He slid it open just a crack, enough to alert her to his presence without startling her too much. She moved over to let him open it the rest of the way. When he stuck his head out, her tear-stained eyes were full of remorse.
“I’m sorry.” No sound came out as she mouthed the words.
The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he looked her over to make sure she really was all in one piece. “Mind if I come out?”
She shook her head and hummed out her answer, scooting slightly to one side to make room for him.
“Are you cold?”
Paige just shrugged her shoulders and sat there. The arctic chill coming from her hand said otherwise. Next he touched her cheeks. Her hair was damp and she smelled like lavender. A lavender ice cube.
“Mmm…you’re warm.”
Audible words. It was progress. She was back all right, but not quite making sense. Nate took off his jacket and made her put it on, then pulled her tightly into his side. She wouldn’t go in until she was good and ready, so he figured he’d be as useful as he could until the time came. She fairly melted into his chest.
He kissed the top of her head and breathed in the scent of her freshly shampooed hair. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I–”
She lifted her head slightly and put her finger over his lips. Ok, so just hold her, right? They sat in silence and he tried to imagine her world. This city she loved with abandon had dark streets and dangerous alleys. She’d suffered plenty of pain at the hands of some of its less than desirable decision makers, but still she loved it. Still she stayed. That had to mean something.
He looked out at the other buildings. It was a sea of brick and steel. No wonder living in New York made people hard. Maybe it really was the natural order of things to conform to your surroundings over time, like the way dogs and their owners ended up looking alike.
“There goes the light.”
“Where?”
Paige extended her arm toward the girl’s window. “Maybe her mom’s telling her to get to bed. After all, it is a school night.”
“You seem to find that girl just as interesting as the boy on the ledge. I would think it’d be the other way around.”
“I only noticed him because of her. She sits in that window looking lost and afraid and then spends a lot of time writing about it. At least, it looks like writing from here.” She smiled up at him. “Sometimes I make up my own parts of the story.”
Nate looked down his chin at her. “So that’s what you do out here–spy on other people and try to imagine what they’re doing?”
Paige slapped his chest playfully, the ribbing of his jacket sleeve making a muffled thud from her hand inside it. “It’s not spying. It’s people watching. There’s a difference.”
He tipped her chin up. “At least you’re smiling.” There were those eyes again. He couldn’t help himself. He leaned his head down and kissed her. Her lips were soft, but still guarded. He pulled away and looked back up at bird boy, attempting to redirect his thoughts.
She settled back onto her perch on his chest. “She seems to be watching him. He seems to think he’s invisible. At least, that’s my read.”
He weighed the possibility of telling her about meeting Brendan, but she still seemed too fragile. “Do you think he wants to jump?”
“I don’t think anyone wants to jump.” Paige was silent for a while, until the rest of her answer came whispering out. “I think he wants to be free.”
Nate jerked his chin down and looked over the top of Paige’s head. She looked so small, swimming in his jacket like that. The thought that she might have considered suicide had never even been a blip on his radar screen, and it caught him off guard.
Paige’s gaze returned to the girl’s window, now vacant. “I guess she’s gone to bed.”
She was talking more, starting to make sense. He wanted to keep drawing her out. “Did you journal when you were that age?”
“For a while, when my parents were going through their divorce.”
“What happened?”
Her eyes took on a sarcastic glint. “They-got-divorced.”
“I know that part, silly. I’m talking about the journaling.”
“What makes you so interested?”
“Can’t a guy be curious?”
“I don’t remember. I headed off to college and…well, I just didn’t. I was too busy studying and partying and trying to work part-time to pay for it all. I didn’t have time for foolish childhood pursuits.”
“Last time I looked, journaling was hardly a foolish childhood pursuit.”
“Whatever.”
Sometimes her shields went up so fast he got left behind.
“How about you Mr. Sensitive? Did you journal?”
Nate watched to see what her reaction would be. “Still do.”
Her momentary shock was followed by embarrassment. “You’re kidding! When?”
“Usually when I’m on the subway, or having lunch, sometimes in my office, but generally whenever I’m people watching. We have that in common, you know.”
Paige registered that thought and sat up, genuinely surprised. “Really? I would have never guessed that about you. How come you never told me about that?”
“Journaling is a pretty personal thing.” Nate shrugged. “I guess it just never came up.”
She elbowed him in the ribs playfully. “So what kinds of things do you journal while you’re people watching?”
He looked at her, stone-faced. “Mostly just poetry these days.”
“Poetry…” She was sitting there shaking her head in genuine disbelief. “How could I not have known this about you?”
Nate just smirked and shrugged his shoulders again.
“How long have you been writing poetry?”
“About as long as I’ve known you.” He searched her eyes, adding to the truth, and watched the shields drop, revealing eyes that were so soft, he could glimpse the part of her that could still be surprised by tenderness. It filled him with hope, like an unexpected gift.
“Have you ever written a poem about me?”
Nate shifted his position. “It’s late. Let’s go in. I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow.”
Paige huffed and followed him inside. She took off his coat and hung it up, then closed the curtains. He dropped the bed down and began getting undressed. She watched him shamelessly.
“What? You’re a full-fledged voyeur now?”
She walked over to where he was standing and pulled the white t-shirt out of his pants for him. “Let me help you with that.”
For some reason serious often ended in sex, and although it seemed like a bit of a disconnect, he wasn’t about to complain. Somehow it comforted her, and she slept soundly afterwards, unlike the nights filled with insomnia and nightmares that frequently robbed her of sleep.
They dropped down on the bed and he kissed her playfully. “You’ll never guess who I met.”
She pulled her shirt up over her head. “Who?”
“Jumper boy.”
“What?” Paige sat bolt upright. “When? How?”
Nate dropped back on the pillows and put his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. He just smiled and let the suspense hang in the air for a while.
“Oh no you don’t!” She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Nathan Banks you tell me what you know!”
He held onto her back and pulled her into his mouth. “I know that you taste incredible. Everything else is immaterial right now.” He went to kiss her again but she wiggled out of his grasp.
“Stop playing with me and answer the question.” She snapped up her shirt and started to put it back on.
“Ok ok–I’ll talk!” He pulled her shirt out of her hands and tossed it off the side of the bed. She smiled triumphantly. “But you’re never going to guess in a million years.”
“Of course I’m not! That’s why you have to tell me!” She pretended to pound on his chest with her fists.
&nbs
p; “His name is Brendan.”
“Okay…?”
“Evans.”
“Brendan Evans…Brendan Evans.” Suddenly understanding dawned. “Why does that sound familiar? Wait–no way! Are you sure? How do you know?”
“After I left here I went to the bar at the Carlton and Frank was there. We talked a little business, and he invited me up to his penthouse to get some info for a marketing campaign he wants me to put together for him.”
“You’re kidding me. And you said yes?”
“I keep telling you, if there’s one thing my daddy taught me, it’s to–“
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, I know–now finish the story please!”
“You know you’re especially cute when you’re bossy?”
“You won’t think it’s cute when I’m throwing a temper tantrum, now get on with it!”
“Hmm. I’m not so sure about that. Do I get popcorn?”
She grabbed his face and kissed him hard.
“Crap! Now I’ve lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?”
She flopped back on the pillows and let out an exasperated sigh.
“Ok, ok! So I’m at his house and I had to use the bathroom and I open the wrong door to find this kid blowing pot-laced smoke rings at my face.”
“No way!”
“Way. And then later I’m in Frank’s office upstairs and I’m wandering around, killing time while he looks for the files so I go out on the balcony to see if I can see our building from his.”
“You who doesn’t like heights. How very brave of you.”
“Thank you. Anything to keep myself from strangling the man.”
“I understand. Been there myself. So how did you figure out he was the jumper?”
“As I tried to find our fire escape I realized I was at exactly the same angle of fly boy’s balcony. And when I looked down, there he was.”
“What was he doing out there?”
“Listening to his iPod, writing in some kind of a journal.”
Paige slapped her leg. “I knew he was writing in a journal!” She got up and went over to the window, parting the curtains just slightly to try to get a glimpse of his balcony. “So, what was he like?”
“He said he mostly likes to watch all the other windows because he’s eighteen and, well–sometimes a really sexy woman will stand in front of her window in nothing but her bra and–“
She narrowed her eyes to match his sarcasm and shut the curtain, plopping back down on the bed. “Seriously, is he messed up?”
“He’s angry, but I’ll bet you would be too if you had Frank Evans for a father. Still, he is one smart and creative kid, the wise-ass part notwithstanding. I got a look at some of his computer graphics and photography stuff and he’s got real-deal, raw talent.”
“So now you’re best friends or what?”
Nate rolled over onto his side and tried to tickle her. “No, we’re not best friends!” He stopped as soon as she wiggled too much. “I think you’re right though. He’s not going to jump.”
“Do you think that’s weird?”
“What? You think he should jump?”
“Would you be serious please?”
Nate grabbed onto her and rolled, pulling her on top of him. “I’m sorry.” He kissed her. “What do you think is weird?”
“That I happened to notice him weeks ago out there on the ledge, and now it turns out that we know them.”
“I don’t know–I guess. Everything happens for a reason, right?”
Paige rolled off of him. “You always say that.”
“That’s because I think it’s true.”
“So, I put that particular shirt on this morning for a reason.” She pointed to the floor, where her shirt was now balled up into a small heap. “And what would that be?”
“That would be–” Nate traced a line with his finger from her one of her clavicles down to her sternum. “Because it looks amazing wadded up on the floor over there–especially because the red against the taupe in the carpeting is a particularly great combination. Makes me feel all happy inside.” He smiled and her eyes took on a soft glow.
“So that’s what has you all happy inside?”
“Well, that and–”
She kissed him before he could say anything more, running her hands up the sides of his ribs. “You know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“I think you talk too much.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“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 f
or 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.”
Letters From The Ledge Page 8