Page 12 of Marked By the Broken Orc
“Of course,” she agrees, but I catch the flash of disappointment in her expression before she covers it with a smile.
Our nightly textscontinue and become the highlight of my day, though I’d never admit it out loud. The conversations have evolved and now range beyond work stories and observations about our neighbors, to debates about everything from the best pizza toppings to whether our favorite hockey team has a chance at making the playoffs. She’s surprised to learn that I enjoy following human sports, wherein I admit I only follow hockey. Mia, meanwhile, is sharp, funny, and surprisingly well-informed about a wide range of topics. I’m surprised at how well I get along with this human female that lives next door. We really are becoming fast friends.
She sends me a text on Saturday night.
Had a rough call today, Three-car accident, two kids involved. They were okay, but for a few minutes there…
I respond immediately.
Those are the hardest ones. Back in Maine we had a house fire where a family barely got out. Still think about it.
Exactly. You save who you can, but the what-ifs can eat you alive if you let them.
Is that your philosophy or experience talking?
Both. You?
I stare at the phone, considering how much to reveal.
Experience. Both in emergency response and in life.
Want to talk about it?
The simple question catches me off guard. When was the last time someone other than Talon asked if I wanted to talk about something personal?
Not particularly. But I appreciate the offer.
Standing offer. I’m a good listener when I’m not being obnoxiously loud.
I’ll remember that.
Good. Now tell me about this commune where you grew up. I’m picturing something out of a history documentary.
I find myself describing life on the commune, the cabins we lived in and the main meeting lodge, the traditional hunting, the way everyone had a role and purpose. I don’t mention the isolation I eventually felt, and the way my father’s death changed everything. But I share enough that she gets a picture of a life completely different from her military and urban experiences.
Sounds peaceful.But I bet you were ready for something different.
How do you know?
Because you left. People don’t leave paradise unless they’re looking for something else.
Her insight is uncomfortably accurate.
What about you? Ever want to leave Spokane?
I’ve thought about it. Especially after not getting that job. But this is home, you know? My sister’s here, my friends. It would take something pretty special to make me want to start over somewhere else.
What kind of something?
The right person, maybe. Someone worth building a new life with.
The comment hangs there in the space between us, loaded with implication. I stare at the words for a long time before typing back.
I’m sure you’ll find that person.
Maybe I already have.
My heart pounds as I read the message. This is dangerous territory, the kind of conversation that leads to complications I can’t afford. I should shut it down, redirect to safer topics.
