Chapter 21
Olivia
We are seated in a corner booth in the back, away from the cheerful holiday crowd. I watch Lucas fidget with the salt shaker. He pours a bit of salt on the table and stands the container on its edge in the pile.
I sit with my arms crossed over my chest, “You like living on the edge, don’t you?”
“I'd hardly call working with autistic children edgy,” he answers, never lifting his eyes off the salt shaker.
“No, but a kinky Oedipal relationship is.”
Lucas shakes his head and speaks in a matter of fact tone, “It's not what you think.”
“I’m waiting for an explanation.”
A bubbly waitress flounces her way over to the table. Her blonde ponytail bounces and sways behind her. She smiles a big tooth-showing smile while introducing herself and pulling out her pad. I don’t miss how her eyes linger on Lucas. Slut.
She barely gets the words “soup of the day,” out of her mouth when he clears his throat and interrupts her.
“Vodka straight.”
The waitress looks deflated. After a small sigh she turns her attention to me, jots down the order and disappears in the vicinity of the bar.
“We dated in college,” Lucas begins.
It takes me a moment to understand he’s speaking about Stacy and not the waitress.
Lucas continues in a detached manner, narrowing his eyes on the salt crystals in the shaker. “We were engaged.”
Oh shit! My heart twists in my chest. They were engaged. That sheds a very different light on the strange scene.
Lucas shakes his head in disbelief. “My father didn’t approve.”
“Of her or the engagement?”
“Neither.”
“So you broke up with her?”
“No.” He keeps his eyes down. “I loved her.” His voice is full of emotion. It’s hard for me to hear because I’m afraid he’s still in love with her. “Stacy was my world. I knew we were young, and the odds were against us, but none of that mattered.”
Lucas stops speaking as the waitress approaches with our drinks. He turns his gray eyes on her and orders a second round.
“What happened?”
He scoffs at the question, picks up his glass and takes a long sip. After a deep breath Lucas continues, “I was supposed to go to medical school.”
“Did you?”
“No. It was my father’s dream. Not mine.”
“I bet he didn’t take it well.”
“You could say that.” Lucas sucks down the rest of his drink. “Stacy took it worse. She hounded me constantly, telling me I was making a mistake I’d regret for the rest of my life.”
Lucas pauses as the waitress appears with the next round. “Another,” he orders before even taking a sip. Once the waitress leaves he picks up his glass, throws back his head and finishes it in one large gulp. Lucas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and continues.
“Stacy and my father couldn’t stand each other. Yet they found a way to team up to pressure me into changing my mind.”
“Why didn’t she like him?”
“I know he comes across with a certain amount of charm,” resentment rings heavy in his voice. “But he’s an arrogant ass,” Lucas says, as he examines the empty glass. “At least ever since his mid-life crisis,” he holds up his hand signaling the waitress for more.
“I wouldn’t know.” I try to diffuse the anger and aggression I feel seeping out of Lucas, “I take my orders from Sandy, the office manager.”
“Office manager,” he sneers. “He had a simple family practice seven years ago. Suddenly it wasn’t good enough. He needed to hire an office manager to double his profits.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Lucas’s angry eyes meet mine. “He made a good living. We needed for nothing. We wanted for nothing. There was no need for more.”
“I still don’t understand how doing better is a bad thing.”
“Because he didn’t do better,” Lucas snaps. “A lot of his patients had been going to him for years. They depended on him. And when he changed the nature of his practice they couldn’t afford him.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t just turn them away.”
“You’re right. He wouldn’t. That’s what Sandy is for. She acts as the buffer so his patients can’t appeal to his conscience.”
Once again the waitress places a drink before Lucas. He picks up his glass and takes another long gulp. “Two more,” he calls as she walks away.
“I think you’re exaggerating.”
“It doesn't really matter. One afternoon my mother couldn’t reach Mr. Wonderful,” he sniggers. “She was staying at the shore house and found out he cancelled his appointments for the day. She tried him at home, on his cell. He didn't answer. She called me worried sick. I promised I’d check up on him.” Lucas throws his head back and empties the glass.
Lucas’s grey eyes are dark and menacing. I can see the pain in his face as he relives whatever caused the rift between him and his father.
"I let myself in the house and called out for him. Nothing. No answer. I looked in the garage and saw his car was there, so I knew he was home."
Getting a sense of where he’s heading, I want to give Lucas an out. I reach my hand across the table and place it over his. He looks down at our hands. I can’t tell if my touching him consoles or agitates him, so I pull away.
"You don't have to do this."
He ignores me and continues. "I heard noise coming from upstairs; nothing specific, just noise. So I went to check it out. The house alarm was off. Arrogant bastard didn't think anyone would come looking." Lucas leans across the table, his arms folded in front of him. "Or maybe he didn't put it on because he didn't want a warning, he wanted to get caught."
"Lucas."
He shakes his head, his pained eyes meet and hold mine. "No. I want to tell you, Olivia. I owe it to you, my sweet, beautiful, Olivia." The vodka hit. It’s affecting him big time.
"I didn't know what to think or expect. I mean who would right? He's my father. The only one he's supposed to screw is my mother. As I got closer to his bedroom I heard moaning." He sniggers, "I thought it was him. I thought something happened." He stops to toss down another glass. "I rushed toward his room. By the time I realized he was with someone it was too late. I saw her. That slut-bitch-whore was riding my father like a bull at the rodeo."
Not knowing what to say or how to react, I do the only thing I can think of. The only thing that feels natural. I reach across the table and put my hand over his once again.
"I'm so sorry."
His eyes drop back to our hands as Lucas falls silent. There’s nothing more to say. This time, he doesn’t let me pull away. He holds my hand tight. Like he’s afraid I’ll drift away.
"That's why I went tonight. Why I couldn’t let you go without me. I’m not about to let my prick of a father get anywhere near you. Not tonight. Not ever."
"I'm not interested in him. At all."
"It doesn’t matter. You're the first one I ever told."
He looks up and meets my stare. He looks vulnerable. Scared. I wonder after all those drinks, how he’s even keeping himself upright. I don't know what to say, or how to make any of this better for him.
As if he can read my thoughts, he turns away and shakes it off. “No biggie,” his voice cracks, “I walked out and never looked back. Not once.”
"What do you mean? You never confronted her? Or him?”
“No. I was done. Done with her. Done with both of them.”
“Liar. I saw the way you looked at her. You didn’t move on.”
“Yes, I did,” his voice rises at the end, in a sing-song manner, his eyes are red, and glassy, “And I’ll be damned if I ever allow myself to be hurt like that again.”
I don't know if I should respond to him now or wait until he sobers up. I go with now. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve understood.”
Lucas stares down into a full glass, as if searching for answers in it. Finding none he sucks down the drink. “I- I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to think of him like that. The only one I want you riding is me.” His words are coming out a bit slower than before, the effect of the drinks and the night's events are wearing on him.
Realizing Lucas’s inebriated state, I don’t respond. My heart opens and my feelings for him come gushing out. I want to wrap my arms around him and take his pain away.
“C’mon handsome,” I wink sliding out of the booth, “It’s time to go.”
“Okay,” he agrees reaching for the bill. He stumbles to his feet and pulls out his wallet.
“Hand over the keys,” I insist, with an outstretched hand.
Lucas opens his mouth, I think he'll protest, but instead he reaches out and puts his hand on the back of the booth, steadying himself. Next, he reaches into his pocket and quietly hands the keys over.
Lucas staggers out to the car, I stay close to his side in case he wants to hold onto me for support. He doesn't say anything, but every time I glance at him, his eyes are glued to me. Those sad, grey eyes that hold me captive.