Paper Hearts

24

After weeks of silence in my own home, the chatter of Luke and his parents was music to my ears. I kept up with the small talk without a single thought, laughing constantly without even having to try, moving along with the conversation as if I'd known the Callaways all my life.

There was no television on in the background, no distraction to take away from the meal, despite the fact that we were eating fast-food pizza. It was strange, the silence of the home that was somehow filled by mere talking and nothing else. It made me feel oddly appreciated; I'd spent so much of my life thinking that I was an inconvience, something to be seen and not heard, and now—suddenly—I was the center of attention.

"So, Victoria, tell me more about yourself," Rick Callaway said, after a long sip of water. "Luke says you're quite the perfectionist."

I shot the accused a look, who choked on his drink, coughing and trying to mask it, his face turning red—from embarassment or choking, I wasn't sure.

Nevertheless, I turned back to his father with what I hoped came across as a graceful smile.

"Well, I just like to dedicate myself to what I do," I said carefully, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Interesting. And what exactly do you do? Any jobs?"

"Rick, don't pressure her," his wife laughed, but I shook my head.

"No, it's alright. I don't have a job, but I take care of my dad."

"Oh," Mr. Callaway said then, and the look on his face was the usual mix of sympathy and surprise spreading over his features, as it often did when this was brought up. Beside me, I felt Luke tense.

"Dad," he said, and his voice was slightly warning, "Victoria's really smart; and she gets good grades in school, and her dad's a businessman."

I felt my face flush red, and I averted my gaze to Mrs. Callaway, who had urged me to think of her as "just Pam", and felt even more ashamed when I saw the uncomfortable look on her face.

"Sorry," I muttered to Luke quickly, once his father had moved on with an awkward clearing of his his throat, now discussing the latest in politics.

Instead of hearing any means of assurance, I felt his hand slip into mine under the table, and a rush of warmth coursed through me as he gave it a slight squeeze.

And, in that gesture alone, I heard the words he so often repeated to me:

Everything's going to be okay.

________

We left well after eleven, and Luke kept an arm comfortably around my shoulders as we walked to his truck, able to find our way solely because of the warm glow of the house lights behind us.

"Sorry things got awkward for a minute there," he murmured, opening my door for me and allowing me to slide in. Once I did, he got in on his side and started up the car, warm air blasting through the vehicle.

"It's fine," I told him, over the roar of the air conditioning. "I really don't mind; I get those reactions all the time."

"They mean well, you know. Sometimes they're just not sure how to—react."

"You don't have to defend your parents, Luke," I told him, with a soft smile. "I like them, and they seem like great people. Don't worry about it. Seriously."

He still looked skeptical, but smiled nonetheless; I could see the glint of teeth in the hazy darkness.

"So they didn't scare you away?"

"Not at all."

"So..." his voice grew timid, cautious. "So you'll come back sometime? I mean, not for anything serious, but you know—just so that they could get to know you, or something like that? You know, not for a long time or anything, just dinner, and we don't have to—"

"Luke," I said, laughing in spite of myself—seeing the ever-suave Luke Callaway fumbling for words was highly amusing. Seeing his flush was even more so.

"Shut up, Hemmings," he growled, and I leaned back in surrender, but I didn't miss the small smile that kicked up at the corners of his lips as he put the car in drive and I clicked on the radio.

"Buckle up," he said softly, as we pulled out of the drive, and—stifling a yawn—I did.

"You remember how to get to my house, right?" I asked, my eyes suddenly heavy with sleep.

"Yes," Luke said, his voice a bare whisper. "Go to sleep, Victoria. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be lonely."

"I'll be fine. Go to sleep."

And I swear, I would have stayed up if I could—but suddenly the soft lull of radio static and the gentle steadiness of the tires beneath us eased me into a state of peace, and I felt myself slipping away, into darkness and blissful oblivion.

I felt Luke's hand brushing the hair from my face, heard him murmur something incomprehensible, and I was asleep.

________

I woke to the piercing and sudden noise of a thousand things exploding at once.

My eyes snapped open and suddenly my heart was in my throat as I heard Luke screaming out, having a mere split second to attempt to comprehend what was happening, and suddenly there was a loud bang and everything went spinning. I was thrown against my seatbelt, the breath knocked from my lungs as glass shattered all around me and the truck flipped, and there was crunching and cracks running up from each side, and pain rushed through my entire body and I couldn't think straight and everything was blurry—

And then I heard my name from some vague place, echoing in my ringing ears, resounding in my head as the pain slowly began to overtake me.

"Victoria," came Luke's ragged voice, and that was the last thing I heard before the blue and red lights appeared before my eyes and everything went black.