“You’ve been training with your dad since you were a kid, you know everything there is to know about weapons, and you’re a terrific shot,” I finish. A few months ago, Luke took me to the gun range he and his dad practice in at least twice a week. I of course pretended I had never shot a gun before and had Luke give me a lesson. My first shot was an accidental dead-center bull’s-eye. Another Luke-induced mask slippage. Luke just about lost his mind. Beginner’s luck, I called it. The rest of the clip was all over the place. Pretender mask locked firmly back in place. Luke ripped a massive hole in the bull’s-eye of his paper dummy. I know great training when I see it and Luke’s got the goods.
“Thanks, Mac,” Luke says, placing his hand on my exposed ankle. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. It’s a competitive nomination. I get nervous every time the mail comes. I just want it so … I just hope I get good news soon.”
His sweet face, hopeful and anxious all at once, hits me square in the gut. All those accolades are going to get him into West Point, I know it. But it’s his heart that will make him a high-ranking officer someday. I’ve been envious of his passion for the future; the fact that serving our country, as hard a life as it is, is what he wants to do more than anything. But now I realize he may have exactly what I’ve been missing. And I wish I could ask him for a piece of it.
“How about practicing your interview questions?” Luke says, removing his hand from my ankle. Even with it gone, I can still feel the warmth and weight of his fingers on my skin.
“Yes!” I exclaim, tucking my legs toward me and pulling my spine straighter on the couch. I brush my hair over my shoulders, widen my eyes and my smile, trying to look the part of an interviewee.
“Perfect,” Luke says, sitting up from his lounging position, trying to match my sudden change in posture. “Okay. First question. If you were an animal, what kind of animal would you be?”
I laugh and lean forward. “Really?”
Luke nods. “They ask weird questions during an interview.”
“Gosh … ummm…” I say, pulling my legs closer to my body. “I don’t know. Perhaps a lion. Or a cheetah. Some type of big cat that can run really fast and take down anything in its path. How about you?”
“A zoo animal,” Luke says without missing a beat. A laugh bubbles up my throat. I watch his thick lips curl up into a smile.
“Out of all the animals in the world you’re going to go with a zoo animal.”
“Don’t you think zoo animals have the best lives ever?” Luke says, his pale blue eyes dancing. “If you’re a lion out in the wild, yeah, you’re at the top of the food chain and all, but you have to chase after your own food. You’re constantly worried about some other lion killing you or stealing your lady lions. That’s stressful. A zoo lion, you just hang out all day. People bring you big slabs of meat. It sounds great.”
In between giggles, I weigh in. “I don’t know. I think the life of a house cat is the best animal life ever. Your entire day consists of people petting you, followed by a long nap and then maybe looking out the window or lying in the sunshine.”
“Yeah, but you could get stuck in one of those weird cat families that dress you up in American Girl doll clothes and sing ‘I love you a bushel and a peck’ while they dance around the house with you.”
“That sounds oddly specific,” I say, raising one eyebrow at him. “And like someone speaking from experience.”
Luke casts his face down, his blond hair falling into his eyes, and slowly shakes his head in pity. “Poor, poor Patches.”
“You dressed your cat up in doll clothes,” I exclaim, reaching out to grab his wrist. “What’s the matter with you?”
“And hats,” he adds, which makes me explode in laughter. “Straw hats. Bonnets. Tiny baseball caps. It was mostly Claire, but sometimes I helped. It was not a good life for that poor little thing.”
I’m laughing so hard now, my entire face actually hurts. It’s not just Luke’s delivery and timing that always makes me laugh. It’s his face too. It’s just so cute. Sometimes he’ll say something, not even meaning to be funny, and I’ll start giggling.
“Okay, next question,” Luke announces as we finally get our giggle fit under control. He reaches for an open bag of Lays potato chips sitting on the coffee table. He shoves a handful of chips in his mouth and between bites asks, “If you were a chip, what kind of chip would you be?”
“These questions are ridiculous,” I say and smack my palm to the center of my forehead.
“Hey, I’m just trying to prepare you,” he answers with a shrug and a smile and passes me the bag of chips.
“Okay, what kind of chip would I be?” I say and crunch down on the salty chip, letting the oil coat my tongue while I think. “I’d be Ruffles.”
“Why Ruffles?”
“The ridges mean I’m a little complicated but I’m versatile. You can dip me into different situations, just like a Ruffles chip, and I’m adaptable. Also, I’m just delicious.”
“That’s a very good answer to a very stupid question,” Luke says with a grin and steals back the bag of chips. “Okay, rapid-fire questions. Don’t think. Just answer. Ready?”
“Ready,” I answer, stretching my legs back out and slapping my knees.
“French fries or Tater Tots?”
“Tater Tots.”
“Name three things in your personal hell.”
“‘Who Let the Dogs Out’ on repeat, the constant stench of B.O., and being force-fed meals of tuna balls.”