Walk on Water (5 page)

According to Luke, the Sterlings had been
social Christians.
They had belonged to an Episcopal Church, but they had seldom attended. “So much for separation of church and state,” he had said. “Just try getting elected without a church membership on your resume.” Getting hurt had probably not been good for
contract talks.

“No, Rachel,” Luke added as if he could read my mind. “God didn’t break my back. And I don’t expect Him to fix it.”

But God could if He wanted to. Couldn’t He do all things? The Bible was full of miracles. Surely no one was more deserving than Luke. Did
social Christians
ever pray? Seven years was not too long to hope. I had spent at least twenty doing it.

“It was an outlier,” I said, reciting one of Luke’s lessons back to him.

“You got it,” he agreed.

“Follow the slope of the line.”

Luke nodded, raising his glass.

“Generally speaking mine’s been pretty good,” he said.

Except for the divorce and a teenager with a cell phone, but still I smiled a little, loving him a lot.

“Okay,” Luke said looking at his watch once again. “Eight-thirty. Time to move to a new topic.”

My smile brightened anyway.

“Let’s talk about you,” he continued. “What’s Rachel Cunningham been doing with herself the last twenty years?”

Saving a cassette tape,
I thought.

.

FOUR

T
he tenderloin was superb, the wine wonderful, and the conversation eventually as if we were back in Luke’s Trans Am on our way home for the holidays. People always said that this was the way it was supposed to be between old friends. You should be able to pick up where you had left off, the years, the events, the outcomes notwithstanding.

Generally speaking
, the slope of our friendship had been good if we regarded the sex part as an outlier, nothing more than just a very brief blip that hadn’t really changed what had been between us before. I could learn to do that. Although maybe that was only the wine talking. In any case it was pretty clear that that particular point in time was no big deal to Luke. It was like we were both back in college, and he was enjoying his
little sister
again, having fun with his faithful sidekick.

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

O
f 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.