Page 26 of Up In Smoke

He used to have a schedule. He used to have a life that he thought fairly well of. But now, everything was up in the air.

It was growing dark, but he’d just woken up. He was eating cereal at the end of the day. Though he was hungry, he’d only stared at it and let it go soggy.

He was due at the station at eight am the following morning. The way the chief liked to run things, was that everyone was, at worst, on time. Luke was usually early.

Would he be able to get back to sleep? He didn't know.

B-shift would have gotten off this morning. They might be out at Snafu drinking this evening. Maybe he could join them, just for social contact.

He got dressed, figuring he could weave his way to the bar by way of his usual circuit around town. He still wanted to check all his old haunts and hope that his timing was simply miraculous and that he caught a spark before it became a problem.

His stomach was growling because he hadn't even finished his stupid cereal, but he climbed the front steps and knocked on the door of the tiny house. His mother was in tonight, and he stayed for a few minutes, unable to watch the ash from her cigarette grow to an enormous length. He couldn’t avoid thinking about the damage she was doing to her lungs. But it couldn't be any worse than the damage from the cheap wine that she drank constantly, or the cheap food that she put into her body.

He told her he loved her, hugged her, and headed out the door. He should have gone straight to the bar. But once again his steering wheel seemed to have a mind of its own. And he found himself on Ivy Dean's street again.

He’d decided the night before that he was going to get her a TV. It seemed the least he could do for leading an arsonist to her door … even if he wasn’t really admitting that yet. He’d hit up the local store and ordered one to be delivered as soon as it came in.

With a smile on his face, even though it would be several days before she got her present, he pulled into her driveway and knocked on her door. She was still in her work clothes—soft, slim, pale green pants and a matching silk shell. The neck on it was high, the button in the back a little pearl. The short sleeves fluttered around her arms.

For a moment he didn't know what to say. He should have been better prepared for this. But she motioned him inside and it was as natural as anything to follow her.

“You keep showing up on my doorstep, Luke Hernandez.”

He liked the way she said his name, the way it rolled off her tongue with just a hint of the appropriate accent. He imagined her calling himLucianoand it made him smile again. He found a few words and hoped they worked “I thought maybe after the night you had last night, you’d want to come out. Maybe go to Snafu, grab a beer?”

The last part came out as a question and he was relieved when she smiled at him.

“I could but I haven't eaten anything yet. I should do that before I drink anything.”

At that moment, his own stomach decided to growl loudly. At least Ivy had the grace to laugh at him. He probably turned five shades of red as he remembered the stupid soggy cereal that he put down the drain.

“We can get food there,” he offered immediately, trying to cover the embarrassment with words. He jumped in again, “I’m buying.”

But she shook her head, waving her hand toward the kitchen. “I already have something in the oven.”

Well, shit.He’d just ruined his whole plotline for the night, hadn't he? But Ivy always seemed to know how to make things right. “Why don't you stay? Have dinner with me. I owe you after the way you watched me cry last night.”

She didn't owe him anything, but he didn't quite know how to say that either. It seemed they were owing each other a lot these days. And no matter how he counted it, the debt was always heavy against him.

He agreed and found out that he’d arrived at a quite opportune time. Within a few moments, she was pulling a small roast chicken from the oven. The glass baking dish was filled with tiny carrots, potatoes, mushrooms and onions, all scattered around the chicken and smelling heavenly. By the size of it, she'd probably planned to eat it for the next three or four meals. He would scarf down that much in one sitting.

Luke almost refused, but Ivy didn’t give him the chance. She was pulling plastic plates out of the newly refurbished cabinets and dishing out the hot food. She put two thirds of it onto one plate for him. He’d thought he'd come over to ask her out and even offered to buy, but in the end she was feeding him and the debt weighed against him again.

They ate, not speaking of any of the hard topics of the past several weeks. She didn't mention her past or her family and he didn't mention his own brothers or his concerns. He didn't tell her that, as the weeks passed, he grew more and more tense that it was time for the arsonist to strike again. Or that the light dusting of snow that seemed to be covering the streets these days wasn't going to be enough to keep a firebug at bay.

When asked something that made the conversation hit a snag, Ivy would just shift the topic asking something different. It should have been awkward, but she made it less so.

In the end, they both finished their food at about the same time. So he stood to help her clean up. It was the least he could do. Wasn’t he always doing the least with her?

When the dishes were in the dishwasher, not full enough to run, she closed it and turned to him. “Shall we go?”

“Do you want to change? It’s Snafu. You could loosen up a little bit.”

He hadn’t meant it in a bad way. Just that she was clearly in her work clothes. But the expression on her face told him he'd stepped in it.

“Really? You do understand this isloosened upwhere I come from.”

“I didn't mean—”

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