After three weeks in a farmhouse with Charlotte McCormick, Luke had fallen into a routine. He taught himself how to sleep in the guest room at night, which consisted of a box fan, waking up at 2am, smoking a cigarette, and softly cursing for another hour while he worked the muscles of his chest with his thumb, willing them to relax. At around 5:00, he woke and had coffee with Charlie while they made breakfast. He’d taken to two eggs, bacon and cheese in a tortilla. They made several of them, and he kept them in the Igloo cooler during the morning farm chores. He would then shower, break for lunch, and do odd jobs around the property. He fixed the light in the barn, filled in the potholes in the driveway, and built a second chicken coop. If they weren’t careful, they’d turn into a hen farm – Luke had a way with chickens somehow, even though he hated them. At night, he ran Jake until he was tired while Charlie made dinner. It took long enough, but after two weeks he stopped watching what she ate like a hawk when he caught her downstairs in the middle of the night once, eating a biscuit in his t-shirt.

That’s not to say there weren’t bad days. One morning, he woke up and she didn’t. He let her be and mucked stalls all day in the rain, figuring that the last thing she needed in the morning was to deal with horse shit.

Once a week, he saw a physical therapist in Bozeman for his injury, courtesy of the VA. The top of her head barely came to his armpit, but she had hands like a Russian gymnast and no tolerance for Luke’s flimsy excuses about why he wasn’t tending to his daily morning exercises. She was at least sixty, half Native, and had no filter. She told him not to shoot himself in the chest anymore with the pain injections – in fact, she told him to throw them out and stop smoking cigarettes. Further, she suggested he take up swimming and start yoga. At this, he deadpan stared at her and insisted that there was nowhere to swim in Hingham Valley. [i]Sex will also do,[/i] she said, digging her thumb into his pectoral in such a way that tears came to his eyes. [i]It sends endorphins to the brain and muscles. No hitting or crazy stuff. Don’t let her punch you.[/i] The truth was, Luke [i]liked[/i] being hit, and the best he could do was jerk off in the shower every few days. This always required turning his brain off, because if he turned it on, the things he wanted to see and feel would’ve sent him to hell.

He got beers once with Anna, and it was immediately evident that her new hobby was trying to find someone for him to date.

[i]You can’t just not try at all,[/i] she insisted. [i]Besides your honestly weird roommate situation, your only problem is your attitude.[/i]

Luke sighed and put his head in his hands. [i]I’m not doing this tonight, Anna. Please.[/i]

[i]I’m your friend, and I’m not watching this torture bullshit anymore. It’s depressing.[/i] She didn’t let him get a word in before she pressed on. [i]You’re coming to our party on Saturday, and you’re going to talk to people who [b]aren’t[/b] Charlie. Her fucking husband died in a horrible way, and it’s going to take her [b]years[/b] to get over that. She’s not going to use you for sex because she cares about you – she’s going to use someone else, someone she can walk away from, someone that can take collateral damage. And you need to let her.[/i]

[hr]

[i]Maybe this was a mistake.[/i]

Luke spent most of the drive to the barbeque trying not to look at the frayed hemline of Charlie’s shorts so he wouldn’t get in a car accident, but if he was being honest with himself, he was proud of her for just going out and doing [i]something[/i]. While their last few weeks had gone without any major incidents, it was mostly, well…boring. Which for them, was very welcome. 

“Anna being right all the time pisses me off sometimes,” he said, “but a barbeque is low stakes and easy. You know mostly everyone. There’s food and beer.” Luke took the empty bottle from her hand and put in the cup holder between them. He leaned on the console and looked at her, hard. “We can go any time. Just find me. Text me. There’s no harm in trying.”

He'd been taking less pain meds as his injury healed, and while it was significantly better, it wasn’t a hundred percent. He could have a few beers but nothing crazy. Again, he stressed to Charlie that they could leave any time – in five minutes, even.

He tapped the side of her bare knee with his knuckles and said with a small grin, “What’s the worst that could happen?” Several terrible scenarios, all of them ending with Charlie yelling at him in the truck, tumbled through his head. But he remembered what Anna had told him last week. [i]You need to let her.[/i] He was going to be on his best behavior. For both of their sakes.

Even though it took more grace than he was willing to extend, Luke was perfectly nice to Mack, who was the first to greet them – or Charlie, as it were. It’s nice to see you guys, there’s plenty of food, the drinking has only gotten started, I hope you all like whiskey, etc., etc. Luke dodged two kids running around with sparklers while he shook hands and tipped his hat to at least half of Hingham Valley. Several guys unloaded large truckloads of scrap wood up by the top of the field, for what he had a feeling was going to be a bonfire bigger than the house.

An arm locked around his elbow and pulled him to the side. “There you are! Finally,” Anna said. “I saw Charlie but not you yet. I thought I was going to have to send a car up that goddamn hill of yours for a wellness check.”

Ten years ago, a lobotomy was the only way anyone would be able to get Luke to sit at a table with a bunch of cops, laughing and drinking beer. Everyone wore flannels or t-shirts, and if he squinted real hard, he could pretend they were all normal people.

It was about an hour, just as it was getting dark, before Luke broke down and texted Charlie.

Luke [20:41]: [i]Are you still here?[/i]

He had another beer and ate a pulled pork sandwich. Only a small amount got on his white t-shirt, and rubbing at it with a napkin only made it worse. He picked up his phone again.

Luke [21:18]: [i]Just let me know.[/i]

Anna gave him a look, but he ignored her and went to the beer tent to get a water or something for the stain on his shirt. He rummaged through the coolers, finding nothing but booze, and he swore – but he sure straightened the fuck up when he heard a woman’s voice behind him, even over the music and hollering.

“There’s only beer in there, honey.”

“Apparently,” he muttered, eyeing the stranger. She was suspiciously pretty. Long legs, dark blonde hair, sundress, cowboy boots. Also, he didn’t recognize her, which he didn’t like. 

Her hands were soft and she smelled like suntan lotion when she touched his arm, turning him towards her. “You need club soda.” She was too close and she knew it. Luke grit his teeth. “You’re gonna have to tough it out until you find some. I’m Sutton, by the way.”

“Luke.”

“Nice to meet you, Luke. Listen, once you have a few more beers and loosen up a bit, why don’t you come find me and ask me to dance? Won’t hurt you none.” She tapped his fingers to his chest and left, beer in hand.

Back at the table, Luke immediately found Anna and asked her if he knew someone named Sutton. “I didn’t recognize her,” he explained, “and she was very…direct. Like she knew something I didn’t.”

“Jesus Christ, Sutton is here?”

“Who is that?”

“Sutton [i]Ambrose,[/i] Luke. Wilson’s fucking daughter. Private tutors and horseback riding lessons. That kind of girl. Her daddy sent her to law school in New York, and looks like she’s back now.”

“How much do you want to bet it was property law?” Luke asked, watching her move through the crowd like she owned the place.

“Every dollar I have. And double-or-nothing on Sutton already having done a hell of a background check on your farm. She knows exactly who you are.”