Sal stares. “Why was I sick?”
The fury that had darkened Luke’s features only moments ago is gone. His face clears, and he looks soft at her.
“You were in a car accident.” He sounds like he has glass in his throat. “A month before we went to Florida. You were T-boned by a pickup truck. You broke your wrist and you lost a lot of blood.”
“Oh.” She sits silently, her brain fuzzy from the revelation.
He watches her carefully, with concern. “Sal—”
“What about you?” Sal asks, suddenly filling with a worry she’s never known. She reaches for him, her eyes scanning him for an invisible injury. “Were you hurt?”
“No.” A muscle jumps in Luke’s jaw. Tight. So tight. His handsome face drawn. Tortured, if she had to use a better word. “I was fine, Sal. I wasn’t there. I shoulda been. But I wasn’t.”
Sal’s heart collapses in on itself. The hurt in his voice, the blame. That’s the reason for the pain in his dark eyes. He’s been holding on to it for such a long time.
“It’s not your fault, Luke,” she murmurs, scooting close to curl her head on his shoulder. “It was an accident.”
Only the bob of his throat, the clench of his jaw tells her he doesn’t believe it.
They settle into silence as Luke wraps an arm around her and tucks her in tight to his side. He cranks the wheel, turning the old pickup down the dusty dirt road to their farm.
Once again, Sal’s gaze drifts to the window. Her mind to her memory. To this thin slice of her life that’s just been revealed.