Broken Wings

by L-J Baker

  Rye squirmed.

  Flora stalked to the doors and yanked one open. “Get out.”

  Rye wandered to the door but stopped near Flora. Rye could hear Flora’s angry breathing. She could feel Flora stabbing a glare at her, but couldn’t look at her.

  “I’m sorry,” Rye said.

  “By your logic, I was just a casual screw to you, wasn’t I?”

  Rye bit her lip and scowled down at the carpet. This hurt.

  “What are you waiting for?” Flora said. “You want to watch me cry? Rub salt into the wound?”

  “Oh, fey.” Rye turned to see Flora with tears already rolling down her cheeks. Something snapped inside. “No. Oh, gods, no. You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.”

  “Then why in the name of the Holy Elm and All the Trees of the Sacred Grove are you dumping me?”

  “I –”

  “How can I be so wonderful and… and at the same time be someone who just casually picks women up and casts them aside when I’ve worn them out? How? Come with me.” Flora grabbed Rye’s wrist. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  Rye let Flora tow her around the hall. Flora shoved open the door to her workroom and flicked the lights on. Rye blinked in the sudden brightness.

  “See.” Flora pointed to the unfinished weaving on the loom.

  Rye frowned at vivid colours in an abstract design.

  “I’ve been working on it for barely a week,” Flora said. “My fingers ache to complete it. It’s as though the pattern is pouring out of me ready-made. It’s as though every part of me resonates with it, and it’s part of me. My fingers are moving of their own accord. This thing is happening independent of my brain. It’s like I’m pouring pure emotion out, but that it’s leaving me fuller, not emptied. I feel a little drunk when I rip myself away from a weaving session. Vitalised. More alive.

  As if I’ve tapped into the essence of Infinity. This hasn’t happened to me quite like this before. Not to this extent. Not so raw. So intense. So amazing. It’s how I wish all my creations would come to me.”

  Rye didn’t know what to say.

  “You want to know what it is?” Flora said. “It’s how I feel about you.”

  Rye looked up from the cloth to Flora’s face. Flora’s expression made Rye hurt. She felt as lousy as it was possible to get without the mercy of dying of it.

  “Here.” Flora plonked a pair of scissors in Rye’s hand. More tears spilled from her eyes. “Your turn. Show me what you think of me.”

  Shit.

  “Go ahead. Cut it up. Hack it apart.”

  Rye threw the scissors away. They clattered on the floor. Rye clasped Flora’s face in both hands and kissed her on the lips. After a momentary stiffness, Flora kissed back. Angry. Hungry. Rye tore Flora’s underwear as she pulled them off. Flora’s grip on Rye’s hair and wings blurred pleasure and pain. Rye ground Flora into the wooden floor as she drove her to a climax. Flora’s ungentle fingers hit the spot between Rye’s wings to push her over the edge in a jagged orgasm.

  Panting, Rye rolled onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling half-dazed. Beyond the bright lights, the glass part of the roof showed unrelieved blackness. What was she doing? Her life had become this thing out of her control. It slipped and writhed away from her, and carried her along. Dangerous. Wonderful. Scary. Amazing.

  Flora’s fingers found Rye’s hand. Rye spread her fingers so they interleaved with Flora’s. Flora smiled and wept at the same time. Rye sat up and gently lifted Flora to hold her. Flora sobbed against Rye’s shoulder.

  “You are wonderful,” Rye said. “And sexy. And beautiful. I’ve never known a woman like you.”

  “Then why are you leaving me?”

  “I’m not. If you’ll forgive me. Please forgive me.”

  Flora lifted her head to study Rye’s face. “I love you. I’ve been scared to tell you. I didn’t know how you’d react. I’m thinking that I should’ve risked it.”

  “You love me?”

  “Why is that so surprising? You don’t really think that I just wanted a casual bonk before throwing you out for another? Do you?”

  Rye wiped a tear from Flora’s cheek. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

  Flora stroked Rye’s face. “We have a lot of things to work out, don’t we?”

  Rye stood and helped Flora to her feet. Flora scooped up her discarded underwear. Rye grabbed her pants. They didn’t let go of their joined hands.

  “Will you promise me one thing?” Flora asked.

  “Considering what a shit I’ve been tonight, you can ask whatever you like.”

  “One day, will you tell me what is really happening with you? Why you feel you have to hide us from Holly? About your past and your fairyness? And why you want to bolt whenever we get close to the subjects?”

  Rye sighed. She did owe Flora some explanation.

  “I don’t mean now,” Flora said. “I don’t think I could cope with any more drama tonight. Let’s go to bed. Separate beds, if you like. And sleep knowing that we’ll still be lovers when we wake.”

  Rye nodded and kissed Flora.

  Rye padded across the darkened living room and scooped her discarded shirt and bandage off the floor. At the door, she turned back to see Flora silhouetted in the doorway on the far side of the room. Rye blew a kiss. Flora blew one back.

  Rye woke alone in a bed large enough for three. The sheets and crumpled pillow showed where Holly had slept. Sunlight poured in through the window. They had forgotten to close the curtains last night.

  I love you.

  No one had ever said that to Rye before. Flora didn’t seem the sort who would just say that, and certainly not under last night’s circumstances. And there was the weaving. Rye wasn’t just a casual fuck. She had got everything wrong. So very wrong.

  Rye scrambled out of bed and tugged on her pants and shirt.

  One of the living room glass doors to the patio was open. Flora stood on the edge of the pool wearing a wet sexy bikini. Holly broke the surface of the pool. She was wearing her bra and panties. Rye hoped they didn’t have holes.

  “That was really good,” Flora said. “You had a great angle as you broke the water.”

  “I wish I could dive as well as you,” Holly said.

  “You just need some practice,” Flora said.

  Rye grinned and walked away. She found the kitchen as she’d left it last night.

  Rye carried a tray of tea and toast out to the patio.

  “Woo hoo! I’m starving.” Holly splashed to the side of the pool.

  Flora wrapped a robe around herself before joining them at one of the tables. She reached for a cup of tea and shot Rye the warmest look. Rye felt as tall as a tree.

  “Hey, Rye,” Holly said, “Flora is judging at the Oaklee Art Fair next Fifth Day. We can go with her, can’t we?”

  “I know it’s short notice,” Flora said. “So I won’t be in the least offended if you have something else planned. I only found out last night myself. Chervil twisted my arm over dinner. So, technically, it’s your fault, Rye. If I hadn’t been feeling so good because of that fabulous meal, I might have resisted.”

  “I told you that she could cook,” Holly said. “Everyone really liked it, didn’t they, Flora?”

  “Utterly,” Flora said. “Letty Elmwood wants to know how she can hire you for a dinner she’s arranging.”

  “Blow!” Holly said. “Letty Elmwood. You know who she is, right?”

  “The sylph with all the makeup plastered on her face,” Rye said.

  Holly grimaced. “She owns the Lightning Tree Gallery. Fey, Rye. How can you be so smart and know so little?”

  “I wonder that myself sometimes.” Rye cast a glance at Flora. “Life keeps throwing the wildest surprises at me.”

  “So, can we go next week?” Holly said. “To the art fair?”

  “If you do, don’t spend all your wages there.” Flora pulled an envelope from her robe pocket
and put it on the table.

  Rye frowned at the envelope. It must contain the residue of the twelve hundred that Flora had promised her. Rye felt very reluctant to take it. She lifted her empty hands from the table, leaned back in her chair, and shook her head.

  “Uh oh,” Holly said. “I know that look. When Rye gets all knotted about money, you’re not going to make her see sense.”

  “Would you do me a favour?” Flora said. “There’s a jar of sorrel massage oil in the bathroom off my bedroom. Can you fetch it for me, please?”

  Holly leaped to her feet and dashed away.

  “Take it,” Flora said. “You earned it.”

  “Um. It doesn’t feel right. It’s too much. And I was so shitty to you last night.”

  “That has nothing to do with this. You did a terrific job. You earned every piece. And you really should give Holly some payment.”

  “Look, I kept track of how much I spent, if you cover –”

  “No. We had a deal. You can’t go changing it on me, just because you know that I’m in love with you. Take it. And I think coming to the art fair would be a great opportunity for you to talk with Holly about her career, don’t you? I sounded the waters with Ginger about Holly’s apprenticeship. He’s open to the idea.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Thanks.”

  Flora winked.

  Holly returned. “Is this the stuff?”

  “Yes.” Flora rose. “I have to take a shower and dress before I drop you two back home. Why don’t you rub some of that on Rye’s back for her?”

  “Ew.” Holly faked gagging.

  Flora put a hand on her shoulder. “If I wanted my sister to take me to an art fair, I’d do this small thing for her.”

  Holly absently worked the massage oil into Rye’s wings as she sat on the bed in the guest room. Rye wondered if Holly thought it was strange that Flora would make such an odd request. Holly, though, was completely rapt with Flora’s home and lifestyle.

  “My mind melted when she showed me her studio,” Holly said. “I got to see what she’s working on. Wow! And her sketches. Her loom! Daisy will gnaw her arms off with envy when I tell her! We can go to the Oaklee Art Fair, can’t we?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Woo hoo!” Holly leaped up and bounced on the bed.

  “Stop that!” Rye grabbed one of Holly’s calves. “Don’t break the bed.”

  Rye packed away her gear from the kitchen and left Holly to look for anything she missed. She found Flora in her bedroom. Rye glanced behind before taking the two swift paces closer to her and kissing her.

  “Can I keep seeing you?” Rye whispered. “Please?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Rye grinned, but stepped back out of reach and glanced again at the doorway. “And we’d love to come with you to the art fair next week. Thanks. For everything.”

  Flora smiled.

  Rye thanked her again after she and Holly climbed out of Flora’s carpet onto the parking pad outside their apartment.

  “Thank you,” Flora said. “Dinner was great. Oh. You’d better take this. It’s Letty Elmwood’s card.”

  Rye accepted it and frowned.

  “She wants to talk to you about catering a dinner for her,” Flora said. “I told you.”

  “I didn’t think you were serious,” Rye said.

  “Give her a call. You’ll see how serious she is. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me. You have my number.”

  “Um. Okay. I will.”

  Rye waved until the carpet zoomed out of sight.

  “She’s the pinnacle,” Holly said. “The utter pinnacle. You’d better not get all knotted and stupid and drive her away. I couldn’t forgive you for that.”

  Rye frowned as she followed Holly into the apartment. “What was that supposed to mean?”

  “Do I get any wages? Still, I suppose you’d better keep it for food and stuff.”

  “No. Here you go.” Rye slipped a fifty from the envelope.

  “Woo hoo! I bet there are going to be so many scathing things at the art fair next week.”

  “You’ve not been invited to any more birthday parties, have you?”

  Holly frowned. “Why?”

  Rye thought better of what she was going to say. “No reason.”

  Holly disappeared into her bedroom trailing the telephone cord. How had Rye failed to instil any money sense in her? In what other areas had her parenting skills let the kid down?

  Chapter Nine

  Rye tried to pay attention to the class, but her heart wasn’t in it. She dreaded the talk she’d have to have with Mr. Bulrush at the end of the lesson.

  Rye lingered until everyone else had left the class. Mr. Bulrush packed papers into his case.

  “I was hoping to talk with you, Ms. Woods,” he said. “The deadline for entry for the certification exam is coming up. You should really be starting your extra work.”

  “Um. Yeah. Well, the thing is that I can’t sit it.”

  “There’s no need for you to feel intimidated.”

  “Um. No. It’s not that.” Rye bit her lip. “I don’t have time to do the extra work. In fact, I’m going to have to quit class.”

  “Quit? Well. This is a surprise. Is there something I can help with?”

  “Um. No, thanks.” Rye shrugged. “Home stuff. I’ll take this class again next year. Look, thanks for teaching me. I appreciate it. Maybe we’ll catch up next year.”

  “I understand when domestic circumstances interfere,” he said. “But it seems such a waste. Look, why don’t I wait to cancel your registration? If you find things change in a few weeks, you can pick it up again. You’ll have no problem passing even with a few missed assignments.”

  Rye didn’t think she would be able to return any time soon, but she smiled. “Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

  He offered her his hand. “Good luck. I hope to see you again.”

  Rye shook his hand.

  Her work boots clumped and echoed on the hard floor of the school corridor. The sound was hollow. Rye tried not to think of the chance she’d just passed up. She never got ahead. Her key to a better paying job and a more comfortable future lay in learning and getting qualifications. But she couldn’t keep up with her classes unless she earned more, so that she could buy a broom, which meant she had to put her learning in abeyance while she took a third minimum wage job. Rye jammed her fists into her pockets. “Fey.”

  On Fourth Night, Rye went straight home from work instead of going to the school. Holly’s music blasted from her bedroom.

  “Holls! Turn that down or I’ll go deaf.”

  The music stopped as if by magic – or as if the magic powering the speakers suddenly died. Holly darted out of her room.

  “Rye? What are you doing here?”

  “I live here occasionally, remember? This kitchen is a mess. What have you been doing?”

  “I was going to clear it up before you got home. Isn’t this Fourth Night? Don’t you have class?”

  Rye rolled up her sleeves. “I’ll be working at Pansy’s tonight. She’s letting me pick up a couple of extra nights while one of the girls is off having a baby. You know, it takes as little effort to put the stoppers back in these jars as it does to pull them out.”

  “Extra nights? Did the week suddenly get longer without anyone telling me? And that still doesn’t explain – Rye, you’re not actually peeling out of class? Not you? Not Miss Education Is the Beginning and End of Life as We Know It?”

  Rye plonked the jar of hazelnut flakes back in the cupboard with too much force. “Give it a rest.”

  “You are peeling! You’d skin me alive if I did that.”

  “I’m not skipping class. Because I don’t have classes any more.”

  “But it’s only the middle of the term. How can –”

  Rye banged a pan on the stove and rounded on Holly. “I’ve quit. Okay? Now give it a rest.”

  “Quit?” Holly lost all her flippancy. She frown
ed across the table. “Rye, how could you quit? You were –”

  “I need the money!” Rye’s fists clenched. “Now, leave it alone. I mean it.”

  Holly threw her hands up as if to ward off Rye’s scowl. “Okay.

  Okay.”

  Rye continued glaring at the doorway after Holly left it. “Fey.”

  That night, after showering away the fumes from the cauldrons of bubbling fat, Rye slumped on her sofa bed. Her textbook and notebooks sat on the packing crates and old door that she’d converted into a desk.

  “I need the money. I need a broom. That will give me more time. I’ll be able to see Flora more. And spend more time with Holly. I didn’t have a choice. Next year, I’ll be able to fly between classes and home and work and Flora’s place.”

  Rye climbed into bed and lay staring at the ceiling. There was a new patch of mould forming. The people upstairs must’ve spilled something again.

  It would’ve been nice to be with Flora right then. Still, Flora would be coming by in the morning to take them to the art fair.

  “How do I look?” Holly struck a pose.

  Rye turned around from setting the knot back into place in the wall over her money stash. How much money would it cost for their admittance to the fair? “Um. Fine.”

  “Not that I know why I’m asking you. You’re not really going to wear that? On my tombstone, they’ll put: Here lie the tortured remains of Holly Woods, her young life was cut short by an agonising attack of bad taste.”

  “What’s wrong with my clothes? The holes are all patched.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. Her parting shot was, “It’s a good job you’re a fabulous cook.”

  Rye frowned.

  Someone tapped on the door.

  “I’ll get it!” Holly shouted. “It’ll be Flora.”

  Rye folded herself into the rear seat of Flora’s carpet to allow Holly to sit in the front. Flora kept peering over the top of her sunglasses to make eye contact with Rye via the rear-vision mirror while Holly craned her neck to look up, across, and down for anyone she knew. Holly’s estimation of Flora’s utmost stylishness suffered a dent when she fiddled with the carpet’s sound system.

  “That’s the sort of cobwebby stuff Rye listens to,” Holly said. “You ought to hear Funguz. And Slash the Chrysalis.”