Owen thought he might vomit. He wondered if Griff was recording their conversation. He heard a siren in the distance and briefly considered that Griff was working with the cops. It all became clear. Griff thought he killed Scarlet. Griff thought his own brother was a murderer.
“Sorry, Officer,” Owen said. “My lawyer has advised me not to answer any more questions.”
All Owen could think about was getting away from Griff and staying away. It felt dangerous being around that suspicion yet again. The fact that it was Griff made it almost unbearable. Owen packed up his car and trashed all his childhood crap that he was previously undecided about. He drove away before the bonfire, without another word to Griff.
When Owen returned to Markham, he expected that Griff would have spoken to Luna, poisoned her against him. She was already in bed. Owen wasn’t sure if she was sleeping or avoiding him. The next morning, she knocked on his door. He assumed they were about to have a talk. Instead, Luna asked Owen if he wanted to go to a movie. Duck Soup was playing at the local revival house.
“I really need to see it,” Luna said, sounding more burdened than enthusiastic.
Owen was surprised on a number of fronts. Luna wasn’t accusing him of murder and, after a summer of melancholy, she was suggesting an activity outside the house. He didn’t want to question it.
There was only one other person at the matinee. Owen and Luna never got a good look at him. He arrived shortly after the lights dimmed and left as soon as the words The End popped up on the screen. The man had clearly seen the movie before, probably more than once. He would laugh in anticipation of a joke or bit. Owen was on the fence about whether the man was more annoying or amusing. He glanced over to check on Luna a few times. She didn’t laugh until Harpo Marx showed up in the film. And she was sending texts, which was unlike her. She had stringent rules about phones on in a theater. He worried that she was texting Griff, but after she laughed a few more times, he knew that couldn’t be the case. Afterward, Owen suggested getting a beer. She agreed.
Walking home, tipsy and loose, Luna felt like she did in the old days, before Griff, before Scarlet.
“I’ve been worried about you,” Owen said.
“I know,” said Luna.
Owen wanted to root around for the origin of Luna’s funk, but he knew enough to wait until she offered the information, which she did a few blocks later.
“If I tell you something, you can’t ever tell Griff.”
“No problem,” Owen said.
The brothers didn’t talk much, even back when they did talk.
“I was pregnant.”
Owen stopped in his tracks and turned to her. “Shit. Did you—”
“Yeah. Keep walking,” Luna said. Luna found it easier to have the conversation without making eye contact.
“When?”
“Day after your dad’s funeral.”
Owen revisited that day, revising his memory with this new piece of information. “That explains some things,” Owen said. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“When it happened, it got me thinking about things. Things I hadn’t considered before and, uh, you know…”
“Actually, I don’t know,” Owen said. “I need a few more details.”
“John Brown and I have the same father. Same DNA. I kept imagining what it would be like to have a kid like him. I…couldn’t imagine. Well, I could, but it seemed worse than anything. Worse than death. I panicked. Thinking about it made me sick. I called a clinic. I wanted to get the surgery so I wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
“Jesus, Luna, you didn’t do that, did you?”
“No,” she said. “They wouldn’t let me. It’s hard to find people who will do it. Even if they do, they won’t agree to it unless you have a medical reason or are over thirty-five. One doctor told me she’d consider it if I waited eight years. I got an IUD for now.”
“Good,” Owen said. “Because you do know that the odds of you having a child like your—you know.”
“Stop. Stop,” Luna said. “You don’t understand. I’m not having a kid. Ever.”
“You might change your mind,” Owen said.
“I won’t,” said Luna.
“Have you talked to Griff about this?”
They were too young to have such conversations, Luna thought. It was the kind of topic that made it sound like you were rushing things.
“No,” Luna said. “I think I’m afraid to.”
Luna wasn’t the sort of person who thought much about the future. But she thought about it then. If she and Griff had a fundamental incompatibility, wouldn’t it be better to end things sooner rather than later? Luna was the kind of person who’d want to get pain out of the way.
“He wants kids, right?” Luna asked.
“Of course,” Owen said.
Owen didn’t know anything for a fact. But it was hard to imagine Griff not following the traditional trajectory of life.
“He’d make a good dad, wouldn’t he?” Luna said.
“Yeah, he would,” Owen said.
Another week passed. Griff and Luna hadn’t spoken, as far as Owen knew. The next weekend, Luna was locked in her bedroom, fighting inertia and trying to finish a philosophy paper due on Monday. She’d even left her phone in the kitchen to avoid distractions.
When she went to bed Sunday night, her phone was still on the kitchen table. Owen knew she’d need it in the morning, so he plugged it into the charger. That’s when he saw Griff’s text.
Why won’t you call me back?
Owen stared at the text for what felt like hours. When he replied, it seemed like the most natural thing to do.
Owen typed: Sorry. Been busy.
Griff: Can u talk?
Owen: No.
Griff: tmrw?
If Griff hadn’t just accused Owen of murder, it was unlikely that he would have made such a bold move. But he saw an opportunity that he might not have again. One that could solve the one lingering problem in his life that he didn’t think he could get over.
Owen typed: This isn’t working.
He waited twenty minutes for a response. Luna’s phone rang. Griff’s name popped on the screen. Owen silenced the ringer and sent the call to voicemail. His heart started racing. Then another text came in.
Griff: Is this about Owen?
Owen typed: No. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Griff: You want to break up?