The wedding band spun on the surface of the table like a blurry, golden orb. Luke watched it from his chair and slammed his hand down on top of it to stop it from spinning. He looked across the table at the open wine bottle staring at him from the other end, its green-yellow tint like the bottom of some forbidden, tropical sea.

Luke held the ring between his fingers and steadied it on the table, spinning it once more and hypnotizing himself with its shape and movement. He looked at the clock on the wall. 7:30 pm. His eyes traveled downwards to the plate-glass window with cardboard and duct tape stuck in the middle, a grim reminder of the hatred that had been thrown through it just a few nights earlier.

He slammed his hand down on the ring once more and held it up to the light, examining the inscription. He looked at the bottle of wine through the center of the ring.

"Stop looking at me," he said to it. Luke placed the band on his left ring finger and let his hand rest on the table. He let a small smile form at the corner of his mouth. He liked the way it looked.

Luke sighed and got to his feet. On his way out of the dining room, he pointed to the wine bottle. "Not tonight, sweetie." He grabbed his house keys and headed outside, locking the front door behind him and turning on the sidewalk. He walked around the block to Celeste's house and knocked on the door.

Sarah's small, pale face stared back at him from the window as she pushed the curtains aside. There was a pause as she disappeared, then the door opened and she stood on the other side in a princess dress and crown.

She looked up at him without a smile, more of a curious frown than anything. "Hello," she said.

Luke looked down at her and nodded. "Hello."

Sarah licked her lips and adjusted her crown. Luke could hear the TV in the other room blaring cartoons.

"Where's your mom?" he asked.

Sarah lowered her head. "She's sick," she said in a soft voice. "She yelled at Mary for spilling juice on the carpet, now she's in the bathroom."

Luke looked past Sarah into the house. "Can I come in?" he asked.

Sarah stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind them. "Mary's in the TV room."

Luke gave her a small smile and gestured towards the room. "Why don't you join her? I'll go find your mother."

Sarah sauntered off, the saddest little princess Luke had ever seen, and he turned and walked down the hallway. Luke passed the kitchen and turned the corner. He rapped on the bathroom door.

"Celeste?"

He heard her coughing from the other side. "Don't come in!" she cried.

"Celeste, I—"

"Don't come in . . . don't come in."

Luke pressed his ear to the door. He thought he could hear her crying on the other end, her voice small and faltering. The toilet flushed from the other side and Celeste opened the door. Luke nearly stepped back when he saw her—her face was pale and sweaty, her eyes had dark circles and her hair was matted to her face in clumps.

"Jesus," Luke breathed.

Celeste faked a grin and shook her head. "It's just a touch of the flu," she said.

She closed the bathroom door and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Luke followed closely, concern growing on his face.

"What's going on?" he asked,

Celeste laughed and filled a kettle with water from the sink. "I feel so bad," she said, "I scolded Mary for a simple accident and now the girls are afraid of me right now." Celeste put the kettle on the stove and turned the burner on. She turned to Luke and he sat at the table. "I've just been so tired lately, I can't think straight." Celeste sat down with Luke at the kitchen table and put a hand to her face.

Luke stared at her. She wasn't convincing anyone. "Celeste, tell me the truth."

His neighbor looked at him, her eyes welling with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again when she saw Sarah coming down the hallway.

"Mommy?"

Celeste blinked her tears away and smiled at her daughter. "Yeah, baby?"

"Can I play upstairs with Mary?"

Celeste nodded. "Of course you can." As Sarah started to turn away, Celeste held her hand out. "Wait," she said, "come here and give me a hug."

Sarah cautiously approached her mother, then embraced her tightly when she realized her mom might not have been angry anymore. Celeste stroked her daughter's hair and kissed the top of her head. She let her daughter go and gave her another smile, wiping away a stray tear before Sarah could see it, but not until after Luke had.

"Go on," Celeste said, patting her daughter's bottom. Sarah climbed the stairs to join her sister in their room, holding her dress up so she wouldn't trip. Luke turned back to Celeste. She looked at him, her lips quivering and her smile breaking up like cracks in a dry desert.

"It's not the flu," she said in almost a whisper. Luke reached out and held her hand, his eyes begging to know the truth. Celeste steadier her lips and broke out into a wide grin. "I've got cancer," she said.

0000000

Across town, Noah stared at the empty bottom of a beer mug, watching as the amber residue swirled back and forth as he rocked the glass in his hand. He set the mug down and sighed greatly, putting a hand to his face and cursing the day he had ever moved to California and met Andrew Sullivan and gotten into this horrible mess in the first place. He wanted to be back in Oakdale where it all started for him and Luke, he wanted to be younger and stupider and happier knowing that Luke was his boyfriend, his first boyfriend, and everything was unknown and filled with such possibility—

"Hey, buddy."

Noah looked up at the bartender.

"Hey, buddy," the tattooed man said again. "You been in here nearly three hours and you only had one beer."

So?"

The bartender leaned on his side of the bar, a gruff-looking man well past his prime who looked about as tame as a pit-bull. "So this is a no-parking zone," he said. "Either order up or get up." The old man jerked his thumb upwards.

Noah slid off his barstool and rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. He began walking down the length of the bar to the exit when the bartender called out to him.

"And tell those kids out there to turn their damn music down!"

Noah wasn't listening. He threw the door open and stepped out into the night, the fresh air slapping his face and blowing all the smoke and sweat from the bar away. He wondered if he should go home. He wondered if Luke was even there anymore, and even if he was, there would be the chance he was still in an awful mood.

Noah crossed the parking lot and pulled the keys to his truck out of his pocket. A group of teenagers stood around their car a few rows behind Noah's truck, the music from the radio blasting from the speakers. He fiddled with the keys and tried to think of where to go. Not home, not to another bar . . .

"Hey, look who it is!"

Noah turned and saw one of the teenagers from the car coming towards him. It was George Samson's son, Danny.

"Fancy seeing you here!" Danny laughed. The boy held a bottle wrapped in brown paper. Noah assumed it was alcohol. "Small world, ain't it?"

Noah put his keys in the door and unlocked his truck. "I'm just on my way," he said.

Danny stood by him and closed the door as Noah began opening it. He kept his hand on the window to keep Noah from trying to get in.

"The police came by yesterday," he said. "They told us you and your little boyfriend got paid a visit by some friends."

Noah was sure of the vodka on Danny's breath. He ignored the boy and tried to enter his truck again. Danny slammed the door shut, pressing his back to it and standing face-to-face with Noah.

"I don't want any trouble," Noah said.

Danny laughed, his breath soaked in alcohol and his eyelids heavy, almost closed. "Ya hear that, boys?" he called out to the other teenagers by the car. "The fag doesn't want any trouble!"

Noah looked to his right to see three other boys coming towards them, all burly and lumbering like Danny, all with a heavy, drunk look on their faces. They smiled as they approached, as if they were about to play a game of football with a weaker opposing team.

Noah tried to shove Danny aside to open his door. "Just leave me alone," he said. His heart quickened, his stomach turned sour and hot.

"What's wrong?" Danny asked, nudging his way back in front of Noah's door. "Oh, I get it," he said with a slurred laugh. "You didn't like the little present my boys here gave you, did you?"

Noah looked at the other teenagers again as they stood around him. "Maybe we shoulda thrown a Roman candle through the window," said one of the boys.

"Yeah," another one laughed. "That woulda really scared the shit out of them!"

Noah looked at Danny. He swallowed hard, a lump as big as a rock forming in his throat. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

Danny smiled and stumbled forward a bit, his eyes almost all the way closed. "Why?" he mimicked, as if the question had an obvious answer. Danny blinked and suddenly he opened his eyelids all the way, the smile on his face wiped away and replaced with a menacing frown.

"Because I hate your fuckin' guts." Danny said. He grabbed Noah by the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. "And tonight . . . we're gonna kill you."

Noah barely had time to move, could barely even think another thought before Danny swung a fist at him and knocked him right in the jaw, powerful enough to bring Noah to his stomach. Danny kicked him in his side and Noah let out a cry.

"Come on, asshole!" Danny cried. He kicked Noah in the face, causing him to roll on his back. Danny knelt down and grabbed Noah by the hair, forcing his head up from the ground. Blood trickled out of Noah's nose.

"Please . . ." Noah whispered.

Danny smiled again. "When we're done with you," he said, "we're gonna fuck up your little boyfriend back home."

To be continued