In the Shadow of Satellites Read Free Page B

chosen to settle down in Wellington and save for a house rather than travel overseas. If we’d taken the same route as Chris and most other twenty-somethings, would he still be here, with Kieran? Would we have cheated death – all of us, not just me?
    “Hey,” Chris said, coming up behind me. “You okay?”
    I swallow around the pain that has lodged in my throat. Ana stands a few feet away, watching. I force a smile.
    “I’m fine. Sorry. Just zoned out for a minute there.”
    Before anyone can comment, I start walking again, and we make our way onto the lawn and up the wooden stairs onto the deck in silence. I didn’t bother to lock the cottage, and the door is wide open, welcoming us back.
    Chris drops his backpack in the doorway.
    “God, it’s good to be home,” he says, sighing loudly.
    ***
    I can hear them talking in the living room. I try to tune them out as I turn the dip out into a small bowl and set it inside the plate of chopped celery and carrot sticks I’ve just finished preparing. I could’ve just opened a packet of chips, but I needed some time out, away from the memories. Just a few minutes, enough to get my head together. The whispers aren’t helping, though. They penetrate the thin walls and I’m overcome with a crushing case of anxiety. I don’t want to know what they’re saying about me.
    I can’t hide in the kitchen forever, though. I pull on my Big Girl Panties and pick up the plate, taking it through into the small living room, which now seems smaller because there are three of us in it. Chris looks up from his place at the French doors, thrown open to the fresh air. Ana picks up her glass of wine and takes another sip, re-folding her long brown legs beneath her on the small couch. The room feels heavy with all the things not being said.
    “Healthy snacks,” Chris comments, coming over to grab a carrot stick off the plate as soon as I set it down on the coffee table.
    “Thought it might help to combat the jet-lag,” I say, sitting on one of the two armchairs and picking up my glass of wine.
    “My body thanks you, and I thank you.”
    He loads it up with dip and munches loudly, collapsing onto the couch beside Ana.
    “So,” she says. “Tell us about your grand tour of Europe. The last few postcards were a little bit disappointing, I have to say. And I didn’t get the Leaning Tower of Pisa tourist shot I wanted – what happened to that?”
    “Yeah,” he chuckles. “I was a bit hungover that day. Tried my best, but it didn’t quite come off. Looked more like I was doing Tai Chi than holding up the tower.”
    “Why am I not surprised? So, come on then – details.”
    “Well,” he began. “Let’s see. I did the same old time-honoured tour all Kiwis do when they leave London – headed down through France, into Spain. From there, we went down into Portugal, saw fields of a million sunflowers, drank white port – incredible, by the way – and then back into Spain again. Barcelona is amazing, especially the nightlife. Andorra was cold – and expensive – but Italy was beautiful, especially in the north. And the women… Jesus, the women… ”
    He falls back into the couch, his face a picture of blissful self-indulgence. Some things don’t change, and I’m glad. It’s comforting, the familiar.
    “Dude, did you sleep your way through Europe?” Ana arches an eyebrow. “No, don’t answer that.”
    “I love how you know me,” he grins.
    “I said don’t answer that.”
    “Too late.”
    He takes a quick swig of beer, still grinning.
    “A gentleman does not kiss and tell,” he adds.
    “Then you’re safe.”
    “Fuck, Ana. That hurts.” He fakes a wounded expression, his hand clutching dramatically at his chest. “Words wound too, y’know.”
    She waves her hand impatiently, not falling for it.
    “Whatever, you’ll live. Do all your stories involve bedroom conquests, or will we actually get to hear some sex-free anecdotes about this trip?”
    “What’s an