Orion Cross My Sky

by Rosa Sophia

  She half expected him to turn away, but instead, he embraced her tightly.

  “I’m not gonna ask why you didn’t tell me,” he said into her hair. Then he moved his head so he could look her right in the eye. “I already have a pretty good idea why you kept it to yourself.”

  Tammy snapped her head to the side, catching Clara’s gaze from across the room. She stood beside Gaven, who remained motionless, his expression intense as he acted like something of a sentinel beside her.

  Clara grimaced before she said, “I had to tell him.”

  A heavy silence fell between them.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t remember. I really don’t remember.”

  Alex placed a firm hand on her shoulder, comforting her, but said nothing. Friendship was new to Tammy, but she welcomed the companionship.

  She sank into the cushion of the old armchair and stared at the threads in the carpet, trying to remember why she’d been curled up in the closet.

  She couldn’t.

  Not a single shred of memory returned to her. It had been a comfortable place, a dark place, a small hideaway she could tuck herself into as she’d done in the attic at her parents’ house.

  She was distinctly aware of Orion beside her, and Clara’s voice. But she didn’t listen. She just sat there, and eventually, realized her cousin had ordered pizza, and Gaven was staying over. Clara kept going to him, leaning against him as if for support.

  Did I do this? Did I ruin her day, make her uncomfortable?

  Guilt swam through her with every painful thought, as if she’d caused it.

  That night, Orion stayed with her, but she wasn’t completely aware of his presence. It was as if she were fractured, hovering slightly out of her body, like a dinghy floating farther and farther from the boat it had once been anchored to, drifting away into a dark cold night.

  37

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “How does it feel?”

  She stared intently at his face, not noticing any discernable difference. She could hardly believe something so horrendous could be so invisible, a disorder that remained an unseen phantasm torturing his every waking moment.

  Orion just shrugged as they stood outside Pete’s Service Station. His first trigger point injections of Botox had been yesterday. “Numb,” he said.

  Tammy knew what it was like to be numb, but she said nothing. She wondered what it was like to be physically numb, and then she thought of when she sometimes fell asleep with her arm above her pillow, and she would awaken in the middle of the night only to realize she’d completely lost sensation. Crying out in terror, she would fling the bloodless limb forward as she sat up in bed to massage it back to life.

  Over the last few days, she’d slowly allowed herself to return to life, gradually permitting her soul to return to its place within her body, like the blood that flowed through her veins and into her arm.

  They listened as Pete closed up shop for the day, then they walked down the street toward home. But today, they would skirt around Grizzly Lane and head to Tammy’s place by taking a route that wound around other dwellings—just so they could avoid walking past Orion’s house.

  His parents still believed he’d been arrested and had spent a few nights in jail, when in actuality, he’d slept at Sheriff Ryder’s place. Now, he avoided being at home as much as possible, and Tammy was growing more concerned as the weather became colder, knowing he’d already spent a number of nights curled up in the Trans Am. Other than her, only Zane knew that, and he wasn’t talking. They weren’t sure what Pete would do if he found out.

  He was still covering his face with a scarf. Tammy held his hand, enjoying his warmth. They didn’t say much as they approached her house and stepped inside. Warmth welcomed them, and the spicy scent of cinnamon drifted from the chunky candle Clara had lit and placed on an end table by the armchair.

  Clara emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of spaghetti in one hand and a beer in the other. “I made dinner. You two help yourselves.”

  On the way into the kitchen, Gaven sidestepped them, holding his own bowl of pasta. He and Orion brushed up against each other in the narrow entryway.

  “Sorry,” Orion said.

  “Hm,” Gaven replied.

  In the kitchen, Tammy dished out their supper. “Something wrong, Orion?”

  “That guy’s weird,” he whispered.

  Not wanting anyone to hear her, she simply handed him a dish of food and said nothing. She wanted to say how nice Gaven was, how he made Clara happy. But she also knew how paranoid Gaven could be, and she didn’t want him to think they were talking about him—even though they were.

  As the evening wore on, Tammy drank her first beer. It didn’t taste half bad, but she was having more fun watching the others. After a few drinks, Gaven became quite talkative and surprised her by being social. His movements were still robotic, as though he weren’t accustomed to his body, but he’d loosened up. He and Orion were talking, and it almost seemed as if they might become friends.

  Late in the night, Gaven had fallen asleep on the couch with Clara tucked against him. The television was muted. Unnatural colors flickered across the dark room. The candle fizzled out. Tammy dragged herself out of her chair, her body heavy with exhaustion. She beckoned to Orion, who followed her into her bedroom.

  “You’re staying, right?” she asked once the door was shut.

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he said, slipping out of his steel-toed boots. He stretched out on the bed, crossing his arms over his Nascar t-shirt.

  He was skinny, with sinewy muscles and veins that stood out on his arms. His thin, choppy hair was mussed, and his eyes were half-closed.

  When she returned from the bathroom after changing into her pajamas, he still looked the same. His jeans were wrinkled and his legs hanging half off the bed. She almost tripped on one of his boots. She turned off the light and climbed under the covers. The nightlight cast a soft glow on Orion as he rested in the dark, just like all the stars in the sky. Just like his namesake.

  “Orion. Are you going to get under the covers? I…I don’t mind if you want to take your jeans off.” He’d slept in her bed once before. But he’d kept his clothes on.

  He shuffled up the mattress, then leaned on his elbow. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. You can’t get under the covers in jeans.”

  “Is that a house rule?”

  She tapped him playfully on the chest. “No.”

  He didn’t say anything more, just slipped out of his pants and climbed under the covers in his boxers and t-shirt. She tucked herself against him, glad for his heat in the chilly night.

  “Orion?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You never did tell me why you have that little scar on your face.” She remembered the first time she’d seen it, when she’d first spoken to him at Express Ohh’s.

  “I was in a car accident a few years ago with my dad. He was driving. It was pretty bad. We both ended up fine, but his old car was totaled. I got cut somehow, I don’t really remember it.”

  “Oh.”

  They were quiet for a long time until she said, “I’m thinking about talking to this guy Clara knows.”

  “What about?”

  “Everything…everything that’s happened.” She yawned. It was becoming harder to stay awake. “She thinks he might be able to help me or…or give me…I don’t know. Help me deal with this.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Oh. It’s something weird.” Just before she fell asleep, she remembered. “It was Sparks, I think. Gioven Sparks.”

  38

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The weather report was already forecasting snow, and the bite in the air made Orion think it would come sooner rather than later.

  It was becoming a regular ritual for him and Tammy to sit on this bench in front of the lake and stare toward the mountains. Ducks watched them as if wondering whether they had crumbs to share. Orion couldn’t figure o
ut why the birds were so chipper. The weather made him frigid, forcing him to keep his face covered at all times. If they could enjoy it, why couldn’t he? It seemed unfair that he had to deal with so much pain, but he was beginning to accept it. He could live with it, but he didn’t have to like it. The Botox helped a bit, but it wouldn’t be permanent. He would have to return for future injections. It was a temporary solution, and there was no cure for trigeminal neuralgia.

  The deep green of the pines reflected in the blue of the lake, which mirrored the sky. And on those cragged mountaintops, snow beckoned, promising to journey down and visit Clearwater quite soon.

  He tugged Tammy closer. “You’re right.”

  “About what?”

  “What you told me the other day. How the mountain looks kinda like an old hag.”

  “Not a hag,” she chided. “Just an old, tired woman.”

  If he looked long enough, he saw the peak that appeared to be a shoulder, the decline that resembled the angle of her arm, the weathered boulders that appeared to be a head, complete with shut eyes and a crooked mouth.

  They were quiet for a long time until he said, “So, you’re gonna talk to that Gioven guy this week?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ever since she’d mentioned it, he’d been considering something more. Progression was slow. It always seemed slow. He’d been staying at Tammy’s apartment a lot lately, to the point that Clara suggested one morning that he just move in. Tammy hadn’t seemed as unnerved by the idea as he’d expected her to be. But something worried him. He sensed a growing dependence between them, the same kind of attachment he saw in his parents.

  Surprised by how quickly he’d spotted it, he wondered if he’d seen it while talking to his mother the other night, and had detected the misery in her eyes—that same unhappiness present in Tammy. And that kind of unbalance surging between two people was bound to cause chaos.

  “Listen, uh…” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. Staring forward at that old woman on the mountain.

  She slid her hand into his, pulling him back to her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Can I go with you to talk to this guy, the one Clara knows?”

  “Gioven, you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

  They didn’t say another word about it. As if to halt any further conversation, she tucked her head against his chest, and he held her close. They stayed there until the cold became unbearable.

  They took the back way to her apartment, to avoid passing by his parents’ house. Tammy was quiet for a long time until she stopped and looked up at the sky.

  “You know, lately, I think about you like you’re part of it,” she whispered.

  “Part of what?” He tugged her near him as the sun began to set. They were alone on this road, soft yellow light emanating from the windows of houses around them.

  “Part of the sky.” She reached up as if to touch his face, then seemed to think better of it. “I read somewhere once that people are part of the stars, that we come from somewhere up there, and when we die, we become stars again.”

  “Sounds like a science fiction novel.”

  Her expression was blank, and it worried him. He remembered what Clara had told him about Tammy’s breakdown, the way she’d thrown herself into the closet. He’d learned about the attic, how Clara and Tammy had hidden in the dark from Harris Pendleton. How they’d grown accustomed to being in the shadows, the cobwebs. It seemed that Tammy had been thrust into the world beyond the attic without much preamble. She hadn’t been prepared, and she wasn’t ready now. Looking at her, she seemed empty for a moment, and the void in her gaze made him uneasy. But then, her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, and he cupped her face in his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “You’re my Orion from the sky.”

  She pressed herself against him. Her lips were cold and chapped, but he moistened them gently, kissing her the way he’d wanted to for weeks. And this time, because of the injection, he was able to feel her lips against his without pain. There were no shocks, no invisible knives slicing his flesh—just her soft warmth against him.

  “Come on, Tam. Let’s get you home.” He took her hand, and together, they walked toward Grizzly Lane.

  It didn’t escape him that their backs were to the Pendleton estate, and they were walking away from it. He hoped she could walk away from her past one day. And he wanted to help her. He wanted to be by her side when she turned away from all that darkness, to step into the light.

  Epilogue

  One month later

  She stared as they lowered him into the ground. The voices droned around her, merging with every other sound. She wasn’t listening.

  He might have lived longer if he hadn’t ripped out his feeding tube. Harris had refused to waste away. He hadn’t looked like himself. The imposing man had vanished, replaced by a frail thing that merely existed, growing smaller and more yellow in the large bed he occupied for weeks.

  Tammy hated him. And she loved him. She’d slammed her bedroom door the night he died—just before Halloween—and had screamed into a pillow, shrieking so loud she was sure the entire town could hear her.

  But no one came. Clara knew it was best to leave her alone for a little while. Alone in her misery and self-hatred. Because this hell couldn’t possibly have been thrust upon her unless she deserved it. She felt less than human, putrescent, nothing.

  Once she’d pulled herself away from that pillow, exhausted, her throat aching from the sounds that had burst forth, she’d sat motionless and stared at the dark closet. Wanting to go in. Wanting to escape. Then, she wondered about everything that had happened, how her father had stolen her childhood, and she wondered who deserved her hatred. Should I hate him, or me?

  Him or me, him or me. It was a constant struggle, a tugging back and forth.

  She watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Hundreds had attended the funeral, men in black suits and ties, people her father had known in his political work over the years. Family traveled from all over the country. Townspeople spoke of what a “good man” he was, and the owners of local businesses—close friends of his—gave eloquent eulogies and expressed their sympathies to Harris’s wife, his daughter, and his niece.

  Tammy found herself unable to cry.

  She remained there. Soon, there was no one around. They’d all left, and the sun was setting. Someone took her hand, and she turned and saw Orion.

  Alex was there, too. She always seemed to be around, lately.

  The night Tammy had screamed into her pillow, Alex had shown up. She seemed to be keeping an eye on her, but she never offered advice, never said much, and never asked questions.

  Clara, on the other hand—more like a sister than a cousin—was always nosy. She stepped up beside the gravestone and was the first to say, “Tammy, you ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Go home?” Orion supplied.

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  The four of them walked to the small parking lot at the edge of the cemetery; they’d arrived together. Since everyone else had departed, there was only one car left. The Clearwater Terror. It was legal now, complete with an up-to-date registration. Orion opened the doors, and they all climbed in.

  The engine rumbled, and the vibration shuddered through Tammy’s body, awakening something within her. In that moment, she knew she could survive. She could do better than survive.

  She could live.

  It would take her a long time. But she would fight.

  She listened as Orion pumped the gas pedal, and the engine grumbled like an old man, then roared loudly. The headlights cut through the growing darkness as a heavy snow started to fall. The gravestones stood tall before them like a silent audience, watching.

  Orion shoved the car into reverse, backing out as the vehicle moaned with insistence, a beast that refused to die. Then he put the c
ar into first and drove toward Main Street. Tammy slipped her hand into his, massaging the callouses on his skin.

  And as they proceeded slowly through the worsening weather, cautious of what lay ahead, no one said a word. She just concentrated on the reverberation of the engine and focused on the snowflakes.

  She wasn’t certain if the emotions roiling within her constituted grief, fury, or both. She knew nothing was that simple. But for some reason, she just wanted to work. Get her hands dirty. Return to the garage, where the familiar scents of metal and grease would welcome her like old friends.

  “How are the roads?” Alex asked from the back seat.

  “Not too bad yet,” Orion said. “What do you think? Should I?”

  Clara leaned forward, and Tammy turned to look at her determined expression.

  “Do it,” she said. “Just fucking do it.”

  Orion needed no further encouragement. He released Tammy’s hand, throwing the car into the next gear, and slamming his foot on the accelerator. They sped down the empty road, the entire machine shuddering with unadulterated power.

  Tammy threw her hands forward, grasped the dashboard, and screamed as if no one was there.

  She didn’t know how they would react.

  But when they joined in, their whoops and hollering fused together and she was sure they’d break the sound barrier.

  She knew she would survive. And one day, she would learn how to live.

  About the Author

  Rosa Sophia is a novelist and full-time editorial consultant. With a degree in Automotive Technology, she adores writing and editing as well as fixing cars. Rosa is also a crazy cat lady in training, and currently divides her time between South Florida and Pennsylvania.