“She was evenmoreshocked when I sat with you on the porch swing without first putting on some clothes. ‘Magnolia May’”—I do my best impression of her—“‘the neighbors will think you were born in a barn!’”
Switching back to my own voice, I ask, “How many houses full of furniture did you help move that summer so you could afford this?” I hold up the locket, letting it catch the light of the moon.
He puts an arm around my shoulders. The clean, woodsy scent of his aftershave tickles my nose. “Every drop of sweat was worth it. Your expression when you opened that locket was priceless.”
I open it now to see the faces of my parents staring up at me. The old pain is there, ever present, but it’s softer around the edges. Tempered by the years I’ve carried them close to my heart. Thanks to Luc.
“I never knew how you got your hands on photos of them.” I softly trace the graceful line of my mother’s cheek with a fingertip.
“I went to the newspaper. They had pictures of the hurricane victims, and when I told ’em what I wanted to do, they let me make copies.”
I shake my head in wonder. “You’ve always been a better friend to me than I’ve ever been to you.”
“Horseshit.”
His vehemence startles a laugh from me. “It’s true!”
“The hell it is. I was a miserable outcast at Braxton Academy. Until you came along, I thought about dropping out every day. You’re the only reason I got that damned diploma.”
And I’d been considering doing a lot worse than dropping out before he showed up in my life. Alotworse.
A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the sweet gum tree on the corner. Bourbon Street’s bawdy laughter and loud music are nothing but a soft din here, but the familiar sound of cheer and happiness makes me realize how far I’ve come in the years since Luc and Cash left. As I look up at the sky, a black blanket studded with diamonds, I try to imagine what thenextten years will bring.
He sees the direction of my gaze and murmurs, “The night sky always reminds me of the past.”
“That’s weird. I was thinking about myfuture.”
He’s doesn’t say anything to that, simply continues to stare at the sky. Reflected starlight glitters in his eyes.
“So why does it make you think about the past?” I prompt.
“’Cause itisthe past. Take the Little Dipper.” He traces the stars that make up Ursa Minor. I still remember the names of the constellations thanks to my fifth-grade teacher who taught us a song about them to the tune of a Kelly Clarkson hit. “See the big, bright star at the end of the handle?”
“Polaris?”
He looks at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Don’t look so impressed. There are more than keg prices and liquor margins stored up here.” I tap my noggin.
“Never doubted it for a minute,” he assures me. Then, “Polaris is 434 light-years away.”
“Now,thatI didn’t know,” I admit.
“Which means the light we’re seeing now is 434 years old. For all we know, Polaris has gone supernova. But we can’t see it ’cause we’re not looking at Polaris’s present. We’re looking at its past.”
I study the star in question, watching it pulse and twinkle. A snapshot of time gone by. Just like Cash and Luc.
“It makes me feel small,” he admits.
“You’re many things, Luc. Butsmallisn’t one of them.”
“What I mean is, we all think of ourselves as the heroes and heroines of our own epic tales. When instead, we’re simply bit players in the bigger story of the universe.”
He’s always been a philosopher at heart. Pondering the big questions. Thinking the big thoughts.
“I guess that puts our paltry problems in perspective, doesn’t it?” I say, realizing the alliteration only once it’s out of my mouth. “Ha! Say that ten times fast. Paltry problems in perspective.”
He changes the subject so quickly I’m caught off guard. “What time d’ya have to be at the bar tomorrow?”
I cut him a glance, wondering if we were getting too close to a truth he’s not ready to share. “Eight,” I tell him. “I have to meet my beer distributor. He’s dropping off the kegs for the week.”
He pulls a cell phone from the breast pocket of his sports coat and checks the time. I’m surprised to see it’s going on midnight. “I’ll walk you home,” he says.
I turn to stare through the open door at the lump on the mattress that is Cash. “But Cash—” Before I get out another word, a soft snore drifts our way.
“He’s fine,” Luc insists. “But I’ll come back and spend the night anyway. Just to make sure.”
I shake my head. The silver locket has found its way into my fist again. “Neither of us ever deserved you, Luc.”
