Clipped Wings (12 page)

“Thanks.”

She walked past me and deposited the wine on the counter. While I rooted around in the silverware drawer for the bottle opener I never used, she checked out the contents of my living room.

“You have a lot of books,” she noted, trailing the spines with a manicured nail. She lifted a work of fiction from the shelf, scanned the cover and put it back, then picked up another.

“I like to read,” I offered by way of explanation.

“Kind of figured that.” She gave me a wry smile. “So . . . no boyfriend?”

I shook my head, popped the cork, and poured two glasses of red.

“Girlfriend?”

That got my attention. “Uh, no. Why?”

“Just curious, you never know.” She pursed her lips in thought as I handed her a glass of wine. “Fuck buddy?”

“Pardon?”

“You know, a booty call. Someone you default to when your battery-operated friends aren’t quite sufficient.”

I was glad I hadn’t taken a sip of wine yet, because I would have sprayed it all over her. Hayden immediately came to mind, but I didn’t want him in a casual way. I kept that to myself. “No. There’s no one.”

Sarah sat on the couch, pensive. I dropped down at the other end and cupped the glass in my hands, waiting for her to go on.

“But you want there to be?” she asked.

“I’ve got too much stuff going on. I don’t need to add relationship drama to the mix.”

“So there
is
someone you’re into,” she pressed.

“It’s not you if that’s what you’re wondering,” I said snarkily, veering the topic in a different direction, away from Hayden. My feelings surrounding him were too discordant to talk about. More so after the call from Trey.

“I wasn’t, but I appreciate you letting me know.”

“You’re the one who asked if I had a girlfriend,” I said defensively. I couldn’t tell if she was serious.

“It seemed like a valid question.” She sipped her wine to hide her grin. I tossed a pillow at her. She deflected it with her arm. “Anyway, I get not wanting relationship drama. There’s this guy who keeps coming to my work and asking me out. It’s frustrating.”

“He’s not your type?”

“No. Well, yes, actually. He’s totally my type, which is the problem. Where I work, it’s . . .” She made a face and shook her head. “Anyway, he’s got a reputation, hangs out with some unsavory characters. He’s always so nice to me, but the red flags are there, ya know?”

I did. My red flag worked across the street. “So tell him you’re not interested.”

“I have, but he keeps coming back. He’ll give up eventually, I guess.”

“Maybe.”

We lapsed into silence for a moment. Her smile dropped, and she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You know how you told me you have bad dreams?”

I nodded.

“Do you have them a lot?”

“Why?”

“I know we don’t know each other all that well, but maybe you want to tell me about them?” she asked, her tone gentle, prompting. When I didn’t respond right away, she pressed on. “Lord knows they have to be pretty damn bad for you to scream the way you do in your sleep.”

The mood in the room went from light to serious. I felt ill. The worry she might hear me had been justified. My embarrassment was tempered with relief. Despite the inner turmoil, I wanted to tell someone, unload some of the burden.

“It’s okay. Whatever it is, you can talk about it,” she said.

“I liked the other topic better.”

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

I sighed heavily, unsure whether this would split the wound wide open or give me a modicum of peace. I wanted it to be the latter, but I feared the former. The events that brought me here couldn’t be undone. Up until now, sharing them seemed more torturous than helpful. Things had changed, though. I had changed. Living in Arden Hills in the aftermath of the crash had been difficult. I’d shut down as a protective measure. Allowing my pain a voice meant acknowledging my reality.

The shock of loss kept me blissfully numb for a while. I felt like I was submerged in a pool of thick, viscous liquid, viewing the events from below the surface. Nothing was clear, nothing felt right. In fact, I barely felt anything at all. I lived in a perpetual void, waiting for the numbness to wear off.

And now I sat in my living room with a person who listened to me scream bloody murder at night, and I was debating whether I should tell her about the event that had changed the course of my life. I wanted absolution for my transgressions.

In a moment of weakness I flipped my laptop open. Showing Sarah would be easier than telling her, and I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. I needed someone to know, and Sarah was safe. I could reveal only as much as was necessary for her to understand. It took seconds for pages of articles detailing the crash to pop up on the screen:

“Plane Crashes Near West Coast: Only Thirteen Survivors”

I clicked the link. The grainy image that accompanied the article spoke to the devastation. The plane had crumpled like an accordion in an almost cartoonish way. The external destruction had paled in comparison to what had happened on the inside. I turned the monitor toward Sarah, and her curiosity changed to horror. When her eyes welled with tears, I looked away. I couldn’t handle her pity.

She scrolled down the screen, one hand over her mouth, the other clicking furiously as she scanned the article. At the bottom of the page was a link to related articles. I tapped the screen and she paused on one titled “Tragic Love Story Follows Crash.” I stared into my glass, unable to read along with her.

There was silence for a few minutes while she read the article. “You were on your way to your own wedding?”

“I didn’t want a big fuss, you know?” I thought back to when I proposed the idea, spinning it so Connor would agree. I manipulated him, like Trey said. He just wanted a ring on my finger; the location was a means to an end. “Connor didn’t care either way. His parents were happy to go away somewhere. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Bitterness crept into my words; emotional exhaustion weighed me down.

“It was only going to be our close friends and family. I would have been happy going to town hall to sign the papers, but our mothers would never have gone for that. A destination wedding seemed like the perfect compromise . . . more of a family vacation than anything else, really. We’d known each other since we were kids. All our friends were connected. Being with him made sense.” I missed the simplicity, the ease with which life had moved forward when Connor had been in it. That disappeared with him. All the relief I hoped to find in telling someone the truth of my past didn’t come. Instead, I felt worse, omitting the most shameful element of the story: my selfishness.

“One of the engines blew and the pilot couldn’t recover control. The only survivors were the people at the front of the plane. Some of the crew and a few passengers made it out alive. Connor had been in back, in the bathroom, when we went down. I was alone.”

Sarah looked stunned.

“We could have had something small at home . . .” I closed my eyes, afraid to disclose the fears that plagued me.

“You know it’s not your fault, right? You couldn’t have known what would happen.” Sarah’s hand settled on top of mine.

I forced a smile, feeling raw. It
was
my fault.

When he asked me to marry him, it never occurred to me to say anything but yes, even though I had reservations. He was such a constant in my life, and we’d been so close for so long, that I couldn’t fathom changing things. I was comfortable in the security of Connor’s love, so when we went through a rough patch right before he proposed, I was afraid to be honest with him because I didn’t want to risk losing him completely. If I had expressed my uncertainties—maybe put things on hold until we’d both been ready—I might have still had my family. Connor might have been hurt by the truth, but I could have lived with that. My inaction had been selfish and spineless. And my fear of being alone had come to fruition anyway.

“It must have been awful.”

There was no way to reconcile with the horror of plummeting from the sky, surrounded by terrified people while spiraling toward imminent death. Only mine hadn’t come. I told the only truth I could. “I survived.”

I hadn’t seen my life flash before my eyes. It had been the couple across the aisle, gripping each other’s hands tightly, that had captured and held my attention. Their love for each other had been so transparent. As the plane had gone down, I’d been overwhelmed by an aching sadness because I would never know that. Even if Connor had been beside me, I would have essentially been alone. We’d never had that kind of connection, and it had hurt to realize that in what I’d thought were my final moments.

Against all odds, I lived and everyone else was gone.

I shut the laptop and went to the kitchen to get the wine.

“To survival,” Sarah said sadly, clinking her glass against mine after I filled them. She gulped down the contents and poured another immediately. I followed her lead.

* * *

The air was acrid with the smell of burning fuel, fabric, plastic, and another sickly sweet odor. I wretched.

Stabbing pain shot through my pelvis and down my leg, making my whole body ache when I moved. It was impossible to focus on anything outside of the physical agony.

I turned my head toward the couple seated across from me. Through the smoke I could see the shallow rise and fall of the man’s chest. Overhead compartments lay wide open; personal belongings vomited violently about the cabin. The oxygen masks hung like victims of mass suicide, swaying slightly in a breeze that should not exist within the confined space.

The plane had crashed.
And I was alive. I needed to get out. With shaky, uncoordinated fingers I unclasped the seat belt. My body felt leaden as I hoisted myself up and stumbled awkwardly to the couple across the aisle. My right leg wasn’t working right. Pain radiated through me, robbing me of vision, but I had to move. Death was everywhere.

Gently, I shook the man’s shoulder. He moaned before he opened his eyes and turned to his wife.

“Muriel?”

She was bone white, her eyes closed, chest still.
He ran a finger over her cheek.

“Sir, we have to get off the plane,” I said softly and tugged on his arm.

He shook his head. “I’m staying.” Though he was breathing, his eyes were dead. He was already a ghost.

I stumbled away, passing from the safety of the first-class cabin into the chaos and destruction that made up coach. There was so much blood.
I gagged on the smell of burning flesh and freshly spilled life. My stomach heaved, and the contents spilled out into the aisle in front of me.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the horrific scene before me, passengers broken and trapped between collapsed seats. Bodies were strewn about in haphazard disarray, limbs bent at unnatural angles.

And then I saw him, contorted impossibly.
Connor.

I could hear my own breath coming fast and shallow in time with the rapid beat of my shattered heart.
There were no sounds of life, no cries for help, just eerie quiet. I knelt before his broken body, the pain in my own all but forgotten.

I lifted the arm he’d thrown over his head.
And then the screaming began, because the high cheekbones and wide smile were no longer the way I remembered.
Half of Connor’s face was crushed.

* * *

I woke in a cold sweat, screaming into my pillow.

Telling Sarah had not acted like a salve at all. It had torn the wound wide open, and now I was bleeding guilt and anguish with no idea how to stanch the flow.

Friday sucked ass. I had back-to-back appointments all day long. Nate stopped by with his design ideas, but I didn’t have enough time between clients to go over them with him. I promised him we’d do lunch so we could catch up and start planning. I didn’t even have five minutes to run across the street to buy a damn coffee and see Tenley.

As a result I spent the day on fixation overload. I couldn’t stop thinking about Tenley and her tattoo. It was a vicious cycle. At first I would think about the alterations I already made to the design, and then I considered its placement on her back. From there it would spiral out of control, because I started contemplating how I would deal with being around her when she was topless. That kind of thinking invited images of her fully naked. Like I said, vicious cycle. Thank Christ for boxer briefs that kept things in place and shirts that concealed.

Tenley had already disappeared into her apartment by the time I finished with my last client, so I took Jamie up on his invitation to come by his place for a beer. I needed the unwind time, and I wanted to avoid the bar scene. Lisa had gone out with friends and wouldn’t be home until later. Chris decided to come along, rather than engage in yet another evening of try-and-score-with-the-waitress. Apparently he hadn’t made much headway since we were last there. I didn’t comment, since there was still residual tension between us after my confrontation with Damen and Sienna.