The Thunderproof Sky

by Loretta Lost

  “He is nice,” I say, glancing at Cole’s handsome form with a little smile.

  “It’s going to be a small wedding,” Owen promises. “Just as small as the one in Michigan. And it’s going to be at a ski chalet in the Alps, so can you imagine how gorgeous? Even if you and Cole don’t want to socialize with everyone, it’s still a great excuse for a free romantic weekend getaway! I am really excited. Have you ever been to Switzerland?”

  “No,” I respond, chewing on my finger as I inwardly calculate something. “Hey, Owen? You said Liam’s dad is in the hospital?”

  “Yeah. And he deserves it, if you ask me. The man is a monster.”

  “Okay, thank you,” I tell him. “I just need to look at my schedule and see if I can rearrange a few things to make time this weekend.”

  “Please, please, please, text me soon!” Owen begs. “I’ll be waiting at my phone 24/7. By the way, did I tell you I’m an awesome wedding planner? It’s going to be absolutely, unequivocally awesome. I guarantee it.”

  “Sure,” I say with a laugh, ending the call. I turn to Cole, shaking my head. “What a guy!”

  “He’s kind of adorable,” Cole says. “I mean, I don’t know about this brother of yours, but he’s got a good friend at least.”

  “Can you believe Owen is also a doctor? I would have guessed kindergarten teacher.”

  “Or circus clown,” Cole suggests.

  I move to the window of the motel room and part the curtains slightly, peering out at the first rays of sunlight. A small smile touches my lips. “He’s a little naïve to decide I’m good after meeting me for three seconds, don’t you think? He believes that I’m not a basketcase.”

  Cole moves closer, sliding his arms around my waist and hugging me from behind.

  “You’re my basketcase,” he says fondly, kissing my earlobe. “And I’d love to go to Switzerland with you. We shouldn’t let all this pain stop us from living our lives. Sure, we can’t even tell him the names on our real passports, because mine belongs to a dead man, and yours belongs to that dead man’s wife, Mrs. Scarlett Hunter. But those are minor obstacles, and we have other passports. Shall we go?”

  “Maybe,” I tell him, turning to the side and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “But there’s something I need to do first. Back in the US. Will you come with me?”

  “I already told you that I’m not leaving your side again.”

  “Okay. Pack your things, Cole, we’re taking a little drive.”

  “I’m mostly already packed,” he says, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Can I get a general idea of where in the mighty United States we might be headed?”

  “A hospital in New York.”

  Chapter Two

  Cole yawns and stretches when a bump in the highway jostles him awake. “Would you like me to drive?” he asks.

  “I’m not tired,” I respond.

  “We’ve been on the road for like…” He glances at his watch. “Seven hours since the border. Are you sure you’re okay to keep going?”

  “I’m fine,” I assure him. “Besides, if we end up going to Europe, I can sleep while we cross the Atlantic.”

  “You never sleep on planes,” Cole reminds me. “You always grab a book from the gift shop and read the whole time.”

  “Sleeping is boring,” I tell him. “I’ve been sleeping so much lately.”

  “Not peacefully. You keep waking up from nightmares.”

  I am the nightmare. I don’t say this out loud, and I just keep on driving. “It’s weird driving back to New York now, knowing Benjamin is dead. I was so afraid of this place for so long...”

  “Do you remember much of growing up here?” he asks.

  “Sure. Right over there, that’s the ditch where the people we are driving to see dumped me, and I nearly froze to death. Good times.”

  “For real, Scar.”

  “I remember a lot. But I don’t remember anything good about my life, until I met you.”

  Cole reaches over to take my hand as he stares at my profile. “Are you sure you want to do this? You’ve been through a lot lately. Maybe you need some time to cool down, first?”

  “I just want to get it over with,” I tell him. “The curiosity is like an insect buzzing in my ear. I just want to look into their faces, and see who they are. Because it’s all their fault. It’s their fault Benjamin had to adopt me in the first place.”

  “What are you going to say to them?” Cole asks, but then his stomach growls loudly.

  “I don’t know,” I say with a sideways glance at him. “But I need to stop for gas soon, and maybe we can grab some food.”

  “A real meal, or just food for the road?” he asks, putting a hand over his midsection hopefully.

  “I don’t know if I can really eat until this is over,” I tell him. “My stomach is in knots.”

  “Oh, there’s a 7 Eleven up ahead!” Cole says, sitting up with excitement. “I used to love their taquitos.”

  “And nachos,” I say, nodding gravely.

  “Mmmmm, that horrible processed cheese,” Cole says with longing. “Brings back memories of college.”

  “I could really use a bathroom break,” I confess as I pull off the highway. “And more coffee.”

  “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it on the caffeine?”

  “Never.” I smile as I pull up to the gas pump, and step out of the car, but Cole exits first and moves around to insert a credit card in the machine.

  “Let me do this,” he says. “You can go inside and use the restroom.”

  I watch him for a second, rubbing my eyes, which are tired from staring at the road since we switched at the duty-free shop before the Canadian border. No one else fills up my car when I’m driving. It’s such a small act, but so gentlemanly and sweet. Plus, he looks really cool standing there in his jeans, with one leg on the raised ledge of the gas pump. I’m still not used to seeing him dressed so casually in the daytime. Before I left California, it was all business suits all the time. He looks wonderful in either, but the jeans make him look younger, and remind me of our teenage years.

  “Scar?” he says in surprise, when he notices me frozen, reluctant to move.

  I step closer, and wrap my arms around him, leaning my head on his chest while he fills up the car. “You said you wouldn’t let me go too far away,” I tell him.

  He hugs me with his free arm, kissing the top of my head. “Don’t worry,” he says, “it’s going to be fine. Whatever happens with your parents, it can’t be worse than what’s already happened.”

  “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “At least they’re alive,” he says. “At least you have a chance to confront them, and get answers at all. I would give anything to see my parents again. Even if it was just to yell at them for keeping secrets from me.”

  Raising myself to my toes, I give Cole a kiss. “Wow. When did you get so tall? I swear, this used to be less strenuous on my neck.”

  “Yeah, I had a growth spurt when I was sixteen or so,” he reminds me with a laugh. “I’ve been like this for a little while. I thought you liked it?”

  “I do—but I guess I used to wear a lot of high heels to compensate. All my good clothes and shoes are at home.”

  “At my house in California, or Zack’s house in D.C.?”

  I flinch. “Both.”

  Cole uses one arm to circle my waist and lift me onto the higher ledge of the gas station pump. “There, you’ve got a few extra inches, so that I’m less intimidating,” he says, placing a kiss playfully on my nose. Then he pauses. “Where do we go after all this?” he asks. “Where do we live?”

  “I don’t know, yet.” I hesitate. “Cole, there’s something important I need to tell you. But I’m just not ready, and I can’t bring myself to say it yet.”

  He looks at me sharply, studying my eyes for answers. “Scar,” he says with worry. “You’re scaring me. Are you pregnant?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.”

 
“Because if you ever are, you need to tell me right away, okay? No matter what happens, we deal with it together. And if we need help, we get you help—we’re not taking any chances this time. You need to tell me, Scar. Even if it was Benjamin, or Zack…”

  “I’m not pregnant,” I assure him softly, squeezing his arm. “I promise.”

  “You’re sure?” he asks, studying my face.

  “Yes. And I’ll tell you if it happens. But we should probably talk about it long before that, so it doesn’t surprise me,” I tell him with a halfhearted smile. “Now, I really need to pee. I’ll just do that really fast, and grab your junk food.”

  “Okay. I’ll join you in a sec.”

  I peel myself away from him, feeling a little guilty for how clingy I’ve been lately. But considering the circumstances, can you blame me?

  I walk into the store and past the food, glancing at the taquitos and hot dogs which are endlessly spinning on their heated metal rods. They look crispy and delicious, but I have too much nausea to eat. Soon, I tell my stomach, which has also begun to growl at me impatiently.

  As I walk to the back of the store and enter the hallway that leads to the restrooms, I see an old man exiting one of the rooms. I ignore him as he walks by me, but I catch a quick glimpse of his face.

  He is mostly bald, except for a few tufts of gray hair around his temples. His wrinkles remind me of Benjamin’s face, and I have to look away as I continue to the ladies’ room.

  “Pretty girl,” he says, just as my hand twists the doorknob.

  I freeze. My brain pulsates. My heart has an odd palpitation.

  “What did you call me?” I demand quietly, without turning around.

  “You’re a really pretty girl,” he says, again. “I don’t mean no harm by it.”

  My grip tightens on the doorknob. I turn around slowly, trying to take slow, even breaths. When I look at the man’s face, I see Benjamin’s smile staring back at me. I know it isn’t him. My hand moves up to the vertebrae on my necklace for confirmation, and I try to clear my dizzy vision as the whole hallway begins to spin.

  “How old are you?” I ask the man, trying my best to remain calm.

  “Just turned sixty-seven,” he says, almost proudly.

  “Sixty-seven,” I repeat. I find myself taking a step toward him, uncontrollably. “And you like pretty young girls?”

  “As much as the next fellow, I reckon. My wife is fat and ugly now, but looking at you just reminds me of better days.” He looks down at my body hungrily, and licks his lips.

  He actually licks his lips.

  I can’t control myself. I swear, I’m trying. But I’ve never been very good at controlling myself.

  I know there’s a lot at stake, and doing this could blow my cover. But I quickly glance around the bathroom area for security cameras, and seeing none, I lift my hand and curl my finger seductively.

  “Come here,” I tell him softly, opening the door to the ladies’ room.

  He hesitates, surprised. But of course, then he steps forward eagerly.

  I expected as much.

  I try to wait, as the bloodlust rises swiftly in my chest, but I need to be slightly smart about this. I breathe, and I wait. I wait for him to walk into the bathroom, and then I enter behind him and shut the door. I turn the taps on, just for the noise of water flowing. I also kick the lever down on the toilet, for a flush.

  “What are you—” he begins.

  In one seamless movement, I grab the man behind his neck and smash his head down on the ceramic basin of the sink. Not too hard. Just hard enough to stun him. He falls to the floor, groaning in pain, both hands clutching his head.

  I crouch down over his body, staring at him with fury in my eyes.

  “You should be more careful about calling young girls pretty, Sixty-Seven. Some of them might not enjoy being objectified.”

  He winces, looking at me in surprise. “What are you talking about? You crazy bitch! It was just a compliment. Everyone likes pretty young girls.”

  “Trust me, I know. That’s precisely the problem.” Grabbing his head, I smash it into the floor. A few times. Just until he loses consciousness.

  When he is limp and motionless, I exhale, feeling much better.

  All of a sudden, I am feeling very pretty.

  I giggle to myself.

  Noticing a pack of cigarettes sticking out of his pocket, I retrieve the small white box and the lighter he has there. I don’t even smoke, but I do like collecting trophies. Moving over to the toilet—as I still really need to pee—I lower my pants and sit down, while lighting up a cigarette.

  I puff on it casually as I relieve the contents of my bladder. I gaze at the man’s unconscious form with satisfaction, smiling contentedly. Then I pull my phone out of my pocket, and browse through Instagram for a few seconds, whistling softly to myself. Luciana has posted a picture of her most recent Starbucks latte, and I tap the heart. When I’m finished urinating, I put my phone back in my pocket, wipe, flush, then slide my pants back up.

  I move over to the man and stand over him for a second, still puffing on the cigarette.

  “It’s your lucky day,” I tell him, crouching back down, and lifting his shirt. I press the burning cigarette butt into his stomach, enjoying the stench of his sizzling skin. “I’m trying to be discreet, or else I would use this cigarette to burn down this whole gas station in a gorgeous explosion. Torch you to cinders. That would be so amazing, don’t you think?” I sigh in disappointment, tossing the cigarette to the floor near his fingers. “I know exactly the type of person you are, Sixty-Seven. You probably deserve even worse.”

  Stepping over him, I pump some soap into my hands and wash them. Then I grab a paper towel to dry off, and use it to grasp the dirty door handle. After pulling the door open, I toss the napkin into the trash.

  “Shhhh,” I whisper to the unconscious man, bringing a finger to my lips coyly as I slide out of the room. “Cole doesn’t know who I am. Can you keep a secret?”

  Moving back into the store, where music is playing and customers are shopping, I whistle softly to myself again. Cole is already at the cash register, ordering his taquitos and other miscellaneous junk food for the rest of our drive.

  “Did you want anything else?” he asks me, when I move to his side. He points at the counter. “I got your coffee.”

  “You’re my knight in shining armor,” I tell him, placing a hand over my heart. “Coffee is all I need to survive.”

  He smiles. “Are you okay? You smell like smoke.”

  “I know! Hey,” I say, leaning in to speak to the store clerk. “There was this weird old guy smoking by the bathrooms—he seemed drunk or something, just stumbling around. I think I heard a noise, and I’m a little worried he fell and bumped his head. You should probably send someone in there to check on him.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine!” the clerk says. Then she lowers her voice and makes a face. “People do all kinds of odd things in gas station bathrooms. I’ll check on him in a bit, if he doesn’t come out. But I really don’t want to walk in on anything too disturbing.”

  “Okay!” I say with a laugh, grabbing my coffee off the counter. “Have a good day.”

  “Should I drive?” Cole asks.

  “No need. We’re almost there, and I have coffee. You enjoy your taquitos.”

  “Okay, Scar,” he says with puzzlement. “It’s nice to see you in such a good mood.”

  “Black gold,” I tell him, lifting my paper cup as we exit the store and walk to the car. “I have the holy nectar of the magic bean, and I have you. What more do I need?”

  “You haven’t been this energized in a while,” Cole says with a smile, as we get into the car.

  “I’ve just been asleep for so long,” I explain. “Especially after everything that happened. I was so exhausted and drained, I couldn’t get out of bed for ages. It feels like I spent months, or years sleeping, and I’m waking up for the first time in my whole life. It feels so goo
d to be awake, Cole. And I’m alive aren’t I? For a while there, I thought I wouldn’t be. And just look at that beautiful, grey sky,” I say, turning my key in the ignition and gesturing upward. My eyes drift gratefully over the boring expanse of gloomy cloud cover that no one would ever put on a postcard, ever.

  “You’re just a little bit insane,” he says fondly, as I drive back onto the highway. He grins and begins stuffing his face with a jalapeno and cream cheese taquito—his favorite.

  “It’s just such a beautiful day to be alive,” I tell him, as I dig my foot into the gas pedal. “And to be here with you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

  Chapter Three

  As we drive into New York City, the sighing begins.

  I know that sigh.

  Cole is staring at the buildings. I can almost see his fingers twitch with the longing to sketch something. I glance up at the skyline, and back at the expression on his face. He still looks like a mesmerized schoolboy, who has just hit puberty for the first time, and is gazing upon Aphrodite—or at least Selena Gomez. I can’t help feeling a little jealous.

  I have always known that I am not the only love of his life.

  “It’s stunning,” he says breathlessly. “This city gets me every time. Every single time. I wish—well, I did great on the west coast. And internationally. But there’s just something about New York, you know?”

  I swallow, feeling guilty. “Do you regret faking your death? Do you miss architecture?”

  He hesitates. “I have been keeping in touch with Miranda, and the company seems to be doing fine—or mostly fine—without me. I suppose I could still design some things, from the sidelines. For fun. But I’m not sure it will ever be the same. I was really proud of what we accomplished, Scar. I did my best work when you were there, by my side. I miss those days.”

  I nod, although technically, I wasn’t the person beside him during those days. I was on the sidelines then, a distant observer in my own body. I was only there beside him during those nights, or rarely, when there was too much danger or stress. I wonder if he’d be disappointed if he knew who I really am.