“I should get to the station,” Luke says as we get back in the car. “There could be riots and...” His jaw tightens. His eyes focus on the road. His hands squeeze the wheel. I reach over and rub his thigh.
He sighs. “Don’t do that.”
I pull back, sharp.
“Don’t get me wrong, I like it. It’s just...distracting.” He grins, but only for a flash. The worry runs back. “I don’t know why Chief Erikson wouldn’t call—”
“Maybe he doesn’t know yet either. The state government could have decided it and implemented it right away. They can be speedy when they want to be. Especially when all you need is the governor’s signature.”
“You could be right.” His muscles don’t relax.
I am right. But how would he know? I haven’t told him why I lived in Richmond. I haven’t told him that I know more about the Virginia political system than the average bear.
He continues, “People are going to be confused and scared. I need to get to the station and figure this out. But I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say.
“Yes, you will be...if you stay at my place.” His rough palm glides over the back of my hand, like he’s trying to tame me before I protest. “Too many people know where you and Mandy live. A lot of people are going to be angry about this. They might be lookin’ to take it out on an easy target. And I could break into your house in thirty seconds.”
“Well that’s reassuring,” I say, crossing my legs away from him and looking out the window.
“My place is safe,” he says. “No one will know you’re there.”
I don’t need to run away to some guy’s place. Mandy and I have a mantra: Don’t be afraid. “I can’t,” I say. “Danny’s vigil is tonight.”
“Just stay at my place ’til I get back and we can figure this out.” His lavender irises shift to me. “Okay?”
“What about you? You have purple eyes now too.”
“I have a badge.”
“I could make a badge.” I probably could, if given enough time to consider the materials.
“And a gun.”
“I could make a gun.” I say it in the same monotone. He narrows his eyes for a little too long at me, considering he’s driving. I clarify: “I’m being facetious.”
He smiles. “We wouldn’t want you to lose your facetiousness just because we’re in a crisis.”
“Certainly not.”
As we drive back into town, we don’t see chaos. But we don’t see normalcy, either. Professors are gripping students’ shoulders. Cars are stopped in the middle of the road as their drivers talk with people on the side. And members of the media swarm about like bees picking off pollen from flowers. They’re trapped inside the quarantine and don’t have anything better to do than shove microphones in people’s faces.
“This is insane,” I say as a reporter tries to stop us. And, thanks to a red light and a law-abiding cop, we’re sitting ducks. We’re stuck in the quarantine and we’re stuck facing this reporter.
“Detective Peterson,” she says, tapping on the window. I’m surprised she knows who he is, except she could have tried to interview him before. Probably did. He ignores her. “How long have you known they were going to quarantine the area? How do you think that will affect your investigations? Do you think the college is to blame? How will you handle the riots and panic?” The questions ricochet off us. When she’s done, she huffs, annoyed Luke hasn’t answered them yet even though she hasn’t taken so much as a pinch of a break for him to respond.
“No comment, ma’am,” he says. But he’s too polite not to look her in the eyes when he does. Her mouth drops.
I urge the light to turn green, but it doesn’t. “Oh my God...” she says, whirling around to the cameraman who had been hanging back. “Gary, are you getting this?” The cameraman nods as he adjusts a few knobs, no doubt zooming in on Luke’s startling eyes. “Detective, when did you first develop purple eyes? How do you think you got it?”
I hadn’t thought to look away. I had been so caught up in it all. And now the camera is on me. I can hear it reverberating in my ears, back and forth, the accusation, the juicy delicious zeal in the reporter’s tone as she makes eye contact with me. “Was it from her?”
Luke says, calmly, like he’s just ordering a Happy Meal from a deranged employee, “Please call the police department if you have questions on the ongoing investigations. But I won’t be discussing my personal life or health.”
“Wait, Detective...” she says, but whatever string of questions she has ready in her arsenal gets drowned out as the light turns green and the car barrels on.
“You’re going to my place,” Luke says. Unlike before, it’s not a request, or even a gentle command. It’s an edict.
“I don’t get a say in this?” I ask.
“No, you...” He squints like something is in his eyes, shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t mean it like that, but, if something happened to you...”
“What am I supposed to do, just sit around all day? Watch cable news until my head explodes?”
I look out the window. Three young men argue with the local grocer. One of the guys taps a baseball bat against the curb. A few students huddle together, talking on phones, pacing, as they press their index fingers to their free ears. When a guy from Danny’s frat—who must have been one of Danny’s hapless smoking buddies as he has purple eyes—walks past the religious group, they grab at his shirt. They even grab at his pants. I’m about to dart out of a moving car for the second time in a day, but Luke grabs my arm.
“Please, Quinn.” There’s so much desperation in his voice, it reminds me of frantic fingernails clawing against the sides of a well. “We need police out here. But I can’t do my job unless I know you’re safe.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll stay ensconced in your castle, but only if you have good snacks.”
He smiles. “I’ve got candy corn and apples and pumpkin bread.”
“Excellent, because it just so happens all three of those make up my favorite meal. I like to stick them all together with peanut butter.”
He smiles. I smile. And for a brief moment everything is okay. Or at least, we pretend it is.