Light of the Sky (Of the Gods Book 2) Page 7

  Shutting the water off, I stepped out of the shower and quickly towel-dried my hair and body. The bruise above my eye had all but faded, now a yellowish smudge, and the glue had finally made its way off. I pictured it washing down the drain, wishing it would have carried along those horrid thoughts.

  One closet was located within my bathroom, holding my casual clothes, while the other in my bedroom kept my professional wardrobe. The old Nova certainly had a lot of extra spending cash based on the extent of her designer apparel.

  My fingers stroked against the buttery fabric of a pale pink cashmere sweater. Its seven-hundred-dollar price tag still hung from a sleeve. I had thought I deserved such luxury. Now it only evoked guilt. Life was so much more than fancy cars and designer clothes.

  You’ll be tempted, Novalee, but profit and gain aren’t worth the forfeit of the soul.

  “What have I done, Aunt Lu?” I whispered, pinching the edge of the price tag. Somehow, I knew the question wasn’t referencing my affinity for haute couture.

  Pushing it to the side, I plucked a long tank top from a hanger and pulled leggings from one of the shelves. I slipped into them and gave myself a once-over in the mirror before exiting the bathroom. Peering over the balcony of my lofted bedroom to the living room below, I found Dane stretched across the sofa. His head rested against a thin accent pillow while his feet hung off the opposite armrest.

  “I didn’t figure you for reality TV,” I called from the stop of the stairs.

  “Seriously? It’s just getting good—see that girl, the one with the big boobs? She slept with her best friend’s ex-boyfriend. I’m pretty sure there’s gonna be some hair pulling and drink throwing any minute,” Dane teased. He sat up and glanced over. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Do what?” I asked from the landing.

  “Make everything look sexy.” His eyes flashed from me back to the TV screen.

  I didn’t reply. What could I say? He’d drawn the line—we were friends—and as far as I knew, friends didn’t call friends sexy. I exhaled, then moved in front of the television, blocking his view.

  “Dane,” I said with a sigh.

  “Hmm,” he murmured. His eyes again flickered over me.

  The plain sleeveless tank fell mid-thigh. I’d seen girls wearing the same shirt as a dress, but I paired it with black leggings. Hardly a sexy look, but Dane’s expression said otherwise.

  “Let’s go,” I suggested.

  He stood up, and his large frame soared over me. When he looked down, his gaze was so intent, so focused, he felt centimeters away.

  “I need to make a quick stop at my apartment to change my shirt before we go.”

  The tears and snot. A fresh wave of mortification blushed my cheeks. I silently followed him out of the apartment.

  After our quick stop at Dane’s, we stepped onto the city sidewalk. Music from the jazz band still flittered through the air. I suggested we walk to Cathedral Park where we could catch the last part of the outdoor performance and check out the food carts that lined the square.

  Dane kept a safe distance on our walk. The deliberate space eased our strange tension. He asked about my family just as we passed Juneau Street. I was glad for the distraction.

  “I’m a twin,” I offered—the easiest answer of my complex youth. “Our Aunt Lu raised us, although she’s not really our aunt.”

  “Twins? Every man’s fantasy!” Dane’s eyes twinkled, and he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Dane, eww!” I gave him a playful punch to his bicep.

  He chuckled. “Seriously though, there’s two of you running around?”

  “My twin is a boy. A brother,” I explained. “Neal.”

  A smile still tugged at his lips. “I can’t picture a dude version of you.”

  The music grew louder as we neared the park, and I hummed to the distinct sound of the saxophone. Growing up, dance and music had centered my world. Along with ballet, I’d learned to play the violin and harp while Neal reluctantly took on the cello. He’d begged for a drum set, eventually winning the battle by getting a guitar.

  Clusters of people walked in varying directions, coming and going from the numerous bars and restaurants that littered our neighborhood. We passed DiSuro’s Italian Restaurant, the location of my last real date—the disastrous ending to my relationship with Beck.

  “This place is amazing.” I nodded toward DiSuro’s door. The date may have gone sour, but the food was always fantastic.

  “I was thinking we’d eat outside?” Dane shrugged his shoulders. “Although I do love pepperoni pizza.”

  “I’m more of a sausage girl.” Well, that sounds bad. I shook my head, waving off any innuendo. “But I meant for future reference, you know, being new to the area and all. They have amazing pizza and pasta.”

  We maneuvered through a throng of people lugging coolers and picnic baskets. One of them held what looked to be a large bakery box, probably a birthday cake. I had a twinge of jealousy.

  In my twenties, even with work being hectic and demanding, I maintained a great network of friends. Our group seemingly drifted apart as we entered our thirties, many marrying and starting families, while another part got more wrapped up in their careers. Just like me, work took over. Now, without that, I felt more than a little alone. Lost.

  No friends. No family. Only Cami and Neal, but I didn’t even know where he was these days.

  If I weren’t so lucky the evening of that terrible accident… if my guardian angel had looked the other way… if I had died, how long till the memory of me is forgotten, wiped away? No one to mourn my loss. No husband, no children, no legacy to leave behind.

  “So, tell me about Neal. Does he live around here?” Dane asked.

  “I think he’s somewhere in California.” Sadness coated my voice. “Let’s just say Neal and I might look alike, but that’s pretty much where the similarity ends.”

  “You don’t know where he is?” Dane cocked his head. “I thought twins had some weird twin-bond thing? Feeling each other’s pain and stuff?”

  “We did, when we were young. Neal and I kind of grew apart. Aunt Lu—” I stopped, not wanting to evoke long-buried, complex issues. But maybe talking about it would relieve the guilt. I knew I needed to reach out to my brother, to rekindle our relationship.

  The warped vision of Neal, his face behind the wheel of the car that almost killed me, I needed to put all ghosts to rest.

  “Aunt Lu, the aunt who raised you…” Dane offered. I realized I’d stopped walking. He watched as I gave a limp smile and began to move toward the square.

  “She wasn’t our biological aunt, but she raised us,” I explained. Cathedral Park stood before us, and I again stopped walking, looking off into the distance to Saint John’s—the church that anchored the square. “She met us when we were just a few days old. Abandoned newborns.” I gestured toward the building. “That’s Saint John’s. I’m not religious, really, but I come here sometimes—when life seems a little chaotic, a little off. It’s calming.”

  Dane looked to the domineering church, taking in the expansive stained-glass windows and towering steeple.

  Saint John’s was located two blocks from Loft and Associates. The rare times I had a free lunch hour, I’d drop in, appreciating both the silence and peace that instantly washed over as I stepped through its tall, carved wooden doors.

  “Aunt Lu was—” I stopped, unable to conjure words to describe her, my head still not working right following the accident. Memories were too fuzzy to form solid, congruent thoughts in my mind. I searched, but her memory ebbed from my reach, like swimming to the shore with a current pulling me back.

  “She’s gone?” Dane asked quietly.

  “Yes. She passed away when I was in college.” I glanced to Dane. “Neal and her were my only family. I don’t know where Neal is these days. The only other person tying me to my childhood is my friend Cami. I was walking to see her this afternoon when I saw that… that bird.”<
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  Dane nodded, urging me to go on.

  “Maybe I should go see her.” My voice came out sad and small.

  “Your friend? Cami?” Dane attempted to piece together my chaotic chain of thoughts.

  “Aunt Lu—” I hesitated. “I should visit Aunt Lu. Her grave.” I stared absently at the church, hardly noticing Dane’s arm that had snaked around my waist.

  We stood, gazing at the cathedral while pedestrians maneuvered around us. Something warm settled over my shoulders. Warm like the sun, like a blanket. Like a prayer. I felt its strength traveling through my body, up my spine, bringing me taller, as if pulling me closer to heaven itself.

  I released a breathy sigh—the kind I’d usually make when finishing yoga or a good workout. Looking up at Dane, I gave a small smile.

  “Let’s get dinner,” he grinned back and jutted his chin toward the row of food trucks.

  The breeze carried a whiff of barbeque. Dane claimed I ate like a rabbit; I’d prove him wrong.

  We each ordered the rib platter from Smokey Sam’s—an iconic vendor in Milwaukee. Anyone who’d spent any time in the city knew Sam. At closing time, the long-retired original owner walked Brady Street, selling smoked sausages from a cooler. People claimed he had gone senile.

  Dane, against my wishes, handed over a cluster of bills to the clerk and took the two heaping plates. Spectators and diners packed both the park and blocked-off street. I suggested we grab an open space on the curb—not the most ideal place to enjoy ribs—but Dane motioned to an occupied picnic table. The young man seated at the end stood up upon our approach.

  “You guys leaving?” Dane asked politely.

  “Yes, we are.” The guy glanced over to his companion who appeared confused as she still chewed. “It’s all yours.” He collected his plate and plastic cup and offered the space. His lady friend reluctantly followed suit, looking stunned.

  They had walked several feet away when she nudged his arm and scolded him. “I was still eating!”

  Dane smiled. “Ah, young love.”

  We ate our dinner in companionable silence as the band took their intermission. I glanced to Dane. Barbeque sauce smudged the corner of his lips. I smiled into my plate. There was no way Beck and I could sit through a meal like this. Beck ate pizza with a fork and knife—barbeque sauce would give him a panic attack.

  A mountain of soiled napkins later, we finished. Dane licked his fingers, making obvious sucking noises, then peered at me.

  “Ah, she really does eat!” he delighted. His hand reached over to wipe sauce from the corner of my cheek, and his finger lingered. “Messy stuff, huh?”

  My stomach fluttered. How could a simple gesture feel so… seductive?

  The band regrouped just as I tossed the final bone onto my plate. Smooth jazz soothed, and I tried to suppress a yawn.

  “Should we head back?” Dane asked. “You look tired.”

  “Sorry, I have to admit, I am. But they just started playing again.” I motioned toward the music. “I don’t want you to miss out.”

  Dane gave an absent wave of his hand, then stood and collected our plates and the pile of napkins. I followed him to the large plastic blue bins where he tossed them away.

  “Why don’t you go see your Aunt Lu?” Dane said, ushering me toward the sidewalk.

  “My car’s totaled.” I took a deep breath. “Guess I could get a rental.”

  Dane stopped walking. “I’ll take you.”

  “That’s nice, Dane, but you don’t have to keep proving how right your aunt is,” I joked lightly. The offer was tempting. The accident was still too fresh, and I dreaded getting behind the wheel again. “Besides, it’s not a quick trip. She’s buried outside of Chicago.”

  “Well, that’s perfect.” Dane rubbed his hands together. “My territory includes Chicago. I was planning on taking a drive down there to get a feel for the route. Let’s make a deal. I’ll take you if you agree to come with me for some meet and greet thing next Thursday.”

  “Meet and greet?” I asked.

  “Yeah, some cocktail-hour thingy. Networking, blah, blah, blah.” Dane gave a slight eye roll. “Not my thing, but I gotta go.”

  Thursday. My stomach flopped.

  “At Bar Continental?” I asked, although I sensed the answer.

  Dane nodded.

  “I’m going.” I sighed.

  “Oh.” Dane paused and cocked his head. “Good, we can go together then.”

  “With Pete,” I clarified.

  The small jerk of Dane’s head was so slight, I’d almost missed it. He continued to walk, and the companionable silence from earlier was now replaced with an awkward, obvious quiet.

  We passed the Metro Mart—the store where Dane had offered to carry my bags and invited me to bake cookies. He had a way of pulling me in and then casting me out.

  Now he seemed to be reeling me in again.

  “Well, as your friend,” Dane broke the silence, “I think Pete seems nice. My offer for Chicago still stands. How about Tuesday?”

  “Dane, you don’t have to do this,” I said.

  “I want to,” he replied firmly. “I want to help you.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t help but ask. Being new to town, I could understand his desire for friendship, but offering to take a near stranger to visit her dead aunt’s grave seemed beyond the normal, neighborly scope.

  Dane again stopped walking. Turning toward me and leaning in, he studied my face. His eyes dropped to the freckles at my collarbone, making my cheeks blush, before shifting back up. “You went through something traumatic. I just want to help. I’ve been in your shoes before. I get it. You’re looking for something. Answers, closure, peace.” He shrugged.

  Answers, closure, peace. He hit the nail on the head. I wasn’t sure how he knew—before I realized it myself—how desperately I sought all three.

  Ten

  Pre-accident, yoga was my outlet when life seemed unsettled. Cami had gotten me hooked on the practice in my early twenties, at a time when I struggled juggling college, internships, and relationships. She always looked out for me, like a big sister, somehow knowing I’d need a healthy way to ground myself.

  Since I still wasn’t up for an in-person class at her studio, Sunday morning I streamed a session on my laptop. I finished with a breathing exercise, sighed breathy and content, then lifted from the carpet to switch off my computer and push the coffee table—which I’d shoved against the wall to make room—back into place. Dropping onto the sofa, I shot Cami a quick text, then headed upstairs to shower and dress.

  As my foot hit the top step, the suitcase came into view. Still occupying half my bed, still bulging with power suits and matching pumps from the London project. I knew I needed to unpack it. It’d become the elephant in the room, signifying life pre-accident. The “me” I used to be. And maybe I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her just yet.

  Peeling off my clothes, I whispered, “Baby steps.”

  After a quick rinse-off and change of clothes, I returned downstairs with a notebook in hand and fresh determination.

  “Baby steps,” I said firmly, staring out the patio door. Cautiously, I pushed it open and stepped outside, holding my breath as I waited for something ominous to pop out. Chatter floated from the park below and emerald-green leaves rustled in the warm breeze.

  Flowers and giggles.

  Like the memory of Aunt Lu, the image was there and gone. Try as I might, I couldn’t recall it.

  “Baby steps.” I repeated the mantra, sighing as I tossed the notebook to the floor. A freshly sharpened pencil had been tucked into its metal coils.

  “You again,” Dane called over from his patio. He plopped onto his lawn chair with a beer in hand. “Can’t get a second away from you, can I?”

  I grinned back, giving a small wave.

  “I asked yesterday, but you were still mad at me then. Now that we’re friends again, can I please get you a chair? Your tiny, invisible one just looks so uncomfortable
.”

  “I will not take your chair, Dane,” I replied.

  “You won’t be; I have an extra.” He stood up. “I’ll be right there.”

  The knock came a minute later. Dane stood outside my door with a folding chair in one hand and a six-pack in the other.

  “Here.” He handed them over. “I’ll be right back.”

  Seconds later, he breezed through the open door with another chair in hand.

  “Yes, sure, come on in,” I teased.

  “Thought you’d never ask.” Dane smiled coyly. He carried the chairs to the patio while I followed behind with the six-pack.

  “I normally don’t drink this often,” I said after he’d taken a seat, popped open two beers and handed one over to me.

  “That’s funny because I normally don’t drink this… little.” He clinked his bottle against mine. “To friends.” Dane nodded toward the abandoned notebook. “Writing?”

  “I have so many things I need to sort through. I need to find a job. I need to reach out to Neal,” I explained. “And I want to write memories of Aunt Lu. She’s been gone so long I can hardly picture her.” I glanced over to Dane. “I miss… I miss my family. I guess I’m feeling a bit guilty.”

  “Why would you feel guilty?” Dane’s eyes softened. They could change from sarcastic to silly to serious with a blink.

  “Near death experience? I don’t know. I can’t make sense of anything. It’s been so long since I’ve thought about Aunt Lu and even longer since I’ve talked to Neal. Since the accident, I feel like I need to reconnect.”

  Dane looked out to the park, then back. “When did Neal move away?”

  “It’s been fifteen years. He didn’t even come home when Aunt Lu died.” I stopped as my voice cracked.

  An unwilling tear traveled down my cheek, and I brushed it off. The old Nova rarely—never—cried. Decades of holding it in, and now, since the tears started, I couldn’t seem to turn them off.

  “Sorry,” I said into my bottle, taking a slug.

  “Don’t apologize. As hard as it is, grieving, those emotions—they’re necessary.” Dane reached out but then drew back his hand, snaking it around his beer. “I’m glad I’m here, that I get to go with you,” he said more quietly. “I’m glad I get to be the one to help you find closure. Or whatever it is you may be looking for.”