In the Shadow of Satellites (23 page)

This is the kiss that changes everything.

Time is immaterial. I am immune to everything, even the laws of nature. All I know is that I’m in his arms and he’s in mine, and we are linked by more than just shared tragedy or grief. Every cell in my body is alive, but more than that, it’s
living
. I know the difference between the two. I’ve been pretending to be one thing while craving the other for so long now. My hands explore his back and shoulders the way my eyes have yet to do. I can feel the heat of his body beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and I want to take it off. I need to feel every inch of him against me. I push at the hem, forcing it upwards, but he stops me with a hand on mine, breaking our connection to speak.

“Not yet,” he whispers, his breath caressing my face. “Let’s take this slow.”

My heart pulses through my body as I struggle to maintain some form of self-control.

“Okay?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my face to look down at me.

I nod, but I’m not sure I agree. I don’t want this to end. After spending the last year and a half feeling like I was stuck in a dream, this is the only thing that feels real.

We’ve managed to keep our hands off each other since we got back to the cottage, but it’s no easy feat. Luke’s suggestion to take it slow felt like a rejection at first, but I know now that it was for my benefit, not his. He’s right. We shouldn’t rush this. It’s too precious, too fragile.

He stays for dinner and it’s the best meal I’ve had for a long time. Not because of the food, but because of the way he looks at me while we eat it. I watch him when he thinks I’m not, and I can feel his eyes on me when I turn my back. The air is heavy with anticipation. It practically taunts us, but he’s strong where I’m weak. I can’t stop thinking about him. I have a million questions for him, because it’s dawned on me over the past few hours that I know very little about him. I realise this is probably a conscious decision on his part, that he’s a private person, but I want to ask them all anyway. I’m torn between keeping him at arm’s length and pulling him closer. It’s a strange, brittle tightrope that I’m not sure I’m qualified to navigate.

We find ourselves out on the deck after dinner, Luke with a beer, me nursing a glass of wine. I thought the alcohol might help, but now I’m afraid to drink it in case it unbalances our precarious situation.

Looking out over the lake as the sun falls from the sky, Luke reaches over to take hold of my hand. It’s the first time we’ve touched, purposefully, since we kissed earlier. I look over at him to find he’s looking at me. Not covertly this time, either. His gaze wanders upwards, over my hair, my cheeks, my lips, before finally coming to rest on my eyes. It’s as if he’s reaching down into my soul, and I hold my breath, waiting. He’s silent and still, not moving an inch except to caress my fingers in his. I look down at them, entwined together, because the heat coming from his eyes is melting my insides.

His hand is so much larger, it practically swallows mine whole. His fingers are long, his fingernails clipped and neat, his skin tanned, making mine look almost transparent. I can feel the callouses on the base of his fingers, presumably from wielding a hammer. The veins on the back of his hands stand out markedly against his skin and I want to caress them, to run my fingertips over them, but I have a glass of wine in my other hand and putting it down would mean moving. I don’t think I can do that right now. Breathing is challenging enough. I look up, but he’s looking at our hands too. I watch his face as his fingers familiarise themselves with mine.

“Your hands are tiny,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

“No, they’re normal-sized. It’s because yours are so bloody big, you make me look like a midget.”

He glances up, smiling.

“Okay. There might be something in that.”

I smile back at him because when he looks at me like that, I can’t really help it.

“Do you have brothers, or sisters? Or both?” I ask.

His smile widens.

“That’s kinda random.”

“I suppose it is. I was just thinking that I don’t really know very much about you.”

He nods, as if that’s a satisfactory explanation.

“I have a sister, Sara.”

“Really? Older, or younger?”

“Younger, by two years. What about you?”

I shake my head.

“None that I know of.”

“That you know of?”

There’s a shift in his expression, and I prepare myself.

“I never knew my father, and my mother dumped me on my grandparents when I was four. They brought me up. Probably for the best.”

He’s been playing with my fingers until now, but he takes my hand in his and squeezes, holding it still.

“Wow. Did you see much of her after that, your Mom I mean?”

“No. I’ve never seen her since.”

“That’s… wow. I can’t really understand how someone could do that. Do you remember her at all?”

“Not really. Flashes, here and there, but I was pretty young. She didn’t show up for either of their funerals, which didn’t surprise anyone. She had some… issues, from what I was told. She wasn’t exactly young when she had me. Wasn’t exactly stable, either.”

“Were you close to your grandparents?”

“Yeah, very. They were like this perfect couple, and they tried so hard to do everything right for me. When Pop died, I was only seventeen. Nanna kind of gave up after that. She died six months after him, almost to the day.”

“That must’ve been rough.”

He didn’t know the half of it. I was so empty when I met James. He filled me.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I know he means it. “When did you meet James?”

I take a deep breath, because he’s way too intuitive for me to be completely comfortable with this.

“About two weeks before my eighteenth birthday.”

He’s waiting for me and I know I should explain, but it’s not that easy when my throat is starting to close up.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to do this right now.”

I nod, taking a shaky breath. He’s right, we don’t, but it also feels like this is some kind of turning point, and if I don’t tell him now, I’m missing an opportunity that I might regret later. Plus, I have so many questions for him. I can’t ask him any of them if I don’t show that I’m willing to answer his.

“Before I met him,” I begin, hoping my resolve will strengthen if I just get this over with, “I was kind of a loner. I didn’t really have friends, except Ana. She’s the only one I trusted.”

“You were at school together, right?”

“Yeah. I was the weird kid who didn’t say much. She was the school rebel. We didn’t really have much in common, but somehow we just clicked.”

He nods, and I wonder what he’s thinking because for once, he’s not giving anything away. Regardless, I push on before I lose my nerve.

“I met James when Ana and I were having a quiet drink one night at this pub in town. She struck up a conversation with him and his friend at the bar, and then brought them back to our table. We weren’t even supposed to be in there because we were under-age, but they kept buying us drinks.”

My heart aches. I’ve thought about that night so often over the past year. I’ve written about it, too. Part of me wishes I was back there, just to have the last few years in front of us to live all over again, but I know that that will never be enough. I’ll know the end is coming.

“We were pretty much inseparable after that,” I murmur, my gaze falling as the memories sit on my chest. “Apart from Ana, James was the only person who I felt truly understood me. When he died, I felt like I’d been abandoned all over again. It was like I lost a part of myself. I’m not sure I’ll ever get that back.”

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.