In the Shadow of Satellites (25 page)

The solemnity disintegrates into a tentative, encouraging smile, with a hint of defiance.

I smile back, nodding. I’ll take that.

He seems content with himself, and disappears, Geezer hot on his heels. I turn my attention back to making coffee, which helps to distract me from thinking about how it feels to be held by him, to be kissed by him, to sleep beside him, and to have him right there, ready to jump in and slay the dragon – both real and imaginary – on my behalf. For the first time in such a long time, I feel like today could be different. Everything could be different.

By the time Luke and Geezer return, I’ve tidied myself up a little bit. I’ve brushed my hair, tied it up into a high ponytail and changed into shorts and a t-shirt, even washed my face.

I take both cups of coffee out onto the deck and settle into one of the chairs, putting his on the arm of the other chair. I spy him as he emerges from the trees, Geezer bounding in front of him, tail wagging. He looks up and smiles, and it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. His strides are long and even. Given how tall he is, he never looks gangly or uncomfortable. His hair glistens in the morning sun, the tips almost aglow, the natural wave making it all look so effortless. He’s not even trying, and he’s so damn incredible to watch, I feel dowdy and unworthy in comparison. And lucky. So very lucky.

Physically, he and James couldn’t have been more different. James was a few inches shorter, with the body of a swimmer – broad shoulders, narrow hips. He had a business-like, methodical approach to everything, even things as simple as walking. I was always struggling to keep up with him. Luke is more like a tower. His shoulders and hips are almost the same width, and he has powerful arms to balance them out. Like James, he is perfectly proportioned. He looks comfortable but not cocky. The way he walks, the way he carries himself, the way he looks at you in the eye when he speaks, it all screams confidence. And although I like all of that, I really like the way he slows his long stride when we walk together. He never makes me feel inadequate, despite what I do or say, or who I am.

It makes me wonder what kind of soldier he was. I can imagine him being someone respected, someone cool in a crisis, someone to turn to when things got out of control. It scares me to think of what scares him enough to make him sleep on the floor. I know nothing of war. I’ve never been there, I don’t know what kind of effect it has on the human psyche, that environment, that kind of fear, that kind of day-to-day survival of mind, body and soul. He’s seen so much more fear and suffering than I have, than I ever will.

Geezer reaches me first, with Luke right behind him, taking the wooden steps up to the deck two at a time. I bend down to ruffle Geezer’s coat.

“I like this,” Luke says, taking my ponytail in his hand before letting it slip through his fingers. “Pretty. It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

Then he bends down and kisses me on the cheek from behind, sliding into the chair beside me. I feel like a schoolgirl at the compliment, never having been very good at taking those.

“Should I get some biscuits for Geezer? He must be hungry,” I say.

“No, he’s okay. I just fed him at my place. And thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”

He takes a sip and I can’t take my eyes off him. I have visions of him in a military uniform and it makes me even more curious. Then our eyes meet, and I can see my curiosity has been noted.

“What?” he asks, tentatively.

“I was just…” No, I’m not that brave. “Nothing.”

“Uh, no. It’s too late for
nothing
. I saw that look. Spit it out.”

His eyes flicker with amusement, but I can also tell he’s cautious. He’s right to be. So am I.

“I was just wondering, about your time in the army.”

There’s a subtle shift in his expression, so subtle I almost miss it. He’s wary, and I don’t blame him. I am too. I don’t want to mess anything up between us.

“Because I slept on your floor.”

It’s a statement, not a question. He breathes a weary sigh, putting his coffee mug down on the arm of the chair again. I don’t rush him. I can tell he needs some time, that what I’ve asked is a question loaded with all the things I’ll probably never understand and he’ll never be able to explain. I’m curious enough to wait for whatever he feels he can share, though. It’s another piece of the puzzle that is Luke, and I’m desperate for as many pieces as I can get.

“What do you want to know?” he asks, but his expression is tight, a mask, and it serves as a warning.

Just because he’s talking about this doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. He has limits, and I need to respect them.

“Whatever you want to tell me.”

He glances over at me, and I can tell he’s as torn as I am about this. We both know that we’re walking a tightrope here.

“I need you to understand something,” he begins. “And I’m sorry if this sounds harsh. I don’t want to talk about that time, Sian. I don’t. There’s nothing to be gained by it. It’s just going over old ground, dredging up memories that I’d really rather let go of. I know that makes me sound like a hypocrite, but that’s the way it is. A lot of what I saw while I was over there would give you nightmares, and you’ve got enough to be dealing with, don’t you think? Hell, some of it still gives me nightmares from time to time, but that’s my burden to carry. I earned it.”

The expression on his face baffles me. It’s a combination of fear, pride and something else I can’t name.

“Earned it?” I ask carefully. “What do you mean by ‘earned it’?”

How do you
earn
a burden?

“I signed up. It was my choice.” His eyes never leave mine. “And so is not talking about what happened over there.”

I don’t really understand, but I nod anyway. He’s sincere, even zealous. I should let it go, but I can’t.

“You told me about what happened that day, your accident… Tony.”

I’m just trying to prove to him that he talked, I listened and we’re both the better for it, but I can tell he doesn’t see it like that.

“I told you what I thought you’d understand.”

“So there’s more?”

He smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. It’s a defence mechanism. He’s done talking about this. He looks away, shakes his head and picks up his coffee to take a sip. He doesn’t though, he just holds it, centimetres below his lips, looking out over the lake as if he’s seeing something I’m not. Geezer whines softly from beside him, picking up on the change of mood.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I won’t ask again.”

He doesn’t say anything for several moments, then finally takes a sip from his mug, as if he’s just re-joined the world and remembered where he was. He looks over at me, and I swear I can see the fog in his eyes clear. Wherever he just went in his mind, he’s back with me now.

“You don’t need to apologise,” he says, his face showing the conflict of emotions he’s dealing with. “I should be doing that. I just… there are things I don’t want to talk about, things I’ve tried really hard to put behind me over the past few years, and I don’t really think dragging them up again is going to help.”

I nod, but barely. Part of me understands. I know the pain attached to memories. But part of me thinks that unless we can talk about this, I’ll never really know him, and that’s something I realise I want more than anything.

He shifts in his seat, and turns to me, giving me his full attention. He puts his coffee down, and so do I.

“I was a mess for a long time,” he says quietly. “After the accident, after I got out. I was lost. I was kinda… I don’t know. Self-destructing, I guess. Booze, drugs, stupid stunts – and I mean stupid. I nearly killed myself a ton of times, not on purpose, just by not caring what happened to me. Barrelling down the freeway on my Kawasaki at three in the morning, pulling wheelies at a hundred miles an hour with my lights off – that kind of stupid. Insanity, really – I was insane, I’d lost my grip on reality. I pushed everyone away – my family, my friends, anyone who tried to help. Then I had this wake-up call. I can’t really explain it except to say I saw myself from the outside, looking in, and it scared the shit out of me. I could see what was gonna happen. I could see myself choking to death on my own puke, or wrapping my bike around a lamp post. I could see it ending badly for me if I didn’t get some help real quick. So I did. And that was hard. Probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

He’s so intense, I can barely breathe. The world around us fades into nothingness, and I can only see his eyes, blue and bright with determination, hiding a pain both remembered and real.

“It wasn’t a quick fix,” he smiles wryly. “It took a couple years, really. And at some point during that time, I realised that staying there, surrounded by my family – safe – wasn’t where I wanted to be. It felt… I don’t know, like I was hiding, I guess. Cheating, shoving my head in the sand. I wanted to challenge myself. So I decided to travel, to see more of the world, but I wanted to see the good in the world, not the bad. I’d seen enough of that. So I grabbed my gear and my passport, spun the globe, closed my eyes and pointed.”

“That’s how you ended up here?” I ask, mesmerised.

He laughs lightly, probably because I just simplified what was obviously a life-changing decision for him.

“That’s how I ended up in Bali. I hopped around a little while, meeting other travellers like me, making friends, making plans. I spent some time in Fiji, then Jakarta, and went with a friend over to Darwin. From there, I travelled through Australia for a few months and found myself in Sydney, sitting on the steps of the opera house, by myself, wondering where to go next. Then these tourists turned up, raving on about how Crowded House played their final concert on the very steps we were sitting on and how they were the best thing ever to come out of New Zealand. It intrigued me. I’d always wanted to come here, so I thought maybe it was a sign. Why not? I went from the opera house to the airport and booked the next available flight. I landed in Christchurch that afternoon.”

There’s a sinking feeling that lodges in the pit of my stomach, dragging me down. Christchurch.

“When was that?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

He takes a few moments to reply, and the sinking feeling grows. He reaches for my hand, and I know that what he’s about to say is going to hurt. I can feel it in my bones.

“Three days before the quake. I was there when it happened, too.”

I stare at him, the words echoing in my head. He was there. He was there?

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

He squeezes my hand and my body goes limp. I wish I could remember what happened. I wish that wasn’t the first memory that disappeared into the black hole.

“I can stop there if you want me to,” he says gently.

I don’t want him to stop. I want him to stop. I don’t want to know anything. I want to know everything.

Slowly, I shake my head. I need to know. I hover above us, watching. He holds my hand, he holds my gaze. Geezer lies at his feet, seemingly oblivious to the whirlwind going on above him. Then he starts talking again, and I can only just hear him above the pounding of my heart.

“I was in the town centre when the big one hit,” he says gently. “And it was like being bombed. The earth moving, the falling masonry, the screaming, the dust – it was all so familiar, it was almost like a flashback. But it was different too. I was like everyone else at first, running from the buildings as they fell apart right on top of us, tripping over stuff, fighting the sense that none of this could be happening. I was pissed off, too. I thought, I came over here to get away from this shit, y’know? I’d seen enough suffering. But then I saw this young girl, lying on the pavement, pinned down by this massive piece of God-knew-what – it was the veranda over the shop, I think. It’d fallen on top of her. Anyway, I tried to help her, to lift if off her, and then these other people stepped up and we were all helping her. We got her out. We made a difference, and I thought, man,
this
is what it’s all about. This helping, this saving people – that’s what I’d missed out on.”

I’m mesmerised, scared to speak, to breathe. I want his memories. I want to remember having a moment like that, where it all becomes clear, where I find my purpose. Jealousy burns through me.

“And somehow, I don’t know how, I ended up doing that until I could barely stand. Everywhere I looked, there were people who needed help. In between aftershocks, I dug, lifted, carried, eased. I helped, y’know? Really helped, and in the middle of all that death and chaos and misery, there was this uplifting sense of brotherhood that I hadn’t felt since I left the army. So I stayed. I spent four months there, after the quake, and I did whatever I could. I showed up every day. I slept when I could and where I could. The outpouring of human compassion was just… mind-blowing. It was humanity at its finest and I was so goddamn proud to be a part of it. And when I finally found myself ready to move on, I did. And I ended up here, with you.”

He squeezes my hand again, his eyes burning through me.

“I believe in signs, Sian. I do. I knew the moment I met you that we shared something, but I just didn’t know what. The more I get to know you, the more I see what we have in common. We were meant to meet. It was some kind of cosmic intervention.”

It’s so much information all at once, that all I can do is stare at him. He’s right, though. I feel how right this is that we’re here, together, now. Our lives have taken such different trajectories, so many different paths we could’ve taken, but we didn’t and now we’re here, against all the odds. Neither of us was looking for anything other than to survive, but we somehow found each other. It can’t be coincidence. It just can’t.

“Do you think…“ I whisper, tears clouding my eyes. “Do you think that it’s possible our paths crossed in Christchurch?”

He swallows, frowning.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s possible. It was a crazy time. You don’t remember any of it?”

I shake my head, setting a tear loose that I quickly swipe off my cheek with my finger.