Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

Chapter 29

Louis stared at the locket in his palm. It felt too heavy for a piece of silver. The blackened oval sat cold against his skin. The memorial had been too large to hold. This fit in his hand. He turned it once with his thumb. The cabin light caught on what remained of the engraving.

Across from him, Angelique looked out the window. She had said almost nothing since Houston. Neither had he. The aircraft had risen through the white Gulf glare.

Constantine, David and Jessamine were farther forward in low conversation. Philip sat beside Maria with a folder open on his lap. Judith had closed her eyes behind dark glasses, though Louis knew better than to assume she was resting. Serana was dozing with her head against the window. Jacques was texting someone who seemed to amuse him. Gladice sat two seats down across the aisle, one ankle crossed over the other, sunglasses loose in one hand.

He thought of Harvey on the tarmac before the cars split off. The First Consul had seen how badly the executions had shaken him before Louis managed to compose himself. The first time a young man sees people killed, Harvey had said, he usually feels sick. That part was normal. But the condemned men and women in Houston had earned what happened to them. His hand tightened once on Louis’s shoulder. One day, Harvey said, Louis himself would sit at a table and decide who lived and who did not. Better to get used to death early. Men who learned late tended to flinch at the worst time. Then he released him and returned to Austin.

Louis lowered his eyes to the locket again. He knew what he was supposed to feel. From the moment the motorcade entered the memorial grounds, everything around him had told him to look solemn, grateful, and properly aware of what Houston had cost. The dead of Houston had helped build the world that carried his family, and he was supposed to owe them something. He understood that. He even believed it, as an idea. But knowing it did not change what his body remembered. What stayed with him was the shame of thinking of pussies while everyone else stood in mourning, 5293’s eyes behind the hatch in the underground chamber, and the sound of the shots from Bay Four.

He found himself thinking of Florida. Orlando came first, maybe because even the name felt lighter. Then Miami, because Miami did not even pretend to be good for anyone. He thought of beaches, hotels, and a place that asked nothing from him. He pictured white sheets, a balcony over the water, and Angelique in dark glasses, her hair loosened by salt and wind. He pictured the two of them sunk deep into loungers near a hotel pool. Her leg would be stretched out beside his, half-covered by a towel damp with sunscreen and melted ice from a glass. He imagined the late afternoon sea. He wanted her there with him, away from the memorial, away from the gunshots, away from everything.

The locket stayed in his hand. Someone had died wearing it, he thought. It had belonged to a person who had put it on that morning and expected to keep living. He also thought that the memorial committee had not given it to him because he had earned it. They had given it to him because he was Louis Collins, son of the man sitting at the front of the plane. That should have made him want to give it back. But he did not want to give it back. He wanted something small enough to hold, something he could take out later, turn over in his hand, and use to prove to himself that the day had been real.

He glanced up. Angelique had barely moved. He wondered if she was thinking about Houston. Maybe she was thinking about the man in the cell, Gladice behind the rifle, the horse, or his body over hers on the grass. Maybe she was not thinking about any of it. Maybe she was already past it. Then Miami came back again, with her annoyed by the heat, elegant even in a swimsuit, and pretending not to enjoy the attention until she decided she did. The thought hit fast enough that he looked down at once.

Beside the aisle, Gladice breathed out through her nose. He had a feeling that she had noticed. That was why being near her could be so exhausting. She always caught what people tried to hide before they had time to put their faces back together, and she enjoyed it. He closed his fingers around the locket.

He told himself to think of New Orleans instead. It helped a little. New Orleans at least gave him something ahead. The city was dangerous enough that no one would have much time to sit with the day. There would be schedules again, security lines, briefings, escorts, and adults with work to do. He was better with danger than with being expected to feel the right thing. Danger gave him something to do.

For most of the flight, nothing changed. Outside the windows, there was nothing but cloud.

Gladice was watching the flight map on the screen in front of her.

“We’re taking the long way,” she said.

Angelique glanced at the screen, then gave her a flat look. “Unless you want us shot down by Dixie missiles.”

The cloud broke in places after that, showing flashes of water below. Gladice turned her sunglasses once between her fingers. “It’s funny,” she said. “From up here it almost looks peaceful.”

Judith did not open her eyes. “From some heights many things do.”

Gladice smiled faintly and let the glasses settle against her knee. “I suppose.”

The cabin went quiet again. Louis slipped the locket into the inner pocket of his jacket. He shifted in his seat and looked out the window. The land came into view gradually. As the aircraft angled, the coast came apart into marsh and channels. The Free City of New Orleans appeared beyond the wetlands, ringed by watchtowers, HESCO barriers, and rows of Czech hedgehogs. He thought, suddenly, that New Orleans was the opposite of Miami in every way that mattered. One had surrendered to the body and the moment and called it freedom. The other insisted on a life built against the water and called it liberty. Both were illusions, of course. But they were very different ones.

The engines shifted pitch. Louis touched the inside of his jacket where the locket sat and looked down as the city came closer through the glare. Down there, another schedule was waiting for them. In that city, he and Angelique would be expected to play their parts again. He wondered if it would be easier in a city that did not pretend the ground was safe.

Beside him, Gladice put her sunglasses on.

“Home sweet home,” she said, and the words sounded almost true.