Just a Little (5-8) by Tracie Puckett

Author:Tracie Puckett [Puckett, Tracie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

Sunday, April 07 | 10:45 p.m.

Luke and I got back to the cabin sometime around eleven; it had been dark for hours, so the walk from the car to the house was probably the most terrifying experience of my life to date. Just like he had the first time he walked me through the woods back in Oakland, Luke took my hand, for no other reason than to guide me along in the dark, and helped me find my way from the car.

After we were safely out of the dark and back in the cabin, Luke shut the door and dropped his keys on a nearby hook.

“Thanks for the movie,” I twisted my lips.

I didn’t know what else to say. I could’ve thanked him for letting me have a few minutes of peace and quiet, letting me go off on my own, or finally trusting me enough to loosen his grip, but all I could do was express my thanks for the night out.

“Sure,” he headed back to his usual rocking chair, “you heading up to bed?”

I looked up at the loft for a minute and then back to him, already settled in and reaching for his photo book.

“Luke,” I watched as he opened the front cover, “what’s in that thing that’s kept your attention for the past couple days?”

He ran his fingers across a page and then looked up, “Hmm?”

Just like he’d been the first time I’d inquired, he seemed perfectly unaware of anything but the book in his hands.

“Luke?”

“Oh,” he shrugged, but he never tore his gaze away from the page, “family pictures.”

“Your family?” I asked, coming closer.

“Yeah,” he still hadn’t looked up. He simply kept his head low and flipped through the same old pages he’d been flipping through since we’d arrived two days earlier.

“Can I see?”

His head suddenly jerked up, and he watched me in complete shock; the expression on his face looked as if I’d just asked him to strip down to nothing but his socks. He looked horrified by the question, but the horror wore off after a brief minute.

“You want to look through my family photo album?”

“Why not?” I jumped over the back of the couch and landing softly on the middle cushion.

“It wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

“That’s not true,” I patted the cushion next to mine. “Come sit with me. Show me what’s kept you fascinated these past couple of days.”

He watched me hesitantly but eventually stood and took a seat on the couch. Careful not to brush my legs, and even more cautious about how much distance he kept between us, he looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” he opened the first page.

There were only two pictures pressed beneath the old crinkly plastic. The first was a faded photo of a young woman, maybe in her twenties, as she stood in an open field wearing a beautiful sundress and an even prettier smile.

“My mom,” he pointed to the picture. “This was a few years before she met Dad; it was about a year before she joined the force.

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