Page 27 of After We Fall

“I think in the vast foster care system there’s always someone who might be unstable. It can be a disconcerting environment.”

“Does that mean you have a person in mind?”

“Luke, the vandalism has nothing to do with me.” I grasp the edge of the table and lean toward him. “It’s about Harlan. No one from my youth knows or cares where I am.” I rub the scar on my brow, swallow the lump in my throat, then quietly say, “No one’s looking for me.”

He cocks his head. “Except Jason Livingstone?”

This again.

“It’s not what you think.”

“What is it I think?”

I know he’s baiting me. But I can’t help myself. “He doesn’t have feelings for me.”

“Then how is it?” he asks in a tone that I know means he doesn’t agree with me.

“Jason and I were in a group home together, then we were adopted by the same family.”

He narrows his eyes, seeming to consider this information. “When was the adoption?”

“I was sixteen when the Nelsons welcomed us to their home.” The simple statement swirls in my stomach. The Nelsons are a different minefield to tiptoe through.

With no forewarning, Luke pushes out of his chair, grabs both of our cups, and heads to the fountain for refills.

“Will you please get me a Sprite instead?” I call to him when he’s three steps away.

“That sandwich causing an upset stomach?”

“You guessed it,” I say, offering a manufactured sheepish smile.

It’s the sandwich. The Dysfunctional Adoptive Family on Rye with a side of Abnormal Love is the root of my acute digestive distress.

In the few minutes it takes Luke to pay for and grab me a Sprite, my brain swirls along with my stomach. I’ve never had to discuss my life story like this before. My college application essays hold some of the pieces of my history. Harlan and Meredith hold a different set of the pieces. Jason thinks he holds all the pieces, but he only has the ones I’ve carefully chosen to share.

Luke won’t get every piece either. No one gets that from me. Just because I trust him professionally doesn’t mean I trust him with my personal story. Besides, he’s leaving and will take it with him. Everyone leaves eventually, taking something from me along the way.

Except Jason. I think he holds on to his pieces of me too tightly, without meaning to.

Upon Luke’s return, he slaps my drink down, the fizzing liquid sloshing up the sides of the plastic cup. “Do you trust Jason?” he asks as he sits.

“With my life.” My words are slow and deliberate, reining in my anxiety about each question that probes further into my past.

“What about your adoptive family?”

“What about them?”

“Could they have anything to do with this?”

I place my hands in my lap once again and squeeze them together. “You’re really stretching now, Luke. Phillip and Cynthia Nelson would never do anything to scratch their perfect public persona.”

“Okay, maybe not them, but do they have any biological children?”

“No.” My glare shoots to him, putting a final stamp on this portion of the conversation. “Now, is there anything else you want to ask me that pertains to the ranch or halfway house?”

Luke grabs his sandwich and inhales the remaining portion.

I sample a few of the potato chips, but I taste nothing. Mentioning my adoptive family usually robs me of my appetite.