zones and detours. I’m not certain I understand everything she tried to tell me, but I will say this. I sort of like this road I’ve been on for the past couple of months. Sure, it’s bumpy and potholed in places, but”—he shot her a quick little grin—“I especially enjoyed the picnic area.”
Forget Celeste. Hope wasn’t certain she understood Lucca. Was he, by chance, referring to Saturday night? Was he comparing her to a picnic?
What in the world had happened to him between lunch and after-school practice?
“So, that’s basically my story. I hope it’s helped you understand what’s been making me tick. I don’t claim to be healed or fixed or even better than I was this morning, but I’m going to try to get there. I am definitely on the road to recovery. As, I think, are you. I think if we share our company, it might make our journeys go quicker.”
Suspiciously, she asked, “What do you mean?”
“When you knocked on my door on Saturday night, I had just finished watching the first basketball game I’d seen since last spring and drinking too much of a bottle of scotch, so I wasn’t thinking as quickly or clearly. I am now. Today at lunch you said some things … about tragedy …”
Hope closed her eyes.
“And about moving on. It’s obvious that you’ve had some experience. So tell me about it, honey. What tragic thing happened to you?”
TEN
Lucca watched Hope go stiff and maybe a little pale. He said no more, deciding to wait her out. He put the odds that she’d actually spill her beans today at less than fifty-fifty and that was okay. He had time.
He propped one hip on the corner of the desktop, snagged his beer off the top of the cardboard box where he’d left it, and took a sip, keeping his gaze on her.
Finally, she said sharply, “What is this? I showed you mine so you show me yours?”
“I care, Hope.” He spoke the truth. He cared more about this woman than he’d cared about anyone in a very long time. “I can help.”
Her eyes flashed with loathing. “Not a chance.”
“Maybe I can’t fix whatever it is and make it go away, but I can be your friend.”
Still resisting, she lifted her chin. “I never said I’d suffered a tragedy.”
He chided her with a look.
Hope closed her eyes and massaged her temples with her fingers. Her voice tight, she said, “I don’t talk about it, Lucca. I don’t talk about it to anyone, not even any of my friends in Eternity Springs. No one. I just … can’t.”
He studied her, noting the lines of stress on her brow and around her eyes. “In my experience, keeping the bad stuff bottled up inside can lead to trouble. That said, I don’t want to cause you more pain. We don’t have to drive the speed limit on this road. We can take our time. I’ll be here to listen when you’re ready to share.” He polished off his beer and tossed it into the garbage can. “Ready to head home? Do you have your car or did you walk?”
She blinked. “I walked.”
“Me, too. I hope you have a coat with you. It got cold this afternoon. Even snowed a little.”
She stared up at him in wary surprise. “That’s it? You’re just going to drop it?”
“Don’t you want me to?”
“Yes. But … I expected you to push harder.”
He shook his head. “My family pushed. I didn’t like it.”
“I pushed you today.”
“You did, but the timing was right for me, and you were the right person doing the pushing. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to know what happened, but it needs to be when you’re ready. I respect your privacy, Hope. I respect your wounds.” He gestured for her to precede him from the athletic office. “Where’s your stuff?”
“In the girls’ locker room.”
“I’ll wait for you outside the locker room door and we can walk home together. If I have any luck at all, we might need to huddle together against the cold.”
He grabbed his own coat from the bleachers where he’d tossed it upon his arrival, then took up position in the hall across from the locker room doors. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, and considered the afternoon.
It could have gone better, but it could have been much worse, too. Once he’d decided that he owed her not only a practice, but an explanation, too, he’d approached the school like a gallows.
But he’d managed. Gym stench hadn’t made him puke, and his headache hadn’t lasted past the first half hour of practice. When that short redheaded kid hit four out of five consecutive free throws and his face lit up like a scoreboard, Lucca had known a moment of joy reminiscent of what he’d felt when the Ravens punched their ticket to the Dance. Maybe Celeste knew what she was talking about. The GPS of life.
He wished Hope had been able to open up, but he’d meant what he’d said. It would come in time. For the next few minutes, a Bible scripture played through his mind.
From his memories of his mom dancing to 1960s music in her kitchen, his thoughts drifted to backyard hoops, and then to the rancher’s son. Like the coach of old, Lucca spent a few minutes reassessing the young man’s strengths and weaknesses. Wade Mitchell would need some real competition to hone his skills.
Hope. Where was she? He glanced at the hall clock. She’d had plenty of time to grab her coat. Hell, she’d had enough time to shower, dress, and dry her hair by now. Had she ditched him?
No. He didn’t think so. Had something gone wrong? He knocked on the locker room door. “Hope?”
When he didn’t hear anything, he cracked the door open and called her name again. Still nothing but the echo of his voice.
“Man in the locker room,” he called out, stepping inside. He found her sitting on a bench past the third row of lockers, a single tear trailing slowly down her face. “Hope? Honey? What’s wrong?”
“She’s still missing, Lucca. My little girl. My Holly.”
