Interested. When do you need an answer?
The reply comes within minutes.
Now. Can you start Monday?
I look around the cabin, at the life I built here. The quiet and space and solitude I thought I wanted. It's not enough anymore, maybe it never was.
I type: I'll be there.
The relief doesn't come. Just more weight. More guilt.
I call Luke.
"Hey, man," he answers. "Miss me already?"
"I need to talk to you about Memorial Day."
"What about it?"
"I can't do the delivery. Something came up."
Silence. Then: "What kind of something?"
"Work thing. Denver. I leave Sunday."
"For how long?"
"Three weeks. Maybe longer."
More silence. I can hear him processing, trying to figure out if I'm lying.
"Ethan. What's really going on?"
"Nothing. It's just work."
"Bullshit. You don't just take off for three weeks. Not without planning."
"This came up fast."
"So un-come-up. Tell them you can't go until June."
I could. I should. But if I stay here, I'm going to break, I’m going to do something I can't take back.
"I already committed," I tell him.
Luke sighs. "Alright. I'll figure out the delivery, don't worry about it."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. Just..." He pauses. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm sure."
"Because if something's wrong, you can tell me."
"I know, but nothing's wrong."
The lie tastes bitter. I've told Luke a lot of truths over the years. Truths about war and death and the things that keep me awake at night. But this truth, the one about his sister, I can't tell him.
