I lay back on the grass, not caring about getting itchy, but kept my eyes closed, not wanting to lose the image I’d conjured in my mind, even to count the stars. But I felt God beside me anyway, and I knew the stars were there. And I knew they all had Sebastian’s—and Foster’s—names tonight. “Please,” I whispered. “Please, God.”
Jordan found me a few minutes later and stretched out beside me, his hands linked behind his head, his elbow bumping playfully against my shoulder. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
“I’m okay,” I assured him.
“Counting stars?”
I turned sharply to look at him. “How do you know about that?”
“You’re not Dad’s only kid, you know. He shared some of his favorite things with me, too.” Jordan chuckled quietly. “Promise not to laugh?”
“Promise.” For some reason, I didn’t mind that my secret wasn’t so secret.
“You know how that verse says God names each star? Well, I think each one of those stars is given the name of a particular living person. Not really a guardian angel or anything like that, but a symbol of hope. A light in the dark. A symbolic beacon shining down on our way home, even when all seems lost.” He guffawed softly. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before. Sounds pretty silly when I put it into words.”
“I like it,” I said simply. “It makes perfect sense to me.”
We lay like that for a few more minutes, and then headed inside together.
Mom had me help her whip up a huge batch of brownies to go with the hazelnut gelato Ani had her dad deliver in her stead. Mary stayed behind with Juno and Pete, who was still dispirited and mopey, following closely on her heels everywhere she went now that I was gone.
“Foster isn’t doing so well,” George told us. “The hit he took to the ribs caused some pretty significant bruising on his lung on that side and has developed into pneumonia. If he’d gone in earlier, they might have been able to do more, but at this point, they’re not sure he’s even going to make it through the night.” George assured us he’d check in again first thing in the morning and let us know what he found out.
While we waited for an update from Dad, Marauders took over the living room and watched Rush’s thirtieth anniversary tour DVD, over two hours of blow-your-mind rock and roll by some of the world’s finest musicians. Although we knew we’d never achieve that level of skill, as a band, it was a favorite to indulge in, and we always got inspired just watching them work their magic. We didn’t even bother with the fortieth anniversary DVD—this one filled our cups every time.
Dad called to tell us he was on his way home. “Sebastian’s on some strong pain meds and was finally sleeping when I left, if not comfortably, then soundly.” Jon, Sly, and Corny left shortly after Dad’s call, sensitive to the fact that he might be worn out after the events of the day. I promised to fill everyone in if there was anything else to tell.
Dad arrived just after midnight to find Mom, Jordan, Tom, and me waiting up in the living room. He accepted the cup of hot white tea my mom brewed for him and settled into his recliner as though it were nine PM and time to watch his favorite History Channel show. We gathered around him, a macabre version of kids waiting for a story.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” Dad said, closing his eyes and scrubbing his face with one hand. “When the police got to the apartment, they found Sebastian passed out on the floor near the front door, a baton like the one police use in his hand, as though he’d either been guarding the door or was trying to get out. His dad, barely a scratch on him, lying on his bed, gagged, with his hands cuffed to either side of the metal frame. On the coffee table was a metal box—one of those cash boxes without the change tray—and in it was a loaded gun that hadn’t been shot.”
“Whoa,” Jordan said. “Was the gun Sebastian’s?”
Dad didn’t answer directly, but took another sip, and then continued. “According to Sebastian, after his altercation with his father and the baton, he dropped Foster off at the dog park just like Foster said. Then he headed home to gather up his personal belongings, hoping to get there before his dad. He almost made it, but when he came out of his bedroom the last time, his father was standing in the middle of the living room with the gun aimed at his head. He held Sebastian hostage all night and all the next day. His dad was drinking, and every time his father would start to get sleepy, he’d take it out on Sebastian. Initially, just yelling at him, but as the night wore on, between the booze and rage and fear, the attacks got more and more vicious until at one point, he hit Sebastian in the face with the butt of his gun. That’s how he got the broken nose.”
“Why didn’t Sebastian fight back?” I asked, sick at heart over what Dad was telling me. But I knew it was a silly question. His father had a loaded gun pointed at him.
“In his own way, he did. He simply waited, knowing that if his father intended to kill him, there was nothing he could do about it anyway, since his dad had the gun. So he held on, using the pain of his injuries to help him outlast his dad, to stay awake longer. When Mr. Jeffries finally lost the battle and dozed off, Sebastian rushed him, grabbed the gun and turned it on his dad. Mr. Jeffries had laid both pairs of handcuffs on the coffee table at one point, so using those, Sebastian cuffed his father to his own bed. He went to the bathroom to wash the blood from his face so he could see to drive, and claims he doesn’t remember anything after that.”
“Oh, poor boy,” Mom murmured. I was just numb, unable to even imagine a world where a father treated his own child so horrifically.
“You know those news articles you found, Jordan?” Dad asked. “The cuffs, the Monadnock baton, and the gun were all police issue gear that had been stolen from an officer held at gunpoint in Orange County—”
“No,” I interrupted, shock and horror mingling with comprehension. “Let me guess. Seventeen years ago.”
“That’s right,” Dad nodded. He glanced back over at Jordan. “The same timeframe as those articles.”
Jordan reached over and squeezed my hand, and Dad continued.
“The officer wasn’t injured—other than his pride—but the perp got away. Until now.”
“Wait a minute.” I leaned forward on the couch where I sat. “So they think that’s the reason he skipped town with Sebastian?”
“That’s what they’re considering. But Sebastian can’t—or won’t—remember anything about that time. Or at least that’s what he says. But I’m telling you, that boy is holding something back. I’ve seen that look in men’s eyes a thousand times before; hiding that last vice, that last piece of the old identity. Just in case. There are still pieces missing. I’d bet my job on it.” No one reminded him he no longer had a real job to bet, but I felt a wave of gratefulness over that fact sweep over me. Because Dad was semi-retired, he was available to be the hero in this terrible situation where a hero was so desperately needed.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Wednesday morning, I woke early and stumbled downstairs for a cup of coffee with my parents. I’d slept fitfully and really wanted to see my dad before he headed out to check on Sebastian.
Around 7:30 AM, George called to speak to my father, and I knew before Dad got off the phone what he would tell us. Foster had died in his sleep last night.
“I’ll be in my room,” I whispered, and then I slipped upstairs, closed the door, crawled under my bed like a little girl, and sobbed into the pillow I’d dragged under there with me.
I wept because I was sure in my heart that if I had told my parents about Foster, if I’d insisted he go to the ER or come home with me instead of letting Sebastian talk us into leaving the poor man in a ditch so he could catch pneumonia and die, Foster would probably still be alive. I cried because Pete would never see his beloved human again, and I didn’t know if the joyful mutt would ever get his mojo back.
I cried because I should have spoken up way back in March when I just knew something was terribly wrong in Sebastian’s life. If I had at leas
t mentioned it to Mr. Hyde, maybe he or even Heather Finch, who seemed to have cared about Sebastian deeply, could have stepped in and helped out. Instead, I kept quiet and pouted in my corner. I cried because surely Heather Finch must have known something, too. Why didn’t she step in? I cried angry tears at my dad because he’d let Sebastian leave our home Sunday night to go back to that apartment of horrors where he lived with the devil incarnate. Dad had seen Sebastian’s eye—he should have stopped him. Made him stay with us. Forced him.
I mourned over the little boy who’d run to his mother to give her love… and instead, had caused the worst kind of pain imaginable to everyone. How had he lived with that knowledge his whole life? Had Nathan Jeffries held his wife’s death against Sebastian all these years? I raged at the man who had turned on his own son in the end. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t bring himself to kill Sebastian. What he’d done to him instead might have been even worse.
I cried because I’d discovered through Foster and Sebastian a world I didn’t even know existed beyond the brilliant one in which I lived. A place of fear and pain, of loneliness and suffering. Where people wanted nothing more than to be invisible. A place of darkness.
And I cried because I’d been counting stars my whole life, never quite understanding that without the night’s darkness, we couldn’t fully appreciate the glory of the starlight.
I considered long and hard what Dad had said about being responsible for our own actions and reactions. Had I done everything I could to help Foster? Had I given up too early when I should have been pushing him to go to the hospital? Had Dad done all he could to help Sebastian? Had he settled too quickly by letting him go home to a volatile situation because he’d promised to attend a self-help class? Could we have done more? Done differently?
But Foster had refused medical treatment. He’d refused police interaction. He’d chosen to stay invisible. So where was the line that transferred the responsibility from my shoulders to his? And Sebastian had refused to sleep in Eric’s room Sunday night. He had insisted on going home, on keeping his secrets. He, too, had chosen to stay invisible. So where was the line that transformed the responsibility from Dad’s shoulders to Sebastian’s?
I hated being a grown up. I hated it.
Mom texted me from downstairs, asking if I wanted company.
JollyRockerTBird: I really need some water and a box of tissues.
AllTimeStella: Be right there.
She knocked, but didn’t wait for an answer. I had my back to the bedroom door, but I knew she’d figure out where I was. Her footsteps didn’t even pause as she came around the end of the bed to the other side where she lowered herself to the floor. She didn’t try to join me or even peek under the bed. She just sat there and slid the flowery Kleenex box under the bed to me. “I brought you a straw if you want your water under there, too.”
I could hear Jordan’s remark from a couple of weeks ago. “She already knows. She’s Mom.” It was too tight under the bed to drink normally, but a straw would work just fine. My parents were both heroes.
“Thanks,” I croaked, taking the glass from her.
“Would you like me to stay?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.
“Aren’t you going to work today?” It suddenly occurred to me that she wasn’t usually home in the middle of a Wednesday morning.
“I called in and took off, honey. I wanted to be here for you. The plants will grow fine on their own today.”
I wasn’t going to cry again. It was so good to know that even if I was responsible in any small way over the way the events had played out, my parents loved me and were going to do everything they could to see that I came out the other end of this intact. But the disparity between my world and Sebastian’s once more reared its ugly head.
“I’m okay, Mom. You don’t have to stay. I’ll come down in a little bit, okay?” She reached under the bed without looking and patted her hand around until I reached out and took it.
“I love you, Titia. You text me if you need anything else, okay? I’ll be right downstairs.”
I didn’t leave my room until around noon when I knew Dad had promised to come home from the hospital for lunch.
“How is he, Daddy?” I asked before he even sat down.
He took a long drink of iced tea and dropped into his seat. “They’re keeping him at least another day. Last night, he started throwing up again, and they’re not sure if it’s a result of the concussion or if he’s reacting to the pain meds or what. They want to make sure he’s stable first.” He eyed Mom across the table. “He’s insisting on going home alone. Says he doesn’t need any help. His dad’s in jail so in that regard, he’s safe.”
“He can’t go back to that place!” Mom declared.
“Hey, what about his job? Has anyone called Stodders?” Even though Sebastian had a few days off this week to compensate for working the weekend, I was sure they were missing him by now.
“I called,” Dad nodded. “They were very appreciative, very supportive. Talked about how great a guy he is and had no problem with him taking the time he needs.”
“Honey, he can’t go back to that place,” Mom repeated, not allowing us to get sidetracked. “You have to convince him to come home with you. We have plenty of room for him here.” I caught them exchanging glances, that wordless communication thing they did that kinda freaked me out sometimes, and then Dad’s eyes darted to me. Ah. Worried about hormones and such. “Temporarily, at least,” Mom amended. “Until he gets his feet under him again.”
“What about the Clarks?” I asked. The idea had come to me upstairs under my bed. I knew it was a long shot, but if anyone would benefit from having Sebastian in their home, it would be Ron Clark and his wife, Beatrice. Maybe having someone else to take care of, someone who needed their help, would give them a little joy in the middle of their discouragement over their missing daughter. Mrs. Clark was such a sweet woman, so tender, so loving, and although Pastor Clark sometimes got a little spirited behind the pulpit, he was a good man. Something Sebastian had sorely lacked in his life.
Dad leaned forward and eyed me curiously. “You know, Titia Danielle, I think you might have hit on a great suggestion. What do you think, Stella?”
“I love the idea,” Mom replied. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. It’s perfect, really.”
And in a matter of minutes, the two of them had scarfed down their meals, made a phone call, and were headed down the block to talk to the Clarks. I sat in a bit of a daze, hoping against hope that Sebastian would agree to it. I don’t know why I was so certain, but I knew the Clarks would say yes.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“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.
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