The Walls of Orion

by T. D. Fox

  She flinched. “I know.”

  He sighed. Pressing his lips together, hard enough to make them turn white, he finally crossed the room. He wrapped both arms around her.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmured into her hair.

  Courtney slipped an arm around his waist. “I’m sorry,” she said again. She meant it. Eyes closed, she breathed him in. If safety had a scent, it was him. Warm, gentle spice, an indoors kind of smell. Her heart beat a little slower.

  The switchblade sat heavy in her pocket.

  “You should rest,” he said. “Big day tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Thanksgiving at your dad’s, remember? You invited me.”

  Her heart began to thump again. In a sick, thudding sort of way. Jasper squeezed her hands and started to let go. She clutched onto them.

  “It’s not too late to cancel,” she said.

  “Come on. I’m looking forward to meeting your family. It can’t be that bad.”

  When she didn’t release his hands, he pulled her along with him toward the door. “Don’t hype yourself up over this. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow and we’ll head over. Should I bring a bottle of wine or anything?”

  “No,” Courtney said too fast. When he frowned, she fumbled—she hadn’t told him about that yet. She hadn’t told him about a lot of things. There was so much ready to come tumbling out of the closet, so much waiting to crush this little bubble of safety she’d built. “We can pick up a pie on the way. Something with more... Thanksgiving spirit.”

  “Okay.” The flicker in his blue eyes told her he hadn’t missed the hesitation. He opened the door, grabbing his keys off the wall to give her a ride home. “Tomorrow will be fine. I’m sure I’ll love your family.”

  That wasn’t what she was worried about.

  ⬥◆⬥

  Conrad Spencer lived at the top of a towering high rise, smack-dab in the middle of Orion City. The sun, a pale silver orb behind the clouds, hung low behind the looming buildings. He’d moved himself and Michael out of the Westside apartment of Courtney’s childhood. She’d never set foot in this one. When she and her brother hung out, she’d meet him in the lobby and they’d either head to her place or somewhere else her father wouldn’t be able to invade.

  Tiny raindrops dusted her nose as she stared down the keypad beside the front entrance, working up the nerve to move her stiffening fingers toward the call button. She stood back to let other people get buzzed up by the residents.

  Jasper blew a cloudy breath on his own fingers next to her, foot tapping the concrete. “You alright?”

  She took a deep breath and inched closer to the keypad. This was her decision. She’d chosen this; she was in control of this step forward.

  She wasn’t too small to change things.

  Not anymore.

  Lips pressed, she buzzed her father’s apartment number.

  “Hello?” came the crackle on the second ring.

  “Dad. It’s me.”

  “Courtney! Hang on, I’ll buzz you up.”

  The door gave a metallic rattle. When Courtney didn’t move, Jasper reached past her and opened it before it could lock again. She felt a reassuring hand settle over her shoulder.

  “You... want me to go first?”

  “No.” Swallowing, she tipped her chin up and offered him a smile. He smiled back, blue eyes uncertain.

  She hadn’t told him about her father. It was too soon; but when wasn’t too soon? She’d never done this before. Any of it. The boyfriend, the letting someone into her life, this close.

  She’d never let someone back into her life, either.

  Words fizzled out between them as they headed for the elevator. Nine floors up, they were still quiet when they reached the door at the end of the hall.

  No more hesitation. No more staring at doorknobs like they might bite. Courtney knocked.

  It swung open in a second. Michael stood with a stain on his T-shirt, like he’d been already snacking, copper hair combed back in a fancy style she’d never seen him try. He grinned, freckles standing out beneath his brown eyes.

  “Corny-corn!”

  “Hey, buddy—” she started, but he cut her off with a rib-squeezing hug. Startled, she hugged him back. He’d pushed her away last time she’d tried this. He must’ve been anxious she wouldn’t come.

  “You must be Michael.”

  Pulling away, Michael’s smile dropped as he looked Jasper up and down. “You’re the cop.”

  “He has a name.” Courtney squeezed past him and flicked his nose. “Manners.”

  “Yeah, the name of a rock.”

  “Manners.”

  Jasper followed them inside, and Michael stuck to his personal space. “Do you have a gun?”

  “Not with me, no.”

  “Have you ever shot anybody?”

  “Mike,” Courtney snapped, at the same moment Jasper cleared his throat: “Ah, no.”

  The savory-sour smell of roasting turkey invaded. Michael finally retracted into a semblance of acting the host, and took their coats to stuff behind the door. He led them into the living room.

  The apartment was small, but floor-to-ceiling bay windows shed light over the living space, making it appear larger. An impressive view of the Orion skyline stretched out beyond, purple and slightly faded behind the late November drizzle. The Wall’s unbending horizon looked fuzzy this far away. Pretty good for this part of town—Courtney wondered how her dad was able to afford the rent. Maybe no longer spending all his paychecks on beer had something to with it.

  She hovered by the window, eyes falling to a mid-size dining room table set with mismatched plates, silverware, and covered dishes, all stacked in a haphazard pile.

  Anxiety crawled up again.

  Conrad Spencer strode around the corner, a large platter of turkey balanced on his arms. Dark brown eyes widened when he saw her, then skittered to his second guest, as if afraid to settle on Courtney too long.

  “Hi! You must be Jasper,” he gushed. “Conrad. I’d shake your hand, but I’d drop Thanksgiving.”

  Courtney watched him heft the turkey onto the middle of the table, tendons straining his thick forearms. His work in security for one of Eastside’s fanciest law firms had bulked him up. The beer gut was gone, the bony arms too. The sallowness of his cheeks had been replaced with a warm rosy color, almost as ruddy as the beard which grew in red despite his brown hair.

  “Good to meet you.” Jasper took a step toward the table. “Do you need help with anything?”

  “Oh, no, I’ve got it.” Conrad ducked back into the kitchen. “Mike, I told you to set the table!”

  “I did!” Michael hollered from the living room where he’d plopped onto a couch with his phone.

  “Throwing plates and forks in a pile is not setting the table. Come on, man, we have guests.”

  “Courtney’s not a guest.” Michael heaved himself up with an eye-roll. “Who are you trying to impress?”

  Courtney inched toward the table, while Michael laid out the silverware more acceptably. She glanced at Jasper. He seemed to be waiting for her to sit, so she did. He sat down beside her and smiled at Michael when he sank into the chair across from them. Courtney glanced at the last empty chair with a sinking stomach, and tried to pull it back up.

  “Okay, everybody!” Conrad shuffled into the dining room, balancing three plates of side dishes, and laid them on the table. He seated himself at the head. “Jasper, would you mind if I blessed the food?”

  “Ah, sure, no problem.”

  Courtney’s narrow stare burned into the top of her father’s head as it lowered, even as everyone else closed their eyes for the brief prayer of thanks.

  “Thanks for this food, God. And thanks for family.”

  When her father lifted his head, reaching out to serve the mashed potatoes, she cleared her throat before he could offer to serve her.

  “When did that start.” She almost winced at how harsh the not-quest
ion came out.

  Conrad grabbed his son’s plate to serve him. “Since AA. I told you, I’m a new man.”

  “I thought you hated religion.”

  “Yeah, well this ain’t a religion, it’s a relationship. One about forgiveness and new starts.”

  She bristled, and hated herself for it. Wasn’t this what she was trying to do? Fight for what her seventeen-year-old self had given up on: a new start. Pressing her lips together, she focused on filling her plate.

  “So, Jasper,” Conrad said. “I hear you’re on the force.”

  “Uh, yeah. Detective for about a year, now.”

  Michael looked up. “You guys met when Courtney almost got shot, right?”

  “Mike.” Conrad coughed. “She doesn’t want to talk about that.”

  Jasper paused. “I met her after the incident at the café, yes.”

  “Did you save her from getting shot?”

  “Mike, this isn’t dinnertime conversation.”

  “No, Michael,” Courtney said softly. “He got there after the shooter left. Eat your stuffing.”

  “Why didn’t the shooter kill you, if he wasn’t there?”

  Her forkful of mashed potatoes got stuck halfway to her mouth.

  Jasper held out a hand toward the preteen’s plate. “Hey, want me to scoop you some potatoes?”

  Michael passed him the plate, eyes on Courtney. “You never tell me the whole story.”

  “So, only a year,” Conrad broke in. “Courtney tells me you’re from out of state. Whereabouts?”

  “Oregon. A little south of Salem, if you know where that is.”

  “Can’t say I do. Been stuck in Illinois for over a decade.” Conrad motioned with his fork. “You moved here after Quarantine?”

  Jasper hesitated, and Courtney read the lines tightening his face for what they were: dread for the next question. “Yeah.”

  “That must’ve taken guts. Did you know what you were getting into?”

  “I knew it was a one-way ticket, if that’s what you mean. But about everything going on behind the walls... the Changers, the virus, the White Coats. None of that stuff gets to the Outside. For all they know, it’s a zombie apocalypse in here.”

  Michael guffawed. Conrad chewed thoughtfully. “But you waded right in. Thrill-seeker?”

  “No. I wanted my service to count for something, and nobody else was coming here. If order on the inside really had broken down, this city needed people to keep the peace more than ever.”

  “I’d like to think we’ve got a decent bit of order now,” Conrad said. “I took my kid to the movies the other night. We’ve got a school that still hands out degrees. Hasn’t been a riot this side of town in five years.”

  “It’d be cool if there was a riot,” Michael said.

  Jasper looked at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I dunno. Just people going crazy, anything could happen. It gets boring around here sometimes.”

  Amusement tinted Jasper’s gaze as it brushed Courtney’s. “You sound like your sister.”

  “Yeah,” Conrad chuckled. “Courtney gets bored easily. Takes after her mother.”

  The fork in her hand froze. A memory rocketed back: a different apartment, a younger voice screeching out of her lungs, the same man.

  “You can’t force me not to talk about her. She was my Mom! I won’t pretend she never existed.”

  “Shut up, dammit!” A bottle shattered. “I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth. You say her name again, you find a different roof to live under. You hear? Go to your room.”

  Her insides trembled, pulling her back to this dining room table, this Thanksgiving dinner without broken glasses, these walls free of that sour stench.

  “I bet that Orion Giant guy would come if there was a riot.” Michael stabbed a cranberry in his stuffing. “He’d turn into a giant and beat the shit out of everybody.”

  “Hey, none of that in my house.” Conrad pointed with his fork. “Go put a dollar in the swear jar.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “No buts. I’ll make it two.”

  Michael sighed and slid out of his chair, heading toward the kitchen.

  Courtney’s throat finally squeezed out the words: “Swear jar?”

  “Every curse puts a dollar in the swear jar. We’re trying to only use words that build people up. And before you ask, it goes for me too. About a quarter of those dollars in there at the bottom are mine.”

  Her jaw hurt as it clenched. She tried to relax it. “I wonder where Mike got that language from in the first place.”

  Conrad’s ears reddened. Before he could respond, Michael slouched back into the dining room. “Is there more stuffing?” he asked. “I ate all mine.”

  Jasper handed him the bowl, while Courtney ignored the burning weight of her father’s gaze, staring holes into her own plate instead. Her jaw ached more fiercely.

  She wanted to be happy. For Michael’s sake, she should’ve been. But tears fought their way up the back of her throat, tightening her chest and stealing her breath. She wanted to forgive him. She’d come here to forgive him. But the soft tenor of his voice when he prayed—he’d never prayed—and the mason jar stuffed with dollars on the coffee table ripped an anger through her chest with a violence that scared her.

  He was flaunting it. Waving in front of her face a picture of the good dad he’d become in Michael’s life, refusing to acknowledge the gaping hole he’d left in hers.

  “So...” Jasper cleared his throat. “Are you much of a coffee drinker, Mr. Spencer? I haven’t seen you around Courtney’s café.”

  “Please, call me Conrad.” He paused. “I, ah, mostly stick to the cafés that are open on my night shifts, but yeah. Caffeine’s pretty much all I drink these days.”

  Courtney couldn’t help the question that jumped to her lips. “How long is ‘these days’?”

  “Three years, eight months now.”

  The soft reply sparked a mix of warmth and cold in her veins. She’d left four years ago.

  She looked up and encountered Jasper’s gaze, fixed on her with a questioning frown. Something in Conrad’s voice must’ve hinted they were no longer talking about coffee. Her own eyes jumped back to her food.

  “My go-to coffee joint’s just up the block, open twenty-four hours,” Conrad continued, turning back to Jasper with a forced smile. “Otherwise I’d be at my daughter’s café a lot more often.”

  “That’s not why he doesn’t go to Courtney’s café,” Michael said.

  The heater by the windows came on with a soft rattle. Behind the glass, the rain pattered like a distant set of drums.

  “So, Court.” Conrad said after a stiff moment. “How is work at Jessie’s?”

  Try. Just... try. Courtney chewed her food slowly, carefully. “Normal.”

  “Has business slowed down after... everything?”

  “Actually, it picked up for a while. You know how people are.”

  Conrad grimaced. “That’s a shame. It would’ve been nice for you to get a break for a while.”

  “A break? That’s exactly what I didn’t need.”

  He sighed. “You sound exactly like your mother.”

  Now the fork slipped. It hit her plate with a clink. “What?”

  “Melody used to spend all night at the DA’s office when something difficult came up. Work helped her process. Guess she passed that down to you.”

  Recovering her fork, Courtney gripped it so hard the tendons on the back her hand stood out.

  “But I hate to see you working so hard at something you’re not passionate about,” Conrad continued. “I know we’ve been over this, but I really think you should go back to OSM. You can’t stay at a coffee shop forever. I’ve got better credit now, I could help you out with a loan...”

  His words trailed off under the ring in her ears. No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t really giving her advice about her life, using her mother, after forcing her to spend her entire adolescence on
eggshells, tiptoeing around the vacuum of her other parent like it might explode. Now, after becoming an adult ten years too early, she had to listen to him step back into her life to tell her she wasn’t being a good enough adult?

  “...anyway, I’m thinking it’d be a good idea for you. I’d even be willing to have you pay me back if we can get the financial aid to...”

  Her chest constricted so forcefully any breath for a reply vanished.

  “Excuse me.” It came out on a squeak as she pushed back her chair and stood. “Where’s the restroom?”

  Jasper and Conrad both blinked.

  “Down the hall, to the right,” Michael said.

  She tried not to trip in her half-sprint from the room. As soon as she hit the hallway, she ducked around the corner and leaned against the wall. The bathroom door hung ajar a few feet away.

  Faintly, she heard Jasper scramble to recover the hanging pieces of conversation.

  “Everything is delicious, Conrad.”

  Sweet Jasper. Shame sliced at her for abandoning him to such an awkward family dynamic, but she was terrified that if she hadn’t left, she’d ruin Thanksgiving in a more spectacular way. Flipping the table or hurling mashed potatoes into her dad’s serene face would’ve left Jasper with a far more traumatic first holiday with his girlfriend.

  “Thank you.” Conrad’s reply was low. “My wife always did the cooking around here; anything I contributed was mostly takeout until these last couple of years. I’ve been trying to step up my game... in everything.” A long, strained pause. “Even if I’m a little too late in some areas.”

  Michael spoke up. “She doesn’t hate you, Dad. She told me.”

  The ringing in her ears intensified. Peeling herself off the wall, Courtney headed for the bathroom and ducked inside, easing the door closed.

  She stood with her face in the sink. Hands cupped to her cheeks with icy water, she welcomed the shock. Anything to keep the angry tears from squeezing past her fragile grip on control.

  How dare he? How dare he, after all these years, have moved on, when he hadn’t let her move on for so, so long. He was the one who’d made her mother’s name taboo. The one she’d had to handle like a landmine, an eleven-year-old attuned to the slightest changes in the air.

  Who was he to speak her name like he’d healed, when he’d blocked her every exit to healing as long as they’d lived under the same roof?