I didn't see Luke Hemmings at school at all the next day.
I walked into the cafeteria with Rachel feeling cheated that all I had to distract me from Luke's absence was her idle chatter but I should have been grateful when even that was taken from me as her boyfriend Finn rudely interrupted us. I thought she would have said something—owing to the fact that he had interrupted her—but she seemed to lavish his attention.
I was terribly uncomfortable at the lunch table. I noticed across the room that all of Luke's siblings were here except for him. It was hard, after that, to avoid diverting my focus from them. Especially when Rachel was still clearly entranced by Finn, and Mike Yorkie and Tina Weber were getting inappropriately cozy. I'd stare across the room in the hope that Luke would eventually turn up and join his siblings... but a conscious nagging suspicion kept eating its way into every tunnel of my brain.
I told myself to stop being so egotistical—that I wasn't the reason he wasn't here today. It was impossible to affect anyone that strongly. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true. I'd hand over my entire cd collection if there were any chance my suspicions were wrong about Luke and that he'd be in Biology class at the end of lunch period.
He wasn't.
When the school day was finally done, and I had successfully managed to avoid anyone who could possibly find a reason to talk to me, I made my way to the parking lot. I sorted through the glove box till I found what I was looking for.
I'd never been too much of a fan of Jack's cooking. He'd try and prepare something new every now and again but eventually flake out voluntarily because of my culinary expertise. So once I'd located my grocery list, I was off to the Thriftway.
I took notice of the Hemmings a little away from where my truck lay in school traffic. They were getting into their car—the shiny new Volvo, I should've known. I was surprised to see that while Mercedes had dressed best yesterday, all their clothes screamed designer origin. But with their looks, they could have worn potato sacks and pulled it off.
The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south off the highway. It was nice to be in the supermarket; I had a feeling this was the most regular shopping experience I'd have while in Forks. It was also familiar. Though Jack always insisted he come, I'd done our shopping on my own in Sturgis too.
Our pantry was empty so when I arrived home it was almost too easy to put everything away. With the rain came the cold so I decided a soup would be most ideal for tonight. It was an easy French recipe I had learned out of one of the several cooking books I owned.
"Carrie ?" my father called out, as the smell wavered through to the front door when he arrived that night.
"Hey, Dad. How was work?"
"It was great. People here in Forks might not be used to my services but they're still keen as ever to have me tinkering with their cars." He hung up his hat and jacket and washed his hands at the sink. When I was younger he used to get me to 'help' him tinker with his cars but after realizing that all I would ever be comfortable doing was to stand far back and watch while flipping through mom's gossip magazines, he'd stop asking me to come.
"What's for dinner?" he asked standing close behind me to smell the cooking better. He hadn't seemed to notice I was wearing mom's apron yet. Or maybe he had and it was just one of those things he chose to overlook with me because it was easier to.
"Citrouille Soupe de Haricot Noire la Martinique."
He took a while to respond. "So—that's some kind of soup, right?" He was clearly no expert of the French language. I raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say it didn't matter. "Well, whatever it is, it smells delicious. Even if it's made out of fish heads and egg shells."
