Live (The Burnside Series): The Burnside Series (23 page)

Her tears were more than she could keep up with, so he pushed her to his chest so they could be absorbed in his shirt. He traced over the part in her hair, the one dividing
those two ginger braids. “See there? It’s surely all glamour ahead for you, Destiny Burnside.”

She laughed, with a sob mixed in.

“You know, the first time I’ve ever been in a limousine is when you picked me up to go to the ball fields.”

“Oh yeah? I should’ve made more of an occasion of it, I guess.”

“I believe the occasion was very well managed.” He rearranged her in his lap, thinking of that particular occasion.

He hoped, after he left Ohio, he never saw a limousine ever again.

She shifted, too. Reached up and surprised him with a slow, wet kiss on his neck, which felt amazing. “True.”

“Come here,” he said. Hiked her up, kissed her properly, which wasn’t very proper at all.

She pulled away first, after a long time, after long enough that he could hear the rain but couldn’t see it against the windows anymore because they’d fogged them up.

“We should get inside. I totally shouldn’t have asked you, but you really don’t mind? She probably will be very grumpy, not herself. And we’ll be there for a while, I want to make some food. If you want, I could take you …”

“Yes. I’d like to meet her. If she’s not up to it, I’ll catch on and see myself out.”

She looked at him for a minute. Like she was deciding something. “Okay. Thanks. I don’t know what got in my head about your meeting her, but for some reason I’d like you to.”

“I’m honored.”

She still looked at him like she couldn’t quite decide, so he decided for her and got out of the limousine and grabbed their groceries.

He followed her up a set of open metalwork steps to a red-painted fire door set deep into the brick as a nod to an entryway. Destiny flipped around to a key on her keychain; hers was the biggest he’d ever seen and each key was color-coordinated with a little plastic tag.

She knocked twice while opening the door. And they stepped into what was known locally as a “one-bedroom studio” which was very much a studio with a sliver walled off on one end big enough for a narrow bed and a dresser.

It was dark, carpeted darker, and smelled a bit like overripe laundry. When his
eyes adjusted, he could see a hump under an afghan on the sofa, which was positioned in the middle of the room.

“Sare?”

The hump moved a little.

Destiny started walking around the room and turning on lights, which consisted of a lot of mismatched lamps that were quite beautiful actually. The room was passably tidy. There was a dark head poked out of the end of the afghan.

“Desbaby?” The hump spoke. Destiny went over to talk to her sister, and he took that as his cue to bring the groceries to the little kitchenette. He unloaded them carefully, taking a long time, organizing everything on the counter according to size. He could hear soft voices behind him.

Sisters whispering. About him, probably. Which, he discovered, bothered him not at all. Let them whisper. While he was here he would do what he could to make Destiny’s burden a bit lighter. She’d left their lovemaking to be here, the burden was so heavy. He was well motivated.

He looked for a kettle and finally found one in the deep cabinet by the narrow two-hob stove. He carefully washed it, as it was dusty with disuse, and put water on. He found mugs and lined three up with tea bags. Found the tin of sugar on top of the fridge. He opened the fridge and didn’t find cream or milk, but there was an unopened box of soy milk.

Tea sorted, then.

He was glad to meet her sister. But he did wonder if it had to be
now
. As in, tonight. Destiny had come right from Sarah’s side to his doorstep, had obviously cared for her. Had obviously been disturbed. Obviously, had called her brother, this Sam, to help her with it though she seemed to think that was a mistake.

He looked at the row of groceries.

Where was Sam? She had another brother. The one with the blue nob. PJ. She said everyone lived in the same neighborhood. Where was this PJ?

It wasn’t just selfish, wanting her for himself, though he did wonder what it would be like to let the dust settle over their lovemaking, for once.

The kettle started to whistle, and he took it off the hob, made three sugared teas. Piled chocolate biscuits on a plate. Hooked his fingers through the three handles, ignoring the burning on his knuckles and took the plate with the other.

Destiny had Sarah sitting up, the afghan over her legs. Her short dark hair was sticking up all over like a little boy’s, her eyes huge in her face as she watched him set down the biscuits and tea. Impossibly tiny. Destiny was skinny, but tall enough she easily tipped up to kiss him without tiptoes. Destiny kept her shoulders square, her back straight, her chin up—she seemed bigger somehow for it.

Sarah was leaning against Destiny, barely a shadow. Hefin felt his stomach swoop to look at her, so obviously ill she was.

He didn’t like the look in Destiny’s face either. Like she was holding Sarah together by the sheer force of her concentration on her. Her watchfulness. He knew firsthand that such a vigilance on your hopes for another person was magical thinking and never produced true ease.

“You’re The Woodcarver,” Sarah said. He guessed her voice was husky naturally, though it was cracked and broken in her drowsiness, or pain.

He gave Destiny her tea with a firm look to her to drink it, and that produced the smallest smile. He was worried that Sarah’s fragile arms couldn’t hold the mug but she took it from him, still watching him. He pushed the biscuits toward the women.

“I do carve wood, lately.”

“I’m an artist, too.”

“Letterpress, Destiny said.”

“Destiny?” Sarah looked at Destiny and grinned; it made Hefin sort of able to see why Sarah was considered the beautiful one of the sisters. Sort of. If it hadn’t been the case that Destiny was gray-eyed and ginger-haired and decorated with an entire galaxy of the sexiest freckles possible.

“He’s Welsh. They’re more formal than Americans,” said Destiny. He realized Destiny was talking about what he called her.
Good
, he thought of her little lie.

Destiny
and the why of it was just theirs, then.

Sarah looked back at him. “Yes. Letterpress. I want to partner with my friend Marnie, once I’m back on my feet for longer than a couple of hours at a time. After this next surgery. Have you ever carved type?”

“No. Not type. My dad’s made hand-carved illustration blocks for a letterpress.”

Sarah sat up, her eyes so bright suddenly, he noticed they were two different colors. One gray, like Destiny’s, one a bright blue. It made it hard to keep his gaze steady in hers, but it suited her, somehow. It made him think she was really something,
somewhere down under whatever made her skin so wan and drawn with pain. “Can
you
make illustration blocks?”

“I guess I’ve never taken my hand to one. But it’s just relief carving, reversed for parts that matter. The tricky bit’s making the case perfect, finishing it so it prints true, over and over.”

Destiny gave him a long look. “What is this?”

He nudged the plate closer to Sarah, and answered Destiny. “Most letterpress artists, when they design illustrations to print, have the illustration laser cut into the printing block, the case. Some printers still work with wood type and wood illustration blocks. Those can be laser cut, too, but have another quality if they’re hand-carved. Hand-carved printing blocks with type and illustrations have survived hundreds of years, actually.”

“Do you think you could?” She sipped her tea, and almost as if she didn’t realize it, she leaned forward and took a biscuit. Took a big bite. Destiny looked at Hefin as if he had precipitated a miracle akin to parting seas.

Looking right at Destiny, he said, “I think I could. If you’d like me to try.”

“Yeah, of course. That would be amazing. Marnie would just die. Do you think you’d rather design one yourself or carve one of our designs?”

He looked back at Sarah, her eyes a little overbright. “First time out, I’d perhaps do up something myself, see if I could even make something printable.”

“Yeah, of course. You draw?”

“He’s an amazing artist, Sarah.”

Hefin looked at Destiny, sitting straight, her forehead a bit wrinkled.

“Yeah? Can I see some of your stuff? Or …” Sarah pushed an envelope and a pen in his direction.

He looked back at Destiny. Sarah hadn’t looked over at her once, and he wondered what the sisters had talked about while he had made tea. Sarah seemed to be in some strange land of denial. Denying her pain, denying the tension between her and Destiny. Denying the darkness and mustiness of the apartment all around her.

She clearly needed help, but she was talking to Hefin like she had invited him over herself, to talk about their common interests.

In fact, she was ignoring Destiny’s help, even while leaning on her, clutching Destiny’s thigh under the afghan when she needed to readjust and it was obviously
hurting her.

“He doesn’t have to draw on demand, just for you, Sarah,” Destiny said, rolling her eyes.

“He doesn’t mind, does he?” Sarah looked at him and smiled. It was clear that her smile had moved her a long ways in life.

“No, of course not. Only if Destiny doesn’t need help in the kitchen, however.” He caught and held her gaze, which he couldn’t read.

“No. I’m good. I’m going to make you a veggie lasagna and put it in your fridge with the rest of the groceries. Okay, Sare?”

Sarah picked up the envelope and pen and handed it directly to Hefin. “Great.”

Destiny looked past Hefin’s shoulder for a moment, closed her eyes for a moment too long, then abruptly stood up and went to the kitchen.

He couldn’t bear that moment that she was obviously gathering her last reserves. “I’ll help you, Destiny.”

“No.” This from Sarah and Destiny at the same time.

“I’m good. Keep Sarah company.”

Sarah smiled again. “Keep me company. I have this idea for a block with sort of interlocking gears. Like bicycle gears. Can you draw something like that?”

Hefin looked at Destiny, standing against Sarah’s kitchen counter. She ran her finger down the row of groceries he had arranged. “Let me see,” he said and took the pen from Sarah.

Kept his eyes on Destiny.

He looked back at Sarah, feeling frustration curl around him, slow and firm against his skin. “Do you always call Destiny?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you need assistance? Do you ever call your brothers, or a friend?”

Sarah tipped her head and looked long at him. “Is this your business?”

“Not mine,” Hefin admitted. He looked over at Destiny, opening packages, turning on the hob, her back so straight he could’ve measured lumber along the bumps of her spine “But it’s Destiny’s, and I care about her.”

“Do you?” Sarah asked. “I thought you were a fling. You’re on your way out.”

Hefin looked down and worried the lapel clip on the cheap pen. He thought about what to say, feeling that he only had so many breaths for this conversation, for these
questions, and couldn’t waste them. “It doesn’t mean that while I’m here, I won’t do everything I can to be good for her.”

Sarah laughed. But it wasn’t the sort of laughter that encouraged him to join her.

“Des takes good care of herself. Always. She helps because she’s Des. That’s Des. It’s how she
is
. She used to drag PJ around like she was his mother. She packed Sam lunches when he was in residency—she was in high school at the time. Her boyfriends refuse to break up with her because they get ass, a cheerleader, and a maid all in one.”

The flame of heat at his neck was instant. “Don’t talk about her that way. Do not talk of Destiny like that. Don’t …” He reached for some vile and flame-laced way to burn her to cinders, and coughed instead, choked by anger.

Helpless, though, because Sarah delivered her nastiness in such a flat and distracted tone he was forced to consider her pain.

He was angry because where other people saw problems or drudgery or upset, Destiny had already seen solutions. A way in that would open up all the rest of the goddamned world.

He had watched her for just a few weeks, it had been just barely two since he first kissed her. He saw this. Destiny watched the world and saw
everything
.

Sarah was looking at him with a kind of smirk, waiting for him to finish. He could not defend Destiny against this. He didn’t have brothers or sisters, but he knew what it was to be in the middle of people who had made up their entire minds about you within hours of your birth.

Hefin’s jus’ like his dad. Let him stew and he’ll get over it, soon enough
.

Stewing. Like he was fucking meat in a pot, getting softer. He was
not
.

He drew on the envelope, making long straight lines. He couldn’t even look at Sarah.

“If you want to help her, give her some fun. If she’s not getting something she needs, it’s that.” Sarah’s voice was softer, like she was trying to help. She had no idea how to help. She needed help, and she could help by accepting it. Eating. Telling all her siblings what was going on. Sarah had her hand on her hip, just barely, like she was gentling it.

“Fun?” Hefin felt his chest go tight.

“Yeah, exactly. She hasn’t been the same since she lost her job. I think it will be kind of a good thing, actually, in the end. She was always working; God, she’d do
anything for her boss; it was ridiculous. So she needs to have some fun. Shake it off. Maybe being roommates for a while will help, too.”

Hefin didn’t know what to sort through, first. Sarah’s impression that he and Destiny were just
having fun
, that Destiny’s enviable work ethic was ridiculous, or that Destiny was rooming with Sarah to help herself.

His throat was clamped tight. He wasn’t sure what his body was trying to prevent him from shouting. But he realized he wanted to shout. He wanted to yell. He wanted to make some loud, inarticulate noise that shook sense into this Sarah. He looked at her, smiling at him, cheeks flushed, something tight about the way she held her small body that spoke of pain.