Wings

"Shit. I was staring wasn't I? I was having trouble reading your expressions. Sorry."

"I'm kind of used to it. Kids are the worst. They say some really rude things without thinking."

"I bet they do." I study her eyes for a moment. There is a brief flash of mischief in them.

"It's going to make Halloween costumes easier." She grins.

I laugh with her. "I think I see what Sammy saw in you. She did love a bit of dark humour."

"Thanks." She says thoughtfully. "I was worried about visiting you. I'm glad I did now. I put my number in your phone. Meeting you was good. Like someone else who..."

"Shares fond memories of someone they've lost?"

"That." She nods. "Is it okay if I call now and then? I won't pester you, but you know..."

"I'd like that." I say and it feels odd, but I mean it. "Where are you staying? Can I give you a lift?"

I hadn't seen a car in the street when I arrived, so I imagine she got an uber or something.

"Oh. I bussed up from Brisbane this morning. I was going to find a motel close by. I've been in the 'chair force' at Amberley since the... When I got out of hospital, they found a spot for me in logistics. I'll just get a taxi."

"I wasn't hurrying you out the door, Lara. It just sounded like you were thinking of leaving and hey..." I glance off down the hall toward the spare room. "I've a spare room. You're welcome to-"

"I couldn't do that." She shakes her head and frowns at me. "I've been a big enough pest already."

"Nonsense. I enjoy talking to you. It's been good to hear things about Sammy's life after all this time. The bed is comfortable. The door locks on the inside." She blushes at that, "And I cook a damn tasty spaghetti bol."

She frowns while she thinks.

"Look. Do you have friends you can contact? It would help if they knew where to search for your axe-murdered corpse?"

"I should probably just say thanks but no thanks." She laughs, "But... You are probably gonna be sick of me by dinner time."

"I'll just whack you on the head and bury you down the back with the others, in that case."

When she smiles, her whole face lights up.

"What? You're staring again."

"Just thinking Sammy had good taste in girls. You're pretty when you smile."

"She said you were a charmer. I'm just gonna ring Emma." She walks out to the deck with her phone and I start about my sauce. I firmly believe that a decent spag bol starts with a decent sauce. We had Italian neighbours when I was growing up and Francesca mothered the whole street. She was one of those Italian ladies. This is her sauce.

I halve four Roma tomatoes, then finely dice an onion, three cloves of crushed garlic and a small stem of celery. These ingredients are placed in my old iron frypan and lightly fried in some butter. Hot, but not hot enough to burn the butter and garlic. I leave them sizzle until the tomatoes have softened. Then I just cover them with stock from the fridge and add a tiny spoonful of vegemite. Francesca swore by the vegemite. Finally, a dash of black sauce and a splash of red wine. The lid snicks into place and the smell of simmering sauce quickly permeates my little house

"God, that smells great."

"Thanks. Is your girlfriend comfortable?"

"Sister. She's good. Never much went for girls."

"Not something I would have picked for Sammy either." I regret saying it the moment it leaves my mouth; it sounds shallow. I put the cap back on the wine bottle and look at it for a moment. What the hell. I find two glasses and pour us each some wine. She takes hers and follows me out to the deck where we sit and watch the sun dip low.

"I suppose I should tell you that story about Sam. I've heard all about you and her. Trust me, some stuff I didn't even need to... I guess it would fill in the blanks. You didn't turn her gay, so don't take credit for that."

"Oh, um is there anything you need? I forgot earlier. There are shops close by."

"I have a change of clothes and toiletries. Maybe a towel."

"You sure travel light."

"Carry on weight... You know..." I don't really but I guess she means that as a pilot you need to think about payloads. "Thanks, by the way. For not being... Well, I just didn't know how you'd take me just showing up with personal stuff. If you're anything like me, you've only just started putting yourself back together. And here I am picking at the stitches."

I shrug and sip my wine.

"The academy was tough. Females make up less than three percent of the Air Force and most of those are in administration. There was an undercurrent of misogyny ingrained in the culture that they deny exists. You were a pricktease, or you were a slut, or you were a dyke in everyone's eyes. At least being a dyke meant you got left alone."

"One day I saw this pretty girl with bright red hair sandwiched in a corner by three leery looking aviation students. God, they all thought they were Tom Cruise in top gun. She looked like she was about to cry. They were being such total fucking pigs. 'Let me touch your tits.' 'Do you suck dick.' 'I bet she's had to suck a lot of cock to get here.' You get the picture."

"Nice. And these are the elite that fly our jets?"

"Nah. These are the pond scum that hope they get the chance. Three years of study weeds a lot out. Then there's basic flight when they make pilot offers. But anyway, these blokes are practically sleazing all over her so I took a deep breath, barged right through them and gave her the biggest sloppiest kiss on the lips I could."

"Haha. How'd she take that?"

"She was quite flustered. Then I said, 'there you are lover, I've been looking all over for you'. Anyway, word got around pretty quickly and next thing we're sitting in an office with three commissioned officers telling us all about equal opportunity and complaint processes and such. Turned out my little charade had kind of locked us into something bigger and political."

"After that we sort of had to keep the act up."

"So, it was all an act?"

She smiles and I watch memories cross her face. "To start with." She smirks. "Then the pretend kisses got longer and the hugs closer and one night... I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"You certainly don't have to, but you're not..." I rub my chin trying to find words, "not creeping me out or anything. For some reason it's not hard to imagine someone loving Sammy how I did. I wanted her happy. I'm glad she had you."

"Haha, oh she had me. She had me alright. You would know what she's like. Like a switch flicking on."

"Ahuh. I remember well. So, it became sexual, is what you're saying, I guess. Your charade became reality?"

"Beautifully so. I'd never imagined loving a woman. Still can't. But Sammy. I just did."

Topping up our wine glasses, I see her studying me.

"Now you're staring." I tell her.

"I just don't understand how you can be so thoughtful and kind to someone who just barged into your world and started bringing up all sorts of emotional wreckage."

"Talking about her brings her back for a moment. You bring her back for me." I look off to the setting sun and sigh. "Did she ever talk about her family? You'd know I have no-one to reminisce with if she had. Save for my Mum. Mum loved Sammy too."

"Oh god yes. They hated me. I was an abomination. Our love was not accepted at all. Sammy and I once had leave and were going to visit them. She was told quite succinctly that she was welcome, I was not. You can imagine how that turned out."

"Lesbians and blackfella's... She really knew how to twist their nipples."

When she stops laughing, she asks, "How the fuck did you... Sorry, language. How did you ever get passed them?"

"Frog in boiling water theory, I think. By the time we needed their permission we were already cooked. Her mother was the worst. I actually had a bit of time for old Peter."

"Yeah. He wrote her a letter once telling her how proud he was of her achievements. She was offered Fast Jets training after basic. Very few women get that opportunity. But she turned it down. She'd heard about the aid missions and wanted to fly some old clunkers full of diapers and medicine instead. She had this gift when it came to flying. All the things I struggled for she just aced."

"She was like that in school."

"She told me about a memory. About standing on a wall with your hands on her hips and her arms outstretched imagining she was flying. She told me whenever she was nervous up there, she felt your hands steadying her again and knew she was okay."

God, that did it. The floodgates opened and my grief rained down. When I lifted my head some minutes later, she's gone and I'm alone on the deck with my salty tasting lips and wet face.

I can hear noises inside. In the kitchen, I think. She returns some long moments later with a hip flask and a smile.

"Sauce needed stirring, I hope you don't mind." She hands me the hip flask and I know what's in it.

"Sambucca?" I ask.

"I was going to head out to the cemetery and have a drink with her tomorrow, but it never feels like she's there. It's so empty."

Unscrewing the lid, I sniff the foul liquid that my angel girl loved so much and shake my head. "To all the memories this foul stench brings back." I laugh like you wouldn't believe I was just showering the deck in man tears a moment ago and swig a little sip down.

I hand it back and watch her tip back a sip then fumble with the lid. I'm watching her fingers closely as she tries to seal the flask again.

"Fuck!" She hands it back to me. "Fucking things are like fucking claws. Do you know how it feels to have to learn to wipe your own fucking arse again at twenty-eight years old? Fuck!"

She plonks down in her chair. "Sorry."

"Must get frustrating. If you were down in cargo, how did you get so badly burned? I saw some footage..."

"She was on fire, Jax." She's crying softly and I can see it all playing over again in slow motion on her tortured face. "It's not stuff to talk about, mate. I don't mind but you can't unhear it. Seriously. I had two shrinks tap out and refer me on."

"Lara, you let me worry about what I can and can't listen to. I'll 'tap out' if I need to." Her blue eyes burn seriously on mine for long moments.

"It's just a horrible memory to carry, Jax and I don't know if I want to burden you with it. Your memories of Sammy are all... and this is so..."

"I'm sure it's no worse than what I've imagined after seeing the footage."

"It hit the wing. I heard the explosion then my ears just started ringing. Some of the shrapnel came in through the side of the cockpit. That killed Mike. He would have been dead instantly. When I got back up front, fuel was spilling into the cockpit and it was on fire. Her hair. Her beautiful hair all black and her face burning. I couldn't hear her, but her mouth was open and I'm sure she was screaming."

"Are you okay?" She pats my knee. I nod. It's not morbid curiosity, it's the truth. It's the facts my mind needs to let her go; to write the end to her story.

"She was trying to undo her harness and batting at the flames on her face. Fuel kept pouring in and I was certain the plane was going to explode. Part of me wanted to run. I am ashamed to admit it but for a moment I considered it. But something took over and I ran into the cockpit, into the flames of her and undid her harness and dragged her outside. Crew had fire extinguishers out there and when they put us out it was horrible. The pain... and her skin and her pretty face."

"I saw her in the hospital. She couldn't speak. Her throat and mouth were terribly burned. I couldn't touch her. My hands were all wrapped up and I was in so much pain. Her eyes though. Her beautiful eyes were gone. She was on lots of painkillers. When I tried to speak it hurt but I could see she recognised my voice. She died that afternoon. Two days, she'd lain there fighting. Her poor little body just went into shock though."

"Fuck." I tell my wine glass. I have no idea what to say.

"Yup." She agrees.

"You were very brave."

"Not really. I beat myself up a lot over whether she'd have lived if I didn't hesitate that little moment."

"So, what now?" I ask. "What will you do?"

"They want to give me a medal. I'm not so sure I want that. If I wanted, they'd probably keep me on in an administrative role. But I don't want that. They will pay me out and I'll head down to Mum and Dad's until I get on my feet. What about you?"

"What do you mean? Life goes on, I guess. Work, bills, eat, sleep."

"She was always coming back for you. I knew her. She knew about you. About women. She knew you had girls but nothing serious. In her heart she was always going to come back home to you. She loved me. But I knew, and now..."

"Now she's got her angel's wings." I say, turning the little silver wings over in my hands.

We ate dinner and spoke about small things. I think the emotion of the evening sapped us both. I found her a towel, a t-shirt to sleep in and gave her the tour and we were both in bed by nine pm. Sleep came hard despite my weariness and eventually when it did claim me it was filled with dreams of burning angels flying in an empty dark sky.

~~<>~~

She was up and in the kitchen when I woke around sixish as I usually do.

"Morning Jax." Her voice was happy and she reminded me of an old girlfriend who was an infuriating morning person. "That bed is comfortable. I slept like a log for the first time in months. I've snooped all through your kitchen and found the coffee machine and some eggs. I thought I could repay you for your hospitality with some breakfast before I take off."

Nodding, I wipe sleep from my eyes and take the mug of coffee.

"It's Nato; white and two. Sammy said she tried to get you to cut the sugar out." She laughs and it's a gentle sound. A welcome one after the oppression of the previous evening.

"Thanks." Apparently, I am capable of speech before seven am. As I eat the omelette she's scratched together from the embarrassingly empty fridge, she tells me of her plans for the day like I need to know her every movement.

"I was going to go and visit the grave but I've decided not to. I was also going to go and see her family but I've decided they can go and fuck themselves." She blushes. "Sorry, if you haven't already worked it out there's a lot of swearing on base."

I shrug and she continues. "So, I'm gonna head back to Amberly and start looking for work. I'm gonna need to do something when I finish up or I'll go bonkers. Mum and Dad will start throwing blind dates at me and trying to get me to go to church. It's going to suck. Like being a teenager all over again if I can't get set up and out on my own."

It seems I am just required to listen and nod and that suits me. Mornings are for coffee not for talking.

"My hands are obviously fucked, which sucks. I have more than enough hours to satisfy a commercial licence and that was always my dream. But now," She pulls a face and makes clawing gestures while chuckling at herself. "Might get a job in a circus or a freak show. Who knows?"

"So, back to base and start to take control of my life. I've been wallowing since... She wouldn't have wanted that. You know how infuriatingly positive she was."

"Ha." It's the second noise I've made this morning. The coffee must be starting to kick in.

"There's a bus this morning at ten. Only one on Sundays. I have a lovely little Peugeot gathering dust that I still can't operate, so public transport is the only option for now. What are you up to today?"

"Oh..." Fucks me. It's Sunday. Usually, I tinker on the car. Dad's old HQ utility sits in the shed and Sundays are usually tinkering and yard work. "Um..."

"Mum and Dad live in Murwillumbah, just down over the border. Got a lovely little house on an old cane farm near the river. I'm thinking maybe I could get some work in Tweed Heads in hospitality, but my face is gonna scare employers off some."

I didn't really take a proper long look at her face last night. This morning in the light of day her burns are frightening looking welts and ridges on the left side of her neck, and along her hairline. Her facial skin is smooth and taut and has red lines in small square shapes. She has her hair short in a neat boyish cut that sits over her ears. The left ear is only half there.

Her lips are pretty. They are thinnish but nicely shaped and pert. Pokey, like the rest of her. Her eyes when I look up at them are smiling strangely and very 'blue'ly on my embarrassed brown ones.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." She teases.

"Sorry." Three words, this morning before seven. Amazing. "Your ear. I was..."

"It's okay, just teasing. I like that you are looking. It means you're not afraid. Those people are the worst. You have no idea how many times someone squeals or jumps in fright, when I'm shopping."

"You're really quite pretty, I mean..."

"Were?"

"No. You're still quite pretty, just scarred." seriously need more coffee before I do the speaking thing.

"Well thanks, Jax. More coffee?" She rises and I notice she's wearing only the t-shirt I found for her last night and her undies. Her long legs stretch down from an impossibly pert bum to a tangle of twisted scarring that starts around the knee on each leg and ends where her boots would have been on her ankles. It's mesmerising.

It's violent and painful looking but fascinating in its intricate patterning and tangled tortured lines. How about that arse though, my morning mind questions? Good lord you could crack nuts on it.

"Jax?"

"Uh?"

"Thank you. I don't have very many friends. I have a lot of acquaintances but not many close friends. Thanks for putting me up last night and for talking with me. Part of me thought you'd be very keen to get rid of me."

"Meh." I shrug and stare at her breasts. They are pokey like the rest of her and tent the front of the t-shirt quite tastily. "You're welcome. Thanks for breakfast."

"So, I don't have many people to talk to properly. None who'd let me use their spare room and cook in their kitchen."

She hands me a second cup of coffee and I'm grateful for the opportunity to use my mouth for something other than speech, so I sip it carefully.

"Certainly, no-one that I'd let see my legs. Why is that? Why do I feel comfortable enough to stay the night and just..." Perhaps she sees my confusion. "Waffling. I babble in the mornings. Sammy used to get so cranky at me."

"The two-coffee rule."

"Ha. Yep. No talking until the second cup is empty."

"I don't know why you feel comfortable, but would you be comfortable enough to accept a lift back down the range? I'm not doing anything today and I should take Dad's old ute for a run to keep the battery charged and the oil circulating. You know."

"Dad used to love this thing." I tell her as we roll out of my driveway, later. "It was his most prized possession. He and his father re-built it together."

"I like the colour." She says, tossing her small bag in the middle of the bench seat and clambering in. It's hot today. Around thirty-three, so her jeans are obviously there to hide her scars.

"13138." I tell her, "Salamanca Red. Original colour but a fresh coat of paint. Did most of the prep myself. It was a bit banged up when Dad passed and needed a little bit of TLC."

The rest of the trip was mostly comfortable silence. The growl of the big three-fifty kept me entertained and I pondered her earlier observation about how easily comfortable it was to be around her.

She sits with her feet pulled up on the bench, hugging her knees and smiling at her phone that she randomly taps at. I imagine she's surfing social media or something. But the quiet enjoyment of the drive and the simplicity with which we sit and soak up the comfort of each other's presence without feeling the need to talk is lovely.