Broken Wings (19 page)

Rye put her hands on Holly’s shoulders and prevented her rising from the side of
the bed. “You’re going to sit and listen to me. You think your life is crappy
now? That why you want to play around with drugs? Well, let me tell you, you get
caught with that and you won’t know what’s hit you. You don’t really remember
Fairyland, do you?”

“You going to try to scare me? This is shit.”

Rye shook her. “I’ve spent my whole life working for us! So that we can stay
here. So that we can be free. So that you never have to know what it’s like back
there. Maybe I did wrong not to tell you.”

“You’re hurting me. Rye –”

“You think you’d have liked not going to school? You wouldn’t have gone. They
don’t have one on the commune farm. You do chores. You weed. You wash the
floors. You fetch water. From a well. No taps. You get filthy. Anyone can tell
you what to do. Your own mother would beat you with a stick. Anyone could beat
you. You think you’d like that?”

“Rye, please –”

“You like going out? No going out. There wasn’t anywhere to go. You think you
don’t get nice clothes? How would you like to wear a tunic all day every day?
The same one, until it dropped into holes? You’d have to make yourself a new
one. Would you like that, Holly? Would you?”

“Rye –”

“And boys. You’d get no chance to mix with some stupid kid who messes with drugs
and dropouts. You wouldn’t live with any boys. Do you remember that?”

“No, I –”

“The men lived in a different compound,” Rye said. “On the other side of the
river. You know how you’d meet them?”

“You’re hurting me.”

“When you get sent back, you’ll be shoved onto a commune. You’ll work all day,
every day, doing stupid, mindless, heavy chores. You’ll have no clothes. No fast
brooms. No art. No friends. No boys. No magazines. No dreamweed. No dreams,
even. Just mud and sweat and prayers and the stick. That sound good to you?”

“Let me go!”

“You’ve got to know! You’ve got to understand what you’re risking! One day,
you’ll get your wings. You know what will happen then? Do you?”

“Don’t shout at me! Don’t fucking shout –”

Rye shook her. “They’ll take you. The matriarchs. Your mother and aunts. They’ll
take you across the river. To the men.”

Holly tried to break free. Rye’s fingers dug into her shoulders.

“They’ll take you to the men,” Rye said. “Whether you want to go or not.
They’ll put you in a room. You and a bed. You can’t get out. You’ll wait.
Scared. Maybe one of your aunts will have cried before she left and given you a
kind look. You –”

“Stop it! I don’t want to –”

“A man will come for you. If you’re lucky, it’ll be just one.”

Holly went very still. She lost all the blood from her face and whispered, “Oh,
fuck.”

Maybe it was the whisper, or Holly’s horrified expression, but something
triggered Rye’s awareness of how taut she was, how hard her breathing, and how
tightly her fingers dug into Holly. Rye took a shuddering breath. She released
Holly and stepped back. Holly stared.

Rye looked around. She was dazed to find herself in Holly’s bedroom. What had
she done?

“Rye?” Holly whispered.

“Um. Fey.”

Rye blindly walked out and into the living room. She stood staring at nothing.
What had she done? She hadn’t meant to say any of that.

The next morning, Rye shovelled wood shavings into the barrow. She ignored the
banter between Blackie, Knot, and Budge. Maybe she should have stayed at home
today with Holly. Holly had barely spoken two words over breakfast.

She had fucked up good and proper last night. All her good intentions had
snapped to nothing. If Holly hadn’t mentioned Flora, maybe Rye could have kept
it together. What Rye wouldn’t give to be lying on Flora’s sofa with her,
comfortable, sipping a cold beer, and just enjoy being with her. If only the
rest of the world did not exist. Just for an hour. But Flora was haggard.
Perhaps not nearly as pale and horrified as Holly had looked last night.

Rye worked hard to make her body ache and hurt. To force her brain to stop
thinking about what an utter mess she had made of everything she came into
contact with lately. She wouldn’t have been surprised if her new broom stopped
on her way to work this morning.

At lunchtime, Rye chewed her sandwiches and brooded. If she had found Holly
visiting Flora unexpected, then Flora must’ve been floored by Holly suddenly
turning up at her tree.

Rye scowled and strode across the street. The pay phone pod had a new picture
plate. The next pod was vandalised. She dug a coin out of her pocket, jammed it
into the slot, and dialled before she could lose her nerve.

Beep-beep
. “Flora’s mobile messages. Talk to me.”

“Um. Flora? Babe? It’s me. Rye. Um. I know you probably don’t want to hear from
me, but – Look, about Holly. I didn’t know she was going to bother you. I’m
sorry. Okay?”

Rye rammed her fists in her pockets and trudged back to the site. She had not
really looked forward to talking with Flora, and yet she felt disappointed at
not having heard her again.

“What you looking so dumpy about?” Knot said. “That broom Berry sell you a
dunger?”

“Nah,” Rye said. “It’s pretty good.”

“Then you should come to the Ball and Chain on Third Day,” Knot said. “Bunch of
us getting together in the afternoon to have a few drinks and watch the game.”

“Third Day?”

“Yeah. It’s a holiday. You didn’t forget? Even this worm meat company can’t make
us work on Leaf Fall Day. What do you say? If anyone looks like they need a
drink, it would be you.”

“You’re not wrong,” Rye said.

“That’s the idea. Everyone will be there.”

When Rye arrived home, Holly was in the bathroom. The strongest floral perfume
leaked from under the door.

“I’m home, Holls.”

Rye strode to the kitchen. She hadn’t expected a reply.

Perhaps she could do something with Holly on Leaf Fall Day.

Perhaps one of those fairs, like they went to with Flora. Holly had enjoyed
that. Although, Flora had probably been a greater contribution to that than the
fair itself.

Rye cooked to take her mind off everything. Holly emerged from the bathroom and
went into her bedroom without saying a word. Rye plunged nettle stalks into
boiling water and burned her hand.

“Holly? Dinner’s ready.”

No answer.

Rye banged on Holly’s bedroom door. “Holls?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s your favourite. Sparrow’s legs and willow sauce.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Rye sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did last night. I didn’t
mean it. Okay?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Don’t you think we should talk about it?”

“Leave me alone.”

Rye ran herself a hot bath and briefly toyed with the idea of holding her head
under the water long enough to solve all of her own and everyone else’s
problems.

When Rye emerged, Holly’s plate sat on the table with the food half-eaten. Good
enough. Rye washed the dishes and drifted into the lounge. She used to be frying
sandwiches at this time on First Nights. Now she sat alone in the living room,
an unwilling listener to Holly’s sound system through two closed doors. Quality
time with her kid sister.

Rye fetched herself a beer. She made her bed on the couch and climbed in with
her night class text. She might as well keep up with her reading. It would come
in handy when she took the course again next year. By then, Holly would have
started her apprenticeship. Would that make her more or less easy to live with?
She wouldn’t have school to whine about. On the other hand, she would probably
have a much more active social life – including sex. Rye grimaced.

Rye finished her beer and lay back to read about accounting. The numbers blurred
and her eyes sagged closed.

Rye ran. Her tunic flapped about her knees. She could not run fast enough. She
was being chased. She waded across the river. She couldn’t look back, but they
were chasing her.

Her mother stood in front of her brandishing a stick. Her wings trembled.
Afraid or angry? She shouted at Rye. Unnatural. Evil. Should have beaten it out
of you when you were young. Should have left you to die when you were born.

Her mother lay dead in the mud at Rye’s feet. Holly sat crying. Rye bent to
pick her up, but then she stood in the robing room at the temple. They had
Chastity tied up. Only it wasn’t Chastity. It was Flora. The priestess lifted
the whip. Crack!

Rye jerked awake. It was after ten. Holly was still playing music and the phone
rang. Rye stumbled out of bed and grabbed the phone.

“Hello? Yes?”

“Rye?”

“Flora?” Rye felt a rush of wild relief at the sound of her voice. “Oh, babe,
are you all right? Um. Fey. I’m sorry. I was having a bad dream.”

“Dream? You were in bed? Are you unwell?”

Rye closed the hall door and carried the phone to the couch. “No. I’m fine.”

“I got your message. I would’ve called earlier, but I thought you worked.”

“Um. Yeah. I did. But I’ve quit.”
Oh, you sound so good.
“Um. Are you okay?”

“You don’t have to apologise for Holly coming to see me,” Flora said. “I didn’t
mind.”

“What? Oh. That.”
I love you. I miss you. It’s killing me to hear you and not
be with you.
“I heard that you weren’t… um. Oh, shit. Can I see you?”

“I think we both need some closure. Don’t you agree?”

“Um. Yeah,” Rye said. “We need to talk. But not like this. I’m crap on the
phone.”

“I know.”

Flora sounded like she smiled. Rye wanted to cry.

“My timetable is more flexible than yours,” Flora said. “When would suit you?”

“Um. How about Third Day? That’s a holiday. I’m not working. I’m sure Holls
won’t miss me for a couple of hours.”

“Fine. My place or neutral ground?”

Rye winced. “Um. There’s this eating house at the Conifer Street Park. Do you
think you could find it?”

“I’m sure I could.”

Rye ransacked her empty mind for something to say to prolong the conversation “I
–”

“I’ll –”

Rye beat her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I’m sorry. You go first.”

“I’ll see you on Third Day morning, then.”

“Um. Yeah. Okay.”

Click.
The line went dead.

“I love you.”

Rye replaced the handset and slumped. That wasn’t how she’d wanted that
conversation to have gone. Why did she always lose her brains at the most
important times?

The next morning, Rye made breakfast and prepared sandwiches for her and Holly
for their lunches. When she heard Holly’s alarm go off, Rye poured two mugs of
tea. Holly slouched in, dropped in a chair, and pointedly didn’t look at Rye.

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” Rye asked. “Leaf Fall Day must be a school
holiday if my crappy company is giving us the day off.”

Holly grunted and spooned more honey in her tea.

Rye had wanted a broom, hadn’t she, so that she could spend less time travelling
and more time at home? The joys of family breakfasts.

“Are you still fuming over the other night?” Rye said. “Look, forget it. We’re
never going back.”

“I don’t care about that crap.”

“Good,” Rye said. “Then why are you so –”

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” Holly stood in a scraping of chair legs. She
stomped into the bathroom.

Rye sighed and slumped low enough to bang her forehead gently against the edge
of the table several times.

“Women,” Rye whispered.

That was her problem. All the crud in her life stemmed from women. If she hadn’t
been gay, she wouldn’t have broken that prick’s arm when they took her over to
the men’s compound, and then she wouldn’t have been sent to the temple for
punishment. If she hadn’t been at the temple, she wouldn’t have had sex with
Chastity in the robing room. They wouldn’t have been caught. Rye wouldn’t have
run away and had her wings broken. Then Rye wouldn’t have bided her time, made
her plans, and fled for good. And taken Holly out with her.

Rye frowned. No, that wasn’t true. She probably would have broken that prick’s
arm even if she’d been straight. How could any eighteen year old virgin who was
completely sober, ignorant, and afraid, want sex with three men she had never
met before?

Rye shook herself and grabbed her work bag. She had more than enough problems in
the present without dredging up the past. She must concentrate her efforts and
energies on things she could do something about.

Rye slid her tray along in front of the cubby holes full of food. They had
muffins. Flora liked muffins. These looked pretty nasty. Rye had not baked
muffins for Flora. She should have.

“Mum! Mum! I want that, Mum!”

A small pixie child bumped against Rye’s legs as he strained to point to a
sticky cake. Rye shoved her empty tray around to the cashier.

“Pot of puriri leaf tea,” Rye said. “And milk, please. For two.”

Rye put her tray aside and found a booth. The jar on the table contained
artificial honey. Flora would probably cringe. But this was Rye’s world. It was
the kind of place she could afford.

Rye stared out the window. It was an overcast day with not much wind. Grey and
still. Kids played in the park. Excited shouts and squeals carried to the
eatery. A couple walked their millipedes on matching red leads. Joggers ran
along the walking paths. On the far fields spectators watched ball games. She
couldn’t see Flora.

Someone approached the table. Rye’s heart leaped. And sank. It was just the
woman with her tea order.

Rye arranged the cups. One for her and one for Flora. It didn’t seem real that
Flora would be sitting there, across the table, within arm’s reach, in just a
few minutes. Rye did so desperately want to see her again, even though she knew
they would be leaving as separately as they arrived. Closure. Rye wasn’t exactly
sure what Flora meant by that, but it sounded final. That was probably what they
needed to do. Perhaps then the hurt might ease.

A large, boisterous family of sprites entered in a noisy wave. Rye’s glance
began to slide away from the doorway when she saw Flora behind the sprites.
Flora made eye contact with Rye. Rye felt like someone had smacked her in the
chest with a chair.

Flora wore casual pants and top and a narrow-brimmed hat. She did look pale. Rye
wanted to kiss her so much that she ached. After an awkward moment, Flora slid
into the booth.

“You… you found it okay?” Rye said.

“Yes. There are a couple of games on in the park today, apparently. Something
sponsored by the local newspaper. It would have been hard to miss the large
signs.”

“Right. Um. I got tea. Only puriri leaf, I’m afraid.”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

Rye poured. “You… you look great.”

“So do you. How did you hurt yourself?” Flora indicated the fresh scar on Rye’s
face.

“Um. An accident.” When she’d been knocked down by the carpet as she fled from
Flora’s apartment. “It’s nothing.”

Their fingers touched as Rye slid the cup close to Flora. Rye looked up. For a
painful moment they stared at each other. Longing. Need. Loss. Hurt. Flora
looked away.

“Um.” Rye fiddled with her cup. “I’m sorry about Holly. I had no idea she was
going to pester you. She never said anything until she got back. I… I wouldn’t
have let her bother you.”

“You don’t want me to write the letter for her?”

“I don’t want her to put you in an awkward situation.”

“I’m happy to support her applications. I was one of the judges who gave her
first prize in her school competition, remember?”

How could Rye forget? That was when they first saw each other. Rye had been
floored by Flora’s beauty. She had even missed Holly’s big moment, thanks to
being distracted by Flora. Perhaps that had been an omen she should’ve paid more
attention to.

“I remember,” Rye said. “But I meant because of us.”

“Holly doesn’t know anything about us, does she? Except what she has guessed.
Which, I know you won’t want to hear, is probably a lot more than you choose to
believe.”

Rye frowned across the table. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I told her that I wouldn’t do anything if you weren’t comfortable with it. I
did not tell her that you had recently terminated our love affair. You really
don’t have a very high opinion of my regard for the feelings of others, do you?”

Rye lowered her frown to the table top. “You couldn’t have said anything, or
she’d have flayed me with it. I’m sorry. Look, babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t want
her to bother you. But I’m very grateful that you can write the letter she
wants. I know it will mean a lot to her and do wonders for her application.
Thanks. And thanks for not saying anything about us.”

Flora sipped her tea and stared out the window. Rye gulped half of hers and
willed herself not to be so stupid and brain numb. This might be the last chance
she ever had to talk with Flora. She was making a right mess of it.

“Look.” Rye put her cup down and reached across to brush the back of Flora’s
fingers. “I really wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. For what I did. And what I
said. The other day. You know. I didn’t –”

Flora looked like she was searching Rye’s face for the end of the sentence. Rye
bit her lip and stared down. Somehow their fingers had intertwined. Rye made no
move to extricate herself.

“I need you to finish that,” Flora said. “You see, I haven’t been able to think
about much else since you ran out on me.”

“Um. I didn’t mean to say what I did. I… I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I feel
shitty that I did.”

“I didn’t see it coming,” Flora said. “Didn’t have any shadow of a hint. Like
the stereotyped spouse. I thought we were fine. I thought I’d found the love of
my life.”

“Babe –”

“What did you mean to say?” Flora said. “If you didn’t mean what you did say?”

Rye bit her lip and stroked the back of Flora’s fingers. “That you’re wonderful.
And that I love –”

“Excuse me, dears.” A waitress stood at the end of the table. “Did you want more
tea?”

Flora slid her hand free. “No, thank you.”

“I’ll take this then, shall I?” The woman dumped the empty pot on her trolley.

Rye sighed and ran a hand across her scalp. The noisy sprite family sat in the
next booth laughing, whistling, and calling to each other.

“Can we go outside?” Rye said.

“I think that would be best,” Flora said.

Rye followed Flora. Almighty King and Queen of the Fey, she looked good.
Outside, Rye fell in step with Flora as they wandered along one of the paths
through the park.

“I’ve been thinking it over and over,” Flora said. “What you said. What I did
wrong. Trying to make sense out of it. To understand what mistakes I made.”

“It wasn’t all your fault. It was mine. Mostly mine.”

Flora shook her head. “You were so adamant. So angry. I thought I was helping,
but it was the last axe stroke in the trunk, wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t like that. Not that… that simple.”

Flora stopped and turned to face Rye. “Be honest with me. Did I really make you
feel like I wanted to buy you?”

Rye frowned and tried to think of the right words so that she wouldn’t make it
worse.

“That was never my intention,” Flora said. “I never thought of us like –
Clearly, I never looked at us in the same way you did. I know you were
uncomfortable with those presents. But I was trying to help. I wanted to make
you happy. I hadn’t the faintest idea that I was making you feel bought.”

“Babe –”

“I had been labouring under the illusion that we were in love. Two people in
love with each other. It never entered my head that we should be keeping a
financial balance sheet.”

Rye scowled down at her shoes. “It wasn’t like that.”

“But you clearly kept some count about money? It’s so bizarre. I’ve had plenty
of relationships splinter, but never because of my bank balance and investment
portfolio.”

Flora walked away. Rye caught up to her.

“How many poor people have you dated before?” Rye asked.

Flora stopped and stabbed an angry glare at Rye. “I never thought of you as a
poor person! You’re Rye. The woman I love. The woman I got buds for. The woman
who made me laugh. And made me feel good about myself. And made me feel sexy and
loved. For the first time in my life I wanted to live with someone. Share my
life with her. The good times and bad. Have her children. Money was never an
issue for me. I never once thought of you and thought, Oh, good, Rye makes me
feel rich!”

Flora stalked off leaving Rye to swear under her breath.

Rye jogged and caught Flora near a deserted bench. She put her hand on Flora’s
arm to tug her to a halt.

“Babe, please,” Rye said. “Can we sit and talk? Please.”

Flora stood blinking, not looking at Rye. She sniffed and nodded. When they sat,
Rye glanced around. They were in a lightly populated part of the park, though
the cheers from the ball game spectators carried across the flower beds and
grass. She saw the occasional light of a photographer’s flash. The newspapers
must be covering the game. Flora wiped her eyes.

“You are sexy,” Rye said. “And wonderful. And you should feel good about
yourself.”

“You made sure I felt very good about myself, didn’t you?”

Rye winced. “Look, I’m so sorry that it happened the way it did. I didn’t plan
it. It just came out. Everything had been building up inside me. And that naiad
bitch. I shouldn’t have let it all boil over like that, but it did. I regret it.
And feel like a shit for doing it.”

“But you’re not sorry it happened? You did want to end our relationship?”

Rye chewed her lip. She could feel Flora bristling with anger and hurt. “Babe, I
don’t think I’m meant to be with anyone.”

“Anyone? Not just someone with a little more money than you?”

Rye winced. “I couldn’t meet you halfway. As equals.”

“Do you seriously imagine there would be a single married couple in the whole
world if the criteria for partnership was absolute equality of the value of
their material assets?”

Rye sighed and risked a glance at Flora. It ripped her heart to see Flora so
unhappy. She wanted to wrap her arms around Flora and hold her.

“I know you haven’t had many relationships,” Flora said. “Did they all break up
because of this? Because of your incredible hypersensitivity to money?”

“It’s not just money. I don’t have anything to offer you.”

Flora looked surprised. “You don’t really think that?”

“You have everything. I have nothing.”

“I don’t have everything. But this sounds suspiciously like money, still. Rye,
all the time we were together, the times we made love, the times we laughed and
played silly games – were you just mentally adding up the value of what I own?”

“No! Of course not.”

“The glue between two people is not solely, nor even importantly, money. Love,
Rye. Weren’t you even a little in love with me?”

“Yes. But –”

“I love you. I respect you. I like you. You give me what no one before ever
has.” Flora slid closer on the bench and took hold of one of Rye’s hands. “You
interest me on so many different levels. You are someone who is so unlike me in
a multitude of ways. And, yet, we meshed so well. You have so much strength. I
don’t just mean physically.”

Rye shook her head. “We come from different worlds. We live in different worlds.
Your parents would have hated me. Your friends would think you’d lost your mind.
No one would think I should be with you. You’re this beautiful, successful
artist and I’m a nobody who works two and three jobs to keep food on the table
and pay the rent.”

“You think I’m a success,” Flora said, “but look at you. You’ve raised Holly.
She’s a great young woman. Nothing I have ever done can remotely compare with
that achievement. And you did it all on your own. Rye, I admire you. I can’t
think how I haven’t made that clear enough to you.”

Rye stroked Flora’s hand as she frowned across the flower beds.

“I’m not a success,” Rye said. “I’m barely coping.”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that I might be able to help?” Flora said. “That I
might want to? If your jobs don’t give you enough self-esteem – or pay – why
don’t you do something else? You were working toward that business certificate,
weren’t you? Before you quit night school. And catering. Branch, you’re terrific
in the kitchen. I cannot understand why you don’t do that as a profession. Do
you know that Letty Elmwood told me that she loved your dinner? Trust me, Letty
is not an easy person to please. Why don’t you set yourself up in a catering
business?”

Rye frowned down at Flora’s hand between hers. On impulse, she lifted it to
lightly kiss Flora’s fingers.

“I wish I’d met you ten years from now,” Rye said.

“Why? What would be different?”

Rye clung to Flora’s hand as she leaned back and stared up at the dirty grey
clouds. The hard wooden bench back pressed uncomfortably against her wing buds.
Part of her wanted it to hurt more. The game spectators loosed a loud cheer. Rye
felt very tired, alone, and defeated.

“Rye? Is it Holly?”

Rye sighed. “Yeah. Partly.”

“Trouble at school?”

“No. She’s been smoking dreamweed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Rye said. “Kicked me in the guts. We talked. I messed it up. She hasn’t
spoken to me in days. She doesn’t even want to be in the same room as me.”

“Look, I’m sure Holly would just have been experimenting. We all do. Especially
at that age. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is. I’ve been neglecting her. I was too busy working to be around when
she needed me. Too busy doing other stuff to notice what was going on with her.
I can’t let that happen again.”

“Oh,” Flora said.

“She has to come first. When I picked her up and took her out of there, she
became my responsibility. I can’t put the kid aside because I’d rather be doing
something else. She didn’t ask me to take her. It was my idea. I did it
willingly. I have to see it through.”

Flora interleaved her fingers with Rye’s. “That’s one of the reasons I admire
you. But you don’t have to do it all alone.”

Rye slipped her hand free and stood. She took half a dozen paces from the bench
before she realised what she was doing. She stopped. She hadn’t come here to run
away from Flora again. Flora sat looking hurt. Rye walked back.