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work, and wanted to know what she was like once she stepped away from behind her desk. Sure she was in college and I was in high school, but she was only a couple of years older. Guys dated older girls all the time, or so I hoped. Mike, a friend at school, said he’d been dating a college chick. Said the parties were kick ass too.  
    “Ummm, no. I’m not seeing anyone.”
    I sighed. Maybe luck was on my side after all. “So would you be, uh, interested, I mean.” What the hell was wrong with me? Just ask her on a damn date.
    “Wait. I don’t. I mean…Luke look,” Stacey ran her hands through her hair. I saw a flash of red on her fingers. I liked the vivid polish she’d chosen. It was daring. “We can’t. You’re a nice guy, but with my job, I just can’t. I’m sorry you misunderstood.”
    “You said can’t, not won’t. So you would?”
    Stacey shook her head, but didn’t take her eyes off the road. Her fingers turned white as her grip tightened on the steering wheel. I turned in my seat to face her. She had a slight hint of pink in her cheeks. Well done Luke, well done. I had a chance.
    In barely a whisper Stacey answered, “I don’t know.”
    It wasn’t a yes, but it was damn close and I let the grin that ached to break through have its way. I had a new challenge, one that might bring some real fun into my life. I would convince Stacey to go out with me. Even if it was only one date.
    ***
    I walked inside the house and stripped off my wet shoes to place them on the edge of the tiled entryway. Dave made it very clear that no one was to walk on the carpet with shoes on. Even guests were asked to take their shoes off before continuing through the house. It didn’t make much sense considering the carpet was olive green shag.  
    “Luke, is that you?” Mom’s voice trilled from the kitchen.  
    “Yeah.”  
    “Good, you can come in here and help me cook dinner.”
    I didn’t have a knack for cooking. My knowledge of how to use a pot was limited to that of boiling pasta for macaroni and cheese. Even then I tended to go with the heat-and-eat microwave version.  
    “Coming,” I mumbled.
    Mom stood in front of the stove with her lime green apron around her neck stirring something in a large black pot. She glanced over her shoulder as I sauntered in. No matter the day or time she always had a smile, even while Dave used her as a speed bag. I spent many nights listening to him berate and belittle her. More tears were shed into my pillow than anyone would ever know. The one time mom fought back she ended up in the hospital with a severe concussion. That was a week after they’d started dating and six months before moving from our comfortable home in Florida to the great State of Texas. “Deep in the Heart of Texas,”I sang to myself with the memory of moving.  
    “So what are you cooking tonight?”
    “Dave’s favorite. We’re having chicken Parmesan with linguine noodles and my homemade sauce.” She turned away from the stove to get a better look at me. “You’re all wet. Why?”
    I shrugged my shoulders and turned to gaze out the window behind the kitchen table and chairs. “Umm, because the last time I looked it was raining.”
    “But I heard a car pull up, you didn’t get that wet running from the car to the door.”
    Shit.   “You’re right, but I had to run from the building to the car and I got stopped along the way.”  
    “Well, go change before Dave gets home. I don’t want him to see you in wet clothes. Then come down and help me. I need you to get the garlic bread ready.”
    I stepped in the direction of the stairs at the back of the kitchen. It was a narrow staircase that led me to my room without going through the living room. Most nights I used it to avoid my stepfather. Before I made it up the first stair and put my back to mom, I stopped. “Why do you do this for him? It’s not like he will forgo the ritual.”
    Mom’s shoulders slumped over the stove and her hand