In Between the Earth and Sky

by Heidi Hutchinson

  Lydia approached him with a sweet, crooked smile. Nothing out of the ordinary with her. An oversized Elton John t-shirt tied in a knot at the front of her just-right tight jeans.

  She ran her hands up his chest and playfully tugged on the lapels of the jacket.

  “It’s you. It looks just fine.”

  She pushed up on her toes and kissed his chin. As startled as he was by her intimate yet casual gesture, his arms knew exactly how to respond. They wrapped around her body and pulled her close as he buried his face in the damp hair at her neck.

  Flowers, lightning, and the faintest hint of rain.

  He pulled away with an exhale that included all the unsettled things of his mind. Lydia had that effect on him.

  “You wanna get outta here?” he asked, handing her the brown paper bag with her dark chocolate inside.

  She took the bag and peeked inside. The smile she shot him said that she knew exactly what was going on and he couldn’t fool her.

  He did kind of wished she would let him in on the secret. At the same time, he was pretty sure he was going to enjoy being surprised.

  As they walked to the car, he let her lead the way so he could watch her confident stride and the way her hair caught the newly risen sun. Absently, he touched his hip where the tattoo of the Japanese phoenix resided.

  Maybe she wasn’t new.

  Maybe a part of her had been with him all this time.

  “Where are we going today, loverman?” she asked with a cheeky wink as they both engaged their seatbelts.

  Remington barked a laugh. “Loverman?”

  She shrugged. “Loverboy seems condescending. You’re not a boy.”

  He shook his head and turned the key in the ignition. “We’re also not lovers, Larkin.” He emphasized this fact by pointing a reprimanding look her direction.

  She sighed dramatically, her hazel eyes alight with mischief. “It’s in your eyes, Rem. You can’t fool me.”

  He choked on the sip of coffee he’d mistakenly tried to take. “Fool you?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Okay, I give in, what’s in my eyes.”

  “The fact you’re in love with me.” She rolled her eyes and grimaced like it was the most annoying concept she’d ever had to explain.

  “I’m in love with you?” he asked, humor vibrating through his voice and into his sternum.

  “Desperately,” she answered plainly. “But it’s okay. I will accept your love as that of a foolish man who couldn’t help himself. Don’t feel bad, you’re not the first. And I will do my best to break your heart gently when the time comes.”

  By that time, Remington had to grip the steering wheel with both hands to keep from swerving off the road as he guffawed. He sucked in deep breaths to try to sober himself but the laughter just kept coming.

  Big, rolling, deep laughs that originated in his belly and burst out of him with air and chaos and hilarity.

  “You’re a nerd,” he finally muttered around light chuckles.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” she replied, trying to hide her pleased smile. “Where are we going today?”

  “I thought we might as well head over to Austin and have that meeting.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “So back to work already.”

  He glanced to his right, trying to read her tone. But she gazed straight ahead impassively.

  “Not fully,” he finally said into the silence. “But I mean, eventually I have to go back.”

  She nodded in silence. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d disappointed her.

  Four miles passed in quiet and Remington rested his hand on the gear shift. Even though his fingers twitched to reach for her hand.

  “Lydia,” he said softly, glancing her direction. She faced him, her expression calm but reserved. “You know we have to go back. I’m not saying we can’t make a plan for the future. One that’s realistic and sustainable.”

  What was he saying? Was he actually considering making a plan to run away with her forever?

  “I’ve read every damn article and interview about you that’s out there,” she said, turning her body in the seat to angle towards him. “Why did you get sucked into multilevel marketing in the first place?”

  He clenched his jaw because he wasn’t going to play the ever-popular game of leading questions. She knew the answer. She just wanted him to say. And since he wasn’t thirteen and she wasn’t his mom, he wasn’t going to play.

  But even without his participation, her point had been made.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he said grimly.

  “The freedom, right?” she pressed. “To live life on your terms.”

  He opened his mouth to argue with her but she cut him off.

  “Ask me about Paris.”

  “What?” he darted a look her way. “Why?”

  “Ask me why I was in Paris when I was sixteen. You’ve known for a while and you’ve never asked.”

  “Okay…” He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “Why did you go to Paris when you were sixteen?”

  “Because I wanted to. Now ask me why I left.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “Because I wanted to.”

  Remington’s lips twisted to one side as he clenched the steering wheel. “Good talk, Larkin. You should do this for a living.”

  “When was the last time you did something because you wanted to?” she asked, ignoring his charming sarcasm.

  He shot a look her direction. “Uh, right now. Yesterday. This entire trip was because I wanted to do it—”

  Her laugh broke into his words with incredulous candor. “When are you going to stop telling yourself that lie?”

  “I’m not lying…?” He darted a look her direction.

  “Rem,” Lydia said, facing the front again. “You’re smart. Probably one of the smartest men I’ve ever known. But you really don’t have a clue how far up your ass your head is.”

  “Do you want to have a fight? Like… is that the whole point of this massive display of hysteria?” he asked, tongue firmly planted in cheek.

  Lydia’s deep chuckle didn’t disappoint. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

  “I do my best,” he promised.

  ***

  Lydia

  “This is not a ‘two friends on a sexless road trip’ kind of a hotel. This is an ‘I wanna bang my mistress under an expensive pseudonym’ kind of a hotel.”

  Met with silence, she turned away from the towering name-brand above her and faced Remington sitting in the driver’s seat.

  “What?” she asked. “I’m suddenly not funny?”

  He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side, lips twisting in distaste. “Yeah, not funny.” He reached for the door handle. “Actually, I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but you’re never that funny.”

  Lydia’s mouth fell open with a silent gasp. Remington broke and barked out a laugh as he unfolded his long frame from the car.

  “He knows I’m funny,” she muttered to herself, scrambling from her own seat.

  She skipped, hopped, and jogged to catch up with his swift walk. “My point still remains. This place is expensive. Why can’t we find another cheap, murder-me-please motel?”

  He glanced down at her from his towering six-foot-three height and smirked. “My back has been killing me all day in the car. I have the money to sleep on a mattress that wasn’t made in the fifties. Don’t shame me for it.”

  That was a good point, she conceded internally. Truth was, her body was kind of sore from the lumpy experience last night.

  She glanced around the auspicious lobby, people milling about in their suits and professional wear, carrying their various drinks in their various glasses from the bar. These same people would be there in the morning, except with barista beverages in hand.

  A shiver crawled down her back that said more about her own insecurities than it did about the hotel or the p
eople.

  A warm hand slid through hers and she glanced up to find Remington quietly watching. He gave her a gentle tug and led her to the check-in counter.

  “Okay, Mister Rohan, we have you in room 809 and 811.” The employee set two different key card packets on the counter in front of them. “Do you need help with luggage?”

  “No, thank you.” He swept both packets up and turned towards the elevators in the lobby.

  Two separate rooms. Well, there it was. Couldn’t be clearer than that.

  Not that Lydia thought anything like that was going to happen.

  She didn’t.

  They weren’t.

  It wasn’t.

  But she had liked the way he felt beside her while she’d slept.

  The elevator closed and her face reflected in the mirrored surface of the doors.

  No. Of course that had been a singular event.

  What she hadn’t anticipated was the heaviness the absence of it would create in her heart. Like a chunk of granite had been placed on an important ventricle.

  Her bottom lip twisted to the side as her thoughts took shape on her face. Maybe she should be more aware of that. Keep her heart less on her sleeve and more in her dreams.

  Her eyes flicked up to Remington’s reflection.

  He stared at her. With undisguised curiosity mingled with something softer. Almost tender.

  She took a deep breath and forced a smile but he didn’t seem to register it. His expression remained unchanged.

  And his hand remained fixed to hers.

  The doors opened to their floor—the only thing that broke his eyes away from her face—and he led the way.

  He let go of her hand and stopped at the door of 811. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. How about we see if the nightlife of Austin is all it’s cracked up to be?” he asked.

  The door beeped green and he went inside, tossing both key packets on the dresser.

  Lydia’s eyes lit on the window, framed by an elegant pair of curtains, drawing her to the view.

  “I haven’t been to Austin since I was nine.” She caught the wispy film of the curtains in her fingers and looked down at the city below.

  It was good he’d gotten two separate rooms. And he had been right all those months ago.

  She wanted to ask for too much.

  But wanting it and asking for it were two different things.

  “What happened when you were nine?” he asked, coming up beside her to look down at the lights below.

  “To hear that story, you’d have to know more about dear old dad.” She smiled despite the melancholy memories attached to the face she recalled in her mind.

  “Dad was a musician. A prairie poet—was how it was billed. He sang folksy songs and Bob Dylan covers. Made me listen to every single record he had over and over again until I didn’t just know the words by heart, but they were my heart. You know?” she asked, turning slightly Remington’s direction.

  He nodded even as a frown creased between his eyebrows. But he remined silent.

  Lydia swallowed and continued, letting her eyes drift over his shoulder in order to recount the memories accurately.

  “School would get out for summer break and dad would be there to pick me up. He and my mom… had an understanding. Looking back, I think she agreed to whatever he wanted in the hope he’d eventually come home to her. Anyway, I’d get in the car and we would go. Old, seedy bars, cow towns, big cities, blues clubs—I’ve been to more than I can count. He sang his songs, I’d sing with him. And it was our thing. I didn’t know it was weird until middle school when DHS investigated because of an essay I’d written narrating a drug overdose I’d witnessed in a bathroom in Seattle.”

  “Shit,” Remington whispered.

  “Right?” she asked with a short laugh. “But I learned to keep my mouth shut after that. I didn’t tell anyone about our trips. I realized those things were just…” She pressed her lips together and swallowed the tightness in her throat and blinked back the burn in her eyes. “They were mine.

  “Anyway, in Austin, when I was nine. We made the most money we’d ever made. Dad took me to the beach after that.” She took a breath and let the beautiful memory wash over her. “Only good memories here.”

  “Take me to that bar,” he said, taking a step closer and sliding a hand onto her lower back. “I wanna see it.”

  “I don’t even know if it’s there anymore. But,” she allowed her skin to absorb the warmth of his hand without regret. “Let’s see what we find.”

  ***

  Remington

  Walls.

  He was an expert at detecting them. Even better at climbing them.

  Lydia had had walls around very particular parts of herself when they’d met. To Remington’s delighted shock, they were gone. He hadn’t climbed them, he hadn’t broken through.

  It was if they had dissolved one night when he hadn’t been looking.

  The bareness of her soul shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did.

  Too many people kept their darkness hidden behind their walls. Showing the world only what they were comfortable displaying.

  And here was Lydia, exposed.

  And there wasn’t a drop of darkness in her.

  She was blinding.

  They were each on their third beer in an old bar she had sung in as a child. Remington couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard. How was it that he never tired of her? Even when they argued, he liked it. But he especially enjoyed their time together when they were both… happy.

  It wasn’t a foreign sensation. He’d been happy plenty of times.

  But never in his life had happiness been so effortless.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” their server returned to their table with another beer. “This is from that gentleman at the bar.”

  Both Lydia and Remington looked in that direction with interest. The man raised one eyebrow and his own beer.

  “Hm,” Lydia said, tapping her lips with the tip of her forefinger. “I’m not ready for another beer. Do you think he’d buy me nachos?”

  The server frowned in confusion. Clearly not wanting to go back and ask.

  “I’ll get you some nachos,” Remington offered. “You can leave the beer. I’ll drink it.”

  Their server set the bottle on the table and left again.

  “That guy,” Lydia snorted. “That’s rude. The whole sending a beer over when I’m with another person. That’s annoying.”

  Remington shrugged. “You’re getting nachos out of it. Besides, he could have just as easily sent the drink to me. I’m clearly the prettier one of the two of us.”

  She grinned and chewed on her bottom lip. “You’re not even remotely jealous. I love that about you.”

  Remington’s eyebrows quirked up. “Really? There’s something about me you love?”

  She rolled her eyes at him and he grinned right before she sucker-punched him with her words.

  “I love everything about you, dummy.”

  The server set the nachos down in between them.

  Lydia leaned onto the table with both elbows, eyes eager. She scooped a sloppy chip into her mouth and took another long look around the room. Much the same as she’d been doing the entire time they’d been there.

  “Just go walk around. No one’s going to stop you,” he pointed out.

  Her focus returned to him and she went for the nachos. “It’s just weird, you know? It hasn’t really changed from what I remember. But without the memory filter on, it looks different.”

  “Memory filter?”

  “Yeah. How you see things in your mind’s eye. Mine tends to be a little yellow. Of course,” she said, licking her lips, crumbs falling all over. “That could be due to the cigarette smoke. I sometimes forget people used to be able to smoke indoors.”

  She grasped her beer and finished it in a few swallows. Standing, she set the empty down with a solid thunk on the table. “I’m going to look at those pictures,” she
declared.

  Remington watched her slow, casual stride across the room, observing how others noticed her.

  She was noticeable.

  Like being in a room with a tiger.

  All grace and confidence.

  He bit down on his bottom lip and tried to pretend like she wasn’t everything he’d declared he’d wanted and needed in a partner.

  It was horribly clear the more time he spent with her.

  Which meant he’d probably fuck it up.

  He finished his beer and took the stranger’s gift in his fingers as he shoved to his feet.

  Lydia stood facing a wall covered with hundreds of Polaroids, her arms crossed over her middle. When he was close enough for her to notice him, she leaned towards the wall and pointed at a specific photo.

  Remington stepped close to it and peered at the hippy in the cowboy hat with the young girl by his side. Guitar slung over his back, his hand on her shoulder. The girl’s hair hung in twin tangled braids. And there was no mistaking that wide, toothy smile.

  “Look at you,” Remington murmured. For some reason, all the stories Lydia had told made her seem like some sort of mystical creature. One that didn’t really exist outside of his moments with her.

  And yet, there was the proof.

  Undeniable.

  And more, he saw that she’d not only been incredibly alive as a child, that light in her had always been there.

  Lydia Larkin was exactly who she appeared to be.

  She didn’t have secrets. She’d had a life.

  It was a subtle, yet startling distinction.

  “You look like your dad,” he said, voice tight.

  “Thanks,” she said with a slight blush. “I hope so. He was truly beautiful.”

  “What—” Remington cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like an ass. I’ve just always wondered what your ethnicity is.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Possibly native. Dad never said.” She pursed her lips as she thought back. “The story goes, he was a teenage runaway. Showed up at grandad’s shop and offered to work for room and board. He eventually took their last name and married my mom when they were both eighteen. Then he hit the road again for a while.