Between These Walls

by John Herrick

  For Hunter, it was a desperate cry for God to show up and give him wisdom: hands open and arms outstretched, the arms of a child racing into his father’s embrace. Pleading for his father to never abandon him.

  CHAPTER 21

  “Well, here it is,” said Ellen, unlocking the door on the passenger side as Hunter shifted the car into park. Together they climbed out and sauntered toward a view of, what appeared to Hunter, nothing.

  The secluded property sat in Brecksville, a suburb located in what Cleveland-area residents called the west side. To reach the property, Hunter and Ellen had exited a freeway, driven through a series of main roads, then twisted and turned for another ten minutes along numerous side roads. Taking a deep breath of early November air, Hunter scanned the grassy plot of land with his eyes. He noticed it stretched several acres wide and about two acres deep, before hitting a thick, wooded area at the rear of the property.

  If secrets took a physical form, Hunter mused, this would be the perfect place for them to hide.

  Hunter zipped up his winter coat. The air felt unseasonably cool. Snow flurries had swirled outside his window the night before. Once December arrived, Hunter knew, any snow that fell would accumulate on his lawn and remain there through winter. It wouldn’t start to melt until March, and by then, he knew the pile would measure at least three feet in his front yard.

  “We closed the deal on Saturday morning,” Ellen said, squinting her eyes and examining the property as through the lens of a dream. “Two months ago, we knew nothing about this land.”

  “How did you find out about it?”

  “The owner was a homebuilder. Brendan has worked with the guy on a bunch of projects over the years, so they cross paths on a regular basis. The guy owned this land and intended to build a house on it, but for several years, nothing happened.”

  Hunter recalled, during his youth, when he and his family had considered moving and searched for homes around this area. They had looked at a couple of homes built by builders and had noticed a significant difference compared to other homes on the market. Unlike the standard features of a typical home, many builders had avoided neighborhoods and opted for standalone plots of land. They had poured money into all the details of the home and purchased the best of options which, as Hunter’s father estimated, the builders had bought at cost.

  “Why did he give up on building the house?” Hunter asked.

  “It wasn’t him,” said Ellen. “It was the guy’s wife who nixed it. After they’d owned the land a few years, they got a divorce. The wife got the land in the divorce settlement and decided to put it on the market. We bought it directly from her, a for-sale-by-owner thing. The guy mentioned it to Brendan in passing. Next thing we knew, Brendan was on the phone with the wife. Or ex-wife, I should say.”

  “I wonder why they never built the house in the first place,” Hunter wondered aloud. “Why’d they wait all those years without doing anything?”

  “I was curious about that too.” Ellen swept her foot along the grass, which hadn’t grown out of control but needed a final mowing for the season. “When she showed us around the property, we got to talking, and I asked her that question.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She doesn’t harbor cozy feelings toward her ex-husband, of course, but her explanation threw me. She said she’d felt trapped inside the marriage and couldn’t bear the thought of building a house to fill with lies. A house where the façade looks ideal and the fixtures are everything she’d dreamed of, but behind the front door—between those walls—the lies mount higher and higher. Finally, the day would come when she’d suffocate and die inside.”

  “Sounds harsh.”

  “Scared the hell out of me, that’s for sure. That’s how she put it, though: The lies would build inside that house till she’d suffocate and die. No way was she gonna let that happen—build a pretty house and put on her best show for the public, while inside, she’d crumble from the pressure between the walls of her lies. So after years of trying to gloss over the problems in their marriage, she told her husband she didn’t want what he wanted. All the deeper issues between them rose to the surface and escalated from there. Next thing you know, they got a divorce.”

  Hunter drew his shoulders together to bring his coat tighter against himself.

  “I never want one of those in my life,” Ellen murmured.

  “Don’t want what?”

  “A fucking house of lies,” she replied, no expression upon her face.

  A gust of wind blew and the chill in the air seemed to plunge. Hunter shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced at Ellen, whose face had grown ashen in the cold. Rosy patches had bloomed on her nose and cheeks. She appeared lost in reflection as she stared at the broad land before them.

  As he pondered Ellen’s remarks, Hunter considered his relationship with Kara in light of the feelings he’d developed for Gabe. When honest with himself, Hunter had to admit he felt much more attracted to Gabe than to Kara. Yet, on the other hand, his relationship with Kara made sense: a woman, a wife, a family … a future. And if not with Kara, with another woman. What was he supposed to do? Sabotage another relationship? Give up on the future he desired in his heart, a course he believed wiser, because of attraction to someone else—an attraction that might prove fleeting in the end? He wanted to treat Kara with kindness. If she knew the whole scenario, what would she say? Would she want him to give up on her? Given a different work schedule for Kara—less travel, more face-to-face time—perhaps the situation would be different. Perhaps this was a season of weakness, Hunter tried to tell himself. A temporary period, like the dry season at his sales job.

  Yet, at some point in the future, a choice would be inevitable, Hunter knew. Kara or Gabe. Regardless of why he’d grown more vulnerable in recent months, a moment of decision would come. But maybe it wouldn’t come soon. Maybe he needed time to sort everything out, a season in which the best answer for everyone would emerge with clarity.

  “When do you start building?” Hunter asked Ellen.

  “We’ll break ground in the spring, as soon as possible, then shift as much as we can into high gear.”

  “You’re starting this spring? When do you plan to complete it?”

  “September.”

  “Isn’t that your wedding date?”

  “We’d finish the house around the same time. It’ll be a tight fit with work, wedding plans, and now building a new house. Talk about pressure.”

  “Pressure doesn’t always serve you well.”

  “You can expect me to be a crazy bitch by the time it’s all over. But I know you’ll love me anyway, so you’re kinda screwed.”

  With that, Ellen burst out with a raspy laugh, the kind you’d normally expect from a chain smoker. Hunter chuckled along with her because he knew every word she’d uttered would come to pass.

  “But in the end,” Ellen said, “we’ll have a sparkling home ready to move into after the honeymoon—if he keeps me around after my crazy phase, that is.”

  “So what happens next?”

  “Now that we know the exact dimensions of the lot, Brendan can get blueprints drawn up. That’ll involve a lot of back and forth, but we have a general idea of what we’re looking for.”

  “Since Brendan speaks their language and understands the regulations and code requirements, shouldn’t the process move along faster?”

  “We hope so. In the meantime, he and I need to pick out everything from siding to fixtures to carpet. All the options you take for granted: How many cars we want the garage to fit for the future. Paint colors, shingle colors, roof style. Everything.”

  “Kind of like planning your wedding, only ten times bigger.”

  “Geez, it all seems to grow bigger the more I talk about it,” Ellen said. “One enormous hot-air balloon in my face.”

  Ellen tapped her foot nonstop.

  “But it’s good pressure,” said Hunter. “I mean, you’re happy, right?”

  Ell
en paused. “Yeah … yeah, I’m happy.” After another beat, she shot Hunter a mischievous grin. “I’m sure I’ll feel like crawling into a corner once all the pressure sets in, but yeah, I think I can say I’m happy. I have someone to love. Life doesn’t get better than that, does it?”

  Ellen wrapped her arm around Hunter and gave him a hug from the side. And with that, the two old friends, shivering in the northern Ohio wind, headed back to the car and closed themselves into its warmth.

  CHAPTER 22

  The next day, Hunter had a job interview with a small company in Aurora, a community adjacent to Hudson’s eastern border. The interview, which he hoped had gone well, wrapped up by the middle of the afternoon. Since he was so close to home, he decided to head back to his house, where he would spend the rest of the afternoon researching job openings online.

  As he drove down Hudson-Aurora Road, Hunter passed his old high school on his left and peered out the window. The school day had ended minutes earlier. Swarms of teenagers departed the building. Cars snaked through the parking lot and lined up at the exits. It reminded Hunter of one February morning at that school, during his junior year.

  Hunter’s lunch period arrived around 11:30 a.m. that semester. Randy and several other friends had the same lunch schedule. Each day, they met at the same table in an atrium known as the Commons. Through the windows that lined one side of the Commons, Hunter could see the parking lot filled with students’ cars. Mounds of white lined the perimeter of the lot, snow that had fallen that winter, which the maintenance crew had plowed to the side and now sat several feet high. A cool, gray sky hung overhead, an entity with eyes that observed and saw everything that occurred under its watch, which, for Hunter, ushered in feelings of imprisonment.

  Teenagers sat around small, round tables that speckled the large, airy room, while several other teens approached and hovered around those who sat. Some who hovered munched on a bag of chips; others killed time, skipping out of study hall while claiming a trip to the restroom.

  The tables seemed to reflect unwritten rules about who sat with whom. Hunter noticed he could summarize each table with a label: jocks, choir members, band members, future MIT alumni. While Hunter hung with the athletic crowd, he made an effort to talk to individuals regardless of their activity interests or social statuses, and he never understood why middle and high school students gravitated toward social segregation. Beneath their layers, Hunter supposed, they all shared similar insecurities, fears and struggles. At least, he hoped he wasn’t the only one who possessed them.

  Voices echoed throughout the atrium, their sounds bouncing from the walls and performing acrobatic maneuvers beneath a ceiling that stretched two stories above the ground.

  Hunter turned his attention to Randy and the others at his table, a few football players Hunter knew. Hunter couldn’t say he had a particular fondness for the players with whom he sat, nor did he consider them friends per se, but they ran with the same crowd of athletes as Hunter and Randy. The players wore letterman jackets of blue and white, which sounded like rubber when they stretched their arms or slapped each other on the backs in jest. Randy had taken a seat on Hunter’s left. Tom Fisher, a mouthy defensive end with strong legs and arms, sat across from him. Between Tom and Randy sat Alex Keller, a tight end. On Hunter’s right, Grady McEvoy, a running back who had stacked up an impressive record of pass receptions for the season, sat with his girlfriend, Gina, on his lap. Hunter had always liked Gina, who, although she tended to flow with the crowd rather than stand her ground, never failed to treat Hunter with genuine kindness.

  Hunter knew Tom had the hots for Gina. The guy had spent the past year salivating for the day she might tell Grady to hit the road. Most of the student body considered Grady and Gina destined for marriage, a classic fairy tale of high school sweethearts that would receive special mention in their senior yearbook. For the time being, however, Tom had to settle for taking his macho behavior an extra mile in Gina’s presence to try to capture her notice. Hunter didn’t understand why the guy didn’t move on to someone else.

  Grady cracked a remark about the tie their chemistry teacher wore that day, a throwback to what they had agreed upon as the hippie era, and Tom retorted with a comment that sent his tablemates into laughter. When he noticed Gina had found it humorous, Tom kicked his efforts up another notch. Each remark vied for dominance over the last, one degree higher in volume and wit. Soon they erupted into explosive laughter that boomed around the atrium, despite the room’s overall noise level.

  Hunter grew a tad embarrassed at the loudness. Tom’s, in particular, struck him as borderline obnoxious. Well aware of his status atop the high school social ladder, Tom seldom paid attention to how well he kept his behavior in check.

  When Tom’s voice boomed, Hunter peered at tables in his vicinity and, sure enough, he caught a reaction. A few tables away, a group of bookish types had looked over in shock, trying to identify which loudmouth had all but sent the piles of snow outside into an avalanche. Once they pegged Tom as the source, they returned their attention to each other, rolled their eyes, and shook their heads in disgust as they resumed their conversation. Hunter wondered whether the root of such reactions was jealousy or if, in actuality, those students were more confident in their own brainpower than the athletes were in their physical prowess. Oftentimes, when he looked into their eyes, Hunter had a hunch the brainiacs knew something the jocks didn’t—like who would work for whom in twenty years.

  “You should take notes from Hunter,” Gina remarked to Tom as she fluffed her blond hair, which fell in curls halfway to her waistline. “He knows how to behave in public.”

  With that, she gave Hunter a nod of acknowledgment, then retreated into giggles as Grady nibbled her earlobe.

  Tom looked irritated at the display of affection, of having to suffer watching Grady accomplish what Tom would give his starting position in the next season opener to have a shot at.

  With his jaw line set so firm, it couldn’t have protruded with more prominence along the edge of his face, Tom glanced over his shoulder at the table behind him, where one student sat alone. Christopher Patton nibbled on a crinkled french fry as he fingered through a large book with How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying printed on the front. Hunter presumed it was a script. Last week, Hunter had heard Christopher—never Chris—won a supporting role in the upcoming spring musical, and now he looked immersed in the process of memorizing his lines.

  Christopher hadn’t always sat alone.

  On occasion, others still sat with him, but Hunter noticed Christopher had grown more withdrawn in recent months. Rumors had circulated about him since one week in late October, earlier that school year.

  Ever since middle school, people had suspected Christopher was gay but never had proof. Their suspicions had lingered in the hallways and traveled through whispers, text messages, and phone chats. Whether Christopher realized it or not, Hunter couldn’t decipher, but the guy possessed a handful of stereotypical, effeminate qualities that provided fodder for those suspicions—qualities like the frequent limp wrist; exquisite posture when he sat; loose gestures of his head, holding his hands close to his chest, when he spoke with passion; and a lilt to his voice which, compared to his peers, seemed to have one fewer ounce of masculinity. Nothing blatant in his qualities, but off-kilter enough to produce subtle reminders of why the suspicions existed in the first place. A tall, skinny redhead, Christopher hung out with the band and choir crowds. He had bold taste in clothes, as demonstrated by the vivid pink polo shirt he wore today, a shade Hunter wouldn’t have the guts to carry to a cash register much less wear in public.

  Unfortunate timing back in October confirmed the student body’s suspicions about Christopher.

  Rehearsals for the fall play had begun a few weeks earlier. Because rehearsals were in their early stage, the schedule called for a focus on particular scenes in the afternoon after school and additional scenes in the evening. Such an approach all
owed the cast to develop each scene at a slower pace as they learned their lines, acquainted themselves with stage blocking, and adjusted to each other’s dynamics. Once November arrived, they would rehearse entire acts from beginning to end, followed by full dress rehearsals.

  On that fateful October date, Christopher’s rehearsal occurred in the evening, when the rest of the school building was dark and empty. The fall play required a small cast to begin with, and the director had scheduled only seven cast members to attend that evening’s rehearsal. Christopher’s presence wasn’t required on stage until the next scene. Neither was that of Sheldon Horvath, a fellow cast member.

  Stories fluctuated on what led a third cast member—one not even involved in that night’s rehearsal—into the dressing room. Most students concurred that he had left his script behind by accident and needed to retrieve it from his dressing-room locker.

  According to the stories, upon entering the side of the dressing room nearest the hallway, the cast member thought he heard whispers and rustling. The main area of the dressing room was well lit, but he saw nothing. The sounds seemed to come from the darkness around the corner, near a doorway that led to an inner corridor, one that opened into the backstage area.

  Curious, the cast member forgot about his script and decided to investigate the rustling, so he crept toward the far end of the dressing room. The room’s fluorescent glow cast a trace of light into the dark corridor.

  That trace of light provided all the cast member needed. Stunned, he froze at the sight.

  Christopher Patton and Sheldon Horvath.

  Together.

  In the dark.

  Versions of the story varied regarding what the cast member saw, with descriptions ranging from innocent to graphic. The story evolved and spread over time. Its most common iteration, however, painted Christopher and Sheldon in an embrace, whispering in each other’s ears, trying to keep their rendezvous covert. Hands in motion as they felt each other up in the blackness.