Sliding Down the Sky (35 page)

Dad and I circled around each other most of the morning, but it soon became obvious and uncomfortable. We needed to talk. Irene made us both coffee and the two of us sat in the living room, one on each couch, in awkward silence.

“I know you don’t agree with what we did,” he said. “But I just want you to know that just because I think it was the right thing to do, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a son of a bitch.”

I nodded, staring at the steaming coffee cups on the table between us.

“Lydia was… I loved her,” he said simply, his voice breaking. “She gave me more than any wife should ever have to give her husband. I didn’t deserve her and I’m glad she found Coop. He’s a good man. She loved him. She told me that, several times. She said she’d never been happier, and I could see that for myself. She deserved to be happy.”

I didn’t have any argument with any of that. In fact, I had trouble saying anything at all. My throat felt like it had seized up. Talking hurt, because every time I opened my mouth, I was trying so hard to keep my pain inside. It was a physical manifestation of an emotional ache that would not go away.

“I’m not going to stay for the funeral.”

I looked over at him, frowning.

“It’s not right. She wasn’t mine, she was Coop’s, married or not. Steph’s just lost her mother, the poor kid. I don’t want to take the focus away from their grief, or yours. I don’t have any place here. I just wanted you to understand why I was leaving.”

I did, but for some strange reason, I wanted him to stay. Otherwise it would feel like the last few days had never really happened.

“I have a partner now,” he continued. “Her name’s Patti. She knows about the man I was, about the things I did. She knows about all of it. We don’t have any secrets from each other. I want you to know about her, because I’d really like you to meet her one day. I think you’d really like her.”

I’d never thought of him with anyone else but Mom. Looking at how different he was, at how much things had changed, it made sense, though.

“Did Mom meet her?” I asked, my voice croaky and under-used.

He smiled.

“No, but she wanted to. I wish they’d gotten the chance. I think she would’ve liked Patti, too.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet her yet. I wasn’t sure about anything. Dad reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, standing up and handing it to me. It had his name and phone number scrawled on it. It was weird, seeing his handwriting on something, after all those years.

“Promise me you’ll hang on to that?” he said, as I looked up at him. “Keep it, just put it away somewhere safe. Then when you’re ready, give me a call. I’d really like to talk to you again.”

I stood up and tucked the card into my pocket. I walked him out the front door, and followed him out onto the verandah. We glanced over to see Sass watching us, swinging quietly on the swing-seat at the other end. She stood up and walked over to us, reaching out for my hand.

“Are you leaving?” she asked him, sliding her hand into mine.

“I think its best.”

“Are you going to be back for the funeral?”

He and I exchanged a knowing glance and he shook his head, turning his attention back to her.

“I don’t think so. It was really nice to meet you. I hope that we’ll meet again one day soon.”

“It was nice to meet you, too,” she said, smiling hesitantly, probably wondering what the hell was going on, although she hid it well.

“Goodbye, son,” he said, offering me his hand.

I took it, and it was one of the strangest moments of my life. Once again, I admired him. This time, for leaving. He was right. It was the right thing to do.

Sass and I stood hand in hand and watched him as he walked down the path, got into his car and drove away.

“Storms make trees take deeper roots.”

– Dolly Parton

Sass

The day was long and difficult, and the tension expressed itself as fatigue. Everyone was exhausted. After Dan left, Callum became even more withdrawn. I got the feeling he was lost, and even though I tried to reach him, to get him to talk to me, he wouldn’t, or couldn’t. I wasn’t sure which.

I helped him make up the fold-out bed in the downstairs den, and then I excused myself to go to bed. Coop had insisted I take the guest bedroom, upstairs and at the end of the hall, and I didn’t argue. Callum may have needed me as Ally said, but he didn’t want me, not then anyway. I didn’t want to push it.

Coop and Lydia’s home was the kind of home you see on TV. Two floors – bedrooms upstairs, living area downstairs – it had beautiful gardens and white shutters on the outside of the windows. Sitting on a tree-lined street, with a large front lawn complete with white picket fence, it was tasteful yet comfortable.

There was a photo of Coop and Lydia in the hallway, just outside my bedroom, and it was the first time I’d seen her. She was beautiful. Short, light brown hair, with the same blue eyes as Callum. I could see him in her, as well as his father.

The guest bedroom felt like a million miles away from everywhere. As I lay there, amongst the pale blue and white soft furnishings, I couldn’t help but wonder what Callum was doing. Was he sleeping? God, I hoped so. He really needed it. He looked like he was about ready to drop.

There was a soft knock, and as if I had somehow summoned him with my thoughts, he was at my door.

“Sass? Are you awake?”

I panicked. I was wearing an oversized Counting Crows tour t-shirt and my pyjama shorts, but I may as well have been naked. My prosthesis was on the other side of the room along with the silicone liner, which I’d rinsed before I’d gone to bed. It was still drying. Both were out of reach.

Damn it!

“Just a minute!” I whispered frantically.

I sat up, pulling the comforter around me and making sure to keep my left arm beneath it. One thing we didn’t need was a show-and-tell episode. He had enough to deal with.

“Okay!” I called, willing my heart to stop thumping against my chest cavity.

The door opened, just a crack, and he peered in.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He closed the door carefully behind him. Then he just stood there, his back to the door, like a lost dog looking for a home.

“Did I wake you?” he asked anxiously.

I shook my head.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked.

“No.”

He scratched his chin, then walked over to the bed and sat down, sighing heavily.

“How’re you doing?” I asked, although it was a ridiculous question.

He shrugged, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze falling to the carpet.

“I don’t know. I feel numb, like none of this is real.”

I inched forward and laid my hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. He was wound up so tight, I could feel it.

“I wish I knew what to say,” I said. “I wish I could help.”

“You are,” he nodded, although he didn’t look up. “You’re here.”

I wasn’t convinced. I felt so useless.

“Are you going to call your Dad, when all this is over?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I haven’t decided yet. Do you think I should?”

“I can’t tell you that. You should do whatever you feel is right for you.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, devoid of humour.

“You’d make a good politician.”

I smiled in the semi-darkness.

“He’s not at all what I expected,” I said.

“Yeah, you and me both. He’s changed, that’s for sure.”

Silence surrounded us once more.

“I wish I’d had the chance to say goodbye to her,” he said, so softly I almost didn’t hear him. “I wish she’d been able to tell me about Dad herself. I’ve got all these questions for her and now I’ll never know.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

“I owe you an apology,” he said, turning to me. “A proper one.”

“No, you don’t – honestly. Let’s just pretend it never happened, okay? It’s nothing, not compared to everything that’s happened since.”

He wasn’t going to let it go, though. The silvery moonlight lit up his face, flooding in via the room’s only window.

“I don’t want to pretend it never happened,” he croaked. “I want you to know that I’m sorry. I only did what I did because I wanted to help. I thought scaring Dawson off would get him off your back. I thought showing you that you hadn’t lost your music might help you to get it back again. I never meant to hurt you. I need you to know that.”

It was the most he’d said to me since I arrived, and my heart ached for him.

“I do. I do know that.”

“I mess up,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper. “A lot. It’s what I do. I never mean to, but it happens anyway. You should know that, too.”

I nodded, hoping he could see the understanding in my eyes, just as I could see the honesty in his.

He reached up and took my hand off his shoulder, holding it tightly.

“I’m gonna try hard not to do that anymore,” he whispered. “I want you to feel safe with me. I want you to be able to tell me anything. I want you to trust me.”

He never ceased to amaze me. He’d just lost his mother and come face to face with a father he hadn’t seen for years. I’d have been a mess, but he wasn’t. He still had enough residual strength to seek me out and apologise. I wanted to bind myself to him. I wanted some of that strength to leech into me. I wanted to draw it out of him, and then give it back to him when he needed it.

He drew me into his arms and suddenly I felt giddy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “About everything. I’d never hurt you.”

My throat closed up, clogged full of emotions I didn’t even have names for. It meant so much to him that he had made sure to tell me twice, just in case there was any misunderstanding.

“I know,” I whispered hoarsely, burying my face into his shoulder and wrapping my arms around him, drawing him closer.

He pulled away from me slightly, and I looked up at him. His expression was so tender, so loving that it stole my breath. I could sense the kiss before his lips even touched mine. It was as if his heart reached out to mine, breathing life into it. I’d never known such a sense of belonging before – I belonged in his arms. I knew that with a certainty that I’d known very few things in my life.

He pulled me closer, our lips still upon each other as our bodies began to respond. Conscious thought disappeared, replaced by an unconscious need to be closer to him. His hand on my shoulder squeezed gently before sliding down to my elbow. It took me a few moments to realise what he was doing, but when I did, an alarm rang inside my head so loud that I pulled away from him, gasping.

“What?” he asked, frowning at me in the moonlight, his hands still on me. “What’s wrong?”

I stared at him, words failing me. He had to know. He had to.

My gut reaction was panic, and I knew immediately that panic was wrong, misplaced. I should’ve been excited, but I wasn’t. I was scared and he knew it. I could see it in the way he looked at me. I was starting to realise that my carefully hidden emotions were no match for him. He could see right through them. It scared the hell out of me. That kind of honesty was a knife-edge. One false move and I’d be cut to ribbons.

“What is it?” he asked, determined not to let me hide, even when I wanted to.

I gently pulled out of his grasp, sliding my left arm under the comforter as I struggled to find the right words. A ragged sigh escaped, sounding more like a whimper, or a sob that had taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way. I couldn’t even look at him. I didn’t want him to see the fear in my eyes because I knew he’d take that as a challenge.

“Not like this,” I whispered. “You’ve had a tough time – your Mom, your Dad… everything. You should go. You should probably go.”

I kept my promise to him. It was the truth – part of it, at least.

“I don’t want to go.”

I drew in on myself, trying to block him out, but he kept coming anyway. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I suspected he would.

“I don’t think you want me to go, either,” he said, inching closer to me. “You’re scared. I get it. I am too. Everything’s spiralling out of control lately, but one thing I know for sure is that I want you. I think I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. You came all this way for me, and you have no idea how much that means to me. I don’t deserve you, but I need you just the same. I need you here, with me, always. Please – just trust me. Let me prove myself to you. Please?”

He gently tilted my chin so that our eyes met.

“Talk to me,” he whispered.

Tears burned my eyes. I couldn’t lie to him.

“I have scars.”

His eyes never left mine, his gaze so intense that I wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t move.

“I imagined you would have.”

He was unflappable, but I had to prepare him. There was no going back after this.

“You need to listen to me. It’s not just the fact that my hand’s gone. I have muscle and tissue damage below my elbow. There were skin grafts. It’s not pretty.”

I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of what was ahead.

“I don’t care.”

That was easy to say when he had no idea what I was talking about. He may have thought he was ready, but I wasn’t. Not even close.

“Hey,” he said. “I don’t care. I mean it.”

His eyes captivated me, the way they could reach in and grab my soul. It was unnerving and comforting, all at once. It took me out of myself and set me on the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss. But he didn’t leave me there. He stood behind me, his arms wrapped around me, and he kept me from falling.

“Show me,” he murmured. “Trust me.”

I waited for several more moments, begging my heart to stop racing, begging my stomach to settle. Then I slowly pulled my arm out from under the covers, resting it on my lap. I didn’t want to wave it in his face. I wanted to make sure he could take some time to prepare himself.

It didn’t take him long.

He glanced down, and I held my breath. I watched his face, but his eyes were in shadow, and I couldn’t read them. He ran his fingertips gently over the puckered skin, following the hills and valleys of my mangled muscles and grafted tissue until he came to the stump at the end of my arm. Then he gently wrapped his hand around it, the heat of his skin like a balm for my wounded soul. It was as if he was holding my hand, and my heart.