Letters From The Ledge (8 page)

“Being the one is just like being in love.

No one needs to tell you you’re in love,

you just know it, through and through.”

-
The Matrix

“You look like you just lost your best friend.”

Sarah was sitting cross-legged on top of a concrete wall that helped form the boundary line for the school. She was rocking, ever so slightly, back and forth. She didn’t respond.

“And you’re not studying for AP Bio. That’s got to mean something, right?”

She still didn’t look up. She didn’t even acknowledge his presence except to whisper “Please go away.”

“Well, since you asked so nice…” No response whatsoever. “Seriously, are you ok?”

She looked up at him with tears threatening to spill over the rims of her eyes. “If you must know, I
did
lose my best friend. She-” Sarah took a deep breath so that she could get the rest of the words out. “-died yesterday.”

Brendan stopped smiling. He rubbed one of his arms through his sleeve, trying to erase the thoughts of Tess that invaded his heart on a hair trigger.

“Her name was Stella. She was seventeen.”

Brendan sat down next to her. He hung his feet over the edge of the wall and watched his shoes swing back and forth as if they weren’t attached to his legs. “How did she die?”

“Cancer.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He watched the way her brown hair framed her face in the slight breeze. She was simple and beautiful and soft. Stubborn sometimes, but soft nonetheless. Most of the girls he knew had hardened themselves just to survive. For some reason this girl resisted being conformed to her surroundings. It was refreshing and, he had to admit, somewhat endearing. The desire to protect her rose up again, but he pushed it back down. He’d tried to protect Tess, and that ended in disaster.

“I know how you feel.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He picked at the nails on one of his hands.

She looked up at him and her eyes were tender, with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist given their limited history. She put her hand gently on his knee and bit her lip. Neither one of them spoke for a long moment. She just looked into his eyes and nodded. Even without words, it was the most meaningful conversation he’d had with anyone since–well, since Tess. He tried to swallow, but his mouth went dry and instead of Tess’s face, the words from her letter were running through his mind, capturing his every thought and bringing it right back to Sarah’s lips. He suddenly wanted to kiss her–more than anything he wanted to. But it wasn’t right. Not when she was grieving and he still couldn’t figure out where Tess ended and she began.

“Why don’t you tell me about Stella?”

Sarah smiled at him and nodded. “Ok, well–when my mom was pregnant with me, she had to be on bed rest a lot, so my dad thought she ought to have some company while she was home alone all day.”

She was smiling at the memory and Brendan was astounded by her lack of pretense–the way her face hid nothing at all and her voice trailed up and down with the story.

“So Stella became my mom’s companion, but once I was born, she wouldn’t leave my side. She slept on my bed my whole life.” Sarah sighed. “She was a great dog.”

Brendan shook his head clear “Wait–what?”

Sarah just kept right on talking. “My parents don’t believe in giving chemotherapy to dogs, so when she kept getting sicker, they just watched for signs that she was in pain and once they felt like it was too much for her, they took her to the vet and put her down.” The tears that had threatened earlier made their way down her cheeks in silent tribute. “That was yesterday. They took her while I was at school. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Brendan smiled and just kept shaking his head. A dog? He almost laughed out loud, but she was genuinely grieving and he couldn’t rightly laugh at her pain. Loss was loss, after all. Sudden impact, lack of closure, helplessness...

He thought about the box he still hadn’t opened. Tess’s letter had done him in and he put it all away, but a morbid curiosity had taken over a small part of his grief and he wanted to know–
needed
to know now, what was in that box.

She looked up at him and blinked, tears streaming down her face. “You must think I’m pretty stupid, crying over a dog.”

“Hey, a friend is a friend, right?”

“Yeah. And this friend saw me through kindergarten, the chicken-pox, and six moves in the last eight years.”

“I’ve lived in the same apartment my whole life. I can’t imagine moving around that much. What kind of dog?”

Sarah sniffed, drying her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “Border Terrier. Apparently when I was born she treated me like I was one of her pups. My parents tell some pre-tty hilarious stories about her. You remember Nana from Peter Pan?”

Brendan nodded.

“Ok so double it. She wouldn’t let anyone
near
me. My parents couldn’t even bring us to the park together because she wouldn’t let any of the other kids play with me!”

She was laughing again, and he liked the sound of it. “I used to want a dog but my dad wouldn’t even discuss it.”

“Dictator type?”

Brendan’s jaw tightened. “You have no idea.”

Sarah took a deep breath and blew it out all at once, leaning back on her hands and letting the breeze cool her tear-stained face. “So, I don’t want this to sound mean or anything, but… how is it you’ve lived in the same apartment your whole life and yet you don’t seem to have any friends?”

Brendan was silent, but she didn’t back down. She just sat there, waiting for his answer.

“My best friend died last year. She was seventeen too.”

“Oh.” Sarah nodded. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I mean, it’s none of my–”

“She jumped off the roof of her apartment building. Died on impact.” Brendan kneaded his bicep through the sleeve of his coat. He imagined the scene as he’d done so many times before. He pictured her spread eagle, diving gracefully through the air, shutting his mind’s eye before she hit bottom.

“God–that must have been awful for you. How long did you know each other?”

“Since freshman year.”

“Was she your–“

“No.” His answer came too quickly, and with too much force.

After a while Sarah whispered out “So you never told her, did you?”

When Brendan looked at her his eyes threatened to betray his control. Anger and confusion rose up from someplace dark and cavernous. He turned his head away and she touched his arm, leaving her hand in place until he turned back.

“It’s ok, you know. I’ll bet you anything she knew.”

“Yeah? How would you know?” He could feel his walls rising but she kept pressing past them, willing him to stay in the moment.

“Because it’s written on your face. And if I can see it now, after the fact, then I’m certain she knew it then, every time you were together.” She smiled playfully. “Besides, I’m a girl–I know these things.”

The warmth from her hand spread like a slow massage up his arm and across his chest. He leaned toward her instinctively, and she backed away, the message clear. Brendan cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together in his lap.

“Tell her. You can still tell her, you know.”

How could she be so sure of herself one minute and so vulnerable the next? This girl didn’t make any sense at all. He shook his head. “You know a good medium I could call? Maybe a spirit guide?”

His sarcasm had little or no effect on her determination. “There are lots of ways to tell someone something. It doesn’t have to be with words. It can be a painting, or a project like the AIDS quilt. You know, a tribute. You can still honor her life, even in death.”

The idea landed with a thud in Brendan’s heart. A high, clear note resonated in the distance and his spirit responded. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

__________

The walk home had Brendan’s thoughts racing. The house was empty when he got there, and he grabbed a fifth of whiskey off the bar, guzzling it until he choked on his way down the hall. When he got to his room he was already feeling unsteady. He pulled the box out from under his bed and slammed another shot’s worth of whiskey, then popped the top on the box.

Inside, a pink, leather-bound journal sat on top of some drawings, and under the drawings was a stack of envelopes, tied together with a blue ribbon. He threw back another mouthful, pulled out the journal and leaned against the wall. On the first page he saw his name written vertically as an acronym:

B
eautiful

R
uined

E
nigma

N
aturally

D
raws

A
nother

N
ear

He traced the line of words with his finger and turned his head away, sobs breaking out across the deepening dusk that had settled over his room. Her poetry was spearing in its beauty, and he watched in fascination as her face drifted in and out of his vision and he imagined her reading it to him. Reading her poems was like watching an animation of her life, frame by frame–her different looks, her moods, the way she’d changed over the years. It was all there for him to witness in black and white.

She wrote about the angels who had come to take care of her. She wrote about the abuse. Brendan read until he couldn’t take it any more. When he finished the journal he got up and stumbled to the bathroom, retching until the whole experience purged itself from his system, along with most of the whiskey he’d downed in the process.

When he woke up on the bathroom floor the house was eerily quiet. It was one-fifteen. He pulled himself up and washed his face, carefully replacing the contents of the box before sliding it back under the bed. He grabbed the comforter off his bed and headed for the balcony. The envelopes would have to wait for another day.

Wrapped in the blanket, he fished the butt of a joint out of a coffee can he kept hidden behind a potted plant and lit it, hopping up on the ledge to watch the stars. One of her poems had burned itself into his memory. It was dated the day she died.

I’m falling into you

Into your waiting arms

You’re all that I have left

My toes have left the ledge

A desperate cry of freedom

Is all that I can breathe

As I fall into you…

“Hindsight. It’s like foresight, without a future.”

-
Life as a House

"So, Paige–ever been to Switzerland?" Frank was two drinks into a two-martini lunch, and so far they’d only made it through the appetizers.

"No. I’ve never traveled abroad."

"Never? As in never left our borders?"

"That’s right. I figured there’s a smattering of every nation and culture on earth right here in New York–why go looking for it?"

Frank and Kevin both laughed. Frank was drinking his scotch neat, and he got friendlier as the meal wore on.

Kevin was incredulous. "Do you even have a passport?"

Paige nodded. "Actually I do. I was planning on studying abroad for a semester in college but never ended up going. I think they’re good for ten years though, right?"

Frank set his glass down and licked his lips. "I think we need to make a trip over."

Paige looked up and then looked at Kevin. "We?"

"Yes, we–you and I.” His finger pointed back and forth between the two of them, leaving Kevin intentionally out of the equation. “We'll go over next week, check on some things, and I can introduce you around."

"To Switzerland." Paige repeated.

"Do I stutter?"

Kevin gave her a warning look.

She took a deep breath. "No, it’s just–"

"My Bern office is headquarters for the European operations. They’ll be the most help in all this, because they have the paper records to back up what’s in the computers. My guess is that the answers are buried over there, and if my guess turns to gold, this could end up saving you a whole lot of time and me a whole lot of aggravation."

Frank talked about Europe like it was dinner in Jersey. "With all due respect Mr. Evans-"

"Call me Frank." He put his hand over the top of hers.

She looked down at her hand. "With all due respect–Frank, I think I’m still going to need some time to dig out of the New York hole you’ve put me in before I can consider tackling a whole other office, much less another country." She politely pulled her hand out from under his and took a sip of her wine.

"The holes are connected, remember?” He waved away her concerns, as if it was already settled. “We fly out next Thursday, so you’ll just have to interrupt the process here until we’re done with Bern. Believe me, it will be worth your time. Besides, I’ve had this trip planned for several months and frankly, it’s the best time for me to get away."

"What if it’s not the best time for me to get away?"

Kevin shot her a look that would’ve stopped a major league fastball.

"Excuse me Ms. Hadley, but am I missing something? You’re looking at an all expenses paid trip to one of the most breathtaking countries in the free world. What’s the downside, if you don’t mind? Are you going to miss your
boyfriend
?" His tone conveyed the perfect blend of chauvinism and condescension.

"Could we possibly do an electronic transfer of records? That way Paige could compare the Bern records directly against those in the New York office." Kevin finally chimed in, and Paige was grateful for at least a little bit of backup.

"Didn’t I just say they have all the paper records there?" Frank put both arms up on the table. "You know Kevin, I’m beginning to think I picked the wrong firm. Are we kindergarteners here? You have a job to do for me. And if I’m not mistaken, I told you up front some travel would be involved. Are you trying to pull out on me?"

Paige let out a slow breath. Kevin had given her a great opportunity here to handle this entire account on her own, and she was blowing it. "How long do you anticipate us being gone?"

A satisfied, if not victorious smile spread across Frank's face. "The tickets are open-ended but I can’t imagine it will take more than a week. Ten days, tops. I’ll have my secretary send you the itinerary."

Paige sat tapping her fingernails against the water glass. A tight-lipped smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

"I must say Ms. Hadley, I’m impressed with your work, but your team spirit leaves a little to be desired. Now, I like you both and I like your firm, but let me be clear.” Frank put his arms up on the table and leaned forward. “There'll be no more whining about whose office you’re working in or how late the hours are, or we have very little left to talk about."

He turned toward Kevin. "I’m paying for five-star service, and I intend to get my money’s worth. That means I expect people who go above and beyond the call of duty. Are we clear?"

Kevin nodded once. "Crystal."

__________

When Nate got home the next night, Paige was sitting at the small table in the kitchen area, staring intently at the screen on her laptop. "You are definitely working too hard over there, missy."

No response.

He set his briefcase down and took off his overcoat, laying it across the arm of the couch. "Paging Paige! Come in please."

Paige looked up in a daze. "I’m sorry. I’m trying to see if there’s any way I can get out of this trip to Switzerland, but I just don’t see how."

"Switzerland! When did this come up?" He strode toward the kitchen.

She held up one palm, trying to stop his momentum. "Last night at dinner. I have to go and evaluate Frank’s European operations in Bern."

"You had dinner with Frank?”

“And Kevin.”

Nate eyebrows went up. “Geez. A double whammy.”

She sighed. "Nate, it was business."

“I’ll say.” He had trouble keeping the edge out of his voice. He walked over to the table and picked up the ticket sitting next to her computer. "This ticket–" he turned it over a couple of times, trying to see if there was some mistake. "-is open-ended!"

"I know."

"You’re going to Switzerland indefinitely?" The familiar panic spread like poison until he could feel the blood pounding in his temples. "What’s this about?"

"I don’t know. There’s so much to sort out. According to all the indicators, that’s where the trouble started with the embezzlement, so it’s a logical place to begin unraveling, I just wish there was some other way.”

Nate leaned back against the window in the kitchen, shaking his head. "When were you going to bring this up?"

"I really am coming up against some walls here."

"Yeah? Well I'm about to start adding new bricks."

Paige ignored his sarcasm. "There are a few big holes and then there are little holes and I just can’t seem to piece them together. The answers have to be in the offshore accounts, and he wants to take me over there as soon as possible."

"Hold on. You’re going to Switzerland–
with
Frank? No way. That’s not happening." He started pacing.

"Nate, calm down."

"I
can’t
calm down." His hands balled into fists at his sides.

Paige sat back in her chair, trying to rub the tension out of her shoulders. She twisted her head from side to side and stretched her neck toward the ceiling. "I don’t think there’s any way out of it. He made it very clear that if we aren’t willing to do what it takes then he’s going to look for someone else to do the job for him."

"He’s just threatening you. He’s playing hardball because he’s a control freak."

"It’s not that simple, Nate. Kevin was there. Frank said those things in front of him on purpose. He made a remark about my not liking the Trump Plaza office. He even called me a whiner–right in front of Kevin!"

"This job is not that important, Paige. Trust me on this."

"This job is
everything,
Nate. I have worked very hard to become a top producer in this firm and Kevin is counting on me to do this right. He said it himself. He handpicked me for this one."

"Hand-picked for a suicide mission? That's just great."

Paige's eyes suddenly became very intense. "If I don’t perform, then I’m out. Word will get around and there isn’t a firm in town that will hire a woman who’s picky and has temper tantrums. Hell, I don’t know how Kevin puts up with me as it is."

"Stop being so hard on yourself! It's not like that."

"I'll tell you what it's not like! It's not like Kevin couldn't find a hundred other CPAs with twice my talent and three times the experience. Frank was right–I have been a whiner. And next Thursday I am going to have to get on a plane and I am flying to Switzerland and I’m going to finish this job to the very best of my ability."

"He’s a pig, Paige!" He stopped pacing. "Wait–did you say he called you a whiner? I must have missed that part."

"Yes, he called me a whiner. Yes, he’s a pig. You’ll get no argument from me on that. But so are ninety percent of the men in his position. They’re the kind of people I work for."

Nate said nothing. She was right and he knew it.

"Listen, if I plan to survive in this business with any kind of longevity, I’d better figure out how to handle men like Frank Evans sooner rather than later. This isn’t personal, it’s business, and I plan to keep it that way."

It wasn’t her plans he was worried about, but she had that ‘don’t screw with me’ look on her face and it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut. She was trying to make her own way–trying desperately in fact, and if he didn’t get behind her, he might as well start waving goodbye.

He sat there and willed his heart to stop pounding in his ears. He swallowed it all down–against reason, against fear, against all odds of her actually being right about this. Finally he took a deep breath in and let it out very slowly. "How long do you think you’ll be gone?"

"Couple of weeks, tops."

They each spent the next couple of hours in their own career-soaked worlds. Nate worked on his laptop on the couch and she stayed at the kitchen table. It was a resigned sort of tension that hung in the air between them. By the time they slipped into bed the silence had become awkward.

"Nate?"

"Yeah." He rolled over in bed until they were face to face.

"I’ll miss you."

"Me too sweetheart. Me too." He kissed her lightly on the forehead and started to roll back over.

"Nate?"

He smiled into the darkness. "Come here." He pulled her into his chest and held her for a long time, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. "You’re gonna be great."

Eventually her breathing changed and she completely relaxed into his arms. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, unwilling to let go of the moment. The clock kept moving forward but sleep was elusive as the memories began playing over and over in his head until he thought he might explode. That one night had changed everything between them, but he wasn’t giving up. Too many things were tied together in her smile. Too much of his heart had been surrendered to her touch.

Still, something about this trip wasn’t right. It wasn’t safe, and he could feel it in his bones. Switzerland was anything but neutral.

__________

"Is that one of the shirts I bought you?"

Brendan was standing in the kitchen making a sandwich when his mother walked in. His neck muscles tensed instinctively. "Yup."

"Is that just the style these days, to wear long johns underneath your clothes? For God’s sake, you look like a farmer."

"They’re called thermals."

"Yes, well, you have a closet full of long-sleeved shirts. If you wanted to wear long sleeves it’s a wonder you’d go through the trouble of putting on two shirts instead of one. And is it really necessary to wear all those holes in your jeans? My God Brendan, people will think we can’t figure out where to get you a decent pair of pants."

"I like them like this. I get to wear my matching long johns." He stood munching on his sandwich while she fumbled for the next topic.

"You’ve got a birthday coming up."

"You remembered!"

"Of course I remember. I was there. Maybe you should give
me
a present."

"I’ll see what I can do." He started putting away all the sandwich fixings.

"So, anything special you want for your birthday?"

"How about a hooker?"

Ginny smirked. "How about a little less sarcasm?"

"Well, what I really want I know you won’t get for me, so I might as well ask for a hooker."

"What makes you think we wouldn’t get it for you?"

"I want a camera."

"So? Why is that such a big deal?"

"Because I want a high end digital–the kind that professional photographers use, with detailed resolution and wide-angle lenses and a high-powered zoom."

"What’s wrong with your regular digital camera? I know you like this photography hobby, but really Brendan, you won’t be taking too many pictures in business school. I don’t see why you need a professional camera."

"See? I’ll just take the hooker." Brendan walked over to the sink, rinsed his plate and put it in the dishwasher.

"Can’t you be practical for once?"

Brendan sighed. “You’re right. A hooker is totally impractical. But hey–you’re only young once, right?”

“Very funny.”

His face turned serious. "I am being practical. It’s for a class."

She looked up. "What kind of a class?"

This seemed to change things for her, so he kept walking down the path of least resistance. "The same one I needed the Mac for: Digital imagery. It’s an elective."

Ginny was silent, thinking. She was incredibly easy to read. It was almost unfair.

"Some of the other kids have really nice cameras and their projects are coming out a lot better than mine. I’ve got one more project due and it’s a graduation requirement. I just want to do well on it. Besides, I was hoping to do a little traveling after graduation. Be nice to film the Eiffel Tower in style."

“Paris? How nice! Can I come?”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out his English paper. "I’ve been doing a lot better. See?"

She looked genuinely surprised at the ‘A’ staring back at her. "Wow! Brendan, that’s–impressive. Congratulations! It’s good to see you getting back on track." She was referring, of course, to the downward spiral his grades had taken after Tess died. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do the work–he’d just stopped caring.