The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I heard him gasp and he pulled me closer.

  “I feel the same, Caro. You’ve taught me everything I know.”

  I blinked in surprise.

  “You have. You’ve taught me who I can be, you’ve made me stronger. You make me want to see the magic in the world. I … I didn’t know falling in love could be … like this.”

  Was that really how he felt? Is that how he saw me—someone who could make him stronger? How did that happen? I was so weak and cowardly. But, and I felt a small flowering of hope inside me, I had changed, hadn’t I. I was getting stronger—not yet strong, but getting there.

  It felt as if he’d been the one to teach me. Perhaps we had learned together.

  He held me carefully, making sure his legs didn’t accidentally brush against mine.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said softly. “I want to be with you so badly, but you just end up getting hurt every time I come near you. Why is it so hard for us to be together? It’s so fucking unfair!”

  “I know, tesoro.”

  He was so hurt and confused and there was so little I could do to help either of us.

  I let out a long sigh.

  “I think you’d better go now.”

  “No!” he gasped. “No way!” He raised his voice. “I’m not leaving you alone with that asshole!”

  “I can’t fight with you, too, Sebastian,” I whispered. “I don’t have the strength.”

  “No! I didn’t … what if he … I can’t leave you here alone!” he said, desperately.

  I turned carefully to look at him.

  “This isn’t something you can fix, Sebastian. I’m the one who’s screwed up; I have to fix it. But you’re right about one thing—I can’t stay here.” I took a deep breath. “There are lots of empty rooms around the university now all the students are on vacation. I’ll check out the listings for people wanting roommates. There are places for less than $500 a month. I can manage that.”

  I didn’t tell Sebastian I had no idea how I’d afford to eat and put gas in my car at the same time.

  “And there’s a Motel 6 up by San Ysidro that’s only $50 a night. That can be my last resort, if necessary.”

  Sebastian’s face was grim. “I have nearly $700. That’ll buy another month, food and gas.”

  Maybe he could read my mind.

  I stroked his cheek. “I can’t take your money.”

  “Yes, you can! I want you to, please, Caro. Let me help you. I want to take care of you. This is all my…”

  I laid a finger over his lips. I couldn’t bear to hear him so desperate, trying to look after me the way a man looks after a woman.

  He kissed my finger and pulled my hand away from his mouth.

  “You should go see a lawyer, Caro. Take half of everything that bastard has.”

  I shook my head. “No, Sebastian. I won’t be doing that.”

  “Why not?” he said, hotly. “You deserve…”

  I interrupted him gently.

  “I don’t want anything of his. Do you understand? Nothing. But there’s another reason … if I make David fight a divorce, I’m afraid he’ll find out about us. I know him: he’ll keep digging and digging and digging until he finds the reason why I left him after all this time. His ego will demand that there’s a reason other than … other than himself. And then he’ll take me down.”

  I could feel the tension and stress in Sebastian’s body—all his muscles were rigid and he was only just holding onto his temper. He pulled me tighter against his chest, his hands trembling, but he couldn’t speak. He buried his face against my neck and we held each other as the night slipped past.

  I stroked his back and gradually his body began to relax, his breathing becoming deep and even.

  I couldn’t sleep but I was glad that Sebastian did. I listened to the soft sounds of breath on his lips, and watched his face relaxed and peaceful. I felt such crushing guilt when I looked at him, so beautiful; so sweet and young. All he’d done was to love me and now he was in danger of being swept away in the floodwaters of my failed marriage.

  The right thing for me to do was to leave quietly and head for New York. That way David and I could conduct our divorce with some dignity—I hoped—and my relationship with Sebastian would stay hidden. Once he was 18, and with me already on the east coast, he’d be able to escape. People would talk and maybe even guess the truth, but there would be no proof—and we’d be safe.

  Two things held me back from making that decision: firstly, I knew that Sebastian would never agree and it would mean another fight; and secondly, I felt responsible for his fragile soul and I didn’t want to leave him unprotected.

  I knew Shirley and Mitch would look after him as much as they could—they already thought of him as a second son—but they didn’t have the legal power to support him against the wishes of Donald and Estelle. Not unless they were prepared to swear to the historic and ongoing abuse. And, despite everything, Donald was one of them—part of the military family. That worked two ways. The military looked after their own, but the other mantra that was drilled into them had a darker side: ‘snitches get stitches and wind up in ditches’.

  I couldn’t see Mitch wanting to go down that road—it would be the end of his career. If Sebastian had been younger, then maybe, but not now he was so near his eighteenth birthday, legal adulthood and emancipation.

  So that was the reasoning behind my plan—spend the next couple of days finding a room; then work up the courage to tell David I was leaving him.

  I knew my husband well enough to feel confident that his guilt over my accident would keep him silent for the few days I needed.

  At least, that’s what I hoped.

  CHAPTER 16

  At dawn, I gently shook Sebastian awake.

  I’d listened all night for the sound of David’s return but the house had stayed silent and kept its secrets.

  He yawned and stretched, giving me the most glorious smile.

  “God, I love waking up with you, Caro. I want to do it for the rest of my life.”

  His words squeezed my heart painfully. I badly wanted to believe them.

  Then his smile faded and I saw the weight of memories flood back. He frowned.

  “How are you? How are your legs?”

  “Not too bad. Pretty good really.”

  In truth, they were more than a little sore, particularly so when I flexed my knees, but nothing I was going to worry about. The worst area was the top of my right foot and that was painful. From a few exploratory prods, I could feel that it had blistered over night. It was going to be hellish trying to wear shoes; even flip-flops would rub in all the wrong places.

  He looked at me skeptically.

  “Really?”

  “Sure,” I said, not meeting his eyes and sitting up.

  He reached out and pulled me back down, forcing me to look at him. “Really?”

  “My right foot is a little sore,” I conceded. “I just need to put a band-aid on it, that’s all.”

  This time he let me get out of bed and lay there watching me.

  I couldn’t help noticing that he’d kicked off his jeans in the night and was wearing just a t-shirt and boxer briefs—with a large bulge showing clearly. Although my body tingled with Pavlovian response, I really wasn’t in the mood to do anything about it, and Sebastian didn’t even seem to be aware. Perhaps he woke up like that every morning. I smiled to myself, considering that soon I’d be in a position to answer that interesting question.

  When I came back from the bathroom, he was fully dressed. He’d even taken the time to make the bed and turn back the sheets nicely.

  I crept downstairs in the pale, gray light of dawn, checking that David’s return wasn’t imminent. We’d have about two minutes after hearing his car in the driveway—just enough time for Sebastian to make an escape through the back door. I’d liked to have made breakfast for him but there was a good chance that David would return soon to get a change of clothes.

/>   We stood in the kitchen, the scene of so much drama, so many key moments in our lives, and held each other.

  “I’ll miss you every minute,” he said, softly.

  I sighed into his chest.

  “Shall I see you at the park at 9 am?”

  “Yes,” he said, simply.

  And then it was time for him to go. It seemed to me like it was always time for him to go. I knew he felt the same.

  But David didn’t return. Instead I spent the hours before I could be with Sebastian again wandering around the empty house, letting my fingers drift over the old, familiar furniture and through the old, familiar memories.

  I decided what I would take with me from the marital home. When it came down to it, there was very little: my clothes; the jewelry my father had given me; my ancient laptop; a few books; and my favorite CDs which were already in the car. The ugly wedding china that my parents had bought us had been my mother’s choice—I was more than happy for David to keep it. It wasn’t much to show for 11 years of marriage, but with a new life ahead of me, I didn’t care either. That, by itself, said everything.

  When I’d still lived in North Carolina, some friends and I had had a rather drunken evening and we’d all had to choose which three things we’d save in a house fire. One woman that I didn’t know very well said, and I remembered this clearly, “My dog, my handbag and my wedding album.”

  “What about your husband?” we’d asked, laughing.

  “He can get his own damn self out,” she’d replied.

  I had one other job to do before I left the house—I scoured the rooms-to-rent websites and made a shortlist of five places to check out. I didn’t much care what the room was like so long as it was cheap and reasonably clean. It wasn’t going to be for long.

  Despite my lack of sleep, I was filled with a nervous, restless energy. I’d made my decision and now I was ready to get on with my life. The last month had raced by, but the next few days seemed destined to drag.

  I headed back up to the bathroom and gritted my teeth through a tepid shower that stung my too sensitive skin. All the burn marks were ugly but only my foot really bothered me. I dug in the closet and eventually located a pair of long, loose pants and found some old sneakers that were bearable once I’d made a gauze pad to cover the large blister. Not my most elegant look but hell, Sebastian wouldn’t care. And that was all that mattered.

  He was waiting for me, of course, and just seeing him made my day a little brighter.

  “How are you?” he said again, peering anxiously at my face.

  “I’m … surprisingly good,” I said, honestly.

  He smiled that beautiful smile and I saw his shoulders relax.

  “How are you?” I grinned back at him. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yeah, starving!”

  “Did you skip breakfast again?” I admonished.

  His smile died. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “What is it?”

  He shrugged. “No food in the house.”

  I felt so bad for him, knowing I’d sent him away hungry. “Is … is it usually like that?”

  He carried on staring out of the window. “I guess. Although it’s gotten worse lately. All they do is fight. I don’t know why they stay together—it damn well isn’t for me. Probably to protect their reputations—as if that were even possible. God, I can’t wait to get out of there.”

  I reached over and gently squeezed his thigh. He looked down and a moment later carefully twined his fingers through mine.

  “I thought we could go to our coffee shop,” I said, softly.

  He was still gazing at our joined hands, when he replied.

  “Yeah, that would be good.”

  “I’ll spring for breakfast,” I said, hoping to make him smile. “I saw on their menu that they do fresh zeppole and three different crostata.”

  “Only three?” he said, his lips lifting upwards at last.

  “Hmm, well! I think a taste test might be in order.”

  The Benzinos welcomed us back with open arms, berating us vociferously for having stayed away so long. I made the mistake of mentioning that Sebastian had skipped breakfast and the little old nonna scolded him for five minutes solidly, rattling off her rebukes in quick-fire Italian while Sebastian wilted under her stern gaze—then she turned her attention to me, wagging her finger and telling me I was a bad wife for not feeding my man. I agreed with every word. If only she’d known.

  Almost every item on the menu was soon delivered to our table and I couldn’t help smiling as Sebastian’s eyes bugged out at the vast quantity of food. But then I remembered the reason he was always so hungry, and my smile faded.

  He ate everything in sight with the exception of one crostata that he insisted I have for myself.

  “Oh wow, that was amazing!” he said, replete at last. “I’m going to get so fat when we go to Italy.”

  “If you carry on eating like this you’ll be enormous long before we make it to Italy,” I laughed at him. “There’s nothing on the menu here that I can’t make.”

  “You’re kidding? Wow, really? Jeez, I knew there was a reason I loved you!”

  And he leaned forward to kiss me.

  The little nonna clapped her hands together with feeling, then darted over and peppered me with questions, her quick, squirrel-brown eyes darting between us. I shook my head, more than a little embarrassed. She sighed heavily, pointed at her watch and shot off to serve some newly arrived customers, still shaking her head.

  “Was that about what I think it was about?” said Sebastian, raising his eyebrows.

  “How much did you pick up?” I asked, curious to know how good his Italian was getting—as well as avoiding answering the question.

  “Something about babies and the time?”

  “Well, yes,” I agreed, feeling flustered. “She wanted to know when we were going to start a family.” I tried to smile. “She was pointing out that time waits for no woman.”

  He lifted my hand from the table and frowned as he stared at my wedding ring. “I’ll do whatever makes you happy, Caro. I reckon I could handle the idea of a couple of bambinos running around. We’d make a helluva better job of it than my folks, that’s for sure.”

  I tried to smile but I didn’t want to dare let myself think that far ahead. What was the point? He was far too young to be talking like this. And when he was old enough…

  The conversation was making me feel despondent so I thought quickly how to change it.

  “What time are you working today?”

  “Not till 4 pm,” he said, smiling again. “What would you like to do?”

  “Not much,” I admitted.

  “Do you want to go to our beach?”

  My smile faded. “I don’t think that would be a good idea—I don’t want to get my feet wet or sand in my blister.” My words stalled, seeing the venomous look on his face.

  He made a visible effort and reined in his rising temper.

  “Maybe we could check out some of these rooms to rent that that you’ve seen advertised?”

  “No, that’s okay, thanks. I’ll do that this afternoon while you’re working.”

  He thought for a moment.

  “There’s a jazz band playing down in the Gaslamp Quarter today. We could go listen if you like?”

  “Jazz again!” I teased. “And here was me thinking you were devoted to opera.”

  “I like both,” he said, looking a little sheepish.

  I smiled at him. “Me, too.”

  He stood up, stretching his tall frame and held out his hands to pull me up.

  We hid some bills under our plates and tried to sneak away before the Benzinos saw us but the nonna must have had her eagle eyes trained our way because she sent her son darting after us with the money, remonstrating about our underhand trick and reminding us that family didn’t pay. Then he kissed us both, thrust the notes into Sebastian’s hands and hurried back to his business. How they ever made any profit was beyond me. />
  We wandered through the Gaslamp Quarter, admiring the Victorian architecture and old world charm, enjoying the sun and warm air, people-watching and relaxing in a way that was new and rather wonderful to me.

  We heard the sounds of jazz filling the summer morning long before we saw the band. Strolling out of an alleyway into a large plaza, I could see that one side had been converted into a mini stage where the musicians performed, decked out in black jeans and t-shirts, and wearing dark sunglasses; presumably to show that they were jazzmen, if the music didn’t already prove it. They looked young enough to be students and were playing a sort of hyped up version of Dixieland jazz mixed in with a more modern, fusion sound and some Latin rhythms. A couple of girls in their late teens were already dancing, losing themselves in the music. Soon other people were joining them and the crowd steadily grew.

  We didn’t want to waste any money by sitting at one of the café tables that ringed the plaza, so we joined a group sprawled out on the sidewalk. Sebastian gallantly pulled off his sweatshirt so I wouldn’t have to sit on the dusty ground.

  He did these things so naturally, with no fuss or embellishment that my heart expanded with delight and pain each time. Sebastian always put me first. I wasn’t used to that.

  We sat shoulder to shoulder and he casually draped his arm around me, turning every now and then to kiss my hair. I wished the moment could last forever.

  I couldn’t help noticing that his feet and hands moved constantly with the music, keeping up a contrapuntal rhythm, his fingers drumming on my arm.

  “Have you ever learned a musical instrument?” I wondered.

  He smiled. “No, but I always wanted to play guitar.”

  “We should get you one when we get to New York. Not electric, though, please! An acoustic guitar.”

  “I thought you were a rock chick at heart. Which reminds me—I still have to go beat up Anthony Kiedis!” He paused. “Did you ever learn to play anything?”

  “Not really. I had piano lessons when I was eight. I hated them. Mom wanted me to do it but I begged Papa to stop the torture and he did.”