He just looked like a kid.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
He showed me the cover.
That was all it took.
We talked for nearly an hour.
Luke was smart.
Very smart.
The kind of sharp intelligence adults sometimes find intimidating in teenagers.
He was funny too, but his humor was dry and careful, like something he had developed as protection.
When he talked about characters in books, he talked about them like real people whose decisions mattered.
When I finally stood to leave, I didn’t want to go.
Denise stopped me near the door.
“One good conversation doesn’t guarantee anything.”
“I know.”
“Luke has left ten homes.”
“I know.”
But I knew something else.
I was coming back.
—
And I did.
Again.
And again.
For four months, Luke and I kept meeting.
At first, everything was supervised at the agency.
Then we went to libraries.
Diners.
