Broken Sky by L. A. Weatherly
“You okay?” he whispered.
“Fine,” I got out. Russ lay staring up at the stars. I took a shuddering breath. “Who would do this? Why?”
Collie looked shaken. “I have no idea. It doesn’t make any sense.” After a pause he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket. “Here,” he said softly, offering it to me. “You can give that guy his jacket back.”
I pulled Ingo’s lapels more securely around me. “No, that’s all right…I’m really cold.”
Collie always knew when I was lying. He frowned, though he didn’t call me on it; the ambulance had just arrived. The glittering crowd parted as men with a stretcher appeared and checked Russ’s vital signs. His body was limp, unresisting.
How’s my favourite wildcat?
I swallowed hard and turned away as they lifted him onto the stretcher, my eyes prickling. When I could look again, someone had pulled a sheet over his head. He was carried from the alleyway.
“Robbery, that’s my guess,” I heard a policeman mutter to the others. “His wallet was stolen. Big guy like him, he probably tried to resist.”
Ingo heard, too. I saw him give me a look. Whatever was in my borrowed pocket felt pointless suddenly. It was true; there had been no wallet. Russ had simply been robbed.
But what was it he’d tried to say to me?
The police let us go soon after that. “We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions,” the first cop said. “Thanks for your cooperation.”
“All right, people, break it up!” called one of his colleagues, clapping his hands. “Nothing more to see – move along.”
The crowd reluctantly dispersed. Collie, Ingo and I left the alley and started back towards The Ivy Room. Collie’s hand rested protectively on my back. “All right, what’s going on that you’re not telling me?” he said in a low voice.
I swallowed and stared down at my bloody palms. “I’ve got to wash my hands,” I said. “And get my coat.”
A few minutes later I stood in the gleaming restroom of the club, watching pink water swirl down the plughole as I scrubbed my hands again and again. Even when they were clean, I could still feel Russ’s blood. Then I went into one of the cubicles and took out what I’d found in his pocket.
It was only a matchbook. I stared down at it, feeling blank with dismay. I opened it, turned it over. Nothing unusual – though its shamrock design looked a little familiar. Slowly, I put it in my coat pocket, wondering why I was bothering to keep it.
All at once I felt exhausted. When I emerged from the restroom, Collie and Ingo stood waiting in the lobby.
“Here,” I said as I handed Ingo’s jacket back. Upstairs, dance music still played, thrumming around us. “I’m sorry that I got blood on it,” I said. “I’ll pay for it to be cleaned if you send me the bill.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Ingo said shortly. He checked the jacket’s pockets and gave me a wry look. “As I’m sure you know, that’s the least of my concerns tonight.”
“It…wasn’t anything important,” I said. “Just a matchbook.”
“How comforting.”
Collie’s gaze was intent. “Amity, what is going on?”
I hesitated. “Not here.”
Ingo snorted. “Well. I’d say it has been a pleasure, but…”
“Thank you for not saying anything,” I said to him.
“For being a fool, you mean? I’m not thanking myself, I assure you.” Without another word, Ingo turned and went up the stairs that led to the main dance hall. Miriam might still be there, I remembered. And it was after midnight now – it wasn’t Ingo’s peak day any more.
It probably hadn’t felt like much of a high point.
“I can’t believe you took it without even knowing what it was.” Collie stood in his bedroom staring at me. I could hear Wayne, his housemate, snoring through the wall.
I sank down onto the bed. It felt as if The Ivy Room, the dancing, had happened in another lifetime.
“I know,” I said. “It was stupid.”
“The police were right there, Amity! If they’d seen you, they might have—”
“Suspected me in Russ’s murder,” I said softly. “Yes. I realize that.”
Collie started to say something else, then stopped. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right,” he said finally. “Let’s forget it.” He sat beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. Though I wanted to be comforted I found myself pulling away, unable to relax.
The matchbook with the shamrock cover lay on the bedside table. I picked it up and stared down at it. Shamrocks were supposed to be lucky.
A smudge of red stained one corner.
Collie took the matchbook from me and placed it back on the table. His voice was hoarse. “Look…it’s been a terrible night. Let’s just go to bed, all right?”
I barely heard him. All I could see was Russ lying in his own blood, shot for whatever money he’d been carrying.
“Amity…”
I looked at him. For a second it was as if I’d never seen him before. “Where were you?” I asked, remembering suddenly. “I was on the dance floor, and when I glanced over, you’d gone.”
Collie’s eyebrows rose. “You were dancing with that guy?”
I shrugged. “He sat down and we got to talking.”
“Oh,” said Collie after a pause. “Well, after Mac left, I couldn’t see you at any of the tables. I didn’t think to look for you on the dance floor. I just figured you must have gotten fed up with waiting and left.”
Emotion started to stir as I stared at him. “But I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’d had a few too many; I guess I wasn’t thinking that clearly.”
“Who were those two men, anyway?”
“Friends of Mac’s. I left a few minutes after they sat down, and then I couldn’t see you anywhere.”
Remembering my fears about Central States authorities dragging Collie away, my voice sharpened. “Well, you couldn’t have looked very hard. We searched everywhere for you.” I hated how peevish I sounded, but couldn’t stop. “In all the clubs and bars – you weren’t anywhere.”
Collie gripped my hand, looking frustrated. “I was doing exactly the same thing! We must have just kept missing each other.” He paused, studying me. “We?” he repeated.
“Ingo came too.”
Collie’s mouth thinned. “You got pretty pally with that guy, didn’t you?”
I laughed out loud: a harsh, brittle sound. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous! I wouldn’t have spent two seconds with him if you hadn’t gone off with Mac.”
“You told me it was all right!”
“It was, but not for almost an hour!”
He shoved his hands through his hair. “Amity, he was practically crying into his drink. What the hell was I supposed to do?”
My dress felt pinched and too tight as I massaged my pounding head. I didn’t know what Collie should have done. I especially didn’t know why I was nagging him about it tonight, of all nights.
“Can we just…not argue, please?” I said at last. My voice came out small.
Collie’s muscles sagged; he took me into his arms. This time I pressed close. As I leaned against his firm shoulder, his embrace tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said roughly against my hair. “Amity, I wanted tonight to be so perfect for us…”
“I can’t believe Russ is really gone,” I whispered. Then a thought came, and I gave a shaky laugh. “We were already in the Heat. We could have given him his send-off.”
Collie pulled away and touched my face. His expression was heavy with things left unsaid.
“Come on,” he said finally. “Let’s go to bed.”
He eased my clothes off as if I were a child. My dress sagged as he unzipped it; a moment later it slithered to the floor. My stockings followed. His hands were gentle, warm against my skin.
Suddenly I’d had enough of death. I wanted life – I wanted Collie. When he’d finished undressing me I
I took off his cufflinks and laid them aside. Collie had gone completely still, letting me undress him the way he’d undressed me. His eyes stayed locked on me, pure green, his pupils very dark.
“Do you remember that time we went swimming in the river?” I whispered.
“Which time?” His voice was husky.
I tugged his shirt free from his trousers. “I’d just turned thirteen. I think it was the last time we went. I was wearing that new swimsuit.”
“It was blue,” said Collie. “It had a red racing stripe. Right here.” His finger trailed slowly up my side, stroking the side of my breast on its way. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”
“I was so embarrassed,” I said. “It felt like I’d suddenly grown a figure all at once. I think I spent the whole time hiding in water up to my neck.”
Collie’s lopsided smile came, a little rueful. “You think you were embarrassed? All I had on was that old pair of trunks that were too small. I was terrified you’d see what you were doing to me and never speak to me again.”
It had never occurred to me that Collie might have been as unsettled as me that day. I stroked his chest, savouring the contrasts: firm muscles, soft golden hairs. Collie leaned forward to kiss me; our hands found each other and our fingers entwined tightly.
“You were so beautiful,” he murmured against my lips. “The way the water ran down your skin…I’d been dreaming about you for years…I never thought this could happen between us.”
“Why not? I loved you even then.”
“Don’t ever stop.”
I heard myself groan as his other arm slid around my hips and pulled me tight against him; our kisses took on an urgent beat. “You can see what you’re doing to me now, too,” Collie mumbled.
“I want to see – I want to do more than see—”
The rest of his clothes were kicked and tugged away by us both. He fumbled in his bedside drawer for a proph and I helped him put it on. My fingers stroked it down as I kissed him, our mouths hot and fierce, his hand cupped behind my neck.
“Amity…” he whispered hoarsely.
We fell back against the pillows. The night dissolved into fire, skin against skin – the flexing muscles of his back under my hands – a happiness so wild it was like being set free.
Collie…Collie…I thought.
After the last shudder we were both breathing hard. We lay without moving, our eyes locked on each other. I swallowed. I stroked Collie’s hair from his face; he turned his head to kiss my wrist.
He slid off and pulled me tightly into his arms. I hugged close against his warmth. And though I’d thought I’d never be able to sleep that night, a gentle darkness claimed me and I sank into it with relief.
Chapter Twenty-two
When I was eleven, my dad did a lot of work in the main World for Peace building in Heatcalf City, not five miles from where I was now. One time my mother and I travelled down from Gloversdale to meet with him and see the sights. Hal stayed at home with a friend, so it was just Ma and me.
Even back then, I often found Ma irritating. I remember my awkward silences on the train as I tried to tune out her fluttery comments, her insistence on babying me. “Oh, Amity, look! Cows!” she’d cry, pointing out the window.
Did she think I was three? I grunted and stared down at my book, wishing that Hal was along to be a buffer.
I forgot it all the second we got to Heatcalf City. Visitors were allowed in with special passes. I was so proud of mine. It hung around your neck on a slim cord and I kept fiddling with it, hoping everyone would notice the name Vancour. I wanted the whole world to know who my dad was.
He was busy when we got there, so Ma and I left our things in the hotel room and hit the city. To my disgust, Ma’s idea of exploring turned out to be going from shop to shop. I slouched grumpily along after her as she tried on dresses that all looked the same. Why couldn’t Collie have come along? Then even this would be fun.
Finally it got to be a quarter past five. I heaved a sigh. We weren’t due to meet Dad till six and I wasn’t sure how I’d survive until then.
“Can I go on to meet Dad?” I asked.
We were in yet another dressing room. Ma turned this way and that, inspecting herself in the mirror. “I’m not sure,” she murmured, then seemed to have heard me. “Not on your own. We’ll go soon.”
“Please? I know where the WfP building is. I just want to look at all the cases.” Dad had told me there were glass cases full of Peacefighting memorabilia in the WfP lobby.
Ma’s forehead creased. “Oh, honey, I’m not sure. What if you get lost?”
“I won’t! Please? Please?”
She let me go in the end, though her eyes were worried, just as if I wasn’t her oldest child and could fly a plane almost by myself. If Collie had been there, she wouldn’t have blinked. She had this idea that he was competent and trustworthy. He was, but she didn’t seem to believe it about me too, which infuriated me.
I found the WfP building easily enough: an imposing tower with a laurel-leaf emblem at its top. I felt grown-up as I showed my pass to the guard and explained that my father worked there.
Inside it was white and gleaming. The way Dad had described the display area, I’d expected a museum. Instead there were only three cases. I peered dutifully in at their contents. A model Firedove, goggles worn by one of the very first Peacefighters, a few other knick-knacks. I’d seen everything in less than five minutes, then still had over half an hour to wait.
The air of hush felt daunting. I perched on a white leather bench. After a few minutes of shifting idly, I went up to the receptionist. “May I have a piece of paper and a pencil?” I asked.
Back on the bench I composed a letter.
July 12th, 1934
Dear Collie, I wrote. Well, here I am in Heatcalf City. You would just love it here. There are Peacefighters everywhere and shops that sell real flying gear, but I think maybe those are for buying presents to send home because the pilots must get their things from the WfP, don’t you think? Anyway I haven’t gone into one of those shops yet because Ma is going CLOTHES shopping, can you believe it? She could do that anywhere. I really wish you could have come but maybe next time we—
I heard a familiar voice and glanced up. Dad had just slid open the elevator’s metal-diamond door; he and Madeline stepped out. I grinned and was about to jump up and run over to him. The expression on his face stopped me.
He hadn’t seen me; he and Madeline were deep in conversation. They came a few paces into the lobby. Dad shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, regarding her with a complicated look I’d never seen him wear before. It was like he was angry, or sad, or wanted something with all his heart…yet none of those things quite described it.
I sat frozen. In that moment my father became a stranger. I’d always had the dim, unarticulated sense that he was holding something back from us; now I saw how right I’d been. I’d never seen his face look so raw – so full of emotion.
Why didn’t he ever look that way around his family?
Madeline wore a long, thin skirt and white gloves. She touched his chest and said something. My father snorted slightly, and then smiled – a real smile that should have warmed me but didn’t. Madeline tucked her arm through Dad’s. As they started through the lobby she talked earnestly, peering up at my father’s face. His dark head was down; he nodded.
My skin had gone prickly. It felt like everything had been ruined, but I didn’t know why. I wanted to run away; I wanted to run over to him.
Madeline glanced up. Surprise flickered. “Amity!” She dropped her arm from my father’s and smiled.
Dad looked up, too. He grinned and came loping over. “Hey, you’re here!” He scooped me into a hug: strong arms, the smell of his cologne.
“Where’s your mother?” he asked as he put me down.
“Shopping,” I said. “I cam
I was babbling. I fell quiet, scowling.
“Oh…yeah,” said my dad. He glanced over at the cases as if he’d never seen them before. Then he smiled and chucked me under the chin. “That’s my girl.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It rarely did. I hadn’t known before; I’d never seen the difference.
But now I had.
The four of us had dinner together that night: Ma, Dad, Madeline and me. We went to a fancy place in the Heat – as Dad told me that part of the City was called – where I picked at the duck breast on my plate.
“What have you been up to, Amity?” asked Madeline cheerfully.
The question usually brought a flood of chatter; Madeline was one of the few adults who seemed interested in me and who I could talk to. Tonight I felt reserved, a bit resentful.
“Not much,” I said.
“Just hanging out at the swimming hole with Collie, huh?”
“I guess.”
Ma had on one of her new dresses: sleek, satiny and low-cut, with ruffles across the chest. She clutched Dad’s arm. “Oh, look, they have cocktails! I just saw that man order one. Tru, darling—”
“Say no more,” said Dad in a dramatic tone. He summoned the waiter.
“I adore cocktails,” said Ma to no one in particular, when in fact she hardly drank. She was never at her best around Madeline – or maybe it was just the contrast. She seemed sillier, giddier. She giggled and flirted with the waiter and Dad and whatever other men were in sight until I wanted to hide under the tablecloth.
Dad didn’t seem to mind; he laughed a lot too, that night. He and Ma had their teasing banter down to an art form. I’d always seen their constant hilarity as evidence of how crazy they were about each other.
But now I thought about the raw look on my father’s face as he’d gazed down at Madeline…and it occurred to me that maybe someone who was really happy wouldn’t have to work so hard at it.
If he wasn’t happy, then what was he? I watched my mother with cool eyes that night, comparing her giddiness to Madeline’s relaxed smile. And I thought I knew the answer.