The sound of Pa strumming his guitar tickles my eardrums.
It’s Sunday, early evening, and we’re all gathered on the wooden dock of the pond for Vespers.
And by all of us, I meanallof us.
Luke is here! I can’t believe it. He wasn’t lying about surprising me.
He’s only been here two days, but everything is already so much better.
Not that we can show it.
He knows—especially after what went down in Dallas—that we must keep us a secret.
So now he sits cross-legged, baby Molly in his lap, her sweat-soaked hair glued to her forehead, head rolling on Luke’s angular shoulder. She took to him like a long-lost sibling, toddling toward him, chubby arms open, babbling, “Wuke, Wuke.”
Pa sings the last words to John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads”—sometimes he mixes in a folk song with hymnals—plucking the final notes, the sound pealing out over the water.
“Tonight we celebrate the arrival of Luke, good son of Antonio and Rose, sent here to learn how to be an even better servant of the Lord.” Pa’s voice rings out over the pond.
He coulda been a preacher. I swear to God, he loves the attention, loves the air of authority. So now he’s a pretend preacher.
“Amen!” Mom adds, beaming at Luke.
Luke smiles, dips his head in reverence. Damn, he’s good atplaying his role, too.
“And tonight, we also celebrate Jane’s birthday. My Sunshine is eighteen! As of yesterday. I can’t believe it!” Pa says, his eyes glassy with tears, his voice thick. He’s also tipsy; I note an open bottle of whiskey sitting next to his guitar case. “Shall we?”
My cheeks flame. “No, Pa, that’s not really necessary—”
But before I can protest anymore, the birthday song belts out of all of them, even baby Molly. Mom mouths the words, though her lips are a tight line, as if she hates the very fact of my birth.
But I flick my eyes away from her, land them on Luke.
Delicious Luke, whose deep-brown eyes kill me, who sings the birthday song as if he’s serenading me, like it’s just the two of us out here.
When he arrived Friday night, it was late, the sky already the color of river silt.
I was doing my nightly dousing of the gardens.
Water was dribbling from the mouth of the garden hose, turning the crumbly soil silky when I heard the rumbling of Luke’s Camaro, a sound I have memorized as well as any lyrics to a favorite song.
I jerked my head up, saw the beams of his headlights moving over the pasture as his tires dipped in and out of potholes.
What the…?
Pa came striding out of the house, roped his arm around my shoulder.
“He’s coming to live here for the summer. Apprentice under me. Get outta trouble in Dallas, get a taste of good old clean country living. I know y’all are friendly, so I thought you’d be happy—”
I swiveled my gaze toward Pa’s face, scanned to see if he meant something more byfriendly. He didn’t seem to. But I decided I didn’t care ifhewas on to us. Long as he kept his trap shut in front of the others.
“Luke’s great. Iamexcited. Someone other than Julia to talk to.”
At this, Pa chuckled. “And I figured we could use the extra help around here.”
My stomach clenched. What exactly was Pa gonna make Luke do?
But then he squeezed my shoulder, set me at ease. “And Mr. Napolitano specifically said he wants him to learn the trade—”
