In the Shadow of Satellites (8 page)

Back in the cottage, staring at the calendar, the number of black crosses outweighs the number of white boxes. Days gone. Days left. I’m not sure which is which anymore. I pick up the marker pen and put a cross through Tuesday. Another day, one of many.

Ana called after dinner last night. She dropped Chris off at the bus station late Sunday afternoon. We talked about how good it was to see him, and how much we were looking forward to seeing him again in a couple of weeks. We talked about his parents, and whether he could stand to be in the same house as them for that long. She reminded me that I needed to go to the store and get my supplies. I don’t feel like facing the world today. I’ll do it tomorrow instead. I can wait another day.

I pull out my notebook over coffee, and write about my dream. It was so real, but then they all are. I close my eyes and I can picture Kieran running across the lawn, giggling as I chase after him. He loved to chase the ducks, and I loved to chase him. By the time I finish, my mood is strangely improved. I feel him with me, just out of sight, tugging on my hand and my heart.

Some days are good. I think today might be one of those days.

I keep that thought in mind as I lace my shoes. It’s early but warm, and I feel like a walk.

I head for the track with the kind of dedication I haven’t felt for a while. I look forward to the breathlessness that comes with the climb up to the half-way point. I imagine myself sitting down on the mossy rock and taking in the scenery, even as I make my way up the beginning part of the track, over tree roots and through stray fern fronds. I love how it smells here. Damp, earthy, untouched. It’s like another planet, and I feel like a pioneer, even though there are signs of human intervention everywhere.

The first part of the track is cooler than the rest, the canopy shading it from the sun. My thighs and calves burn with effort as the incline becomes more obvious. I remember running along this track, before. Now, I walk, and I’m careful. I’m not as steady on my feet as I was before the accident. As the track widens, the canopy opens up, dappling the damp leaves beneath my feet with shades of gold. I hear voices in the distance, and a dog barking. I cross my fingers that it’s coming from down at the lake. I know I have no ownership rights, but I’m not ready to share this hallowed ground with anyone.

Before long, my suspicions are confirmed. I can hear them behind me. I turn to see Geezer bounding up the track towards me. He looks like a wolf, and every horror movie I’ve ever seen runs through my head. I stop, petrified.

“Geezer!”

Luke has rounded the corner too, but the dog keeps coming until he’s practically on top of me. Luke chases him but I already know he’s not going to catch him in time. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact.

“Geezer, no!”

Nothing happens. I’m still upright, and I can hear him panting heavily. I open my eyes and Geezer is sitting right in front of me, as if he’s waiting for something. My breath escapes in a ragged rush, my heart still racing.

“Bad dog,” Luke says, slowing to a halt as he finally catches up. He grabs Geezer by the collar, which seems kind of unnecessary now. “You okay?”

I nod, not taking my eyes off Geezer, still panting at my feet.

“So sorry about that. I should get him a leash, I guess.”

Geezer leans forward, licking my fingers as if apologising.

“I don’t think he was gonna hurt you, if that’s any consolation,” Luke chuckles nervously. “I think he’s just got a crush on you. I’ve never seen him do that to anyone before – the licking thing, I mean. Not even me.”

I’m still not sure, but Geezer is looking at me with such an innocent expression, I feel guilty for doubting him.

“It’s okay,” I say. “It did kind of take me by surprise, though.”

“Yeah, he’s not that great with boundaries – or rules – are you boy?”

Luke ruffles his coat and releases his collar. In answer, Geezer moves a step closer until he’s practically sitting on my feet. He sits there, staring up at me.

“See what I mean?” Luke chuckles, pulling him backwards as I take a step away from them. “Dude, personal space, remember? We’ve discussed this already.”

He looks down through the trees to the distant lake.

“It’s the first time I’ve been up here. Chris was telling me about it the other night at dinner, so I thought I’d try it out. It’s really beautiful.”

“It is.”

“Do you come up here a lot?”

“Most days.”

“It’s kinda nice to have some company. Would you mind if we walked the rest of the way with you?”

I want to say yes, I do mind. I’d rather be alone, and we barely know each other, and I’m really crap at small-talk. But I don’t because I’m still bound by the social rules I was raised to respect.

“No, that’s fine.”

We start walking, side by side because this part of the track is wide and open. Geezer falls in behind us, panting quietly. We walk in silence for a while, which feels weird at first, but not so much after that. I’m grateful that Luke doesn’t appear to be the kind of guy who likes to talk for the sake of it. I feel less inclined to fill up the silence with meaningless chit-chat. It’s a skill I’ve lost over time.

Geezer runs up ahead of us, and Luke calls him back but is promptly ignored.

“He needs obedience school,” he says. “Damn dog does whatever he pleases most of the time.”

We watch as Geezer dashes into the undergrowth, reappearing a moment later before wandering ahead of us on the track at a more leisurely pace.

“You should probably put him on a leash out here,” I say, “because of the native birds and stuff. I don’t think they let dogs roam free on the tracks without leashes, just in case.”

“Shit, I never thought of that,” he mumbles. “Geezer!”

Geezer stops, looks back at us and hesitates, just for a moment, before wandering on ahead again.

“See what I mean?” he says. “One word from me and he does what he likes.”

We watch him for a few moments, but he sticks to the track and he’s not doing any harm.

“He seems okay,” I say.

“Yeah, but I think I’ll get him a leash next time I’m in town anyway. You never know, I guess.”

We walk in silence until we approach the half-way rock. I stop automatically, because I always do that here. The lake is sparkling far below us, through the trees. The view is breath-taking and I never tire of it. It’s been a special place for me, right from the beginning. I used to come up here as a child, perching on the rock and watching the world. It always felt safe. James loved it too. We had a photo of the view from here on our bedroom wall in Wellington. It wasn’t in the boxes I couldn’t bring myself to open until months after I woke up. I don’t know where it is now. I don’t want to think about all those things, languishing God knows where.

“I can see why you come here,” Luke says quietly.

I’d almost forgotten he was here.

“It’s beautiful. I don’t know what it is about this place, but I felt it the moment I got here. I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I could’ve sworn I’ve been here before. I think that’s why I had to buy the house the moment I saw it. Maybe it was because the lake reminded me of home, but it just feels so familiar.”

A shiver runs down my spine but I keep my eyes trained on the view. I don’t want to get into a discussion with him about strange feelings or intuition or anything intimate. I want to keep him at arm’s length, so I turn the conversation away from such things and back to safety.

“You’re a long way from home,” I say. “You must miss it.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and I turn to see him still looking out across the lake. He seems far away, not standing right beside me.

“Yeah. I do.”

I wonder why he stays, when he seems so torn.

“What brought you here, to New Zealand, I mean?”

He sighs, as if the story is too long and too detailed to go into right here, right now. Then he turns to me and smiles, shrugging lightly. I’m not fooled by the casual gesture. It’s in direct contrast to the tightness that has settled across his features. The smile is not genuine and he’s either lying or shying away from the question.

“The usual,” he says. “Wanderlust. Adventure. The search.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. More, I guess.”

He gets that look in his eye again, the one I saw before, over dinner. I hold my ground, looking away instead of putting physical distance between us, which is my preferred response.

The search. More.

I’m searching too. It occurs to me that maybe we’re all searching for something. It’s just that only some of us will find it, that elusive something to fill our hearts and make our days worthwhile. I had it once, and now that it’s gone, I’m still not sure I’ll ever recover from losing it. It leaves a mark, a wound that I don’t think will ever heal. At this point, I’m still not sure I want it to. A scar is a reminder of something that once hurt you. What do you call that which continues to do so, long after the physical evidence has healed?

He touches my arm.

“You zoned out there for a minute,” he says, his startling blue eyes laden with concern.

I nod, because there’s no point denying it.

“Sorry. I just… I was just thinking.”

“It’s okay, no need to apologise. I do that sometimes too.”

His hand is still on my arm, and I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, as if he’s trying to figure me out. I don’t need another friend. I have all the people in my life that I can handle. As if reading my mind, he lets go of my arm, finally breaking eye contact so I can breathe again.

“Shall we go?” he says.

He lets me set the pace, and I walk as fast as I dare. He doesn’t seem to notice, calling ahead to Geezer every now and then to make sure he stays in sight.

“How long does it take?” he asks after a few minutes. “From one end of the track to the other, I mean.”

“It takes me about an hour, give or take, but I’m not exactly fit.”

“I know what you mean.”

He’s clearly being polite because he’s hardly broken a sweat.

“You’re doing demo all day,” I say. “From what I’ve seen, I’m sure you could walk this in well under an hour. You could probably run it. I used to.”

“Maybe, but where’s the fun in that? There’s something to be said for taking your time, stopping to smell the roses – or admiring the view, in this case.”

I’m not sure if he’s just humouring me or if he really believes this. I guess if I was walking this track to admire the view, I’d think the same way. As it is, I’m walking it to kill time, because that’s something I have in abundance these days.

“Geezer!” he calls, as the track narrows to the point where we can’t walk side by side anymore.

Geezer appears again from out of the undergrowth and waits for us. Luke falls back and I’m obliged to take the lead, which is mildly annoying. Now I feel like I need to pick up the pace, which is the opposite of what I really want to do. I’m tiring fast, not used to exerting this much energy. Geezer waits until we’re almost to him, then trots off ahead again.

“How old is he?” I ask, trying not to breathe too heavily.

“Who, Geezer? I have no idea. He kind of adopted me, not the other way around.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I was out at the Blue Lake, at the campground there, and he just rocked up one day and sat beside my tent, like he was waiting for something. It was weird. He didn’t have a collar or any kind of identification at all. I went to the office and asked if anyone had lost their dog, but no one had. When I left, he came with me. He’s been with me ever since.”

Geezer stopped for a moment, as if he was listening, then turned and continued walking.

“So how did he get his name?” I ask.

“Well, we’re in Rotorua, famous for its bubbling mud and geysers, so…”

It takes me a moment to understand.

“Oh,” I say, as the penny drops. “
Geyser
. I get it now.”

“You guys pronounce it –“

“
Guy
ser, not
gee
zer.”

He chuckles.

“Over here, geezer means something else entirely,” I say, by way of explanation. “I think it’s an English thing. Over there, they say ‘that geezer’ like we’d say ‘that bloke’ or ‘that guy’. Part of our colonial heritage.”

“I guess, either way, it works for him.”

We fall silent once again, as the track begins its gentle decline down to the end, and the lake.

I can’t find my pen. It’s not where I’m sure I left it, where I always leave it. I make sure I put things away, and everything has a home. Otherwise I lose things and that gets really bloody annoying. My pen was definitely here yesterday morning, and now it’s gone. I search all over, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Sometimes things go missing here, and this time I’m sure it has nothing to do with me. My pen is the latest item in a grocery list of mysterious disappearances. I stand in front of the calendar, Wednesday mocking me.

“Okay,” I say to the empty house. “Alright. I get it. I know you’re here, but can you please stop stealing my stuff?”

They say that some spirits feel the need to remind you that they’re watching over you, so they take your things, and then they give them back to you later. I usually find the things I’ve lost – granted, not where I thought they’d be, but I find them. That’s how I know I put them somewhere strange. Keys in the fridge, milk in the pantry, my favourite shirt in the tea towel drawer.

But when things disappear altogether, that’s when I know it’s not me.

It’s James and Kieran, playing games. I can almost hear them giggling together. For the first time in a while, it doesn’t hurt. Instead, it makes me smile properly for the first time in days.

“You guys suck.”

I fumble around in the kitchen drawer for another pen, but all I come up with is a red one. I use it to mark off Wednesday on the calendar. The one red cross stands out markedly against all the black ones. An echo from somewhere deep inside reminds me that something like this would annoy James, with his need to keep things ordered and neat. Now, it just marks the day that he and Kieran stole my black pen. A red letter day, in more than one sense.