For the second time that morning Luke heard pounding on his door. He glanced at his watch—it had been sixteen minutes since he had told Caesar to come back in ten. If he had to bet, Luke would have said Caesar had been back up there in nine and had spent the last seven trying to work up the guts to face him again. Luke sighed and let his head fall back against the rumpled sheets. He as now sitting on the floor, back resting against the bed, hands limp in his lap, legs stretched out in front of him. The unopened wallet lay on the ground next to him. He had gone to open it, he really had, but he no sooner picked it up than it fell from his grasp onto the floor as if his hand had a mind of its own. He had sank down next to it, not yet able to muster the will power to go at it again.
The pounding continued. Luke sighed but didn't make an attempt to acknowledge it. Caesar knew he was here, sooner or later he'd get up the courage to just walk in. And he was right—not thirty seconds later Luke heard the door creek open.
"Hey, Caesar," he mumbled. But it was there he was wrong. As he heard the feminine voice reply, "hey," he knew it wasn't Caesar. The footsteps approached the bed where he sat and soon a pair of high heels were standing in front of him. Slowly, he looked up. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Passing through," was her reply. Then she scoffed. "Nice to see you too by the way."
He didn't say anything and she knelt down next to him, for the first time seeing the wallet. "It's not gonna bite, ya know."
He continued staring at the dresser in front of him. "I know."
"Hey," she grabbed his hand, "what's the matter big brother?"
He turned to look at her briefly before going back to staring straight ahead. "You pick the damnedest times to show up Liz, you know that?"
She smiled. "Keeps life interesting." There was a pause before she said, "Caesar sent me up to ask for the insurance card, Luke."
He nodded. He'd figured as much.
"It's in there?" she questioned, nodding at the wallet.
He nodded again, then swallowed hard.
Liz continued, piecing the situation together, "it's in there next to the horis—"
"Liz!" Luke cut her off sharply and she jerked back a bit, startled by the first time in their conversation that his voice had come out as any more than a whisper. "Just…don't say it,' his voice was soft again.
She looked at him and for the very first time in her whole life Liz realized her big brother looked very small. He reminded her very much of one of those big balloons from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. They're beautiful as they fly over the crowd and everyone looks up at them and oohs and ahhs and everything is perfect. But sooner or later the parade ends and the balloons end up in some warehouse somewhere to be stored away in the dark—and right before they are there's this moment when they're in the process of deflating where so much of the air is gone that they look almost laughable—all misshapen, shells of their former selves. And really, she thought, that must be the worst part. It's not so bad to be all folded up, tucked away—kind of peaceful really. But that middle state where they have just enough air left to remember who they once were, while being so far deflated that they can't even fathom again seeing such glory…well that surely must be the worst part.
After a long silence she stood up and looked down at her hero—her fallen hero. "Okay," she said softly.
He looked at her and watched as she picked up the wallet and wiped the dust off. He watched as she opened it and took out the insurance card and placed it in her back pocket. He watched as she took out the forty-seven dollars and placed it on the nightstand next to his new wallet. He let out a small sigh of relief. He opened his mouth to thank her but stopped as he watched her take a small, slightly yellowed piece of paper out. "Liz…" he said as she placed it on top of his dresser.
"Shh," she said to him. She placed the old wallet on top of it. "See, it's still hidden."
He shot her a look.
She sighed. "Look, Luke, you don't have to look at it today, you don't have to look at it tomorrow, but you do have to look at it." She paused. "Hopefully sooner rather than later."
She was about to say something else when she felt herself step on something. She looked down and picked up the blue scrunchie, turning it over in her hands.
Luke's stomach dropped when he saw what she was holding. He'd had no idea it was there. It must have been under the dresser this whole time—he'd probably knocked it out when he was reaching for the wallet. Silently he begged her to just put it back, not to ask…but, Liz being Liz, of course she did.
"Who's is it?"
He looked away from her, his ears reddening, his voice far away and barely audible, "Rachel's."
Liz looked at him, shocked. "When?"
He took at deep breath and thought. Finally he replied, "six months ago."
Rachel. Luke shook his head as he thought about her. She too picked the damnedest times to show up. It was about four months after he'd given up searching, about two months after he'd started opening the diner again—Caesar and Lane had been the ones keeping it going before that.
It had been Babette, strangely enough, who'd actually seen her first. Rachel was on a layover in Harford for the night and had decided to "swing by the Hallow," as she later put it. She'd gone to the diner looking for him and then his apartment—he wasn't in either. How she'd gotten out of there without talking to anyone Luke still didn't know. He'd been in Doosie's picking up some lettuce. She didn't look there though. Instead, she went to what, in her mind, was the only other logical place he could be.
Babette was out front with her gnomes when she saw Rachel walk up the lawn, stopping short when she saw the boards on the windows.
"My, my sugar," she had said running over, "we didn't expect to see you back here. Does Luke know you're here?"
"Uh, no. No, I was going to surprise him," she's stammered, not being able to tear her eyes from the house. "What…I mean…Did they move?"
Babette nodded slowly. "She did."
"She?" Rachel questioned. "But what about…"
"You should really go to the diner dear…"
"But I was just—"
"He'll be back. Luke never goes too far from that place these days."
"But what happened? I mean where is Lor—"
"She's gone sugar. She's just…" Babette sighed. "I don't know, nobody knows. God knows poor Luke tried to find her but, well, right now that girl just doesn't want to be found. He's been through hell, that poor guy. We just…we don't really talk about it. Even Taylor…" she trailed off again. "Luke and Taylor, they've had their differences, and that Taylor, he's a quirky one, but he loves Luke…we all do. And …and her, we love her too—always will. Taylor found some loophole somewhere that let him claim the house as historical property…someone's great-great-granddaughter twice removed walked across the lawn or something. I don't know, I don't think he knows, but this way Luke doesn't have to sell it, doesn't have to keep it up, and it's here in case…well," she said a little teary eyed, "just in case."
Rachel had nodded, trying to take it all in. "So, they were…?"
"They were engaged, sugar."
Later that day Rachel did find Luke at the diner. After he shook off the initial shock they had gone upstairs and talked and drank well into the night. They had talked about April, about the diner, about her travels, about a few of the guys she had dated since she left.
Luke remembered that night as the first night he'd smiled in well over a year. In fact, there were times he'd honestly thought he'd forgotten how. He remembered thinking he was glad she'd come.
Rachel had set down her beer and looked at him from across the table. "I saw Babette today," she finally said. "You weren't here so I figured that meant you could only be one other place."
He set his beer down as well and stared at the floor.
"She told me you were engaged."
He remained silent.
"Luke," she'd walked over to him, grabbed his hands in hers. "What happened? What happened with Lor—"
"Shh." He had placed his fingertips over her lips, silencing her. He lifted his head to look her in the eyes. "Please," he had begged, just barely above a whisper, "don't."
He honestly couldn't remember what had happened next. All he knew was he was drunk, he was depressed, and damnit he was lonely. The next thing he remembered was laying in bed with her on top of him in her red lace bar, her hands running over his bare chest, her mouth over his. He remembered her reaching for the button on his jeans and he remembered how much his body wanted it, how much he ached for it—so much it actually hurt. And then he remembered feeling something very strange. He tried to swallow and there was a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball—and he hated golf. God, he hated golf… It stuck him then that he was on the verge of tears. He, Luke Danes, wanted to cry.
He pulled Rachel away from him. "Rachel," he managed to choke out as she tried to fight against his arms, tried to lay kisses over his chest, "why are you doing this?" He couldn't hold her away any more and her mouth found his neck.
"Because," she said in between kisses, "I love you, Luke."
With that he had rolled her off of him, almost violently, stood up, and tugged his flannel back on, hoping she wouldn't notice how his arms were shaking. "You need to leave," he told her.
She'd sat there on the bed looking at him incredulously. "What? But Luke…"
He'd then picked up her shirt and threw it at her. "Get out!" He pointed to the door. "Get out now!"
She put her shirt on. "What the hell is your problem Luke!" she'd screamed at him. "I told you I loved you!"
With that she'd left, slamming the door behind her, never looking back.
"There's no such thing!" Luke had screamed at the now empty room. "I don't believe in it! I don't believe in that crap any more!"
No sooner had he gotten the words out then he found himself in the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet, throwing up everything he had in him. When there was nothing left to come up he had collapsed against the wall panting, sweating, puke clinging to his unbuttoned flannel, some running down his chest. And then it happened. He cried. Hard. He cried for the first time since she'd left him. He cried for the first time since his father died. And he knew for a fact, that night he cried harder than he ever had in his life.
It was a day and a half before he got up off that bathroom floor.
Luke was staring at the floor when Liz bent down in front of him. She took his face in both her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Luke," she said, "I know you tried to find her. I know you wanted to, and I agree that you couldn't go on living like that forever, but this," she motioned to his defeated posture, the wallet he'd been unable to open, "this isn't working either. You can't just shut off Luke, you can't just seal yourself off from your emotions, from your past…"
He turned his head frustratedly, trying to get away from her steady gaze.
"Luke," she said turning his head back, "I don't' know you like this. When you decided to shut off your past you shut off you too." She glanced at the wallet and looked back at him pleadingly. "Please, I'd really like my big brother back."
With that she kissed his forehead and left, leaving Luke to his thoughts.