Sliding Down the Sky (5 page)

“Take it off?” she asked, giving it a gentle tug. “I help?”

“No, it’s okay, I got it.”

I carefully worked my prosthetic arm loose, sliding it off and handing it to her. She immediately slid her own arm into it and giggled, turning it over and waving it about. It was always weird, seeing her wearing it like that. I got an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. The hand didn’t feel part of me, but seeing her with it just looked wrong. It wasn’t that I was particularly possessive about it, it was just what it represented.

My hand. My music. My life. My loss.

Aria turned her attention from my hand to the silicone liner that covered my forearm. She slipped her arm out of my prosthesis and dropped it beside her on the bed. Then she reached for my arm and ran her fingers over it, from the end of my wrist where my hand used to be, up to the end of the liner, just below my elbow.

“Take it off?” she asked again, looking up at me.

When I first came to live with them, she noticed my arm right away. She asked to see it, and I showed her. There didn’t seem to be much point in trying to hide it. She wasn’t scared or repulsed by it as I imagined she would be. Instead, she seemed fascinated by it. More than that, she accepted it as part of me, which was something I was still struggling to do, even all these months later. As she got older, she would probably never remember me when I was whole.

I carefully rolled the liner off my arm and dropped it on my belly, holding my arm out for her to see. Her warm little fingers were on it in a heartbeat. Without me even having to tell her, she was gentle and reverent.

“Sore?” she asked, frowning.

It looked painful, so I understood her concern.

“No sweetie, not right now.”

She ran her fingers lightly over what was left of my forearm. The deep crevices and scars leftover from the accident, subsequent surgeries and skin grafts, made for an ugly landscape, one that I hid from most people. Slowly, her fingertips travelled down the uneven terrain to the stump at the end, about an inch before where my wrist used to be. She held her arm up next to mine and flexed her hand – her perfect, chubby little hand, with its tiny nails and candy-pink polish.

With what was left of my heart and soul, I hoped like hell that she would never know what it felt like to be this broken.

I turned my head on the pillow to see her not watching my hand, but my face, with eyes that were bright with understanding.

“Why you sad, Sassy?”

Please don’t ask me that.

“I’m not sad, sweetie,” I whispered, smiling to try and reassure her.

She frowned at me dubiously, and I swear she looked just like Leo. It was uncanny, how similar they were.

“I love you to the moon and back,” I said, reaching out to draw her body closer.

She buried her face in my hair, giggling.

“Love you more!”

“How much more?”

“Moon, and back, and round the house –
three
times!”

It was our little ritual, and I laughed as she squirmed in my arms, clearly having had enough of this ‘lying still’ business already. She pulled away from me and the giggling stopped. Then she reached around to place her hand on my arm again, running her fingers over it so gently, it gave me goosebumps.

“Special,” she whispered, as if it were a secret. “This
special
, Sassy.”

My heart shuddered. She probably just meant ‘different’, which I guess it was. There was no denying that.

Irony is a savage bitch. She doesn’t pull any punches. After spending years trying to stand out from the crowd, I had finally gotten my wish.

“In the broken places, the light shines through.”

– Leonard Cohen

Sass

My new life was full of milestones, mostly small ones. They were stepping stones, small victories, mile markers on the road to my new life, where I would breeze through the days, confident and capable (or so I tried to convince myself, at least). And every milestone was accompanied by one simple question.

Would people notice?

Stripped of my usual props – booze and isolation – I was naked. I was also determined. Leo was counting on me. Gemma needed him. Aria looked up to me. I didn’t have it in me to fight for myself, but I would fight for them.

It didn’t seem like that long ago that leaving the house had been my biggest milestone, but my recent milestones were no less daunting. Last week, it was struggling into my favourite biker boots. Tying shoelaces one-handed wasn’t my idea of fun, but I was getting tired of wearing the same slip-on shoes day after day. That particular milestone was accompanied by much cussing and a few frustrated tears, but I got there in the end. I told myself it would get easier.

This week, it was collecting coffee for Leo and I from the diner. We had gone there together, every morning for a couple of weeks, on our way to the bar to oversee the renovations and attend to the thousand other things that needed to be done before we opened. But this week, I was going alone.

It was Tuesday, my second morning. Yesterday, I sat in the car for fifteen minutes, trying to work up the courage. I’d walked myself through it in my mind, preparing myself. I’d gone half an hour earlier than usual, hoping it would be quieter with less of an audience if I messed up. Surprisingly, it was fine. I planned it all out in advance, and as a result the adrenaline rush was incredible. As with every milestone I accomplished, it boosted my confidence. I was going to be Little Miss Got-Her-Shit-Together, even if it killed me.

Years ago I’d left my small hometown, so much like this one, to reinvent myself in the city. I was in a huge hurry – to get away, to grow up, to
be
someone. I was hungry for it – fame, fortune, adventure – all of it. And where did it get me? I had all those things, and I lost them. I wish I’d been in less of a hurry. I wish I’d stayed in my hometown, married a local boy, settled down, had kids with him. I wish I’d taken satisfaction from the gift of music I’d been given.

It was time to reinvent myself yet again. With no music, a missing hand and a near-crippling case of regret, it was daunting to say the least, and I had next to no idea where to begin. I found myself stumbling through each day, collapsing into bed each night, grateful I’d made it through, but with the lingering knowledge that I’d have to do it all again tomorrow.

I sat at the counter in the diner to wait for the coffee. It was quiet at that time of the day, which was what I liked about it. I could slip in and then slip out again before anyone really noticed. The young girl behind the counter – Leila, according to her name badge – was shy but polite. She seemed unsure, still finding her way in the world. The funny thing was, that was exactly how I felt too – only with a world of experience under my belt that I didn’t have the faintest clue what to do with. None of it seemed even the least bit relevant anymore.

“Here you go,” Leila said, bringing the coffee to me in takeaway cups. “Have a nice day.”

“Thanks. You too.”

I placed one cup on top of the other, balancing both in one hand as I headed for the door. I backed into it, using my butt and my arm to swing it open, and made my way out to my car. I carefully placed the cups on the roof, side by side, not taking any chances.

“Morning.”

I spun around, clumsily knocking one of the coffee cups into the other. To my horror, both cups slid from the roof of the car onto the ground in front of me, leaving me executing an undignified scramble backwards to avoid being splashed.

Shit!

“Jesus – sorry, that was completely my fault,” the deep voice said.

My heart raced, partially from embarrassment, partially from irritation at allowing myself to be so easily startled. I was permanently on edge lately.

“Let me replace whatever that was – it’s the least I can do,” he said.

I shot a thin smile in his general direction as I surveyed the coffee carnage.

“Don’t worry about it,” I mumbled, wondering if I had the courage to go through the last fifteen minutes all over again. “It was an accident.”

“No really, I insist,” he said, bending down to collect the now-empty coffee cups and lids off the ground. “I swear I don’t usually go around scaring women in parking lots – I feel really shitty about this.”

He stood up, and I realised he was blushing, too. With short dark hair, a five o’clock shadow (at seven-thirty in the morning) and piercing blue eyes, he was a head taller than me, which meant he had to be at least six-one or six-two, because I wasn’t exactly petite. He was kind of hot, and in the blink of an eye, my old self made a cameo appearance.

Flirt, goddamnit! Say something!

But then my old self was gone and my new self was, as usual, woefully inadequate.

“No, really. It’s okay,” I said.

I started to turn my back on him but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“Come on, have a heart,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

The combination of that and the presence of his hand on my arm wore me down a little.

“What kind of karmic payback would I be inviting if I didn’t try to fix this? Being coffee-less in this world is about as undesirable as being penniless or homeless – or any of the lesses, for that matter.”

I turned around, and he let go of me.

“I’m serious, in case you hadn’t worked that out,” he offered hesitantly.

Definitely not one of the smug, arrogant, self-assured assholes I was used to fending off, before the accident. Since the accident, I hadn’t had to fend off anyone. Another difference between my old life and my new one. He was still staring at me, waiting. Those eyes really were startling, and he hadn’t once looked at my hand. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

Where was the harm in a little meaningless flirting? This wasn’t a bar, and that wasn’t a pick-up line. It was a diner parking lot at seven-thirty on a Tuesday morning. If anything screamed ‘safe!’, it was that.

“Okay. If you put it like that,” I said, before I could stop myself.

It felt like another milestone, like a flashing light was going off above my head. I wanted to punch the sky in triumph, but I contained myself.

He offered his hand, looking somewhat relieved.

“Callum Ferguson, caffeine addict.”

I took it, and he shook my hand firmly. No pity handshake here. He definitely hadn’t noticed my prosthesis. People who did normally didn’t shake my hand like that, just in case they broke the only one I had left. For some reason, it made me feel stronger. I wanted to keep the illusion in place for as long as possible.

“Sass Hathaway.”

He held my hand a moment longer before releasing it, raising one eyebrow.

“That’s really your name?”

I nodded. It was my real name, not the one I used when I was playing. I’d cut my hair short since then and gone back to my natural black colour. But still… had he recognised me? God, I hoped not. I couldn’t deal with that right now.

“That’s some moniker,” he said, squinting at me curiously. “Are you a serial killer or a lounge singer?”

I must’ve looked as lost as I felt.

“I mean, with a name like that, your folks clearly wanted either fame or notoriety for you. So which one did you end up with?”

He had no idea how close to the truth he really was.

“Neither,” I said quickly, trying to tuck the fingers of my prosthesis into the back pocket of my jeans, just in case he was looking. “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a guy, waiting for him to buy her the coffee he promised.”

He nodded, one corner of his mouth tilting up into a reluctant, crooked smile.

“It's okay if you mess up. You should give yourself a break.”

– Billy Joel

Callum

She was taller than I’d expected, yet despite her height she had this delicate aura about her. I’d felt it in her hand when I shook it. Her fingers were slim and long, and her skin was so pale, it was as if she hadn’t seen the sun in months. But it was her eyes that mesmerised me.

Up close and in the sunlight, they were olive green, with flecks of golden honey and chestnut brown. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. I’d always been confused by that expression, as if your eyes were somehow linked to the truth within you. It all sounded like some kind of new-age, airy-fairy bullshit to me – a fairytale for romance novel afficianados. But whenever our eyes met – which wasn’t often, as she seemed to look everywhere but at me – I got the weirdest sensation. It was like looking through the port-hole of a ship, out into the ocean. I got a glimpse of something, a snap-shot, fractured and brief, but it reeled me in and made me want to know more. I wanted to see the full picture. I’d never met anyone who’d had that effect on me before.

Even though she was happy to sit beside me at the counter in the diner and talk, her eyes kept me at a distance. I could feel her reluctance, so I kept things neutral and easy. She had me on my best behaviour, which was something I rarely bothered with these days.

After I’d seen her at Barney’s last week, I thought she looked strangely familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. Now that I’d seen her up close, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe she just reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t quite think of who.

She had me questioning everything. Where had I seen her before? What did I hope to achieve by impressing her? What would someone as gorgeous as her want with someone like me? I tried to relax and enjoy the time I did have with her, even though the rush would be short-lived, given my natural tendency to mess things up. Like a kid, I wanted her to sit up and take notice of me, even if nothing ever came of it. At least I could show Jack that I’d tried. Maybe it’d get him off my back.

“I don’t know if you know, but I’m friends with your landlords,” I said.

“Jack and Ally?”

“Yeah. Jack tells me you guys are the proud new owners of the Green Door.”

She sat with her hands in her lap, her shoulders hunched over as if there was a chill in the air, even though I thought the diner was uncomfortably warm.