Sliding Down the Sky

by Amanda Dick

  “So,” she said, as we drove out of town. “Where are we going?”

  I glanced over at her, smiling.

  “Stage three.”

  “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  “For now, yeah. Don’t worry,” I said, grinning. “All will be revealed soon enough.”

  We fell into a comfortable silence, and it wasn’t long before we were approaching our destination.

  “Here we are,” I said, taking a gravel side road that led down off River Road.

  “Where is here, exactly?”

  “This town doesn’t have much going for it, scenic beauty wise, but it has the river. And this river has some of the most amazing views – if you know where to look. Luckily, your tour guide for the evening knows what he’s doing.”

  “Dinner and a guided tour? That’s pretty impressive.”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  I glanced over at her to find her looking straight back at me. I could tell she had no idea what I was talking about, but that didn’t matter. All was about to become clear – if I could pull it off.

  We drove through a grove of trees that concealed the gravel road from the main one, and the road dipped and turned slightly. A few minutes later, we came out from under the trees into a clearing where the road ended. In front of us, spread out like something out of a postcard, was the best view over the river for miles. There was no traffic noise, and the trees to our back made it feel like we were miles from civilisation, not a mere fifteen minute drive from the centre of town. The river was almost intimate, at its most narrow point for miles, and a cloudy blue at this time of the evening. The sun was just going down, highlighting the treeline on the opposite bank in shades of purple, pink and orange. It was breathtaking. But there was more.

  “Wow,” she said. “This is really beautiful.”

  “That’s not all. Wait there.”

  I got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her. If this night was going to be a success, I needed her to feel like she was the reason for everything. I wanted her to be happy, and I was going to use every tool in my arsenal to make that happen.

  I took her hand and helped her out of the car, closing the door behind her.

  “You don’t have to try so hard,” she said tentatively. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  I kept her hand in mine as she looked up at me and our eyes locked. Suddenly, it seemed really important that she know this wasn’t a shallow fling or a passing phase. I wasn’t trying to impress her or flirt with her. I was trying to show her how much she meant to me.

  “I know. I want to.”

  I could see the happiness fill her, even though her expression barely changed. She seemed to relax, as if she was seeing into my heart and that, in turn, unwound me.

  “Come on,” I said softly, squeezing her hand and urging her to follow me.

  Together, we walked off the road and between two small shrubs, along the grassy riverbank.

  “What’s that?” she asked, spying the clearing the same time as I did.

  “That’s our restaurant for tonight.”

  The white fairy lights thrown over the shrubbery marked our territory, defining the small clearing from the surrounding area. They circled the grass on three sides, sparkling in the gathering dusk, leaving the side facing the river open to catch the most of the view. I’d been out earlier to lay a blanket down on the grass, somewhere to sit and enjoy each other’s company.

  I see your tea party, and I raise you one candlelit dinner.

  “Do you like it?” I asked anxiously, wondering if maybe it was too cliché for her.

  She didn’t say anything straight away, and I began to think I was right. Too cliché. Not thoughtful enough. Not different enough.

  Then she turned, looking up at me with eyes that seemed to pick up the reflection of the lights around us.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. Ever.”

  Relief flooded through my whole body. I felt like I was soaring. I slid my hand around the back of her neck and bent down to capture her lips with mine. She tasted so sweet, I didn’t want to let her go, but we had the whole evening ahead of us. There was time to savour her, and that’s exactly what I intended to do.

  I withdrew, my hand still on her neck, reluctant to let go of all of her. I ran my fingertips across her skin lightly and she shuddered, her eyes fixed on mine.

  “I wanted to do something special for you,” I said, my other arm finding her waist and sliding down to settle on her hip. “I want to show you how much you mean to me.”

  She shook her head slightly, as if she was going to say something, but couldn’t find the words. That wasn’t good enough. I wanted to know what was going on inside her head.

  “What?” I prompted, as her eyes filled with tears.

  Before she could answer though, I saw headlights approaching in the distance.

  Right on time.

  “Looks like we have company,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “Stage four – or as I like to call it, dinner.”

  “What?”

  The pizza delivery car slowed down and I went back to the road to see the driver from Lou’s Pizza, who kept looking over my shoulder at Sass and our set-up in the grass. He seemed amused, and maybe even a little impressed. He was young, but I hoped he was taking notes because so far, things were going to plan.

  I paid for the pizzas and stood out on the road to watch him back the car up, turn around and drive off. I stopped at my car on the way back to the riverbank, picking up a Coke and a beer from the cooler in the back seat. I didn’t want anything to screw this night up, so I was deliberately keeping a clear head. One beer to calm the nerves, that’s all. My high tonight would be courtesy of Sass, and her company.

  “Dinner is served,” I said, walking towards her with the bounty.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “Maybe you’re not meant to fit in.

  Maybe you’re supposed to stand out.”

  – Taylor Swift

  Sass

  If I thought I was out of my comfort zone before, I wasn’t even in the same timezone now.

  We sat on a blanket beside the river in the twilight, eating pizza and talking, fairy lights sparkling all around us. Perhaps I’d fallen asleep while Aria was drawing me and this was all in my head, because no way did anything feel even in the slightest bit real. He had pre-planned all of this, right down to the fairy lights and the babysitters. For me.

  “So, can I ask you something?” he asked, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankles casually.

  We’d finished the pizza, and he’d only brought us one drink each, which we were savouring.

  “I’m pretty sure you’ve earned the right to ask me anything you want tonight.”

  I was simultaneously more relaxed than I had felt in a long time, and sporting a natural high which had me hanging on to every single sensation as if I was feeling it for the first time. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He was the happiest I had ever seen him, and it filled me with the kind of unbridled joy that I never thought I’d ever feel again.

  “What’s Sass short for?”

  I laughed. Not just a girly giggle, but a full-on, throw-your-head-back-and-let-it-rip laugh. Of all the questions he could’ve asked, he chose that one.

  “What?” he asked, completely confused by my rampant mirth.

  I clapped my hand over my mouth until I had control of myself again. God, how long had it been since I’d laughed like that? I couldn’t even remember the last time. I shook my head, dropping my hand.

  “Sorry,” I chuckled. “Of all the questions, I didn’t expect that one.”

  He frowned at me like I’d lost my mind, but he could see the entertainment value in it.

  “It’s Saskia,” I said.

  “Saskia. You don’t look like a Saskia.”

  “I won’t even ask what a Saskia looks
like,” I grinned.

  “Well, I don’t know either. I’ve never met one before.”

  “You have now.”

  “Yes, I have,” he smiled. “So, Sass is a nickname?”

  “Yeah. I couldn’t say it when I was little. I could only say Sass. I guess it stuck. The only one who called me Saskia was my Dad – or my Mom, when I was in trouble. Then I got the full handle – Saskia Elizabeth Hathaway. If I got the whole mouthful, I was probably about to have my ass handed to me.”

  He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle.

  “What about you?” I asked. “What did you get when you were in trouble?”

  “A back-hander, or worse, depending on how drunk my Dad was at the time. Mom never laid a hand on me, but Dad was was kinda partial to using whatever was available – hand, belt, shoe... he could be very creative.”

  His smile died and he looked uncomfortable, looking out over the river.

  “Sorry,” he said, coming back to me. “That was a bit too much information.”

  I shook my head.

  “I thought we made up our own rules about that.”

  His gaze was steady, but I could tell the darkness loomed inside of him. I could almost see it, until he covered it over, hiding it from me again.

  “James.”

  “Sorry?” I frowned, lost.

  “It’s my middle name.”

  “I like it,” I smiled. “It suits you.”

  He smiled softly. Then he sat up and turned to me.

  “You… ” he said, taking my waist in his hands and squeezing gently.

  I could tell he was about to say something serious, but I couldn’t concentrate, not with his hands where they were. I squirmed.

  “Sorry, but that… that’s just making me crazy.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, but the pressure from his hands on my waist didn’t let up. In fact, he squeezed and released me several times, despite the writhing I could no longer control.

  “Ticklish? Really? You don’t look the type, but that’s good to know.”

  “Okay!” I yelped, arching my back to get away from him. “That’s not funny anymore! Quit it!”

  I fell backwards, giggling, and he fell on top of me, his legs straddling mine. He let go of my waist and suspended himself above me, studying me. All trace of humour had gone, and he was staring at me with the most intense passion, it was as if he had reached inside my body and grabbed my heart, stopping it from beating.

  Blood roared in my ears, and suddenly my heart leapt back into action.

  I reached up to stroke his cheek, the ever-present stubble raw beneath my fingertips, just inches from my face. Then I pushed myself up onto my elbows and kissed him. Kissing him was one of those sublime experiences that affected my whole body, from the tips of my toes to my scalp. Everything tingled, all my nerve endings came alive, sensation was everywhere, everything. His stubble seemed to both caress and hurt me at the same time. Soft and sharp, like sweet with sour, one was meaningless without the other.

  He wrapped his arms around my waist, rolling over onto his back, pulling me with him. The horizon moved, and then I was on top of him, leaning on his chest as he sank a hand into my hair and pulled me down to his lips again. I loved the way he felt, loved the way he tasted, loved the way he smelled. I loved how he massaged my scalp with his fingertips while he kissed me. I loved how solid his body was beneath mine. In a kind of hypnotic euphoria, it seemed as if the strength of his body made up for the weakness in mine. He made me feel complete again.

  Eventually, our lips separated and he just stared into my eyes, as if looking for something. I stared back, hoping he found it.

  “It’s raining,” he murmured, holding my face in his hands.

  I blinked, like walking onto a dark stage and suddenly being blinded by a spotlight.

  “What?”

  “It’s raining.”

  Sensation flooded through me, and he was right. My back was wet. My hair, too. So was he, I could see it now. I giggled. I couldn’t help it. The giggle became a chuckle, and then a full-blown laugh. He stared at me like I was crazy for about three-point-four seconds, then his face split into a huge grin.

  “You’re a raving lunatic,” he sniggered.

  That made me laugh even more.

  “What are you laughing at?” he asked, scrambling to sit up. “You’re soaked to the skin. Aren’t you cold?”

  I rolled away from him, sitting up and struggling to control myself, light-headed with sheer joy. No, I wasn’t cold. I was anything but cold.

  “I don’t care,” I grinned, running my hand down my face and flicking water at him.

  He shook his head in wonder then stood up, grabbing my hand and pulling me up with him.

  “It’s all fun and games until someone gets pneumonia,” he chuckled. “Come on, let’s get this shit back to the car where it’s dry.”

  I helped him to gather up the wet blanket, the fairy lights, the empty pizza boxes and the drinks, and we made our way back to the car. The rain was now heavy, but it was still early. We threw everything except the drinks into the back of his car and collapsed into the front seats, soaked through.

  I looked out through the window as the rain battered the car.

  “You really know how to show a girl a good time, y’know that?” I quipped, turning to him.

  “Don’t you forget it.”

  We smiled at each other like a couple of teenagers. He was joking, I know, but there was a ring of truth to it. I wouldn’t forget tonight.

  It was a memory I would keep safe in my heart, forever.

  Chapter Forty

  “There is something glamorous to me in taking

  a bit of a beating and keeping on going.”

  – Chris Martin

  Callum

  At first I thought the rain was a bad thing, but seeing the way her black shirt was sticking to her like a second skin, I changed my mind. Rain was a good thing. A very good thing.

  But not if she ended up getting sick because of it. I reached over into the back seat and handed over her jacket.

  “Here, before you catch cold.”

  She was struggling out of her shirt, but it was no easy task.

  “Let me help.”

  She turned her back to me and I attacked the sopping sleeve, easing it down over her arm.

  “Is this all part of your Mr Smooth act?” she teased. “Getting the girl soaking wet so you can disrobe her?”

  “Hey, it’s working isn’t it?” I chuckled, pushing the shirt across her shoulders so she could get the other sleeve off.

  I left her to it and turned on the car’s engine, cranking up the heat.

  “Just give it a minute to warm up,” I said, as cool air blasted out of the vents.

  I peeled off my own shirt, exposing my t-shirt underneath, and threw it into the back seat. Then I grabbed my jacket, shrugging into it. I glanced over at her and she was giving me a strange look.

  “What?”

  “You make that look so damn easy.”

  It was easy – for me. Clearly it wasn’t for her, because she went back to struggling with the final sleeve, but it refused to come off. I switched the light on, to make it easier for her to see.

  “For God’s sake,” she murmured, yanking at it anxiously.

  It was caught on her prosthesis, I could see that clearly from where I sat.

  “Have you got it?” I asked, leaning over. “Hang on, the cuff’s still buttoned, that’s why it’s getting stuck.”

  I could feel her shivering already, as I fiddled with the button on the cuff. Just like her obviously building frustration, the heat was coming, but it was slow. Eventually, I managed to unbutton the soaking cuff, and I helped her to pull it off. She screwed the sopping shirt into a ball and dropped it on the floor at her feet with an exasperated sigh.

  Rather than talk about the obvious, I chose to ignore it. The t-shirt she wore was wet, too, but before she put her jacket on, it was her bare arm I was dra
wn to.

  “Wow,” I said, before I could help myself. “That’s one badass tattoo.”

  I reached for her arm, tuning it over gently to get a closer look.

  A black dandelion was inked into her skin, stretching from just below her wrist to just inside her elbow. It was beautifully done, with incredible detail. The seeds on the dandelion head had begun to blow away, and they turned into tiny black birds near her wrist. I couldn’t help running my fingertips along the dandelion’s stem, causing goosebumps to rise up in their wake.

  “This is amazing work – I’ve never seen fine detail like that before. What does it mean?”

  She didn’t answer, but I could hear her breathing. I held onto her arm, glancing up at her. She just shook her head, her eyes glistening as the rain pounded on the car.

  “I don’t know.”

  She must’ve seen the question brewing, because she pulled her arm out of my hands and shoved her hand between her thighs, hiding it.

  “I was kind of a mess, after the accident,” she said, staring down at her thighs. “Out of control, you might say. I was drinking – a lot – and one night, apparently I was out of my mind, and I got this. I can’t even remember who I was with or where I was. I haven’t the faintest idea what it means. It could mean anything.”

  I reached up and switched off the light. The car was warming up, but she was still sitting there, in a wet t-shirt and wet jeans, shivering. I gently took the jacket out of her lap and slid it around her shoulders.

  “Crazy, huh?” she said, just loud enough so I could hear her above the rain.

  “Not crazy.”

  She looked over at me and I could see her pain. I’d done my share of drinking over the years, and I’d had my share of alcohol-induced blackouts. But I’d never been through anything as traumatic as losing a limb. I couldn’t imagine what a loss like that would do to your soul. I didn’t want to. I didn’t blame her for wanting to block it out either, especially considering the circumstances surrounding that loss.