Pieces of Sky

by Trinity Doyle

  ‘Look,’ he says and I brace myself for an apology, ‘I wanted to say thanks.’

  ‘What?’ I focus back on him to see if he’s kidding but he doesn’t seem to be.

  ‘I know you get it. All this shit I’m going through. And I know I could probably tell you anything and you’d be okay with it. So, thanks for that.’

  A laugh escapes me.

  Ryan frowns. ‘What?’

  ‘I just,’ I tighten my arms, ‘you have no idea how much this has stuffed me up. I had a boyfriend, Ryan.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he leans back on his car, ‘I didn’t think about that.’

  ‘And you know how I felt.’ I make myself look at him. ‘About you.’

  He doesn’t say anything. I can’t believe he doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Fine, don’t admit it. Put me back to just being Cam’s sister again. I get that you were high, it was a thing, but you were the one who started it.’

  ‘I know,’ he says.

  I shoot him a doubtful look which he meets.

  ‘I knew what I was doing.’

  My brain repeats his words at full volume.

  ‘You’re my connection to him,’ he says. ‘And I pushed it too far.’

  I narrow my eyes. ‘So you wanted to kiss Cam?’

  He laughs, full on grins, shaking his head. ‘No.’ He looks at me. ‘I wanted to kiss you.’

  I rub my forehead. ‘I’m completely lost.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ he says, then sighs. ‘I don’t know what to tell you, Luce. Maybe you’re right, it was a thing. Or maybe—’

  ‘Don’t,’ I say, cutting in. ‘It was a thing. Just leave it there, please. I’m trying so hard to put this all together and keep it straight in my mind. I don’t need you saying anything. I don’t want to wait for you, Ryan. Until I’m older or we’re both better or fixed or something. I can’t.’

  His eyes hold mine and all the years I’ve liked him want to take back what I said, make him tell me what he was about to say. Then he looks away.

  ‘Okay,’ he says.

  ‘Okay.’

  He takes his keys from his pocket and scratches at the key ring. ‘I need to get going.’

  26

  On Friday I’m declared well enough to go back to school. I tried to argue for Monday, Friday’s basically the weekend anyway, but Mum wouldn’t hear it.

  Evan and I only have one class together: English, last period of the day. That class hangs over me, tying my stomach into knots, from the moment I get on the bus to school. I’m torn between wanting to see him, to explain, to apologise, and wanting to curl into a ball and hide.

  I give in to hiding for most of the day, going from sick bay to the library and making myself scarce between classes. Even without seeing him, just knowing he’s here has meant I haven’t heard a word anyone’s said all day. Before I know it we’re in English together and he’s sitting one chair to the right and two rows in front of me.

  I feel as if I’m attached to him by a giant rubber band and it’s been stretching across school and now, with him here, it pulls back with a violent snap. As though he feels it too, Evan looks back at me.

  I become very interested in my desk and whether Jono really does rule. I risk a glance at him but his attention is fixed back on the board.

  The need to talk to him and explain takes over.

  The bell rings. I shove my stuff into my backpack and chase him out of the classroom. But he’s quick. I lose him in the crowd of students heading to the stairs.

  It’s okay. I know where he’s going.

  I half jog, half power walk to the car park, scanning the cars for his beaten up Sunbird. It’s hidden behind a silver SUV.

  Evan’s leaning against the boot, looking at his phone. He hasn’t seen me and I take a moment to take him in because damn he looks good.

  I force my legs to walk towards him. My mouth goes dry and I can’t get enough spit to swallow. He looks up from his phone. His face is blank—no anger, surprise, happiness, nothing. Blank. I’m not even sure he’s seen me.

  I lift my hand. ‘Hi.’

  He looks back at his phone. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Are you busy?’

  He looks past me. ‘Yeah. Kind of.’

  ‘Can I . . . can I talk to you?’

  Footsteps run up behind me. ‘God. There you are,’ Evan says.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Steffi says, shoving her bag in the boot.

  ‘Look, I gotta go,’ Evan says to me. ‘Maybe talk later?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I step back, crossing my arms. ‘Yeah sure.’

  Steffi gives me an apologetic look and jumps into the car. Evan watches me for a moment then pulls his door open and gets in. They drive off.

  ‘Okay.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Okay.’ I gotta go get the bus. Keep it together. Do not think about him. I gotta meet my parents. Counselling is this afternoon.

  ‘Lucy?’

  I whirl around to face Megan.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  I clamp my hand over my mouth and shake my head. Hot tears snake down my cheeks. Megan swallows. She moves so she’s standing next to me and can’t see my face. I appreciate this.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong,’ she says, and I know we’d both prefer it if I didn’t. She shifts her weight and keeps her eyes trained on the road. After a while she says, ‘It’s not the end of the world if you can’t compete anymore.’

  I swallow and nod but can’t say anything.

  ‘Mum’s picking me up for training,’ she says. ‘She can give you a lift home if you like.’

  Leanne’s office is nice: all bright and airy, white walls, polished floorboards and heaps of green plants. Dad, Mum and I sit on a soft grey couch and Leanne—a skinny, pale lady with frizzy blonde hair—sits opposite us on a matching grey armchair.

  She leans forward, pressing her hands together, and directs a small smile at Mum. I wonder what Mum’s told her, what this lady knows that I don’t, if Mum talked about me.

  ‘The fact you’re all here,’ she says, and for some reason looks at me, ‘means a lot. I want you to know that this is a safe place and the notes I take will not be shared with anyone.

  ‘The death of a loved one is a devastating loss,’ she continues. ‘And the way each of you grieves will be different because each of you are different. There is no right or wrong way, and no time limit.

  ‘So we’re here to give each of you a chance to talk, to share something about Cameron, to talk about what these past few months have been like. You don’t have to,’ again she looks at me, ‘but you can if you like. Who would like to start?’

  We’re quiet, a full minute of quiet. Not even Mum says a word, and she’s Leanne’s biggest fan. I look past Leanne’s frizzy hair to the awards and certificates hung on the wall behind her. I wonder how much she’s costing my parents, if they can claim it back on insurance or something.

  Dad clears his throat, Leanne turns her attention to him and my mouth falls open in shock.

  ‘It’s been hard,’ he coughs again and shifts on the couch, ‘these past few months. Really hard. I own Taylor’s Hardware, just down the street, and we’re being threatened by a superstore opening near by.’

  He’s talking about work? I really thought he’d have more to say than that.

  ‘So it’s been easy,’ he continues, ‘to switch off from what’s happening at home and to focus on that. I’m not someone who likes to show what I’m going through, I’d prefer to just keep my head down and get through the day.’

  Leanne nods.

  ‘I figured if I could keep everything business as usual then I’d be okay. But at home, well, Norah hasn’t been doing too great and it’s been very hard to be around her grief. And I’m sorry, honey,’ he squeezes Mum’s hand, ‘I should’ve tried harder to understand and to help you. I should’ve been there for everyone.’ He looks over at me. ‘I should’ve seen what was going on.’

  It’s hard to look at Dad, to hear his words, but I ma
ke myself do it anyway.

  ‘And Cam.’ His voice cracks. ‘He was this amazing kid, you know? So creative, so much like his mum. I always wanted him to fulfil his potential.’ Dad rubs his face and tears burn in my eyes. ‘So I’d push him, get him to try harder. But sometimes I wonder if I was too hard and if when he left for that trip he even knew how much I cared about him. How much I loved him.’

  ‘He knew,’ Mum says, tears on her cheeks, ‘of course he knew.’

  Dad shakes his head and breathes out. ‘The truth,’ he says, ‘is I miss my son. It’s not right that he’s gone, it’s not right at all.’

  27

  We get home just after 8.30. After our time with Leanne, Dad took us all out for dinner. We were quiet in the restaurant but it was a good quiet, a relaxed quiet. I told my parents how I’d like to go back to Leanne on my own. Hearing Dad share made me realise how much I have to say, how much I need to get out.

  I wheel my bike out of the garage and promise not to be out too late. All through dinner I kept going over what I would say to Evan. I need it to be perfect. I wanted to get my phone out and write it all down in a note, but that seemed a bit antisocial.

  The twilight air is cool around me, with the first stars blinking into the sky.

  I ride slow, my thighs burning with the steady incline. I need the right words. I need whatever I say to result in him forgiving me.

  Near his house, I stand up on the pedals for the last push. Lying my bike on the grass, I wipe my hands on my shorts and approach the front door.

  My thumb hovers over the doorbell. Just do it. The thing about doorbells is they’re obnoxiously loud no matter how you’re feeling. Footsteps. My heart hammers.

  He opens the door and steps back, his brow furrowed. He’s wearing a faded green T-shirt and board shorts—looking more like a local every day.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, one foot on the front step the other on the path. ‘Is now a good time?’

  ‘Ah,’ he looks back into the house.

  I take a deep breath, blood throbbing and hands shaking. ‘I was hoping, I mean,’ I fold my arms, ‘you said we could talk later. About what happened,’ I add.

  He steps forward, pulling the door after him but keeping one hand out so it doesn’t close. ‘Okay.’

  I open my mouth but the words won’t come.

  Evan glances back inside. ‘Look, I gotta get going soon.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ He can’t be moving yet, the term’s not over.

  ‘Lucy,’ he sighs.

  ‘I know.’ I squeeze my hands into fists and release them. ‘I’m really crap at this. I thought about writing it down . . .’

  He presses his lips together and looks past me.

  ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen.’ I glance at him as he clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. ‘I went over there to talk to Ryan because you . . .’ Because I had no idea where you were. ‘Because I’ve been talking to him. I talked to him about all this stuff. Cam stuff, I mean, not “us” stuff,’ I add when Evan shoots me a pointed look. ‘I think because he was going through it too, it made it easier. So I went over there and he told me all this intense stuff about Cam,’ I pace the width of the path and back, ‘and we were both crying,’ I drop my eyes to my feet, ‘and then he kissed me.’

  I flash on Ryan’s hands under my shirt and my cheeks burn. ‘And I kissed him back,’ I mutter. ‘But then,’ I say, looking at him, ‘I thought about you and I stopped it and I left. That was when I ran into you and, well, you know the rest.’ Evan’s eyes continue to avoid mine. ‘I’m really sorry, Ev. I’d take it back if I could. I’m so sorry.’

  Evan sits down on the step, rubs his head and looks up. ‘Why couldn’t you talk to me?’

  My mouth goes dry. ‘I dunno.’ I take a step towards him then stop. I swallow. ‘When I was with you sometimes I got to be okay for a while.’

  He doesn’t say anything.

  I sigh and bite the inside of my cheek to keep the tears down. ‘You knew going into this I was a mess, and . . .’ I hold his eyes with mine, ‘I’d really like you to forgive me.’

  He scratches his neck and opens his mouth. ‘I—’

  ‘Hey, Ev!’ comes a voice from inside. A guy’s voice I don’t recognise. The door opens. ‘Can I eat this old Thai food?’

  A skinny guy with red hair—cut in one of those hipster looks with short sides and styled up high on top—stands wide-eyed in front of me.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  He looks from me down to Evan. ‘Holy shit. I’m sorry. Is that her? Are you her?’

  ‘Cook, this is Lucy. Lucy, Cook.’

  ‘Hi,’ I say again.

  He smiles wide. ‘Call me Adam.’

  Evan looks up at him. ‘Nobody calls you Adam.’

  ‘Well she can be the exception.’

  Evan sighs. ‘Can you give us a sec, mate?’ Cook holds out the container of food. ‘Yes you can eat it.’

  ‘Ta,’ he says, giving me a nod and shutting the door.

  Evan leans over and tucks his fingers under his feet. ‘Sorry,’ he says, his chin on his knees.

  ‘It’s fine. Is that why you had to take off this afternoon?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s up for a couple of days.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  Evan straightens. ‘You said you didn’t want your brother to be an excuse.’

  My heart sinks. ‘I know. And you told me I could be a mess and you wouldn’t run away.’

  ‘I want you to talk to me.’

  ‘Um . . .’ I hold up my hands. ‘I just—’

  ‘I mean about the other stuff.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  ‘And Ryan . . .’ Evan closes his eyes.

  ‘I don’t want Ryan,’ I say. ‘I want you.’

  ‘Okay,’ he says.

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Can—’

  ‘Hey,’ Cook opens the door again, ‘I can’t work your microwave.’ He mouths ‘sorry’ at me.

  Evan stands and Cook disappears inside. ‘Do you want to come in?’ Evan asks, holding the door open for me.

  I take my usual stool at the breakfast bar and watch Evan work the microwave and grab Cook a fork. Cook opens the fridge and grabs a beer, which Evan takes from him and puts back.

  ‘He’d know,’ he says when Cook groans.

  Cook takes a mineral water instead and holds one up to me.

  I shake my head.

  He shrugs and hoists himself onto the bench next to the microwave.

  ‘Pete’s started a home-brew,’ he tells Evan, twisting the top off the mineral water with a hiss.

  ‘Is that what we were drinking the other night?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ He taps the front of the microwave with his index finger as if it’ll make it work faster.

  Evan pulls a face. ‘That was gross.’

  Cook laughs. ‘I know. It’s like beer water. He’s pretty pumped about it though.’

  Evan smiles, shaking his head. The microwave beeps and Cook flings the door open. He mashes the contents with a fork and sets it off again.

  The conversation drops off leaving us with the whirr of the microwave and Evan softly tapping his fingertips on the bench top. I watch the food turn, my head resting on my arm.

  Cook sings something under his breath, a slow tune that seems out of place coming from him.

  The microwave beeps and Evan grabs the food out. ‘What are we doing tonight? What do people do out here?’ Cooks asks through a mouthful of curry. ‘Bet you know what’s happening, don’t you, Lucy?’

  ‘Oh you know,’ I say, ‘could hunt roos, get pregnant, see what you can blow up. The usual.’ What does he think we do?

  Cook laughs and slops yellow sauce down the front of his shirt. ‘Ah. Crap.’ He wipes at it with a dishcloth. ‘Only brought one shirt. I’m gonna raid your wardrobe,’ he says to Evan as he walks out.

  ‘Hunting, eh?’ Evan smiles at me.

  ‘Sure,’ I make an aw shucks motion with my fis
t, ‘us country folk.’

  ‘He can be a dickhead. Sorry.’

  I shrug and stretch my arms over the breakfast bar. ‘I know you’re moving.’

  Evan pushes his hair back. ‘I was gonna tell you.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Lucy—’

  ‘I didn’t know you had one of these.’ Cook walks back in. ‘This shirt is freaking sweet.’

  I baulk at him.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ I say at the same time as Evan says, ‘That’s not mine.’

  Displayed proudly on Cook’s chest is the smoking girl in black and white.

  ‘So . . . can I wear it or not?’ He frowns at me. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Pretty sure that’s Stef’s,’ Evan says, ‘and she would kill us both if she found you in it. Belonged to some boyfriend she had.’

  ‘Steffi,’ I repeat.

  Evan narrows his eyes. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Why? What’s the big deal?’

  I lean on my elbows and press my fingers into my temples. Of course. It’s her. The girl who used to write letters to a tree. If anybody would text a dead person it’d be her.

  I took your shirt

  The one you loved.

  But I could be wrong. It could just be a coincidence. But what if I’m not?

  ‘Lucy?’

  I look back at Evan. ‘I need to find Steffi. Do you know where she is?’

  He shakes his head.

  I take my phone out and slide off the stool. ‘I’m gonna call her.’

  ‘Hey,’ Evan says as I hold my phone up looking for service, ‘wanna tell me what’s up?’

  I start to shake my head then stop. I just told him I would talk to him about this stuff.

  ‘Um . . .’ I press my phone to my chest. Evan raises his eyebrows. ‘Okay.’ I take a breath and gesture for him to follow me and we leave Cook in the kitchen.

  I tell him about taking Cam’s phone and the text messages and the artwork.

  ‘There was a poem about taking his shirt and then he draws a girl wearing that same Dinosaur Jr T-shirt and I can’t find that shirt anywhere.’

  Evan folds his arms. ‘Your brother was the boyfriend?’