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In the last few years, March hadn’t gotten many calls from the people he knew. The ones he’d gotten were from Colt, asking about various things relating to his life and when he was supposed to be where. If he didn’t have somewhere else to stay, Colt would stay at his house during filming.
Most of the time, March could sit and watch TV without worry.
Emphasis on most.
The landline rang on the wall. Holly got up to answer, but was stopped before she could get to the phone.
“Nice Guys detective agency, what service are you looking for?” That’s the only thing anyone ever called the landline for.
“A place to stay.”
March hung up the phone immediately as the other man spoke. He stood there, staring at the wall.
“Dad, are you okay?” Holly asked, crossing her arms.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” March murmured, looking down at his feet. “Do you know where Jackson is?”
“Out in the backyard,” Holly answered.
March’s feet carried him mindlessly toward the back door. He opened it, took one step out, then closed it. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost.
Healy was examining the flowerbeds for weeds, hands on his hips. When he heard the door creak, he turned around.
“Will you,” March stopped. He brought his hands up to his face and sighed.
“Is everything okay?” Healy asked, walking away from the flowerbeds. When he was close enough, March collapsed forward and leaned his whole weight against Healy. He wrapped his arms around the smaller man, rubbing his hand over his back.
March shook. He cried into Healy’s shoulder for a few minutes.
At any given point in March’s life, he could’ve sworn that one or more of his brothers was dead. Once all at the same time.
First it was Courtland. He served his time, then never came back. Never called, never texted, not even a single email. They held a funeral for him, assuming he’d died before he got out.
Then it was Colt. It happened twice, actually. He broke his back, then showed no signs of living until six months later. Holland cried when he got that call, too. The second time was when he was framed for a murder-suicide. He showed up at his door a week and a half later and Holland almost killed him.
That same week and a half was when Ryland showed up on the news.
“Dr. Ryland Grace, the man who discovered and named Astrophage, is officially boarded on the Hail Mary with his crew mates. They will be departing in just a few days, starting their journey to the Tau Ceti star system to find out what’s keeping that star alive, but none of the others. The Project Hail Mary task force has told journalists that these three are giving their lives to save our planet. We will honor them for the rest of our lives.”
The landline rang again when March got back inside. He answered, wiping his nose on his arm.
“I don’t know what type of-”
“I’m not playing games with you, Holland. I need a place to stay. I have a girl a few years younger than Holly with me.”
“Courtland,” March sighed.
“Yes?” He answered.
“One, you better not be on my front porch when I open the door. Two, How do you know I have a daughter?” March asked.
“Can’t guarantee, and can’t tell you,” Courtland replied.
March hung up the phone again. He rubbed his eyes and turned to Holly. “We have guests. You go get Jackson and set up the guest room with an air mattress, pillows, and blankets.”
“Why can’t you do it?” Holly questioned.
“I have to go kill your uncle,” March stated.
“What did Colt do!?” Holly continued.
March didn’t reply. He would explain everything to her later. He went to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Courtland was there with a 13 year old girl. Three years younger than his own. His hair was mussed and he wore a jacket that looked suspiciously like the merchandise from the Miami Vice Stunt Show.
“Long time no see,” Courtland said with an apologetic look on his face.
“The guest room will be available for you guys,” March replied. He stepped to the side and let the two in.
Courtland gestured toward the TV for the girl to go sit down. March didn’t move from the door. He went back and stepped out to the porch and March followed.
“What’re you doing here?” March asked, crossing his arms.
“I got released from my job, turned into a legal guardian for that girl, and don’t have anywhere to stay,” Courtland explained. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
“Where did you work?”
“I technically can’t tell you that,” Courtland tried.
“Courtland,” March muttered.
“I was a special agent for the CIA. Every document of mine except for social security and my birth certificate was erased off the planet. Dad’s custody rights, mom’s.. Well, everything. I was told I had one person I could talk to outside of the other agents and I chose mom.”
March looked at his feet as Courtland explained. Three weeks ago he thought every single one of his brothers was dead. He took a deep, shaky breath and looked back up. “And she couldn’t tell us?”
Courtland shook his head.
March put his hands on his hips and looked out to the empty street. “Who’s the girl?”
“Her name is Claire. Her uncle was my boss,” Courtland replied.
“Claire,” March tried. “That’s a nice name.”
“Yeah. Her parents thought so.”
They stood in silence for a few moments.
“Go inside. The other guy is Healy, and you know my daughter,” March said after a while.
Courtland went inside as he was ordered to.
March didn’t know how long he was on the porch. At some point, he sat down on the step. He stared out at the sunset along the horizon until Holly came to get him.
“Dad, that is not Colt,” Holly said in a matter of fact tone.
“Yeah, it’s not. Did he introduce himself?” March asked.
“No,” Holly replied. “He just went and sat on the couch with Claire.”
March leaned his head on one arm, elbow on his knee. “His name is Courtland. He’s named after Grandpa.”
Holly took a step forward and pulled March to his feet by his bicep. “Come on, get inside.”
Healy and Courtland were standing in the kitchen. Two glasses of water sat on the counter next to them. March couldn’t bring himself to go talk with them.
It was time to go to bed.