Read Online Hanging by a Thread by Karen Templeton - Free Book Online

please?” heralds a delicate, musical voice from several houses away. We glance up to see a tiny silhouette standing on her top step, haloed by a yellowish light. “Ellie Levine? Is that you?”
    â€œYeah, Mrs. Patel,” I say, moving closer so she can see me, shielding my eyes from flamingo spotlights. “It’s me. And Luke.”
    â€œLuke? My goodness, you two gave me a fright!”
    â€œSorry, Mrs. P.,” Luke calls out. “I just startled her, I guess. It’s okay.”
    The woman shuffles back inside her front door as Luke grabs my arms and crosses the street, making me hotfoot it beside him. Like all the Scardinares, Luke’s not particularly tall—maybe five-eight—but he’s built like Fort Knox and he’s got a grip like iron. Especially when he’s pissed. Which is my guess, at the moment.
    â€œWhere’re we going?”
    â€œBack to your place. I’m freezing my ass off out here. What’s in the box?”
    â€œTina brought me éclairs. You’re getting Napoleons. Which she expects you to be home for when she gets there,” I point out. The cold has exponentially expanded the Coke in my bladder, my urgent need to pee distracting me from the potentially disastrous track this conversation could take if I’m not careful. Not that I have any intention of blabbing her secret, but Luke has been able to see inside my brain before we were potty trained.
    Maybe I shouldn’t think about potties right now.
    â€œSo if you knew where we were,” I say, “why didn’t you just come inside?”
    He snorts. “Like she’d be real happy to know I followed her, for one thing. And like it would’ve done any good, for another. I figure I’ve got a much better chance worming the truth out of you—hey!”
    I may be short, but these thunder thighs come in handy for sudden stops.
    â€œAnd if that’s what you really think, buster—” I say, peering up at him from underneath the slouched beret, my arms crossed—sorta, this coat is kind of bulky “—you can just haul your butt right back home.”
    He gives me one of his sullen, hooded looks, shakes his head and turns back around, continuing down the block. I wrap my scarf more tightly around my neck and trudge after him. When we get to my steps, he stops, his breath puffing in front of his face.
    â€œCan I come in?”
    â€œI told you, I’m not—”
    His gaze slams into mine, knocking my breath on its butt.
    â€œAnd maybe I just need to talk, okay? To somebody who might actually listen. But who won’t go nuts on me, either.”
    I’m starving, PMSing and my best friend has just dumped a secret on me I have no idea what to do with. He’s assuming a lot here.
    â€œFine,” I say, pushing past him and on up the stairs, wondering just how long I’d hold up in an interrogation type situation.
    Guess I’m about to find out.
    Â 
    Funny. Luke and I talk probably two or three times a week, but I’m just now realizing we haven’t been alone together since before he and Tina got married. Not really a conscious decision, I don’t think, as just something we naturally fell into, considering the situation. No sense giving tongues a reason to wag and all that. So it’s been a long time since Luke’s been in my kitchen without Tina being there, too. The last time being…gee, I guess not too long after I realized I was pregnant.
    I open the fridge to get the brisket; he reaches around me to get a bottle of grape juice, his arm grazing my shoulder. I smell the cold on him, his aftershave, the residue scent from his leather jacket, which he’s draped across the back of the kitchen chair just like he has for the past ten years. He smells like a man, not the hot, sweaty boy who used to pin me down and tickle me mercilessly when we were kids.
    We separate, him to find a glass, me to