Part 5 — Luke
“Go back inside,” Monica said sharply.
He ignored her.
He walked down the porch steps without the toolbox this time.
Standing closer, I finally understood why Daniel had stared at him.
There was something familiar about his face.
His eyes.
The shape of his mouth.
The way his eyebrows drew together when he was nervous.
Monica moved between us.
“Luke, don’t.”
Luke looked at me.
“She didn’t move back here because she wanted Daniel.”
Monica spun around.
“Stop.”
Luke’s expression hardened.
“He’s dead, Mom. What exactly are we protecting now?”
Mom.
The word hit me first.
Then his age.
Mid-twenties.
Maybe twenty-six.
Maybe twenty-seven.
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I whispered.
Luke looked exhausted.
“I found out about Daniel three months ago.”
Monica closed her eyes.
“She finally told me who my father was.”
I stared at him.
For one impossible second, all I could see was Daniel.
Not clearly.
Not enough to erase Monica from Luke’s face.
But enough.
Luke continued.
“I started coming here because I wanted to meet him.”
“The repairs?” I asked.
He gave a sad little smile.
“Some of them were real. Some gave me an excuse.”
Monica covered her face.
Luke looked toward our house.
“I kept telling myself I’d talk to him next time. I didn’t know how you introduce yourself to a man who has no idea you exist.”
His voice began to shake.
“Every week I waited.”
I remembered Daniel watching him beside the van.
He reminds me of someone.
Luke swallowed.
“Then suddenly there wasn’t going to be a next time.”
I couldn’t breathe properly.
“Daniel was your father?”
Luke nodded.
“Yes.”
Twenty-seven years.
The number repeated itself inside my head.
Monica and Daniel.
The red light.
Me.
Luke.
Suddenly, Monica’s resentment was no longer shapeless.
It had a face.
But one thing still didn’t fit.
I looked toward her open garage.
And froze.
Crates and bags were stacked inside.
Apples.
Pears.
Our entire harvest.
“You still have them.”
Monica looked toward the garage.
I turned back to her.
“You never planned to sell the fruit.”
Her anger disappeared.
For the first time, she looked tired rather than hostile.
“No.”
“Then why?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Luke looked at her too.
Finally, Monica spoke.
“When I inherited this house nine years ago, I told myself I would tell Daniel.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because every time I tried…”
Her voice broke.
“I’d see him with Ben.”
I felt my body stiffen.
She continued.
“I watched them in the garden. Daniel teaching him how to prune branches. How to pick apples. How to climb the ladder.”
Her eyes filled.
“And all I could think about was the son he didn’t know existed.”
“You made that decision,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
“Not me.”
“I know.”
“Not Ben.”
“I know!”
Her voice cracked.
