Orion Cross My Sky

e
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T
his is a work of fiction
. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to actual person—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

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F
or my mother
.

T
ammy Pendleton thinks
she’s broken beyond repair. Sheltered by her parents, a victim of sexual abuse, she wants to escape but doesn’t know how. Until her cousin Clara leads her away from the Pendleton estate, and into Clearwater.

Orion Bennett is a motor-head who works at Pete’s Service Station. At nineteen, he is battling depression. But he’s also suffering with trigeminal neuralgia—the suicide disease—and he’s desperate to escape the pain.

When Tammy wanders into the shop one day, she finds herself strangely comforted by the scents and sounds of the garage. Although the pain they suffer is very different, they discover comfort and understanding in one another. The companionship they share has the power to heal. The question is, will they let it?

T
ammy had left
her parents’ house a week ago, and she had grown numb by her freedom. Leaving had been easier than she’d anticipated. But then again, she was eighteen now. Her cousin, Clara, had found an apartment, and there wasn’t much Tammy’s parents could do to stop her. Clara was the one she wanted to be near to, and so she’d managed to separate herself from the Pendleton home.
Somehow
. Sometimes, she wasn’t certain how she’d done it.

Now, all she could think about as she sat by the lake was how the mountains beyond the water and trees appeared to have a face. That of an old woman who would awaken one day, rise from the earth and shake the snow from the cragged top of her head. The clouds that hung low could’ve been her hair, and the smaller cliff faces jutting downward posed as her hands.

Tammy sat there for a long time, staring at the mountains. She’d always been able to do this—let her mind drift away until an entire day passed. If she wasn’t careful, she could lose herself this way.

She leaned back against the hard wood of the bench, her notebook clutched in her lap. During this past week, she’d lost her appetite, could not sleep, and often walked about in a daze. Unable to remain cooped up at the apartment she now shared with Clara, she came here to Clearwater Park each morning and watched the fish jump in the lake. It was early September, and she’d only been eighteen for a week.

Her father hadn’t been able to stop her from leaving. Daddy had seemed different, more ambivalent than usual. He’d gone to the bedroom to take a nap, and her mother had remarked Daddy wasn’t feeling well. He’d been sick lately, unsteady on his feet. When she had mentioned it to Clara later on, her cousin hadn’t wanted to hear about it.

She didn’t want to talk about Daddy.

Tammy loved her father, but sometimes, Harris Pendleton wasn’t her father. Sometimes, he was a man she didn’t recognize, the monster who came to her room at night.

Clara said she would adjust to the apartment, and she would rest well one day. She invited Tammy everywhere, even to attend meetings with her therapist, and to get-togethers at Winterbloom Bed and Breakfast. Tammy declined each and every time.

Something in her remained perplexed, and she had trouble defining what had happened to her. While she’d always been good with words, phrases suddenly escaped her.

All she saw in her mind was her father, first sober and then drunk—first loving, then destructive. First a father, and then a beast.

She thought of the adoring look on his face last Christmas, when they’d opened gifts as a family. Then she thought of the nights he visited her in the darkness, ran his heavy hand along her soft thigh, and told her
this is what people do when they love each other
.

Tammy didn’t think it was true.

She wondered what other girls’ fathers were like, whether they did the same things. She wondered if she was the only one, if she was just a bad girl who deserved whatever befell her.

She tilted her head to the side, watching as a fisherman on one side of the lake reeled in a squirming, scaled creature.

How many times had she had a hook in her mouth and lived to tell about it?

Too many times. Too many
.

S
he kept
the battered book beneath her pillow, choosing to cuddle its pages whenever loneliness or confusion crept upon her. The mysterious Captain Nemo and his
Nautilus
journeyed through her dreams as she conjured images of drifting beneath the sea, exploring the captain’s personal library, and sniffing the yellowed pages of ancient tomes. Nothing could rouse her from those fantasies.

“Tam!”

Except, of course, her cousin’s loud voice on a weekday morning.

“Ugh.” She grumbled, tugging a pillow over her head.

“Breakfast is ready,” Clara called again. “I made pancakes.”

That proved enough to get her attention. Clara had been learning to cook, experimenting with different dishes, quickly discovering she was quite good at it. She’d learned a bit from Chloe Sheppard while staying at Winterbloom.

Tammy stepped out of her room in the small two-bedroom apartment they shared. She passed by a window and spotted Mr. Grange mowing the lawn around the house. The apartment was attached to his large home, and Mr. Grange was retired, quite content to take care of all the outdoor maintenance himself. When the owners of Winterbloom had approached him about finding a place for the girls to live, he’d invited them in, offering them three months rent-free so they would both have time to find jobs. On this early September day, it was still warm, and the open window in the living room ushered in the air which carried the heady scent of freshly cut grass.

In the small kitchen, Clara was piling hot pancakes onto a bright blue dish directly from the skillet. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned at Tammy. “Get ’em while they’re hot! It’s almost nine-thirty, and I have to get going. Just think, after the next couple of months, I’ll be able to graduate high school.”

“Yeah.” Tammy sat down at the table in the dining area, which also served as a living room.

“Are you sure you don’t want to enroll with me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Tammy, what are you going to do? You have to finish high school.”

“What about your friend Lisa?” She glanced up at Clara as her cousin set down plates, along with the serving dish laden with pancakes. Tammy reached for the maple syrup, then piled several pancakes on her plate.

“What about her?” Clara glared at her as if scolding her for discovering a plausible argument.

“Lisa dropped out and got her GED. I think I’ll do that.”

“Why?” Clara sat down and poured syrup on her pancakes once Tammy had finished with the bottle.

“I don’t want to go to school…be around all those people. Not now.”

“I know how you feel.” Clara cut off a large piece of her pancake, then munched for a moment before adding, “This isn’t easy for me, you know.”

Resentment sliced through Tammy, making her sick. She stared at her breakfast for a long moment. “You think it’s easy for me?”

“No.” Clara’s fork clattered against her dish. “Are you kidding?” She stared at her, wide-eyed. “I never, ever thought that. It was hell for the both of us, living there. Any time I say something like that, don’t take it personally, okay? Sometimes, I…I feel like you’re the only person I can talk to, but at the same time, I feel like there’s a distance between us that wasn’t there before. I don’t know why.”

“You’re having an easier time moving on than I am.” Tammy put down her fork and stared at her breakfast.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Clara asked after a long silence. “Tammy, you’ve been losing weight—”

“I’m not hungry. And you’re not my mother.” Rising from the table, she went to her room, satisfied that Clara hadn’t bothered to fight back.

She didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now. Instead, she reached under her pillow and pulled out the battered copy of
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
. She hugged it to her chest and curled up in a ball on the mattress. She closed her eyes and imagined she was far, far away where no one could ever hurt her.

Soon, she drifted into a fitful sleep, nightmares stalking her subconscious. Nightmares of home. Of her mother. Of Clara.

Nightmares of Daddy.

S
everal weeks passed
, and Tammy didn’t venture far from her books or her writing. She penned short stories in her notebooks, and wrote poetry when the mood struck. Her introspection seemed only to deepen, and though she’d been quiet and always reading when she was living at home, it seemed to bother Clara more now that they lived on their own.

Her older cousin was always peeking in on her to make sure she was okay. Tammy would often get up in the middle of the night and find Clara in the living room, reading.

Neither of them slept well, their insomnia plain on their faces every morning.

Tammy noticed her cousin was right. She was indeed losing weight. Where she’d once been thick around the middle, she was much thinner, weighing perhaps one hundred and thirty pounds. She had no desire to eat, and she knew that frightened Clara.

It frightened her, too.

She combed her shoulder-length, light brown hair away from her face. It usually hung over her forehead, obscuring her blue eyes. She tugged it into a ponytail after getting dressed. She’d never allowed her eyes to show, her round face always hidden by her hair.

Maybe this was a sign. Maybe she could have a life, after all.

She’d consented to go out with Clara, who had invited her to get together with some of her friends at Express Ohh’s. She had been worried about it all day, constantly glancing at the time, nervous about the afternoon. Clara got out of classes around three, so she told Tammy to meet her at three-thirty.

She left the apartment with increasing trepidation, uncomfortable with the idea of venturing away from her room. When both she and Clara lived with Tammy’s parents, they couldn’t leave the Pendleton estate. Her father wouldn’t allow it. His distaste with the outside world had resulted in Tammy’s fear of venturing beyond the apartment.

As she locked the door behind her, a cool breeze threatening the arrival of autumn tousled her hair. She stared at the door for a long while, clenching her keys in her hand. Then she clutched her notebook to her chest, and started walking the few blocks toward Express Ohh’s.

As she went, all manner of horrendous images passed through her mind as budding panic thrummed through her body. It happened whenever she went to Clearwater Park, too. One fear in particular ran rampant in her thoughts.

She envisioned flames licking the sides of the house she now lived in, consuming the few things she treasured, burning everything until only ashes remained.

Such things came to her in nightmares, as well. The irrational fears followed her everywhere. Her house would burn down. She would die. What other horrors waited for her around the corner?

She took a left onto Main Street. There was nothing terrible to see. Just a few cars passing by, and Old Bruce hobbling to the edge of the sidewalk again, raising his thumb to drivers as he leaned on his cane, hoping to get a free ride to Jackson Hole.

Tammy didn’t know many people yet, but she talked to Old Bruce almost every morning when she passed him on the way to the park. She could have gone a different route, a shorter one, but she preferred the walk that took her down Main Street.

“Hi, Bruce,” she said, speaking loudly so he could hear her.

“Oh, hello, Miss Tammy.” He turned slowly, running a hand over his long gray beard before adjusting the cap he wore over his bald head. Clad in the usual khaki pants and gray t-shirt, he had a baggy, bright orange vest overtop so he would stand out to passersby. He’d almost perfected hitching to an art form. “I don’t usually see you here this time of day.” He made the casual remark as though she’d been walking the streets of Clearwater for longer than a fortnight.

“I’m going to meet my cousin and some of her friends.”

“Oh, I see. Well, have a good time, dear.” Old Bruce extended his hand, shaking his thumb in the air as a battered Plymouth Acclaim slid by. He shook his head in consternation. “Darn. There go another one.” He turned toward Tammy again, shifting slowly. “I’m tryin’ to visit mah sister in Jackson Hole.”

“I wish I could help you. But I don’t drive yet.”

“That’s all right, dear. I know you would if you could.” He patted her gently on the hand, his skin cool and smooth to the touch. “You take care now.”

“Thank you, Bruce. You too.” The short conversation made her nervous, but she congratulated herself for the little bit of progress she’d made. Until a week ago, she’d never talked to anyone outside her immediate family.

As she walked a short distance away, a patrol car drove down the street and Tammy recognized Sheriff Ryan Ryder, whom she’d met shortly after leaving her parents’ house for good.

She turned on her heel, watching in amazement as Old Bruce shook his thumb at the sheriff’s car. The patrol vehicle stopped and pulled over. Sheriff Ryder climbed out. Tammy expected him to reprimand the old man. After all, hitching was illegal. Instead, he opened the passenger side door and said, “Hop in, Sir Bruce.”

“Well, ain’t you a nice boy, Sheriff.” Old Bruce petted his long beard as if it were a beloved cat. Then he hobbled to the passenger side of the car, and the sheriff took him gingerly by the arm to help him into the seat.

“Your sister’s place, Sir Bruce?”

“Why, sure, that’d be fine,” came Bruce’s reply from inside the car.

The sheriff shut the door with care. As he walked to the driver’s side, he gave Tammy a small wave. She squeezed her lips into a forced smile before turning around and hurrying down the sidewalk.

She was afraid of Sheriff Ryder. And it wasn’t just because he was a cop. He was also a man. It seemed that almost any man stirred terror within her, bringing her back to those moments in which her father had hurt her.

She didn’t want to be hurt ever again. That meant staying away from men—all of them. As she walked slowly down the street toward her destination, lost in thought, she froze when she heard the crash. Tires screeching, metal on metal.

Swinging around, she saw Sheriff Ryder’s patrol car, the front end crushed by a huge Ford pick-up truck that had come speeding out past Pete’s Service Station.

“Oh, shit,” she mumbled, before walking swiftly toward the mangled car.