In the Shadow of Satellites

by Dick, Amanda

  She squeals with delight, which is a little out of the ordinary, even for her. People turn to look, but I try to pretend I don’t see them. She throws her arms around me and I return the hug.

  “Babe! Oh my God!”

  Something is definitely up. She’s not this gushy usually.

  “Good to see you, too,” I say cautiously as she lets me go.

  I glance around and sure enough, everyone is watching us. I pull her off to the side as someone enters the café from the front door. The last thing I want is a spectacle, although she seems completely oblivious.

  “What’s up with you?” I ask, before I can stop myself. “Are you high?”

  It wouldn’t be the first time. She giggles, her large brown eyes sparkling. Ana doesn’t giggle like a normal person. Her giggle is deep and suggestive, almost erotic. I’ve often wondered what she’s like in bed. I bet she’s wild. From her long black wavy hair to her deeply tanned skin, she is certainly anything but tame. She has a Maori tribal sleeve tattooed down her right arm, from the shoulder almost to her wrist. Her dress sense is best described as a cross between African hippie and homeless prostitute. She lives to shock and she loves to stand out. She has a hundred times more confidence than I ever did, even before.

  She loops her arm through mine and turns me around to face the front door of the café. My heart skids to a stop. Standing there, grinning at me, is Chris.

  “Shit…” I whisper.

  It’s like the past and present are merging together, muddying the waters. I don’t know which is which anymore. Am I dreaming? It wouldn’t be the first time over the past year that I’ve seen something I can’t explain.

  Ana giggles again, pulling me tighter.

  “Do I know how to keep a secret or what?”

  Chris walks towards me with open arms. He looks different, but my unreliable brain is going in several different directions at once, and I can’t make it stop long enough to figure out why. Tears spring up out of nowhere and I can barely see him anymore, but it doesn’t matter. Ana lets go of me and he draws me into his arms, wrapping them around me in the middle of the café, in front of everyone.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and try to imagine that it’s James, not his best friend, who is holding me so tightly.

  Chapter 3

  I let Ana take the wheel of the boat on the way back home, while Chris and I sit in the back. She takes it slow, so the noise of the outboard isn’t deafening and we can actually talk. I can’t take my eyes off Chris. I’m still trying to convince myself that I’m not dreaming. His mid-brown hair is slightly longer than it used to be, and he has an amazing tan. He also has a beard, which is new. I’ve never seen him with as much as a five o’clock shadow before. His trademark smiling eyes are still the same though. He always looks like he’s about to say something funny, or laughing at some silent joke. I’m sure that’s why he gets away with as much as he does. He’s cheeky, with a wicked streak that sometimes gets him into trouble. Luckily, he can usually talk himself out of it too. In many ways, he and Ana are the same person in different bodies.

  “When did you get back?” I ask.

  “Christ knows. What day is it today? I’m still on London time, and the flight was a bloody nightmare. I had a two day stopover in Dubai, which is the weirdest place on earth. The whole place is on steroids. It does your head in. Don’t ever go there – you’d hate it.”

  I smile weakly, still hardly believing that he’s here. I haven’t seen him since before the accident. He and James were joined at the hip, and I keep looking over his shoulder, half expecting James to be there, even now.

  “It’s Friday,” I say.

  It must be, because Ana’s here. I feel ridiculously triumphant. He pulls a face, closing one eye and concentrating hard.

  “Then two days ago. I’m still jet-lagged as hell. I’ve been sofa-surfing at my brother’s, in Petone. I was gonna hire a car but I couldn’t handle the long drive, so I’m bussing it instead. When I phoned Ana, she said she was coming out to spend the weekend, so I decided to hijack your girly time on my way up to Auckland to see my folks. Hope you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  His smile fades and he gives me one of his patented stares, as if he’s looking right through me into my soul. It always throws me, that stare.

  “You look good,” he says earnestly.

  He’s lying. I look like crap.

  “So do you.”

  He scratches at his beard, frowning.

  “What do you think? It was kind of a ‘fuck you’ to the corporate world when I left London. Now it’s just annoying the shit out of me. Itches like a bastard.”

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

  He smiles back. We just sit there for what feels like far too long, smiling awkwardly at each other as the boat ferries us across the lake, Ana at the helm. Then he reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing tight. His brown eyes cloud over, and I know what he’s thinking.

  “It’s good to see you,” he says.

  I look down at my hand in his because it’s easier than seeing the pain in his eyes. I don’t want to see anyone else’s pain. I can barely handle my own. I look up at him again, making myself smile, even though my face feels frozen.

  “You too.”

  I get that feeling again, like James is missing. He should be here for this, for Chris’s homecoming. Like so many other times during the past year, it feels wrong to be here without him.

  “Hey, there’s your neighbour,” Ana says, easing off the throttle some more so that the boat slows to a crawl. “Hard at work, I see. Doesn’t the guy ever stop?”

  Chris lets go of my hand and slips his sunglasses on, as we all turn and look over into the property next to mine. It’s the only decent view we have because his property, like mine, is only accessible by boat. He’s hammering, still. He has a small orange pup tent set up on the right hand side of the old cottage, right beside a fire-pit. We can’t see much from the water, but we can see he’s going to be busy for a while yet. I don’t envy him.

  “He’s keen,” says Chris, with an amused laugh. “Or a sucker for punishment – not sure which.”

  Just then, my neighbour steps back from the cottage and turns towards us. Before I can stop her, Ana waves.

  “Afternoon!” she yells, her voice carrying easily across the water.

  I want to crawl into the hull of the boat and hide, but it’s too late for that. I wave weakly in his direction, as does Chris. My neighbour waves back, then returns to his work.

  “He seems friendly enough,” Ana says, as we coast closer to the small wooden jetty in front of my own cottage.

  Chris stands up, causing the boat to rock sharply from side to side.

  “Whoa,” he says, grabbing onto my shoulder to steady himself. He surveys the cottage, sliding his sunglasses up into his hair. “Jesus, this place hasn’t changed a bit, has it?”

  “That’s the way we like it,” she says, grinning at him as if it’s her place he’s talking about.

  I understand, though. The cottage is almost as much theirs as it is mine. When James and I lived in Wellington, the cottage became the ideal getaway. Ana lived half an hour away in Rotorua, and Chris would often stay with us on his way to or from visiting his parents in Auckland. We’d plan long weekends and lazy weeks here together, even after Kieran was born.

  We climb from the boat onto the jetty, and Ana and I grab the bags of groceries she’s brought with her, while Chris lumbers along behind us with his oversized, battered backpack. I remember when he bought it. It looks very much the worse for wear now, after two years of being hauled around the world. James and I had chosen to settle down in Wellington and save for a house rather than travel overseas. If we’d taken the same route as Chris and most other twenty-somethings, would he still be here, with Kieran? Would we have cheated death – all of us, not just me?

  “Hey,” Chris said, coming up behind me. “You okay?”

  I swallo
w around the pain that has lodged in my throat. Ana stands a few feet away, watching. I force a smile.

  “I’m fine. Sorry. Just zoned out for a minute there.”

  Before anyone can comment, I start walking again, and we make our way onto the lawn and up the wooden stairs onto the deck in silence. I didn’t bother to lock the cottage, and the door is wide open, welcoming us back.

  Chris drops his backpack in the doorway.

  “God, it’s good to be home,” he says, sighing loudly.

  ***

  I can hear them talking in the living room. I try to tune them out as I turn the dip out into a small bowl and set it inside the plate of chopped celery and carrot sticks I’ve just finished preparing. I could’ve just opened a packet of chips, but I needed some time out, away from the memories. Just a few minutes, enough to get my head together. The whispers aren’t helping, though. They penetrate the thin walls and I’m overcome with a crushing case of anxiety. I don’t want to know what they’re saying about me.

  I can’t hide in the kitchen forever, though. I pull on my Big Girl Panties and pick up the plate, taking it through into the small living room, which now seems smaller because there are three of us in it. Chris looks up from his place at the French doors, thrown open to the fresh air. Ana picks up her glass of wine and takes another sip, re-folding her long brown legs beneath her on the small couch. The room feels heavy with all the things not being said.

  “Healthy snacks,” Chris comments, coming over to grab a carrot stick off the plate as soon as I set it down on the coffee table.

  “Thought it might help to combat the jet-lag,” I say, sitting on one of the two armchairs and picking up my glass of wine.

  “My body thanks you, and I thank you.”

  He loads it up with dip and munches loudly, collapsing onto the couch beside Ana.

  “So,” she says. “Tell us about your grand tour of Europe. The last few postcards were a little bit disappointing, I have to say. And I didn’t get the Leaning Tower of Pisa tourist shot I wanted – what happened to that?”

  “Yeah,” he chuckles. “I was a bit hungover that day. Tried my best, but it didn’t quite come off. Looked more like I was doing Tai Chi than holding up the tower.”

  “Why am I not surprised? So, come on then – details.”

  “Well,” he began. “Let’s see. I did the same old time-honoured tour all Kiwis do when they leave London – headed down through France, into Spain. From there, we went down into Portugal, saw fields of a million sunflowers, drank white port – incredible, by the way – and then back into Spain again. Barcelona is amazing, especially the nightlife. Andorra was cold – and expensive – but Italy was beautiful, especially in the north. And the women… Jesus, the women… ”

  He falls back into the couch, his face a picture of blissful self-indulgence. Some things don’t change, and I’m glad. It’s comforting, the familiar.

  “Dude, did you sleep your way through Europe?” Ana arches an eyebrow. “No, don’t answer that.”

  “I love how you know me,” he grins.

  “I said don’t answer that.”

  “Too late.”

  He takes a quick swig of beer, still grinning.

  “A gentleman does not kiss and tell,” he adds.

  “Then you’re safe.”

  “Fuck, Ana. That hurts.” He fakes a wounded expression, his hand clutching dramatically at his chest. “Words wound too, y’know.”

  She waves her hand impatiently, not falling for it.

  “Whatever, you’ll live. Do all your stories involve bedroom conquests, or will we actually get to hear some sex-free anecdotes about this trip?”

  “What’s an anecdote? Oh wait! I think I ate some of those when I was in Paris. They were fried in garlic, and –“

  She leans over to slap him on the arm, and I cringe.

  “Jesus, woman! Sian, can you sort her out? She can’t seem to keep her hands off me. I know she’s excited to see me, but this is getting ridiculous.”

  Ana narrows her eyes at him, raising her hand to hit him again.

  He’s too quick for her though, jumping up and making himself comfortable in the other armchair so she can’t reach.

  “Yeah, you better run, beardy-boy.”

  He grins at her, tilting his beer bottle at her before taking another sip. It feels like old times, which is the most surreal thing. The more he talks about where he’s been and what he’s done, the stranger the whole situation feels. Past and present, then and now.

  I glance over at the French doors, and I can almost see James standing there, leaning against the door frame, smiling at him. He would’ve loved this. He would’ve teased him mercilessly, right along with Ana. Chris and James were practically inseparable when we lived in Wellington. They’d hit it off the moment they met, working together in an office in the city, not long after we moved down there. Chris’s sense of humour appealed to James, even though they were total opposites on the surface. James was the family man, the career chaser, the serious one. He had it all mapped out, he liked to plan ahead. Chris was a skirt-chaser, out for a good time and nothing more. He was just as intelligent as James, but for some reason I’ve never quite understood, he tended to hide it.

  We both missed Chris when he finally decided Wellington was too small for him. London called, and off he went. We lived vicariously through his adventures whenever we got together over Skype. Texts received in the middle of the night were common. He never did get the hang of the time-zone thing.

  I found out afterwards that he’d come back for the funerals. By the time I woke up five months later, he’d gone again. Since then, we’d kept in touch sporadically. With no internet or cell phone service at the lake, our correspondence was limited. He had a real fondness for postcards. Some were cryptic, some were beautiful, and some just made me wish he was home and everything was the way it used to be. He’d phoned a handful of times over the past year, and it was always good to hear from him, but the calls were usually in the middle of the night, and he was travelling, so they were short. In some ways, it was the perfect excuse. We didn’t have to go into anything in any depth. We didn’t have to address what had happened. We could just pretend that everything was fine.

  “Earth to Sian?”

  I look up from my glass of wine to find them both watching me, wearing matching bemused, slightly worried expressions.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “You disappeared again,” Ana said gently.

  “Did I?”

  It’s a concentration thing, connected to my injury. It’s not usually such an issue, because I’m hardly a social butterfly these days.

  “Was I boring you?” Chris smiles, winking at me. “She was pretty hot, but maybe you had to be there.”

  I smile, when what I really want to do is cry. Sometimes, all of this just seems so much fucking harder than it should be. The lie comes out so easily, I almost feel guilty.

  “Not at all. I guess I’m just tired. Sorry. I think it’s this heat. It saps my energy.”

  He smiles back, but I catch the lightning-fast glance he and Ana exchange when they think I’m not watching.

  “I thought I was the one suffering from jet-lag,” he jokes. “Why don’t we sit outside, on the deck? There’s a breeze. Maybe it’ll help to wake us both up.”

  I dutifully agree, and Ana picks up her drink and the plate of snacks and follows us as we head outside. We settle into the wooden chairs and automatically put our feet up on the railing, all three of us. It’s a simple gesture, but a familiar one. Another reminder, as if I needed one. It should be comforting, but it still hurts. I wonder if Chris has that same feeling I do, of James being missing from all of this. Like everyone else who knew him, he had a five-month head-start over me, on dealing with his grief. While I lay in a coma, everyone else went to the funerals and got on with their lives.

  I don’t want to think about that now, so I make a concerted effort to keep up with the conversation. Chris
sits between us, his tanned legs glistening with blonde fuzz in the sunshine.

  “So, tell me about this mysterious neighbour of yours,” he says. “What’s his name? Thor?”

  I glance over at him, and he looks so relaxed, it’s impossible, in that moment, to imagine him as anything else.

  “Get it? Thor? The hammer thing?”

  He waggles his eyebrows at me.

  “I so haven’t missed that dumb sense of humour,” Ana says dryly.

  I can’t help the smile that creeps out.

  “I’ve no idea. We haven’t actually met yet.”

  “How long’s he been here?”

  “A couple of months.”

  “He’s quite hot,” Ana says, leaning forward to glance over at me. “Especially with that beard. What is it with men and beards lately? Is it like a fashion thing or something?”

  “Well, thanks. I’m guessing that was your back-handed way of telling me you also think I’m hot, because y’know, the beard thing. It’s weird, how beards turn women on. Especially in Europe. They seem to love them there. Maybe it’s the way they tickle their – “

  She reaches over to smack him hard, with her open hand on his bare leg. The noise is deafening and he yelps while I struggle to hold back a smile.

  “That fuckin’ hurt!” he moans, rubbing his thigh vigorously.

  “Good. And no, for the record, I wasn’t including you in that general statement, you hairy big-headed man-whore.”

  She chuckles, which softens the blow a little, at least to his ego.

  “I mean it, though. Is it a fashion statement or what?” she says, looking over at me, as if I’m supposed to answer that.

  “I have no idea. What do I know about fashion these days?”

  It’s true. I don’t even have a TV. The world could be ending for all I know.

  “It’s probably just a pain in the ass to shave when he’s living in a tent and doesn’t have running water,” Chris says.

  She leans back and takes another sip of wine as we survey the lake in front of us. It’s late afternoon, but the sun is still hours from setting. After a temporary reprieve, the hammering starts up in the distance again.