“Tom?” He and I sat on the front step, the same one where Sebastian had almost kissed me, and we shared a cup of coffee between us. “Can I ask you a huge favor?”
“Anything, Tish.”
I hoped he meant it. Dad had gone back to the hospital this afternoon to talk to Sebastian about meeting with the Clarks, but Sebastian had refused, insisting he was going home alone. I could tell Dad was getting frustrated, not at Sebastian, but over whatever it was that was keeping Sebastian locked up inside, pushing people away. Yes, grieving over the betrayal of his father was understandable and very appropriate, but isolating himself in that grief was dangerous.
“Will you take me to the hospital to see Sebastian?” I did him the honor of looking directly at him when I asked. “Come see him with me.”
Tom only hesitated a fraction of a moment. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. But you know he doesn’t want to see us, right?” He was already standing, offering me a hand up.
“I know.” Dad was at church teaching one of his classes and Mom was in the living room dozing on the couch in front of the Home and Garden channel. I had no idea where Jordan was. “I’ll let Mom know. No more secrets.”
“Don’t you think she’ll try to stop you?” Tom cocked his head and looked at me askance.
“Probably. But there are too many things I feel like Sebastian needs to hear from me. I don’t want to look back at this time and wonder if I could have or should have done something different, something more. I already have so many regrets about the way I’ve handled things.”
“Visiting hours are over at ten. We’d better go soon if you want to get there in time to do any more than say hello.”
We headed inside. Mom wasn’t happy, but when I explained some of the things I’d thought about this morning under my bed, she softened, and finally gave her blessing. “I’ll talk to Dad for you, honey.”
Tom and I pulled into the Midtown Community Hospital parking lot three minutes after eight PM.
***
Tom dropped me off at the front entrance and told me to go ahead, that he’d follow along shortly.
“Thank you,” I said, reaching over and squeezing his hand. I knew he was giving me a few minutes alone with Sebastian without having to say so.
Sebastian looked like he’d gone twelve rounds in the ring with Rocky Balboa. It took all my self-control and willpower not to freak out just a little at the sight of his poor battered face, but what really made my heart hurt was the way he sat in the chair beside his bed, staring blankly at the television mounted on the opposite wall. The television wasn’t on. He wore a pair of flannel pajama pants and one of those hospital gowns worn backward and tied in the front like a robe. A single light over the sink cabinet beneath the television was on, illuminating the visible injuries.
He didn’t look over when I entered the room, but I saw him stiffen noticeably. I pressed my lips together, still not quite sure how I wanted to start things. Crossing slowly to the bed and without waiting for an invitation, I perched on the edge of the mattress. Even though I sat directly in front of him, maybe three feet away at the most, he wouldn’t look at me.
At least he didn’t kick me out. Or call a big mean nurse to escort me out.
“I brought you something,” I finally began, my voice coming out stronger than I’d expected. I was glad. I didn’t want him to think for even a moment that I was afraid to be here, that I didn’t want to be here. Reaching into my baggy purse, I pulled out a padded manila envelope and held it out to him. He didn’t take it; he didn’t look at me. He didn’t acknowledge my presence in any way other than the tension in his shoulders and the flexing of his jaw. Something I was sure had to hurt if he had loose teeth.
So I opened the envelope myself and slipped out the two cardboard cutouts from inside. “Stars. One with your name on it, one with mine.” They were tied together by a long string, reminding me of when we’d tied Juno and Pete together with Juno’s leash. I held them up for him to see, spinning the brightly painted school bus-yellow cutouts to show our names written in black Sharpie on either side, and then looked around the room for a place to hang them. Pulling a sturdy chair over, I climbed up on it, held the stars in front of the light for a few minutes, and then looped the strong over the bracket of the television. “Watch this.” I scuttled down off the chair and reached for the light switch.
The door of the room was open maybe an inch or two, allowing only a narrow wedge of light in the otherwise completely dark room. I picked my way carefully back toward him but didn’t sit on the bed, instead standing beside his chair, trying not to bounce up and down on my toes in anticipation. I desperately hoped this would work.
It did. It worked. Within moments, the large cardboard stars began to glow; not brightly, but in the darkness of the room, they were a beacon. “I borrowed some of Jordan’s glow-in-the-dark paint,” I whispered, my heart pounding in my ribcage. I was sure Sebastian could hear it.
I stood there, close enough to touch him, to smell the sterile, antiseptic aroma of hospital linens and bandages, close enough to hear his breathing when it stopped. I waited, trying not to panic, holding my own breath… until I recognized a new sound in the stillness. Sebastian began to cry, quietly, gently, his breaths coming out in short, punchy sounds.
I wanted to reach for him, to pull him into my arms—a thought that almost made me laugh when I thought about little pipsqueak me trying to cradle a guy as big as Sebastian in my arms—to at least touch him so he’d know I was there, but my dad had said his shoulders were covered in bruises and I’d seen his face. So I simply stepped a little closer and laid my hand on his forearm where it rested on the armrest of his chair, the same place I’d touched him so many times before. I’m here, the gesture said. I didn’t know what else to offer him.
My heart leapt into my throat when Sebastian’s other hand covered mine, when he took it, none too gently, in his, and squeezed, hard, desperately. “I’m here,” I said, this time out loud.
We stayed that way for several minutes while Sebastian sobbed quietly, his breathing harsh, the sounds being torn out of him against his will. My tears fell silently along with his as I shared his pain in the only way I could. I’m here.
Finally, the sounds started to quiet, his breathing came more evenly. My eyes had adjusted a little to the darkness, and I held out the box of tissue I’d found on the table by the bed. He took several pieces and pressed them gently to his face, but didn’t blow his nose. I suddenly remembered that it had been broken; I bet the last thing he wanted to do was blow it out. And I’d made him cry. I groaned inwardly for him.
“Your dad told me about Foster,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the man’s name. I squeezed his hand in acknowledgment but didn’t say anything, glad beyond words to hear him speaking to me. “I—I should have—” His breath caught again and I interrupted, not wanting him to carry this alone any longer. I wasn’t going to give him any false platitudes, empty words negating his feelings, but I wasn’t going to let him go through this dark place by himself.
“We all could have, should have done things differently, Sebastian. But we didn’t. And now we have to figure out how to go from here. Together. You’re not alone.” I dropped to my knees in front of him, knowing it was still too dark for him to see my face and vice versa, but needing the immediacy of being eye-to-eye anyway. “Marauders needs you. Like Gina says, you’re a poopdeck swabber, Sebastian; one of us. And you need us. I saw you come alive on stage last week. There’s nothing like it, is there? And now that you’ve tasted it, you’ll miss it if you try to pull away from us.”
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t push me away, either, so I continued, my voice sure again, although my stomach was tied up in knots. “My friends and family need you, too. The Clarks my dad told you about? They need someone to fill an emptiness in their home more than anything right now. And you need a home, Sebastian. You need a family—”
“I don’t need someone else’s family,” he cut in.
“No,” I agreed. “You don’t. You need a family of your own. And that’s all of us. Blood doesn’t make family, Sebastian. Love does.”
I felt his hand quiver around mine at those words, and I knew the battle going on inside him was fierce. But he was letting me in, letting me talk, and I wasn’t going to back away now.
I bumped his knees apart and scooted closer, my one hand still in his, the other one reaching up in the shadowy darkness to smooth the hair away from his forehead. “I need you, Sebastian. You have my heart, remember? And you need me, too. Because whether you like it or not, I stole at least a piece of yours, and as long as I have it, you’ll feel that missing piece every time you pull away from me.” I sat back on my heels and slowly, carefully, lest he have bruises I didn’t know about, laid my head in his lap, the shadows making me bold. “I love you, Sebastian Jeffries, and I’m here.”
A moment later, I felt his free hand settle onto my head, his fingers threading into my hair, his thumb brushing against the curve of my ear. I didn’t even have the urge to reach up and remove it.
“I remembered something last night,” Sebastian finally spoke, his tone resigned, but no longer quite so sad. “Probably why I couldn’t stop puking my guts out.”
I straightened slowly, and his hand drifted down to cup my cheek. It was still too dark to clearly see his features, but I could feel his eyes on me.
“That box they found? The one I put the gun in?”
I nodded, remembering that Dad had been curious about what Sebastian was leaving out of his story.
“Tish, I didn’t kill my mother.”