In the Shadow of Satellites (6 page)

“It’s a nice thing, what you’re doing here,” Ana says, prodding the potatoes with a fork. “You’re offering good old-fashioned Kiwi hospitality to a stranger who’s a long way from home.”

“Except it wasn’t my idea, so I can’t take any credit.”

“No,” she says patiently. “It wasn’t. But it’s your home, and your food. That’s what counts. These are ready.”

She picks up the pot and drains the water out into the sink.

“Can you take this out to Chris? He’s going to finish them on the barbie. I’ll get the plates and stuff out. I think we should eat outside, don’t you? There’s a lovely breeze tonight.”

I take the pot from her without a word. I don’t care where we eat, I just want it over with. I can hear her pulling out plates from the cupboard as I head outside.

“Excellent,” Chris says. “I was just about to ask if those were ready.”

I sit down at the table behind him and pick up my glass, taking a sip. Sociable is pretty much the last thing I want to be right now. It requires an effort I simply don’t have the energy for. I’m really sick and tired of being so sick and tired, but I can barely remember what it feels like not to be.

“Here’s Luke,” he says.

I take another sip of wine, fortifying myself as I glance behind me. Luke is walking over the lawn towards us, the German Shepherd at his heels, a small red bowl in his hands.

“Evening,” he says, smiling as he climbs the few wooden steps up on to the deck.

Chris hands him a beer from the chilly bin filled with ice next to the French doors.

“Your timing is exquisite,” he says. “Have a beer and take a load off.”

“Thanks,” Luke says, taking the beer from him and acknowledging me with a slight nod of his head. “And thanks again for inviting me over. I could smell the steak from over yonder and figured I should get over here.”

He puts the small bowl on the table in front of me, like a peace offering.

“I didn’t have much available to bring with me, but my Mom’d kill me if I came empty-handed. You just don’t do that where I’m from. So… I bought these cherries from one of those roadside vendors on my way into town a couple days ago. They’re really good.”

A small, genuine gesture, but it takes me by surprise. It’s very sweet, and he looks like he really means it.

“Thank you,” I say. “And you’re welcome.”

I still feel a bit guilty, because I didn’t really invite him and I don’t really want him here. But he is here, and he’s grateful. Chris was right to invite him, and Ana was right, too.

Maybe it’ll be okay.

***

Luke is definitely not falling for Ana’s many charms, although he’s being a real gentleman about it. He’s taking care not to lead her on, and he’s being very clear about the signals. Nothing’s mixed, there is no confusion, and it’s probably just as well. Chris was right, his priority right now seems to be the cottage. He likes to talk about it, carefully steering the conversation back there when it wanders into more personal territory. I can’t decide if he’s trying to hide something from us, or if he’s just a really private person. I don’t care enough to do more than idly wonder, and if it’s the latter, then I get it, completely.

As I watch him talking to Chris about the intricacies of renovating an old building from the ground up, I can see his passion. He comes alive when he’s talking about the next step he has to take, or the plans he has, long term. He’s obsessed with this building, and with the lifestyle. He becomes very animated when he’s talking, his whole face changes. When he’s listening though, it’s the opposite. He stills, noticeably, and that intense gaze soaks up everything being said. He’s not afraid to ask questions when he doesn’t understand something, and he’s good-natured about it, too.

Sitting around the table outside, the sunset unfolding in front of us, I feel more relaxed than I would’ve imagined possible a couple of hours ago. The food went down a treat, and I even managed to find an appetite. Luke hasn’t stopped thanking us. Apparently he’s been living on pre-packaged one-pot meals, pasta and cans, along with occasional fresh fruit and veges gathered from his trips to town for more building supplies. He keeps raving about the steak, in particular.

“More wine?” Ana asks, emptying the last of the previous bottle into her glass.

“I’ll get it.”

I get up and make my way indoors to the kitchen, with Ana right behind me.

“I’ll get the dessert sorted,” she says, and I hand her the fruit salad from out of the fridge. “This is really nice, isn’t it?”

I grab the wine and close the fridge.

“Yeah. It is.”

“He’s pretty cool, even if he is gay.”

“You don’t know that,” I smile, but I know she’s just kidding.

She chuckles, getting dessert bowls and spoons organised.

“Yeah, whatever. Let me retain just one shred of dignity, okay? I wasted my best material on him.”

I grab the dessert bowls and spoons in one hand and the wine in the other, while she takes the crystal fruit salad bowl and serving spoon and follows me back outside again.

“Here we go,” she says, as we lay everything out on the table. “Fresh fruit salad. It’s all we could magic up at short notice, sorry.”

“Please,” Luke says. “Don’t apologise. It looks incredible.”

His accent is starting to get familiar now. I like the way he says certain things. It must be the wine. I don’t normally drink this much, but tonight it’s helping to have a glass in my hand. It gives me something to do while I watch the conversation happening around me.

Ana plays mother, dishing out plates for each of us, and we mumble our appreciation around mouthfuls of fruit. I love the strawberries in particular. Soft and sweet, yet tangy at the same time. It’s a special treat, courtesy of Ana and this week’s food package.

After dessert, we nibble on the cherries Luke brought with him and turn our attention to the sunset. As usual, it’s stunning. The sun slips lower and lower, painting the sky with colour.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Luke says, with a certain amount of reverence, as the sun finally disappears behind the hills opposite. “There are some truly awful things in this world, but this place… this place makes you forget all of them.”

I look over at him, curious. It seems like a really personal thing to say to people you just met. Maybe he didn’t mean to say it. Maybe he was just thinking out loud. Just then, he looks at me and I can’t pretend I wasn’t just trying to analyse him. He knows this, I’m sure of it. He just smiles, almost apologetically. Then he scratches his beard and picks up his beer.

“Sorry. Must be the beer talking. It’s kind of a luxury these days.”

“Dude, that was really deep,” Chris chimes in. “But for what it’s worth, I agree. I never really appreciated how beautiful this country was until I left it. Do you know, I went to a beach in San Sebastian, Spain, with some friends this one time, and there was literally not enough room on that beach for the five of us to put down our beach-towels and sit together? Jesus. Here it’s like, if you go to the beach and you can
see
someone else, you move further down because they’re too close. I mean, shit. Are we lucky or what?”

I shiver. The idea of being surrounded by that many people is nerve-wracking, no matter where you are.

“Sounds like hell,” Ana says, taking a sip of wine. “Think I’ll stick to good old Aotearoa, thanks all the same. I like my beaches empty.”

“Aho-what?” Luke asks, frowning.

“Aotearoa,” Ana repeats. “It’s Maori, for ‘land of the long white cloud’ – New Zealand.”

“Ah, okay. How do you say it again?”

Ana repeats it more slowly, and Luke copies her.

“Land of the long white cloud, huh?” he says, smiling. “Yeah, well, I can see why they call it that. I saw something similar hanging over the Southern Alps on my flight up here. Pretty amazing.”

“Your flight up from where?” Chris asks.

Luke takes a sip of his beer.

“Christchurch.”

“So you’ve been down south?”

“I started off down there, and worked my way north.”

“How far north?”

“Well, honestly, to here. Rotorua is as far as I’ve gotten. I’d still like to travel around some more because I know there’s a lot more to see, but I just want to concentrate on getting the cottage habitable for now. I can satisfy my wanderlust later.”

“Makes sense.”

Then Chris turns the conversation around to places in New Zealand that Luke needs to visit, and things he needs to see. It’s a long list, with Ana chiming in from time to time. Luke appears to be taking mental notes, and it’s clear that he’s in no hurry to leave.

I get up and start clearing away the dessert plates, hoping to give him a subtle indication that it’s time to go. I’ve enjoyed the evening, but I’m up way past my bedtime and I’m exhausted.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Luke says, getting up as soon as he realises what I’m doing.

“No, it’s fine. You’re our guest. You don’t have to do anything.”

But he’s not listening to me. He gets up and follows me inside with Nanna’s crystal bowl instead. I’m nervous, now that it’s just the two of us in close quarters. I can’t put my finger on why, except that I don’t really know him, and I’m not sure how I feel about him yet. I’m acutely aware that once Chris and Ana leave, we’ll be alone over here. Neighbours, but not friends. I hope he’ll respect my privacy. I don’t want him popping over all the time just because he thinks he knows me now. He doesn’t know me. I don’t even know me.

“I just want to thank you again,” he says, setting Nanna’s empty crystal bowl down on the kitchen bench. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had a proper, home-cooked meal like that. I really appreciate it.”

I smile over at him, trying to be polite but not encourage him too much. It’s a fine line.

“You’re welcome.”

I want to say it was nice to have company, but I don’t want to lie to him. I set about rinsing the dessert bowls and plates instead, stacking them on the bench for washing later.

He leans against the kitchen bench along from me, and I can sense something’s brewing. I brace myself.

“If you ever need anything,” he says, “just holler. I’m only through the trees.”

I have no intention of doing anything of the sort, but I manage a smile and a quick glance in his direction.

“Thanks.”

I take my time rinsing the final plate, because the air feels too close in here suddenly. I want to say something else, but nothing comes to mind. I can feel those blue-green eyes fixed on me and it makes me want to run, but I stand my ground.

“I should get going,” he says finally, pushing himself upright again.

Relief floods through me.

“It is late,” I say, even though it’s barely nine o’clock.

He nods, but those eyes don’t move. It feels like he’s tunnelling inside me, and I can feel every cut and every turn. I don’t play his game, I turn and grab the cloth hanging over the oven handle instead, drying my hands with my back to him.

It’s not until I hear him walking away that I breathe again.

“Come on Geezer,” I hear him say as I make my way back out to the deck. “Time we left these nice folks to their evening.”

“Going already? It’s still early,” Chris says, getting up from the table. “One more beer – for the road.”

He goes over to the chilly bin and digs around inside it, but Luke is adamant, and I’m grateful.

“No, really. I should go, but thanks for a great night. I’ll return the favour soon.”

“Sounds awesome, we’ll look forward to it.”

“Thanks again,” Luke says, making his way down the stairs, the dog at his heels.

He waves briefly and disappears over the lawn and into the night.

Despite staying up later than normal last night, I rise with the sun this morning as usual. I watch it light up the lake from my bed in what used to be the other deck, but enclosed at some point to create a second bedroom. When I was younger, this was my room. When we had Kieran, it was his. I’d always loved the simplicity of the white-washed wooden floors and walls, allowing the view of the lake to provide a living, breathing piece of artwork that took up the entire front wall. You could almost reach out and touch it through the wall of waist-height folding windows. It still has the same pale blue and white bedding it did when we redecorated it for him. I wanted to be close to him. Simplistic, maybe, but true. The only reason I went into the main bedroom was because of the wardrobe. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in there without James.

The sun rises from behind me and the effect on the lake is beautiful, but this morning I don’t really see any of it. Sleep had evaded me most of the night. Yesterday’s overheard conversation between Chris and Ana swam in my head. I need the reassurance of the familiar, amongst all the newness and change of the past twenty-four hours.

I carefully open the drawer in my bedside table, reaching in for the box of matches, tea-light candle and one of the crisp, white paper boats nestled within. I creep out of the balcony room and through the kitchen. Ana snores softly from the other bedroom, and Chris is still comatose on the couch, his six-foot frame draped over it like a king-sized sheet over a wheelbarrow. I stop in the doorway and watch him for a moment. He looks so peaceful. I can’t remember the last time I slept that soundly.

I sneak past him and ease open one of the French doors, closing it behind me. I can’t help feeling like a drug addict having a devious hit behind their backs, but I also know that they wouldn’t understand. I doubt anyone would.

The grass is still damp as I walk down to the water’s edge. Wading out as quietly as I can into the lake, I go further than usual, until it’s waist-height. The cold water eats at my skin, and half-in, half-out, my body shivers. One half of my body is warmed by the air; the other half is almost numb. It’s comforting, and feels entirely natural. I’m straddling two realities – the one I want, and the one I have.

I secure the tea-light candle into the centre, and set the small paper boat on the water. The match lights not on the first strike, but the second. I try not to read anything into it, but the disappointment settles in anyway. Touching the candle to the wick, it lights with purpose, slowly building until it’s a solid orange, matching the sun’s rays. I close my eyes, holding the boat gently.