Page 109 of Walking Wounded

“Yeah, you were right.” He rolls his eyes. “Does this mean I have twenty-four hours to clear out my desk before you send my shit through a wood chipper?”

“No. It means you have twenty-four hours to email me your proposal for the book.”

“Um, what?”

“I’m an editor, aren’t I? I’m going to help you edit your book, dumbass.”

He takes a breath. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. You’re going places; why wouldn’t I want the inside scoop on that?”

“Your optimism is almost depressing,” he says, but laughs, a lightness in his chest despite the pain in his lungs.

Linda gives him another smile. “Hey, Luke.”

“Yeah?”

“Happiness looks good on you. I think you should keep it up.”

The call disconnects, and in the blue home screen of his tablet, he sees Tara’s reflection; she’s standing behind him, arms wrapped around herself against the cold.

“Hey, creeper,” he says as he sets the tablet down on the low stone wall beside him. Behind the house he’d found a garden, tucked away nice and neat until spring, its beds surrounded by a wall that’s no doubt older than his grandparents.

“So you’re fired, huh?” she says.

“Looks that way. Can’t say I’m sad about it.” He gives her a beat, then says, “You lied to me.”

“What?” A flat question, like he isn’t wrong, but she didn’t expect him to point it out to her.

He pats the wall beside him in invitation. “You said you wanted to study dance, but that your dad wouldn’t let you.” He half-turns so he can see her frowning face over his shoulder. “Hal said he offered to send you to New York. Said he’d send you wherever you want to go. You’re the one who wanted Georgetown.”

It’s silent a moment, then Tara sighs and moves to sit beside him, albeit grudgingly. “You suck.”

“Yes. But in this case, I’m right. So what’s the deal?”

She picked at her flaking black nail polish, kicking at the wall with the heels of her boots. “It’s what I tell my friends: that Dad won’t let me. I couldn’t exactly tell you something different, not with you being a reporter and all.”

“Will people please quit calling me a reporter?” He sighs. “Okay, so, why is that what you tell your friends?”

She shrugs and looks uncomfortable. “They would have given me so much shit if I said I wanted to stick close to home. It was easier just to lie.”

“Wow, I’m pretty sure that’s the secret password that gets you into the Two-Faced Politician Social Club.”

“No. I mean…” She makes a face. “My dad’s really unpopular in Washington.Reallyunpopular.”

“I kinda noticed that.”

She sends him an apologetic look, expression softening. “It’s not self-contained, though. People outside of Washington decided he was a piece of shit. People like my friends’ parents…and my friends.”

“You need new friends.”

“I know, I know…If I told any of them that Iwantedto study politics, like my dad, that’s it. I woulda been blacklisted.”

“So that’s what you actually want to do?”

Her smile is small, sad. “He’s pretty brave, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m learning that.” He elbows her. “Maybe it’s time for you to be brave too.”

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