Page 4 of Meet Me in the Blue
I’d known Isaac Abrams for most of my life. He’d joined my dad’s practice when I was nine years old and was like a second father to me. I’d grown up with his family, his daughter Nora like a sister, and his son Luka used to be my best friend.
Used to be.
Luka’s smile beamed bright behind my eyes, his laugh a distant echo in my ears. It had been five years since I’d seen Luka Abrams. Five years of feeling lost without a compass.
“Is it true?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“Dr. Abrams… he’s on hospice now?”
“Yes.” I didn’t elaborate. A man’s life, or end of life, should be his own. Not a juicy piece of small-town gossip.
“Fuck cancer,” she said, the frown on her face genuine.
Fuck cancer.
“I should get going.” I held up my bag with the ice cream inside before turning to leave. “Thanks, Stace.”
“When you see Luka, tell him to stop by. It’s been ages since he’s graced us with his presence, and I’ll never forgive him if he doesn’t at least come say hello.”
I waved over my shoulder as the damp, frigid February air bit at my cheeks. The wind blew through the open front door and chilled me to the bone. Focusing on zipping up my jacket, I tried not to think about Luka and failed. After I’d spoken to Nora the other day, his name had been on a constant loop in my head, but I thought I had a handle on it. Stace mentioning him again made the realization that he might already be at home, sitting on the couch in the living room, where we used to playDungeons & Dragons, a reality I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. After his dad was diagnosed with liver cancer a few years ago, I’d hoped he’d move back then. He didn’t. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t made an effort to keep in touch over the years, keeping tabs on his dad’s treatment. But friendship was a funny thing, and like the miles between us, he grew more distant with every missed text, or phone call. Luka used to text or call every day when he and his boyfriend from college had broken up. They’d lived together in Portland, but after they split, instead of coming home to Hemlock Harbor, Luka moved to Los Angeles. His phone calls had always been the highlight of my day, even if he was only calling to vent about the traffic. But eventually, the daily calls turned to monthly updates, and now I was lucky if I got a Happy Birthday or a Merry Christmas. I’d tried to reach out when we all found out about his dad, but it had been clear I was the only one holding on, and after a while, the grip I had on the past hurt more than it was worth. I’d had to let go.
I didn’t want to be angry at him for shutting me out, for finding himself, finding the life he wanted far away from here, far from the small-town life he never wanted. But we’d spent almost every day together, every weekend for the better part of my adolescence, and even though we’d gone to separate colleges, we’d maintained our friendship the best we could. I’d gone to the University of Washington in Seattle for both my undergraduate and graduate degrees, which was barely over fifty miles away, and felt homesick every damn day. After graduation he’d chosen to stay in Oregon, and I’d chosen to come home and work as a certified nurse-midwife for our fathers’ clinic. I couldn’t ever imagine leaving Hemlock Harbor. This place was my home. It was as permanent as the bones under my skin. Our families were intertwined, it was hard to remember a time when I didn’t know Luka.
I didn’t know him now.
I’d thought we’d be close forever. I’d thought Luka would always be my other half. He knew me better than anyone. I’d spent more hours of my life with Luka than I could count. But something changed, and as much as I wanted to blame his move to Los Angeles, or his dad’s cancer, I wondered if it was something I did, or didn’t do. I was never as bright as Luka, as audacious. When he walked into a room everyone noticed. The thought of seeing him again, after all these years, had my stomach in knots. I wanted everything to be the same while wanting to hold on to my anger too. But Dr. Abrams was dying, and I didn’t think it mattered how I felt about being left behind in Luka’s wake.
Once I was in my car, I cranked up the heater and turned onto the main road. The sun had started to set, the overcast sky nothing new, but today the clouds, and their gray fingers, dove into the pines, made everything seem heavier. I glanced at the clock on the car stereo and found myself turning right on Mill Creek Road instead of left toward my house. It took ten minutes, and I was afraid I’d miss it as I parked my car in front of my childhood home. I stepped out onto the wet street, the rain, more of an icy mist, clung to the fabric of my jacket. The lights were off inside my parents’ house, but the Abrams’s front window was lit with a warm yellow glow. I bypassed their front door and headed down the familiar path between the two houses, walking faster with each passing second, until I was under the shade of the trees. The ice cream on my front seat forgotten and probably starting to melt. Each breath, each beat of my heart, it was like I could feel him there waiting, and as I broke through to the small clearing, I saw him.
A man I didn’t recognize stood with his back to me, his eyes on the sky. The tattoos peeking out from under his damp cotton t-shirt were new, his bleach-blond hair was new too. My heart drummed inside my chest, but I was surprised to find it wasn’t in anger, but relief. So much relief.
“Meet me in the blue,” I said. “I’ll always be here.”
LUKA
THE FAMILIAR WORDS CUTthrough the thick fog inside my head, and I wiped at my eyes, at the wet skin of my cheeks. It had always been our thing. This place. This spot. This hour. Where the world and all the doubt inside my head had been the quietest. I didn’t turn right away, gathering myself and working a small smile onto my lips. I was a lot of things, a shitty friend, a terrible son, a failed photographer, but I’d be damned if I was ready to admit it to anyone. Especially to him. Especially Rook. He was good and whole, and I was a hot mess express. I never wanted him to look at me the way my parents did sometimes, with sad eyes that wished. Wished for me to get my shit together, wished for me to settle down, wished for me to come home.
Heat emanated from his body as he stood next to me, the smoky smell of burned wood and pine filled my lungs. His scent hadn’t changed. Not in five years. Not ever.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered, his voice thick and warm. “About your dad. I haven’t had a chance to tell you that… but I am… so sorry.”
My throat hurt and my eyes stung and fuck, I hated this. Hated the melancholic tone hugging every one of the syllables. It made it impossible to speak. I nodded, keeping my eyes on the tree line, on the dilapidated fort we used to hide ourselves away in. Skinned knees and pine needles in our hair. Everything had changed. And it was my fault.
“Luka…”
“Thank you,” I croaked. “I’m sorry too.”
We stood in silence for five minutes or an hour, I didn’t know. Time had no space here. It never did. The cold air bit at my tear-stained cheeks as the blue hour faded into night. I collected myself, sucking in the wet clean air, and finally faced him. Soft amber-brown eyes stared back at me, and my breath caught inside my tight chest. He had changed so much. Laugh lines gathered around his eyes as he gave me a sad smile, his broad shoulders wider than ever, and God, had he gotten taller? His jaw was sharp, his face even more handsome with age. It had only been five years. But that wasn’t true either. I’d left Hemlock Harbor long before, at only nineteen, and even though I’d visited home every now and then, I’d never truly been present. Those visits, short and to the point, were always happy holidays, and summer breaks with my boyfriend Graham. Myex-boyfriend. Those visits I’d been in my head. Grades and portfolios and getting back to my life. A life where I’d tried to stop pining for my best friend. A life I’d tried to make my own, where I played at being successful. I wasn’t a doctor like my dad, or a big-time literary agent like my sister, but I was something. I was something more. At least that had been what I’d told myself. And now none of it mattered. All the years had passed, and my dad was dying. I wanted to be mad at my dad for telling me to stay in California after he was diagnosed. I should have moved back to Washington like Nora had, but there was part of me that was grateful too. Grateful he’d believed in me enough to think I could make something of myself.
But my life wasn’t mine, I’d made nothing of myself, and Rook had changed.
“What do you have to apologize for?” Rook asked, and I exhaled a long sigh.
Everything.
“You look different,” I said instead, and his jaw pulsed.