Page 37 of This Much Is True
Luke reaches over the table and takes my hand. His thumb strokes my palm. The simple gesture springs tears in my eyes because I can’t remember the last time someone saw me, saw my pain, and reached out—literally or physically.
“I don’t know anything about being a mother or a parent,” he says softly. “But I know you.”
I stare into his eyes and hold on to them for dear life.
He whispers a laugh. “You’re so fucking strong.”
“Why is that funny?”
He squeezes my hand before releasing it.
“I had a long conversation with Cotton today,” he says, shifting in his seat. “He just found out he has cancer.”
“I’m sorry, Luke.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry for him. He’s so wily and energetic that it’s hard to believe he’s that sick.” He blows out a breath. “Anyway, he told me about this girl who was supposed to get married in Brickfield and she brought half of California with her.”
My stomach drops.
Luke smiles. “And he told me that he respected the bride.”
What? “Seriously?”
“He said she knew what she wanted—and didn’t want—and made a hard decision because it was best for her. He was pretty proud of her.”
“Does he know me?” I ask, my cheeks flushing.
“Nope.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. “You are very impressive, Ms. Kelley. I’m sure you intimidate a lot of people.And that isn’t your problem.”
“It feels like my problem sometimes.”
He grins. “Well, it’s not. And if you ever need a reminder, call me.”
“You mean I can’t just stalk your videos on Social?”
“Would you like me to start making videos talking directly to you?”
I laugh. “Stephanie would die.”
He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. His smile is smug.
“What?” I ask, prodding him.
“I’m just imagining the hottest pop star in the world lying in her tour bus at night watching videos of me.”
“Just think. Now you can imagine the hottest pop star in the world cooking you dinner in your kitchen.”
His lips press together. “I’ve already done that.”
“What?” I laugh. “You have?”
“I’ve thought about that woman cooking me dinner and dragging me to watch horrible plays in Indianapolis. And I’vethought about her trying to get me to adopt a puppy from the fair.”
My heart swells.
“And I’ve thought about teaching that woman to drive a stick shift, painting her fingernails when she broke her arm, and how she screamed at the top of her lungs at every jump-scare in scary movies.”
I hold his gaze. “You have?”
