mustache. The only thing even a little familiar about himself was the look in his eyes, a look that even September 11 hadn’t been able to destroy.
A look that told him the truth about his feelings. No matter how often he lied to himself, he would always love a girl with long, blonde hair and a heart of gold; a girl who once told him she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him. A girl who would’ve been Reagan Baxter.
If only things had worked out differently.
CHAPTER FOUR
ASHLEY PULLED INTO the driveway at Sunset Hills Adult Care Home and grabbed the box of tea from the seat beside her. She was the manager now, and other workers shopped for the groceries. But the tea was something she took care of, something she had promised Irvel, Edith, and Helen. Ashley made sure the house was never without it.
Halfway up the walk she paused and took in the sight of the old house. Bathed in the sunlight of a rare warm spring day, the place looked quaint and quiet. The tulips were in full bloom again, but there was nothing memorable about the brick front. Nothing that would make a passing motorist stop and take a second look.
Yet beyond the front door was a world of pain and possibility, heartache and hope—and the sum of it had been exactly the therapy Ashley needed.
After all, she’d taken the job at Sunset Hills Adult Care Home working with Alzheimer’s patients for one reason—to soften her own heart. She’d hoped that perhaps by working with society’s frail and forgotten, she might somehow find herself, find the place from which she painted, the place she’d all but buried after her time in Paris. Yes, working at Sunset Hills had changed her.
That, and the nightmare of September 11.
Ashley had made peace with God and her past. In the process she’d started painting again. Beautiful pieces, portraits of the residents at Sunset Hills and landscapes of Bloomington’s rolling hills and farmlands. She was averaging one painting every few weeks now. On a day like this she wished she could skip work and find a meadow of wildflowers where she could set up her easel.
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