Luke slips out the back door and waits for me
to follow. “We’ll be outside,” I tell Kent, passing between him and
the TV so he has to see me. Even though I already know the answer,
I ask anyway, “Do you want to come for a walk?”
“I’m watching TV,” he replies, in that
slow, are you stupid? tone of voice he has that he uses with
me when he’s drunk. When I start to say something else, tell him be
back soon, he raises one hand and glares at the television, he
doesn’t want to hear it. Fine, I think, pulling the screen
door shut behind me.
Luke’s hand eases into mine and he kisses my
cheek, a small peck that Kent doesn’t see because he’s glued to the
set. “Come on,” he whispers, pulling me along after him into the
night. His hand is warm in my own, his fingers strong and sure, and
