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Luca stops short. He should’ve known she’d be here today of all days, but it still comes as a shock.
Rebecca doesn’t appear to have noticed his approach - that doesn’t shock him. He watches her for a moment, her head bent, shoulders hunched. He rarely sees her like this, a genuine vulnerability in comparison to her pale attempts at reconciliation with him. Only when it comes to Rook does true emotion seem to seep through the cracks in her composure. Luca alone was never enough for that.
He lingers by the trees for a moment more, taking in an old, familiar sight, before walking back to the path and back around the familiar graveyard. Luca had known it well as a child; in the few years his grandmother had lived nearby, she brought him here frequently. He grew up tending to the plants on his father’s grave with her, listening to stories about a man he would never know. Following her death, his only visits were on this date every year, his nanny holding his hand as they watched Rebecca from a few metres back.
From his early teens Luca could recognise that the grief he felt was not his own. It belonged to his mother, to his grandmother, to strangers who mourned the absence of a father in a child’s life. His grandmother’s grief was felt the most keenly; she alone spoke of Rook to him. She had shared her son’s life with his son, had given him the recipe books that would let Luca find Rook for himself.
Rebecca’s grief was unknowable. She was unknowable.
Luca looks back down the path he’s walked, back towards Rook’s grave, towards Rebecca. He can’t figure her out, can’t understand where her newfound insistence on a relationship comes from. For 27 years his existence has come second to the loss of Rook. No - not second, that was the agency. Third, at best. And yet here she was, time and time again, asking to be closer.
The sun is cutting through the tall trees on the outskirts of the graveyard, dappling the moss covered path. His grandmother had loved that about this graveyard, the way the late afternoon light made its way through the leaves. She had been meticulous in her care for Rook’s grave, had even picked the spot for him herself. ‘High enough on the hill to give him a good view, away from trees where the birds perch.’ She and Luca had picked out every stray leaf and trimmed the foliage on every visit. And then they would walk through Rook’s final resting place, noting his neighbours, greeting everyone they came across to know who he was here with.
It had never been the same with Rebecca who simply stood in front of Rook’s grave alone and spoke to no one. Though she had never said it, Luca hadn’t felt welcome at her side. This was her husband, her grief, her time. He was the intruder, the leftover, the afterthought.
He passes familiar graves, smiles at a family he recognises, and circles back to Rook’s grave. If he’s lucky, Rebecca will be gone. If not… Well, she’d probably not notice anyway.
She’s not there. He’s not sure why relief isn’t the only thing he’s feeling.
Kneeling in front of the grave, he begins plucking the dead leaves from a couple plants, careful to place them in the bag he brought with him.
He doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him.
“I didn’t know you came here.”
Luca’s jaw clenches and he freezes in place not needing to turn around to know who the words belong to. “Who did you think looked after it?” He glances over his shoulder at her and sees Rebecca look away at his words, arms folding over her chest.
He stands, taking a moment to gather himself whilst looking at Rook’s grave, and then turns around to face her. She’s still not looking at him and after a minute, when she still says nothing, he begins to walk away.
It doesn’t take long before he can hear her heels on the path behind him. He makes it all the way to his car, hand on the key, before she says something.
“He really wanted you, you know.”
“What?”
“Rook - he - I.” Luca watches as she stumbles over her words, makes to walk closer to him, then seemingly changes her mind and comes to a halt a few metres away. Rebecca takes a deep breath before trying again, eyes on the gravel in front of her. “Your father, he really wanted children.”
When Luca doesn’t respond but also doesn’t leave, she seems to take this as a sign to carry on. The words come out quickly, as though she’s not sure how much time she has to convince him to hear her out. “I knew he’d be a good dad from the first week we dated. He was so great with kids, great with everyone, really. I felt selfish even seeing him when I wasn’t sure if that was something I wanted.”
He’s never heard her like this before. A little desperation to her voice, words less measured. Yet there’s still no warmth to it and Luca’s not sure why she’s choosing this to tell him. This isn’t affection, it’s confession.
“He wanted children, and I…” Rebecca looks up and makes eye contact with Luca for the first time that day. He knows she’s thinking about his eyes and, not for the first time, he wishes they weren’t Rook’s replicas.
“You wanted him.”
Silence stretches and stretches between them, cavernous.
“Do you know that’s the first real thing you’ve ever told me about him?” She flinches but doesn’t yet look away. “I know you lost your husband and I’m very sorry. But it has been 27 years and if it were up to you, I would have been deprived of even the memory of my father.”
“Luca…”
He closes his eyes and turns away. “You keep asking if we can become closer.”
“Because I want to be.”
“Is that because of me? Or because I’m the closest you will get to having a piece of Rook back?”
His heart is beating so loud it feels like that’s all he can hear for a moment. He looks up and sees Rebecca’s reflection in the window of his car, frozen a few steps behind him. He waits. If she’s going to deny it or try to reach him or do something, it would be now, right? She doesn’t move.
He lets out a sharp breath, finally opens his car door and gets in. Before he closes the door he turns back to her. What more can he say? This feels like a chance to break it permanently or extend a hand to her, a tightrope he feels like he’s walking endlessly. But it’s harder to sever it either way, so he’ll continue the charade, allow them both to teeter helplessly until a later date. He closes the door.
As he drives away, he can’t help but replay the conversation over and over until it starts to give him a headache. Confirmation that she’d never really wanted a child repeating itself on a loop.
He pulls out his phone, eyes still on the road, and calls the first number on his speed dial before he can think twice about it.
Adam picks up on the second ring.
“Detective?”
Luca smiles despite himself at the formality. “Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
“Just peachy, thanks.”
Adam doesn’t reply and they both let the silence hang for a moment. He wonders for a second if he should've called Farah instead. She's perceptive, but willing to go for a distraction rather than silently interrogate. But he can't help but feel lighter for hearing Adam's voice.
“You really should not speak on the phone while you’re driving.”
Luca snorts. “What are you gonna do, call the cops?”
“Yes, very funny. Are you sure everything’s alright?”
He pauses again for a moment, chews on his lip and finally says. “It was Rook’s birthday today.” There is a small release of breath on the other side, but Adam doesn’t say anything. He’s giving Luca time. “I went to visit his grave.” He leaves out that Rebecca was there, tries to forget her presence himself.
“Do you go there often?”
“Every couple of months. It’s nice, quiet. A place to reflect, to remember.”
“I’m glad you have that place.”
Luca smiles, “Me too.”
He watches the sun set in his rear view mirror, thinks about asking Adam if he could come to the warehouse, maybe bake something.
“If you would allow, perhaps I could come with you next time.”
His first instinct is to say no, to keep this part of Rook to himself. His father, his ritual. But then... it's Adam. Adam, who hasn’t shied away from this, who wants to know, who, despite his insistence on calling Luca ‘Detective’, wants to be let in.
“I’d like that.”