In the Shadow of Satellites

by Dick, Amanda

  He caresses my hand, but it still takes me several moments to look up. Before I do, I take a shaky breath to try and steady myself. As soon as our eyes meet I want to look away again, but it’s too late. He’s seen me. He’s seen what I’ve been trying so hard to hide from everyone.

  “I’m not a people person,” I say. “I don’t trust easily. When Kieran was born, it was hard for me to do the whole mother’s group thing because I just didn’t feel like I had anything in common with the other mums. We had kids, but that’s where the similarities ended. James guided me through that. He gave me the confidence to be myself, to be his wife, to be Kieran’s mother. Now, I don’t really know who I am.”

  His face is cloaked in sorrow – for me, maybe for us – I don’t know. I desperately want him to speak, to tell me who I’m supposed to be, because he seems like he’s got all the answers, but he takes his time. His eyes burn into me, through me, and his hand holds mine steady. For the first time, I stay here, with him, instead of falling head-first into the pit of despair I seem to be continually one step away from.

  When he finally does speak, his voice is low, controlled and thoughtful.

  “You’re you. You’ll always be you, regardless of titles. Son, daughter, husband, wife, mother, father, sister, brother, friend – we’re all the result of everyone we’ve ever loved, been loved by or learned from – all of us, every single one. James and Kieran are part of you. What you learned from them, the love you gave them and received in return, that’s part of you too. It always will be. It’s their legacy to you.”

  His words reverberate inside my head, searching nooks and crannies inside my brain, finding a home, hopefully one far away from the black hole. I want to remember this forever. I want to rely on it, to trust it, when I can rely on or trust nothing else. He speaks to my heart and my soul, but it’s my brain that holds the key.

  I know now why he wanted to take things slow. I need time to adjust, and he knew that even before I did.

  “I just broke rule number one, didn’t I?” I say, sniffing back tears and trying to smile.

  He frowns.

  “Talking about your old boyfriend with your new one,” I clarify.

  “You can talk about them anytime,” he smiles, his face softening. “And is that what I am? I guess it is.”

  I blush. I can’t help it. I feel like a teenager again, and woefully inadequate. I never made a great job of being a teenager the first time around. He leans forward, and I know he’s going to kiss me. I look forward to it, but also, I feel like he’s using it as a distraction. I back off when his lips are nearly on mine. It kills me more than it kills him.

  “Not so fast, mister,” I say, trying harder to smile, to keep the sadness at bay for just a little longer. Maybe it’s not him who needs distracting. “We were talking about family, remember? Your turn.”

  He cocks his head, backing away again. There’s a glint in his eye, of amusement, I think.

  “We were?”

  “Siblings; one – Sara, two years younger. Continue,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Your parents?”

  His lips tilt up into the familiar crooked smile and he nods, allowing me the victory.

  “Two; one father, one mother.”

  I try to let go of his hand so I can give him a playful slap, but he knows and he holds on tighter, grinning.

  “Sorry. My Mom, Tina, she’s a school teacher. My Dad, Burt, owns a hardware store. They’re good people.”

  I nod, taking all this in. Then the penny drops.

  “Wait – Burt Lancaster? Like the movie star?”

  “Yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “I know. So does he. He’s heard that his whole life, believe me.”

  “Is he devastatingly handsome, like the actor?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure he’d say he was just like the actor. He doesn’t suffer from lack of confidence, my Dad.”

  “Must run in the family,” I smile.

  “What, the confidence thing, or the devastatingly handsome thing?”

  I want to say both, but I’m suddenly shy. I just shake my head as he squeezes my hand again, putting his beer bottle down beside him. I do the same, because I don’t know what he has in mind and I want to be ready.

  “So,” I say nervously. “I’ve told you about James. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Oh, so we’re doing that are we?”

  “No time like the present. How many women are we talking about here?”

  He pretends to count off in his head, his lips moving with silent numbers as he stares off above my head. I laugh, giving him a shove, and he chuckles, coming back to me again.

  “Two,” he says, his smile fading. “Just two.”

  “Wives?”

  “Girlfriends.”

  My heart leaps. I don’t even know why. That’s a lie. Yes I do. It’s relief.

  “What were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know. More, I suppose. Actually, a lot more.”

  No point lying about it. He looks surprised, then his smile widens.

  “Oh come on,” I say, justifying myself. “I mean, you… you’re… I mean, you’re not exactly… “

  Oh God, now I can’t even string two words together. He seems to be enjoying my discomfort. I want to say that he’s gorgeous, that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had a hundred girlfriends, not to mention a wife.

  “What I mean is,” I say, trying to recover, “You’re older than I am, and I thought you’d have more of a… history.”

  He nods, trying to temper his amusement for my benefit.

  “Well, when I say two, I mean there are two women who I consider to have been serious relationships. Neither of which I married, you’ll note. And before you ask why not, the timing was never right. There was no way I was going to leave a wife behind worrying about whether I was going to come home or not, putting their life on hold until my deployment was over. That’s not me. I’ve seen what that does to people.”

  All trace of amusement is gone now, and he’s deadly serious. He’s talking specifics, I can see by the look on his face. He’s not quoting statistics. This is personal.

  “Who?” I ask tentatively.

  He evaluates me, searching deep into my eyes in absolute silence. He’s either wondering if he can trust me or wondering if he’s strong enough to tell me, I’m not sure which.

  “Sara,” he says finally.

  “Your sister Sara?”

  He nods, a brief affirmation.

  “What happened?”

  A shadow passes over his face, and I wish I’d just kept my mouth shut. This isn’t something he wants to discuss. I can see the temptation to get up, to get out, cloud his features. He tenses, his whole body tightening. I squeeze his hand in reply, silently letting him know that it’s okay.

  “Tony was my brother-in-law.”

  His voice is low, measured, controlled. He’s keeping it that way, and it takes some effort. My head spins. Tony, who was killed in the same explosion that left him with those horrific burns.

  “I introduced him to Sara, they hit it off. They got married within the year.” He takes a deep breath, wincing as if it causes him physical pain. “And now she’s a widow, bringing up Danielle by herself.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His eyes glaze over and he stares blankly somewhere over my right shoulder. I’m not the only one who zones out occasionally. I let him go, because sometimes you need time to compose yourself. I hold his hand, because sometimes you just need to know that when you’re ready to come back, there’s someone there, waiting for you. I don’t speak, because sometimes there just aren’t words.

  Chapter 23

  We stay up till the wee hours, talking. Luke is much, much more than I’d imagined he would be. He draws things out of me that I never thought I’d ever tell another living soul, especially one I’d only known for a matter of weeks. There is laughter, and a few tears, mostly from me. He’s still holding back, and I can’t blame him for that. It hurts, d
redging these things up. It’s not something you do willingly. Besides, we have time on our side. The world will wait. For now, it’s just us. We make the rules.

  It’s my idea for him to stay over. We’re both so tired, we’re almost falling asleep in our chairs, and they’re not built for sleeping in.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say, squeezing his hand. “It’s kinda crazy.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” he smiles. “But I’d need to know what the question is first.”

  “Will you stay here tonight, with me?”

  His smile fades, and he studies me, assessing the situation in a heartbeat.

  “If that’s what you want,” he says earnestly. “But only if I can sleep on your couch.”

  I don’t want him on the couch. I want him beside me, in my bed. I want to feel his body next to mine, warm and strong. I want him to keep the demons away, just for tonight. I’m not ready to say goodbye to him yet.

  “That couch is half your size,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “There’s a spare bed –”

  “No, the couch is fine.”

  My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and I lower my head so he can’t see, nodding to hide my embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, as if he’s the one who’s embarrassed. “I just can’t.”

  “We could sleep under the stars again? On a blanket, like the last time?”

  I’m desperate, and I hate myself for it, but I’m just not ready to be separated from him yet, not after everything that’s happened tonight. The old wounds have been opened up again, and I know they’re not going to close up on their own. It feels like I’ve taken two steps forward, only to take three steps back.

  He lays his hand over my hair, gently squeezing the back of my neck.

  “I just don’t trust myself to be so close to you right now,” he says gently. “We’re taking it slow, remember? The couch is safer, honestly.”

  He means it, and I can hear it in his voice, the same gravitational pull I’m feeling. It softens the blow, and I look up at him.

  “Okay.”

  He nods, as if that settles it, and we let go of each other. I stand up, stretching. It feels as if we’ve been here for days, not hours. Geezer has long since abandoned us, sleeping on the deck by the door. Luke follows my lead, yawning and stretching. It makes him look young, and vulnerable, and I have to stop myself from just stepping straight into his arms. I just want to hold him, and for him to hold me.

  “What?” he asks blearily.

  I shake my head.

  “Nothing.”

  “You had this weird look on your face.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  I roll my eyes and start to walk away, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back into his arms. Looking up at him, I remind myself that he’s a virtual stranger and we’re taking it slow.

  “I just want you to know that I’m here,” he says. “If you need me, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He’s looking at me with such intensity that I can barely remember my own name. I recall the first time we met, and how the feeling was so similar to this. Was that a sign? Is this? God, I’m so over signs. I just don’t know anything anymore.

  I want to say ‘what if I don’t need you?’ but I don’t bother. It’s a lie and I think we both know that now. I have no idea when it happened, or why, but I do need him. The question is, do I need him for the right reasons? Is he filling the hole left by James and Kieran, or is this something else? It’s impossible to tell, and I feel wholly unqualified to make that decision. I feel like I’m floating above myself, looking down on us, and I’m watching and waiting for something to happen.

  Then something does. He reaches up and gently touches his thumb to my chin, his eyes delving into my soul. They shine out from his face, lit from within by something I recognised a long time ago as desire.

  I hold my breath, because I can’t breathe properly when he looks at me like that. It’s like he’s squeezing my insides and everything goes haywire. Then his lips are on mine and I close my eyes, surrendering to him. He’s so much taller than I am, he surrounds me when we kiss, and I can barely tell where I end and he begins. When he releases me, my head is spinning.

  “We should get some sleep,” he says huskily, his eyes still holding me even if his arms are not.

  I try to draw myself up straight, hiding the fact that my knees are weak and my heart is racing.

  “Yeah. Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  I back away slowly, afraid to take my eyes off him in case he disappears. Then he smiles at me, because he knows. Of course he does. I smile back, my cheeks hot.

  “G’night,” I say.

  “Night.”

  And then I make myself turn away and walk through into my bedroom. I stand there for a moment, wondering whether to close the door or not. It feels rude, locking him out when I’ve asked him to stay, but I need to get ready for bed. So I compromise, pushing the door shut but not latching it, then quickly change into a t-shirt and pyjama shorts. I sit on my bed, listening to him in the living room as he talks quietly under his breath to Geezer. The couch creaks gently, and I can hear him fluffing pillows. There’s one of Nanna’s knitted rugs on the back of the couch if he needs it, so I know he’ll probably be okay. I creep across the floor and turn off the light, then pull the door open just a bit. It’s ridiculous, but it makes me feel closer to him. Climbing into bed, I hunker down beneath the sky-coloured cotton sheet and wait for sleep to come.

  ***

  “Mumma!”

  Kieran’s cry pierces my dreams, razor sharp. I bolt upright, listening for him. My heart races. He cries, sobs his little heart out, and it rips me apart.

  “Kieran?” I call, throwing off the sheet and climbing out of bed. “Where are you baby? Mumma’s coming!”

  His cries echo through the cottage, but standing in the middle of my bedroom, I can’t tell where they’re coming from. My pounding heart forces my ribs to expand with every beat, as the sobbing continues. Where the hell is he? As his cries get louder, I feel the panic blooming inside me. I need to find him. He needs me to find him.

  “Kieran!”

  I race through the cottage, checking each of the small rooms. He’s nowhere, but he’s everywhere because I can hear him, I just can’t find him.

  “Sian, stop.”

  Luke’s voice. Luke’s arms around me. I look up at him, but it’s like I’m looking through a thick fog.

  “Kieran,” I say urgently. “Can’t you hear him? I can’t find him.”

  He pulls me close, but I struggle against him, trying to push him away. I don’t have time for this. Kieran needs me.

  “Sian, stop,” he says again, holding me tight. “It’s just a dream. It’s only a dream.”

  I push him away, my heart exploding. What’s he talking about?

  Then it happens. The crying dies away. Reality seeps in through the cracks in my brain, peeking under the door, before flooding me with light so bright that I cringe, shying away from it.

  “What?” I whimper, drawing in on myself.

  But it’s too late. I already know he’s right.

  “It’s just a dream.”

  He pulls me close, and I can’t stop the trembling that takes my entire body hostage. He holds me up – literally – as I struggle to deal with the fresh wave of grief that threatens to suck me under.

  “Sit with me,” he whispers, pulling me gently down onto the couch beside him, his arms still around me.

  I try to stop the whimpering from becoming a full-blown sob, but it’s impossible. It’s like holding back a waterfall with your finger. It rushes in on me, pulling me under, making it difficult to breathe. I feel like I’m drowning, gasping for breath between sobs that tear me apart, piece by ragged piece.

  He doesn’t say anything. He just holds me in his arms, his chin resting on top of my head, kee
ping my broken pieces together by sheer physical exertion. All I can do is sit there until finally, I can wrap my arms around him in return. It takes every last ounce of strength I have.

  Eventually, the tears dry up and somehow, that’s worse. How can I run out of tears for my baby boy? What kind of mother am I?

  Luke eases us both up off the couch, whispering something that I don’t hear because of the guilt that races through my bloodstream like a drug, feeding off itself, hollowing me out. He urges me into bed, climbing in beside me, and we lean back against the pillows. He wraps himself around me, his long arms pulling me close as I curl into his side, seeking his warmth, his comfort, pulling my knees up and resting them on his thighs. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to ever move from this spot.

  I fall asleep eventually, dreams eluding me this time. For that, I’m grateful. I don’t want to dream anymore. My heart can handle it no more than my brain can. Both are full of holes, leaking memories. I’m bursting at the seams and the only thing keeping me together at this moment is Luke, wrapping himself around me, holding me tight.

  ***

  When I wake, I notice three things, almost simultaneously.

  It’s still dark.

  My throat hurts.

  I’m alone.

  The bed feels empty again and my soul shudders. It felt so full last night, with Luke here beside me. Now I’m alone again and it feels worse than before. I sit up, my body aching from being curled up beside him all night. I don’t remember him leaving. I glance around the room, reacquainting myself.

  That’s when I see him.

  He’s lying on the floor, near the door, which is still open because last night we had more on our minds than whether or not to keep the door open. He’s on his side, his head resting on his arm, which is curled under his head. At first, I’m confused, but then the memory comes back to me through the fog.

  “I can’t sleep in a bed. I’ve tried, but I can’t. I always wake up on the floor.”

  Curled up on my bedroom floor, he doesn’t look like the rock he was to me last night. He looks smaller, somehow. The air of vulnerability that I rarely see surrounding him is suddenly neon. He battles demons just like I do, only he does it silently.