The Sounds of Secrets

by Whitney Barbetti

  I turned into him and laid my hand on his chest. “And you want to quit?”

  He peered down at me and ran his hand through his hair. “I do. I’ve wanted to for a while—not just because of Della, but because I’m sick of feeling weak all the time.”

  I pressed my lips to his chest. “I don’t think you’re weak at all. You’re strong, kind, funny.” I tilted my head. “You’re a good one, Samson.”

  He looked doubtful, with an eyebrow raised. “Are you drunk?” he ran his fingers through the ends of my hair, gently twisting them around his fingers. The sensation was comforting.

  “You know I’m not. I know that you put me on a pedestal, but I don’t belong on it. Knock me off of it.”

  “Only if you’ll knock me off the pedestal you’ve placed me on, too.” He reached down and gripped the back of my thigh, pulling my leg up. “I’ll be gentle, seeing as you’ve got a busted leg.”

  I laughed and tipped my head down to press another kiss to his chest. “Sam. That’s what I’m talking about. You bring levity when it’s needed. You came to America, on a mission to encourage me to finish out my bucket list. I was going to give up, and you would let me.” I touched his hair, getting to really feel its silky strands for the first time. I thought I’d envy him for his hair, but I actually was proud of it, because I was proud of him.

  “I did that because I’m your friend, Lots.”

  I shook my head. “Bianca didn’t come here and do that, and she’s supposed to be my best friend.”

  “Yeah, well, Bianca sucks.”

  I laughed again and it bubbled out of my throat so quickly that I had to grip onto him to keep my composure. “She does. I feel a little terrible for saying so, but we’re just not the friends we used to be.”

  “That must have been hard for you.” His eyes went soft and he tucked my hair behind my ear. “You mum, your sister, losing your best friend, and then what I did to you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. If I could go back in time, I’d be gentler with you.”

  I pressed my finger to his lips. “I’m glad you weren’t,” I whispered.

  His eyes searched mine, and he hauled me up higher on his body. “You’re not close enough.”

  “I’m on top of you.”

  “I know. It’s not close enough.” He nuzzled his nose to mine. “I’m not sure if I can get close enough to you to satisfy me.”

  “Guess you’ll have to try.” I pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose and then he rolled me to my back.

  “I’ll try really, really hard,” he said, before his lips moved to my neck.

  We hardly watched the movie.

  As the credits rolled, my foot tapped to the beat of the final song and I sipped the last of my soda.

  “I saw you dancing at the restaurant,” Sam said from beside me.

  I turned to look at him. “When?”

  “When you were tossing the garbage. I saw you dance. I’d never seen you dance like that.”

  I remembered doing a couple little twirls, but nothing dramatic. “Hard to dance well with this thing.” I tapped the boot with my other foot. “But you probably saw me do a little twirl or something.”

  “Or something.” He placed his finger under my jaw and tipped my mouth up until his hovered over it. “Dance for me.”

  “No,” I said, and gave him a quick kiss.

  He didn’t let go of my jaw. “Please.”

  I groaned. “Why are you waiting until now, when I have a belly full of fried food and a heavy black obstruction on my leg?”

  “Now’s as good a time as any to ask.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You won’t,” he corrected. “But I want you to.”

  “You can’t always get what you want, you know.”

  “I do know. So, take pity on me. Give me something I want.”

  I dropped my head to the pillow. “Isn’t there something else I can do for you?”

  “You can do those things too.”

  “Greedy,” I said, slapping his chest.

  “Yes.” He leaned over me, grinning down at me. “And, at the moment, I’m demanding too. Please, Lotte.”

  I didn’t want to dance for him, not while I was wearing this damn boot. But he looked so earnestly interested, that I felt guilty for saying no. “You’re trying to guilt trip me.”

  “Is it working?”

  I sighed and heaved myself out of the bed, trying not to be too awkward with the dead weight around my leg. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Name a song, any song, and it’s yours.” He held up his phone.

  “You really want this?”

  “I do.” He grinned at me, and if I’d been on the edge of saying no, that damn smile would have stopped me.

  I thought of a song I’d worked on, in my studio, with Mila. “’River’, by Bishop Briggs.” We’d worked on a choreography for that song for a while the summer I’d met her, and I still warmed up to it from time to time.

  He searched through his music app until he found it, but he didn’t press play right away. He stood up and came to me, head dipping, mouth latching to mine, giving me a kiss that made the ground beneath my feet unsteady.

  He held up his arm, his hand holding mine. With one whisper, I was his.

  “Dance for me.”

  He hit play on his phone and the song started.

  I didn’t have a lot of room to work with, and with my leg being clunky as it was, I couldn’t do some of the more complicated leg work, but I moved to the hand clap beat at the beginning, timing my movements in my head.

  Dancing was the one thing I knew, inexplicably, that I was good at. I had no reason to be nervous, but I never danced like this. I wasn’t just talking about the boot, but also about the fact that I was dancing for a man I was wholly in love with. I couldn’t lose myself to the music, couldn’t move with it with him watching me.

  I opened my eyes, stared right at him. “I’m struggling.”

  Without a word, he stood up and crossed the room to me. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into him. My arm came up, to close around his neck, but he stopped me. His eyes went to the skin below my elbow, where he placed a gentle kiss. “I like this bit of skin here,” he said. “And if you’re struggling, lean on me, let’s do this together.”

  I didn’t know if he was talking about the song, or about everything else. But I leaned on him, my hand in his, and we danced around the room, together, and while I still felt the nerves, it was easier. Because of Sam.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When we arrived at the field the following morning for the hot air balloon ride, nerves hit me like I was already a hundred feet above the earth. I was shaky, jittery, and I had taken two pills just to cope.

  I hadn’t hidden it from Lotte this time. I’d laid them out, showed her, so she knew. Two pills would still have a minimal effect on me, but psychologically it was enough that I could cope with the day.

  Or, at least, that’s what I thought. The moment we stepped out of the Jeep and stepped out onto the field, I saw the giant balloons laid out on the grass and tried to imagine that being the thing to keep me suspended above the earth, and I just wanted to puke.

  There were two brightly colored balloons laid out, with workers holding open the sides while they were inflated. The baskets were on their sides, and people were milling about the field, talking to workers and other fliers.

  Lotte must have sensed my panic, because she took one gloved hand in hers. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  “Don’t give me an easy way out, Lots. I didn’t give you one.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “I wasn’t planning on giving you one, but I did want you to feel like you still had a choice.”

  I shook my head at her, eyeing the balloons out of my periphery.

  A worker approached us and took our names.

  “I thought that the fan that filled the balloons had
fire?” Lotte asked, watching the balloon we’d be riding in with fascination.

  “Oh, well we actually inflate them with our high-powered inflation fan, and once the balloon is full of air, your pilot will light the burner and bring the balloon upright by blowing fire into the balloon envelope. Then you’ll get into the gondola and take off. The wind helps the inflation process, though, and that’s why it’s laid on its side for the moment.”

  “That makes sense.” Lotte gave her a smile.

  “Did you bring hats? The burner will put out heat during the flight, so you’ll want your head protected.”

  “Yep, we brought a couple beanies.”

  “Great. Don’t forget to wear sunscreen. You’ve got such beautiful skin—you’ll want to protect it when you’re thousands of feet closer to the sun.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Thousands?”

  “Yes. We usually go up as many as three thousand—that’s where you can start to see Earth’s curvature.”

  My stomach pitched, and I clamped down on Lotte’s hand as she talked with the employee for several moments longer. Once she’d walked away, I set my jaw firm.

  “It’s going to be great, Sam,” Lotte said, but it did little to settle my nerves. “I’ll be there the whole time, okay?”

  I wished I had more pills and I hated that that was my first thought, my first concern. More of the thing I was trying to quit. “Lotte, I’m sorry. I’m terrified of heights.”

  “I know. You said that. Remember at the park? You did so great.”

  It was hard to believe that was just two days earlier. “I had you to help me.”

  She turned so we were facing one another. “And you have me again. Nothing bad is going to happen. Maybe you’ll even love it.”

  That was doubtful, but Lotte looked so hopeful that I couldn’t let her down. “I feel like I just need a distraction.”

  She wrapped her arms around me, hug-like, and then I felt her hand in the back pocket of my jeans. “Here.” She handed me my pocket pad. “Draw something. You’ve got the balloons, the mountains off to the distance. Aren’t they stunning? Look at them.”

  She was facing me, but her head was turned so she could look at the mountains to our left. My eyes glided down her neck, coming to rest in the perfect space of skin she exposed in her open jacket. The morning was cool, so we wore gloves, but the boat neck shirt she wore under the jacket exposed the line of her collarbone, the curve of her neck where it met shoulder.

  “Okay,” I told her. “Sit here.” I guided us both to the ground and when she waited for me to turn to the mountains, I simply reached over and tipped her chin. “Stay like that, for just a minute.” I tugged at her jacket—not too much, but enough to expose her skin a little bit more. She had the most beautiful coloring, and I hated that I didn’t have paints with me to bring that truer to life. Shading would have to suffice, until I could get her onto canvas.

  “Are you drawing me?”

  “Shh,” I told her, starting with the part that my eyes always slid to first—the hollow between her neck and shoulder, where the tendon in her neck stood out proudly when her head was turned. She had perfectly straight shoulders, but light muscle along them, like a gymnast—which I supposed made sense for her, as a dancer. It was a soft triangle, the skin inside of her collarbone to her neck, and I shaded that first, before adding definition to the collarbone and the tendon in her neck. I was enamored with the shape of her, with the shapes I recognized and the colors I could mentally figure out how to create with a few different colors, blended to recreate that perfect cream.

  The wind picked up lightly, sending a few strands over my view. It didn’t mar my view, and I found the added shadows they created against her skin interesting, so I incorporated them into the sketch. The ends of the hairs grazed her shoulder line, and I drew up from there, carving out her neck with my pencil, until I was drawing her chin too. With her head turned, it created this delicate, but somehow strong line that cast shadows on her neck.

  This was what I found so beautiful about Lotte. It wasn’t her hair, not at all. It was in how her body told the story of who she was. The creamy skin, untouched by the sun, and the smooth, wiry muscles that wrapped her arms told of her strength. Her set jaw spoke of her pride, but her downcast eyes told me of her shyness. So many things I could glean just from quietly observing her.

  My drawing was done, but I didn’t tell her that. There was such peace in just watching her, that I didn’t want to stop quite yet. Her high cheekbones told me about her family, but the three holes in her ears told me about her. Her cupid’s bow was defined, but her pale pink lips were parted. Was she nervous that I was watching her?

  Like her hands, I found so much beauty in even the smallest parts of her body.

  “Okay,” I said softly. “Done.”

  She turned, looking into my eyes first. She looked so young, unweathered by the world. I felt a strong urge to protect her somehow, even though she didn’t need it from me.

  “Oh, wow,” she said, placing her hands over mine as she looked at the drawing. “That’s beautiful.”

  “It’s you.” Selfishly, I wanted to hold onto the paper—if only to have the opportunity to look at her when she wasn’t near me. But something told me she needed it more right now. “Here.” I handed her the pad, careful not to smudge the drawing.

  “Is this really me?”

  “It’s you.”

  “It’s how you see me.”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps, but I’m more into life-like sketches. You don’t get an opportunity to view yourself from this angle, but I do. All the lines, all the curves, it’s you.”

  She was squeezing the mini sketchpad in her hands, staring down at it. I hoped she could see the beauty in her that I could, hoped that the drawing would make it obvious. I brought her chin forward, willing her to look at me.

  “I told you, you’re beautiful.” I kissed her lips, placed my hands on the sides of her head, and then kissed her closed eyelids.

  When I pulled back, she slowly opened her eyes.

  “Have you ever seen The Birth of Venus painting?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  “When I say you have Botticelli eyes, I’m talking about that. The goddess, emerging from the sea. Eyes soft, almost sleepy, unspoiled by the cruelty the world has to offer.”

  “Sam,” she said in a way that made me want to exist in this moment a bit longer.

  “Okay, we’re ready. We’ll get four of you in this side, and you four on this side.”

  The lady who had spoken to us about the balloon ride motioned us over to her.

  My legs were wobbly when I stood. It’d been bad enough when I’d assumed we’d be going a hundred feet up in the air, but thousands? That was a bit more than I could grasp.

  “Just focus on me, okay?”

  “I can’t draw up there to distract me.”

  “Count on me then,” Lotte said, taking me by the hand and tugging me to the gondola. There was a pilot in the middle of the basket, separated from the two sides that flanked him. There were already two people in our side of the basket, so Lotte and I squeezed in beside them. The propane burner roared as the pilot adjusted it, and Lotte handed me a beanie, then secured one over her head. It looked so out of place in the dead of summer, but she looked adorable. That’s what I needed to focus my attention on. Adorable Lotte.

  The pilot began going through the safety speech. It was about to happen.

  “Don’t be alarmed by all the safety equipment in front of me,” he said, motioning to the things by his feet. “Like commercial flights, this is standard procedure to have these things.”

  But it did alarm me. Thousands of feet in the air, and I was supposed to feel safe by the fire extinguisher on board a balloon? If he needed to deploy that fire extinguisher, that’d mean us or the balloon on fire, and I didn’t quite see that ending well for anyone.

  “It’s fine to reach your arms slightly out of the basket for a photo
, but please ensure that the rest of your body stays inside the gondola. Likewise, don’t lean over the sides.”

  People actually leaned over the side of these? I found it unfathomable, but I wasn’t an expert of subjecting myself to a balloon ride thousands of feet in the air on the regular.

  “If a burner goes out, don’t worry. It’ll be relit immediately, and we have a backup burner that will ignite to keep the balloon flying.”

  “What if both burners go out?” asked someone from the other side of the basket. It was as if they had a glimpse in my mind as I went over every possible, terrible scenario.

  “That’s extremely unlikely, but if that were to happen, you still needn’t worry. The balloon will only fall about as fast as a parachute.”

  That didn’t give me any bit of comfort, seeing as I had no experience jumping out of planes either.

  I could feel the tension flooding my body, turning me to steel. Lotte must have sensed it too, because she stepped closer to me. We were pretty crowded in the basket as it was, but she didn’t stop until she was pressed fully against me. “Hey,” she whispered, as the pilot went on with safety warnings. “Look at me.”

  I did, but I was embarrassed over my fear of this, so I quickly snapped my eyes away. I stared at the grass around us, thinking how safe I felt at that moment.

  Lotte unzipped my jacket so she was closer to me, her arms coming around my back. I felt her gloved hands go up the back of my shirt until they were pressed against my skin. I trembled a little, and I knew it rippled through Lotte.

  “We’re about to go,” she said, soft enough so that only I could hear her. “Look at me.”

  I peered down at her.

  “Let’s adjust just a little, so you don’t have to watch us ascend.”

  I didn’t argue, just turned with her wrapped around me still until I was facing the pilot. Seeing how calm he looked, how he checked his app for the temperature and the wind speed, made me feel a little bit more at ease.

  Lotte rubbed gently across my lower back, never letting me forget that she was glued to me. I held her too, ran my hand up and down her back. If my focus drifted beyond the pilot, I could see the grounds beyond us disappearing from sight, so I made sure to keep my focus on him, on his steadiness.