Letters From The Ledge (3 page)

“People still
do
that?”

Sarah glared at her. “Whaling is big business up there.”

“Sorry. It’s just so weird to think about. Seems more like something we might read about in history class than a real-life occurrence.”

Sarah sighed. Three months wasn’t going to pass quickly enough. “It’s a whole different world up there, I’ll give you that.”

“How often do you go?”

“Every summer since I was seven.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. You’d think I’d get sick of it, but I still love it.”

Jillian looked at her with a critical eye. “So what’s so great about it?”

“I don’t know. Everything is the opposite of here, so it’s hard to describe. Even the air is different there. It’s clean and misty and kind of fishy and I wish you could smell it.”

Jillian rolled her eyes. “Sounds delicious.”

“No, you don’t get it. The sky is enormously blue. If you could stand on one of the mountains that overlook the cove I swear it would take your breath away.”

“If you break into something from The Sound of Music I’m leaving right now.”

They smiled at each other.

“I know it sounds stupid. I mean, the tallest building is the fish cannery at a whopping three floors high. It’s nothing like New York, but I love it all the same.”

“I’ve only ever been to Disney World.” Jillian was picking at her fingernails. “But I’m not sure that counts. It’s like going from one reality-tv show to another.”

“It’s nothing like Disney World either. Close your eyes!” Jillian stopped picking and did as she was told. Sarah dropped down onto the bed next to her and made her voice sound like a narrator for a fairy tale. “Imagine if you will, a magical place, where the fog rolls in off the ocean each morning, covering everything in a fine, damp mist. Sometimes it’s so thick in the valley you can’t see five feet in front of you–kind of like smog, only clean. By afternoon it’s been burned off by the sunshine, revealing these incredibly vibrant colors and animated textures, like the unveiling of a long awaited painting. The ocean rises up to meet the hills and the landscape practically breathes in time with the rhythm of the tides.”

Jillian turned her head and opened one eye. “Are you for real or am I about to get Punk’d?”

Sarah punched her in the arm lightly. “Oh forget it!”

She rolled over and looked out the window. In the distance she could just make out his shape on the ledge, but she kept quiet. It was like her own little secret, and she liked keeping it that way. She wondered–not for the first time–if maybe she wasn’t the only one who wished they could leave their current life behind and find a place where they could really fly.

__________

“Bren? What are you doing out there?”

His back was toward the door, but even with the iPod blaring he could sense his father’s presence behind him. He imagined it like thick black smoke that spread out ahead of the fire and formed tentacles, choking everything in its path.

“Can you even hear me? Take that shit out of your ears.”

Brendan laughed under his breath. As if it were possible to successfully extricate the last seventeen years of putrid deposits that had filled his brain and tainted his heart. He removed the ear buds but left the rest of him connected to the music.

“Your mother and I are going out.”

An uncomfortable silence loomed between them and Brendan looped his thumbs together in his lap, making the sign for the awkward turtle, swimming through the dead air space toward nowhere in particular. His back was still toward his father.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Is it Easter already? Did mom cook?”

“Here.”

Brendan turned toward his father’s outstretched hand. “Could you make it an even hundred? I could use a little extra money for drugs this week.”

“Be serious, Brendan.”

He swung his feet around, jumped down and faced the man squarely, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m dead serious, dad.”

“Just take the money, and quit pulling my chain. That shit doesn’t work on me. You sit up here feeling sorry for yourself and let daddy pay for everything, and somehow I’m the asshole. It’s a good thing your grades are decent or you’d be out on your ass come June. Believe me, Wharton will be the best thing that ever happened to you. Show you what it’s like to work hard for the money you want to earn.”

“What if I don’t want to live in a penthouse? Not everyone aspires to the same lifestyle you do.”

“You’ve been privileged for so long you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself in the real world where people scrape by on eight or nine bucks an hour and live in rat-infested apartments. You think that’s any kind of a life? When you’ve got a golden opportunity staring you right in the face? Practically handed to you on that silver platter you so disdain. Take my advice boy, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You can hate me now, but you’ll thank me later.”

Several more awkward moments passed by in slow motion. Eventually Brendan pulled the bills out of his father’s hand and turned back toward the night sky. “Have a good time.”

After his father left, Brendan carefully folded one of the twenties into a paper airplane and sailed it off the balcony. Money was just too damned expensive.

"A real man admits his fears.”

- The Matrix

"Tell me again what we’re doing?" Nate was holding the arms of Paige’s jacket out so she could stick her arms into the holes behind her. "You know, I've never understood this ritual. I mean, I get the chivalry aspect of helping a woman on with her coat, but why can't she just look back once in a while and at least help guide the procedure?"

She smiled and looked over her shoulder but he wasn't even watching. He was completely focused on fitting her hands into the holes and kept right on talking. "I swear it's like trying to perform a mid-flight probe and drogue maneuver!"

"Probe and what?"

He looked up, slightly embarrassed. "You know, when they have to…fuel a plane or a spacecraft while it's still in the air?”

She blinked a couple of times, waiting for further explanation.

“You've got the probe and it's got to fit inside the little–" He gestured unsuccessfully with his hands. "Forget it. You were saying?"

"Drinks–with a new client. Shouldn’t take too long. His wife will be there and it’s supposed to be a casual thing, so I figured I could bring you."

Nate straightened the lapels of his jacket and pretended to smooth his hair back. "Well then, arm candy I shall be." He kissed her cheek, lifting her hair out of the back of her coat for her. "Is Kevin coming?"

She stopped, exasperated. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"I don’t hate him. I just don’t like him."

"But
why
?"

Nate shook his head. "If you were a guy, you’d understand."

"Because he asked me out a couple of times? I said no, for God’s sake. Who cares? That was almost three years ago."

"It’s not the fact that he asked you out three years ago” Nate explained slowly. “It’s that he still wishes he could." He picked up his keys and pocketed his wallet.

"We’re professionals, Nate.” She asserted. “And besides that, you’re seeing things."

"You’re just going to have to trust me."

Paige sighed. "You know what? Let’s just go."

"Great! Where are we headed?"

"The restaurant over at the Carlton Hotel.”

“Nice choice. They make a great Sapphire and tonic.”

“I’m sure you’ll need one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A boring business meeting and Kevin too?”

“I’m thirsty already.” He smiled sarcastically.

“It’s not that far. We could probably walk."

"Can I hold your hand?"

His smile was so genuine it disarmed her, the deep love he carried so obvious it stung. She’d never met anyone like him before. She could be infuriated one minute, and the next he was dismantling her arguments with a look. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

Nate opened the door, waiting for her to go out ahead of him. He followed her out toward the elevator. "Well, I never said I was buying!"

Downstairs, they walked out into the night air and Paige inhaled slowly with her eyes closed. "Ah. New York. Land that I love."

Nate sniffed the air. "You’re the only girl I know that ranks the smell of garbage right up there with pizza and Chanel No 5. At this rate, I’m never going to persuade you to leave the city, am I?"

"Not likely." She snorted sarcastically, but something in his tone stopped her from continuing to mock the absurdity of his statement. "Why? Did you have something in mind?"

"Oh, I don’t know." They passed a jeweler and he looked over his shoulder. "Just talking out loud I guess."

She pretended not to notice, but her heart started pounding in her ears as little beads of sweat formed across her forehead.

"Are you all right?"

She looked up into the sky and then looked sideways at him. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little panic attack at the thought of having to leave my native habitat."

"Aw, come on. You did it once. It wasn’t that bad, was it?"

Paige thought back to the years she spent in college. Life in a quaint mid-western town taught her many things. For one thing, that life was no respecter of persons–or geography, for that matter. It turned out small town scandals were just as common, only the gossip train didn’t have to wait for the six o’clock news. Soon after passing her CPA exam, she’d taken the first New York job offer that came her way. "Not bad, just different. Here is home. It feels right, being back here. I don’t know how else to describe it."

"It would take an act of God then, to make you leave, is that about right?"

She laughed. "Pretty much, yeah."

Paige stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and shivered. Nate immediately wrapped her in his arm, so her head could rest against his shoulder as they walked.

"Is that why you came back? It seemed like a couple of those other job offers would’ve been a lot more lucrative–especially the one in Atlanta."

She smiled up at him. "I wouldn’t last two weeks in the South and you know it. Those sticky-sweet women make me want to take insulin. Money isn’t everything, you know."

"Don’t I know it. Believe me, I’m not complaining. I’m pretty happy that you showed up on the scene when you did. It’s just–look around you, Paige. It’s so dense and crowded–you can’t even see the stars! Don’t you ever wish for wide-open spaces?"

"Sometimes." She looked up at the small patch of night sky coming through the tops of the buildings. "I guess that’s what vacations are for.” She thought some more. “Besides, I never know what to do with myself in a wide-open space. It’s not everyone’s idea of freedom, you know."

"You win. Let’s not talk about it anymore and just enjoy the evening." His gaze followed hers up into the night’s starry atmosphere. "What the–what is that?"

What looked like a small piece of paper was falling from the sky. It came to rest on a window ledge about thirty feet above their heads, then blew off and drifted down. When it landed on the pavement just a few feet away, Nate walked over to it, but Paige kept her distance.

“Ingenious use of origami.” He chuckled softly.

"What is it?"

He stood, holding out a twenty-dollar bill that had been carefully folded into an intricate and surprisingly aerodynamic paper airplane, trying his best to stifle a laugh. "I think it’s for you. It’s a message from heaven."

He was grinning as she came closer, looking from the sky to his face. “Who does that? Who throws away money?”

"People do it every day.”

“At Starbucks, yes–but not like this.”

“Are you mocking my addiction?”

Paige smiled.

“I still think it’s God trying to tell you something." Still grinning, Nate slipped his arm back around her shoulders, and carefully placed the twenty into the front pocket of his jacket.

She was stiff as he pulled her along for the next several feet.

"Paige, come on, it’s no big deal–just a freakish coincidence.” She relaxed a little under the weight of his arm. “We’ll keep it for a rainy day. Maybe I’ll let you buy me a cup of coffee some time."

__________

Brendan heard a door close behind his parents somewhere in the distance. He cursed and then opened fire with his fist into the brick wall. His knuckles ripped open as a sharp pain exploded across the back of his hand. He sucked in a slow, deep breath and held it as if he were taking a hit, blinking his eyes and adjusting to the pain level as he settled back against the wall.

Holding the hand out in front of him, he watched the blood form a tiny stream that dripped steadily onto the bricks below, soaking into the pores of pressed clay. Mingling reds and oranges blurred together as he willed back the tears that threatened to spill over and dilute it all. When at last the pain dulled to a throb and became a part of his breathing he moved methodically into his room.

He rolled a joint, being careful not to disturb the congealing blood on the back of his hand. The alternating stripes against his pale skin sent him back in time. A Christmas memory from long ago crept into his consciousness as he watched a slow motion film of a candy cane shattering against the wall, his father’s voice thundering over him.

"Is that all you care about? A goddamned candy cane? I bought you a telescope and all you can do is play with that stupid toy camera and whine about when you get to eat your candy cane!"

Too bad it got returned to the store. That telescope would’ve come in handy now.

Brendan set the joint next to the ashtray and lined the lighter up exactly parallel to it. Then he opened his desk drawer and took out the blade. He always examined it carefully, turning it back and forth under the lamp until the light danced with the shadows on the ceiling.

He carefully rolled up the sleeve on his right arm. Finding a suitable place was getting harder. The scars never healed right if he kept reopening them. He looked on the left side and fixed his gaze as the feeling began calling to him. He lit the joint, took a long drag, and held it as he sank the blade into his skin.

A clean cut was a beautiful thing. It didn’t bleed right away, and in that brief moment before the blood was visible, if he was very still, he could feel without seeing the cut that would eventually become a scar. That was the moment he lived for–feeling that didn’t leave a wake. Reality however, remained victorious. Sooner or later every feeling left a scar. That was what the rest of the joint was for.

_________

The Carlton Hotel was gracious and impeccable, reminiscent of the bygone era into which it was birthed. Nearly a century later, it stood just as tall and proud, a beacon of old money elegance in the emerging echelon of lower Madison Avenue. Its nighttime facade was especially beautiful, carefully lit to accentuate the old girl’s best features.

They slipped in under the curved iron sign, through the revolving glass doors, and into another world. The restaurant’s French-style Feng Shui welcomed them with warm woods, soft leather, marble tabletops, and a zinc bar, which drew them instinctively.

Paige slid onto a stool, obviously preoccupied. "Ok, that whole…twenty-dollar airplane thing–that was weird. Didn’t you think it was weird?"

Nate took her jacket and hung it over the back of the stool. "What I think–is that you look incredibly beautiful tonight."

She could only nod, her wide green eyes misting in the dim light. No other words seemed able to come. Nate ordered himself a Sapphire and tonic, and a glass of Viognier for Paige, who was ripping the corner of a cocktail napkin into miniature pieces.

"Nervous?"

"No. Why should I be nervous?"

He smiled. "Oh, I don’t know. The last time I saw you shred a napkin like that was the night we met."

"Oh, and you think I was nervous then?" Her challenge was weakened by the truth and they both knew it.

Nate performed a series of short, definite nods. "A little, yeah."

"Because you were so intimidating?"

"I’m not so sure it was me, exactly. It was more
us
, don’t you think?" He rested his forearms on the bar, inclining his head toward her. "I wasn’t exactly looking for a relationship at the time.”

“No, not after Sheila the psycho got done with you.”

He examined her face. “Well! It’s good to know I’m not the only one who errs on the side of slightly jealous.”

“Jealous? Me? Don’t be silly. Why would I be jealous of a psychopath?”

Nate blinked his eyes as he remembered. “Ok. Bad example. She did do quite a number on me.”

“And as I recall, you were self-medicating in the ‘woe is me’ section before stumbling bleary-eyed into Architecture.”

“Poetry is
not
all about ‘woe is me’ ok?”

“Whatever you say, Nate.”

“You know, you talk tough, but your soft side is simply breathtaking.”

She scoffed. “What soft side?”

Nate abandoned that trail and picked up the previous one. “Ok so I was half-asleep and a little…depressed, but still, what are the chances of both of us reaching for the same book at the same time. I mean, you’re the math genius–what are the odds?”

"Maybe about the same as a twenty-dollar paper airplane falling from the sky in the middle of a conversation about me being willing to leave New York for money?"

"Exactly!" He threw his hands up in the air. "It’s meant to be. That’s all I’m saying."

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "That is
not
all you’re saying, and you know it. It’s always–" Her hand spun in gently rolling circles. "–
layered
with you."

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"When your defenses are down, it’s alarming and beautiful–all that strength contained in a glass jar of innocence.” He swallowed. “I’ve loved you since the moment you realized the astronomical odds of us meeting like that, because in that brief second, I watched you suddenly open your heart to the possibility of something magical happening–something unexpected."

She sat suspended in his eyes, until he took a sip of his drink, which had quietly made its appearance on the bar.

"Are you trying to dig into a hole or out of one?"

"Neither." He smiled into the glass, shaking his head slightly. "I try to stay away from hole digging–in either direction."

"Tell me how you do that." She was serious now.

"Do what?"

"See past things in people."

He shifted, visibly uncomfortable with the question. He knew exactly what she meant but they’d never really discussed it before. "I don’t do it with everyone. Sometimes I just get a hunch."

"A hunch."

He straightened his stance and took a long drink before answering. "My father calls it being a judge of good character. My mother called it a gift. I prefer to just call it a hunch. Haven’t you ever met someone and just known right away that you couldn’t trust them?"

"Yeah, but unfortunately that wipes out ninety-nine percent of the planet."

"Well it’s that one percent for you–considerably more for me–that I can meet and somehow I just know they’re a good risk. A lot of people have untapped potential, you know."