Christopher rebelled.
After all, what if he were wrong? Wouldn’t
The decision was made. Did his father need him? He could not cope if it were so, and so he chose to believe it was not.
He would do nothing.
Eric Meyfarth looked up from his desk as Christopher entered the office. “Do you mind if we get out of here?” he asked, rising out of his chair. “I’m getting a bit claustrophobic.”
Surprised, Christopher agreed. He followed Meyfarth down a back corridor into the floor’s private section, where they commandeered an express elevator.
“Otis—Sky Room,” said Meyfarth. The doors closed, and the arty leaned against the back wall. “How are things at home?”
“It’s like being a bachelor with roommates.”
“Jessie and Loi are closing you out?”
“I don’t think it’s them,” Christopher said, shaking his head. “I think it’s me.”
“Oh?”
“I just can’t be the same with them.” He glanced at the display. “Where are we going?”
“The nearest spot that feels as little like an office as possible.”
“Sky Room,” said the elevator, and the doors opened.
“Here we go,” said Meyfarth, leading the way out.
The top level of the Matador Building was a climoglas-enclosed forest micropark, complete with birds and bubbling water. Narrow paths led to private seating nooks. The air was slightly humid and carried the mixed scents of life.
“This is nice,” said Christopher, craning his neck as he looked up toward the heat-blocking roof panels twenty meters overhead. The tallest trees nearly brushed them.
“Very expensive, very wasteful,” said Meyfarth. “About eight percent of my lease payments go to maintain it. That’s about fifteen dollars out of every appointment, if you’re interested. I try to make sure I log my share of use. Anything like Oregon?”
“Just the smells.”
They found an empty nook on the east side of the densely planted greenyard.
“You don’t have any contact with your host mother, is that right?” asked Meyfaith.
“No. Not since I finished school.”
“How did that happen?”
“She’s on Sanctuary,” Christopher said with a touch of impatience. “I don’t have a lot of choice about it. I can’t even call her. She had to call me.”
“I understand that. Do you have any clue to why she stopped?”
“No. Is this important?”
“I was just refreshing my memory,” said Meyfarth. “What does your father think about what’s happening with your family?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“Really? When was the last time you talked to him?”
“This morning.”
Meyfarth cocked his head quizzically. “So you chose not to tell him.”
“It’s not his problem. There’s nothing he could do to help. So there’s really no reason to bring him in.” Christopher looked away and frowned. “Besides, it’s just not something we McCutcheons do. It took him two months last year to get around to mentioning that an aunt of mine was dead.”
“Forty percent answer, Christopher.”
“I know. I really don’t want to talk about my father just now.”
“Guessing now—you didn’t tell him because he has a rooting interest.”
“Not that he’ll admit to,” Christopher said. “But it’s true, I don’t want to have to deal with his reaction on top of everything else. He’s not fond of Loi.” That was diluting the truth; the two were stone and storm. “I suppose he’d be happy to see me break with her and solo with Jessie.”
“Which isn’t what you want.”
“No.”
“Have you any idea why he feels that way?”
“I really don’t know what he feels or why he feels it,” Christopher said irritably. “Does this have a point?”
Meyfaith frowned. “Define your problem, Christopher.”
“Look, there’s a lot of old history there, and I don’t much want to relive it,” Christopher said, exasperation tingeing his voice. “The, ah—the emotions are still a bit confused.”
“Did you quarrel often?” Mey faith asked quietly.
A wistful look crept onto Christopher’s face. “No. Not quarrel.” He smiled, and the smile was eloquently bittersweet. “I didn’t see enough of my father that I could afford to get angry with him.”
The words seared his throat, stabbed deep into his chest. He was caught by surprise by his own thoughts. It was as though the words had leaped from his subconscious directly to his lips. Christopher looked plaintively at Mey faith and found the arty’s expression of empathy as distressing as the revelation itself. Rising, he walked to the edge of the nook, pretending interest in the plant identifier on a small pedestal there.
Meyfarth said slowly, “I think that’s a piece of something important, Christopher.”
“Do you?” asked Christopher, hugging himself as he stood facing the trees. “I don’t. I don’t even know that it’s true. I have this habit of rewriting what I feel so it sounds more dramatic. And then when it comes out of my mouth it doesn’t touch me at all.”
Gently, the arty said, “I don’t think this was one of those.”
Christopher turned to face Meyfarth. “I don’t think it matters,” he said stiffly. “I don’t think it has anything to do with what I’m here to work on. Damn you, I told you once already I didn’t want to talk about my father. Can we get back to the main program, or are we finished?”
There was a long moment of silence. He felt Meyfarth measuring him.
“All right,” said the arty. “My apologies.”
Christopher frowned and waved a hand dismissively. “Listen, I’m not stupid. I know I’m going to have to look at it sometime. But I don’t think I have enough banked just now that I can afford to make this the time. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Meyfarth said. “Can we talk about children?”
“Okay,” Christopher said, returning to his seat. “I guess we have to.”
“Loi has a son?”
“Einar. He’s in San Francisco. Twenty years old.”
“More like a brother, then.”
“To me? I wouldn’t know. I never had the experience.”
“But you knew Einar?”
“I knew him. I didn’t like him, but I knew him.”
“Oh?”
“We had incompatible anatomies. He was an asshole.”
Meyfaith’s laugh was easy and genuine.
“Loi agrees,” Christopher added.
“Enough of Einar, then,” Meyfarth said, smiling. “Tell me about the last child under ten you liked.”
Christopher shook his head. “I don’t see many children. I’m not sure I like any of the ones I do see.”
“No friends with adorable seven-year-old girls? All neighbors with brats?”
“Our upstairs neighbor in San Francisco had a boy while we were living there,” said Christopher. “Cute, I suppose. Little odor factory, though. And they leak.”
“That they do.”
