by Becky Wade
He gave her his thoughtful look, the one that he gave students when he wasn’t sure how to respond. “Do you like me as more than a friend?”
In her life, she’d often been too much of something for other people. Too much of a brainiac. Too nerdy. Too interested in things no one else was interested in.
Much of the journey God had taken her on so far was a journey toward accepting and then embracing who she was. In this case, being true to herself meant being honest with Ben. “I wish I could say yes. In fact, if I could create a software program that would calibrate a woman’s heart to want to date the most ideal man, then I’d calibrate my heart to want to date you. Of course, if I could create that program, I’d also revolutionize dating and make a mint. But that’s just an aside.”
His expression dimmed. The reaction was subtle, but telling.
“Do you like me as more than a friend?” she asked. “You haven’t answered my initial question.”
“I was kind of hoping you’d forgotten your initial question.”
“I don’t tend to forget things that are important.”
“If—if you’re asking if I’d like to see if this could lead to more, then the answer’s sure I would.”
He’d replied to that skillfully. He’d kept his admission relaxed and, in doing so, made this discussion easier for them both. He often did that—made things easier for her.
“But it sounds like you’re not into the idea of dating me,” he continued. “Which is cool.”
“I’m content with our friendship. In fact, I feel fortunate to have you as a friend.”
“Same here.”
“I’d hate for you to waste your time . . . waiting for me.”
“I won’t.” He gathered food onto his fork. “Should you ever come to your senses and want to go out with me, though, let me know.”
“Okay.”
“But I won’t hold my breath.”
“Best not to.”
“Because there are a lot of fish in the sea.”
“So many!”
“And a math genius for a girlfriend might come with a whole set of issues.”
“Now you’re thinking. When they handed me the menu earlier, I had a hard time concentrating on the food because I was busy rounding the dollar amounts of the items and adding them in my head.”
“Right. That would be super annoying to deal with.”
“I’m doing you a favor by taking my name off the list of contenders.”
He shot her a smile tinged with sadness.
I really am doing you a favor, she wanted to insist. He deserved someone who would love him wildly. Her intuition was telling her that God had someone picked out specifically for Ben.
However, that person was not her.
The next day, Sebastian sat alone in the staff break room at the hospital, his lunch on the table in front of him. He picked up his phone after it began to ring. Ben. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
Something was wrong. He could tell by the sound of his friend’s voice. “What’s the matter?” he asked, a tendril of fear sprouting in his stomach. Were the Colemans all okay?
“I talked with Leah about my feelings for her last night.”
Sebastian put on the armor of control he wore whenever things went wrong in the operating room and the air started to smell like panic. “And?”
“She told me that she likes me as a friend and nothing more.”
The air squeezed from his chest.
Leah wasn’t falling in love with Ben. And yet . . . what came as a tremendous relief to Sebastian was devastating his friend. “I’m sorry.”
“She just suddenly brought up the subject. Out of the blue. Which makes me think that you must have told her that I like her.”
Crap.
“Did you tell her that?” Ben prodded.
“Yes.”
“And did you also tell her to go out to dinner with me?”
“Yes. I was trying to help.”
“I didn’t need your help,” Ben said tightly, clearly struggling with his temper. “I didn’t want your interference.”
“She had no idea that you liked her, Ben. She was never going to figure it out unless someone told her.”
“I disagree. She would have figured it out for herself. I wanted it to happen naturally.”
“You’ve known her for two years. When? When was she going to figure it out for herself?”
“I don’t know, but I was content waiting.”
“I wasn’t content watching you wait.”
“My relationship with Leah isn’t about you or your preferences,” Ben snapped.
Sebastian bit his lip to force himself to shut up. Tension filled the silence. He’d thought recently about how quickly Ben usually got over his anger. It didn’t look like that was going to happen this time. “You’re right. I apologize.”
More jagged quiet.
“You told Leah,” Ben said, “that one of your frustrations with me is that I don’t confront you when you do things that bother me. So let me tell you something outright.”
Sebastian braced himself. “Go ahead.”
“I’ve shared a lot with you over the years. My room. Vacations. Family gatherings.”
“Yes.”
“I know you like Leah, but I draw the line at sharing her with you.”
He didn’t answer.
“Sebastian?” Ben demanded.
“Okay.”
The line went dead. Sebastian cursed.
Ben had shared a lot more with him than the things he’d mentioned. During Sebastian’s two years of high school, Ben had shared some of his paycheck with Sebastian, so that Sebastian could join him at the movies, so that Sebastian didn’t have to wear an uncool brand of socks, so that Sebastian could split the pizzas Ben ordered. Ben had shared his parents’ attention with Sebastian. He’d shared his time and sweat moving Sebastian from one dorm room to another. These days, Ben even shared his nieces and nephews with Sebastian.
It had taken nineteen years, but he’d finally found the limit to what Ben was willing to share.
You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. Those inspirational words by A. A. Milne scrolled across a decorative sign displayed on the bookcase in Leah’s classroom.
Alas, though. The start of a new school year in August always tempted her to deduce that she was less brave than she believed, weaker than she seemed, and dumber than she thought.
By week two, things had started to settle. By week three, the kids gave her reason to hope. And now, on week four, they’d found their rhythm.
When Dylan was at football practice or out with his friends, she kept an eye on him via the phone app that tracked his position. When he was at home in his room, she spot-checked to make sure he wasn’t dead. During their nightly dinners, she forced him to have a conversation with her and to eat healthy meals that contained vegetables.
Blessedly, the dynamic between herself and Ben hadn’t been as uncomfortable as she’d feared after she’d divulged her position on dating him. His laidback, cheerful manner remained intact.
She continued to threaten to set him up because, earnestly, she wanted to set him up. If she found someone for him, she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about her failure to be to him what he’d hoped she might be. So far, he’d evaded her attempts at matchmaking.
Her search for a current address for Jonathan and Trina Brookside had proved equally unsuccessful. They were annoyingly savvy about protecting their privacy online. She couldn’t shake the notion, though, that the Brooksides’ current address must be ripe for the finding somewhere. She simply needed to peek under the correct rock.
She’d revisited the two online articles attributed to Jonathan Brookside at Gridwork Communications Corporation. It very well might be, of course, that another man with the same name had written those articles. But the location of Gridwork, just miles from the hospital where she’d been born, made plausible the possibility that the
man who’d penned the articles was, indeed, her biological father.
During quiet moments, she mulled over how best to confirm whether the Jonathan of Gridwork was her Jonathan. And, if so, how to obtain his address from the company without arousing his suspicion. She’d yet to settle on the optimal strategy.
Sebastian continued to visit her in her dreams. Sebastian, lying beside her in the grass, propped up on an elbow, looking down at her. Sebastian, kissing her knuckles.
Occasionally, she indulged herself by driving by his house. Once, she spotted an empty plastic water bottle snagged in a cluster of bushes out front. Since his house was dim and obviously empty—and because she now comprehended that he valued a tidy lawn—she’d darted from her car and confiscated the bottle.
However, she had not had an opportunity to see him or talk to him for more than a month.
Until, that is, she traveled to Atlanta with Dylan to tour two colleges and visit one particular hospital.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It required an act of God and a generous portion of histrionics, but Leah managed to pry Dylan from his bedroom at their Airbnb and convey the two of them to Beckett Memorial Hospital ahead of their prearranged meeting with Sebastian. An assistant ushered them to Sebastian’s office and informed them that he would join them shortly.
Thus, on the first Monday of September, a day she had off work for Labor Day, Leah was given an unexpected chance to scrutinize Sebastian’s office without him present. The space boasted one large window. Two high-quality leather chairs. An office chair. And a desk, on which four items rested: a lamp, thick white notepad, Montblanc pen, computer.
A yard-wide strip of corkboard ran vertically from the floor to the ceiling of the wall next to his desk. Photos and cards had been pinned to it. Leah stood before the collage, enthralled, reading fast because she was afraid he’d arrive before she had a chance to ingest it all.
The pictures highlighted smiling infant faces. The parents who’d written the cards clearly believed that Sebastian’s efforts had saved the lives of their babies.
As much as she loved math, ultimately, math was theory. Sebastian’s job impacted living, breathing children and families.
Ever since she’d reached out to Sebastian a week and a half ago to schedule this appointment, she’d been looking forward to this the way she looked forward to her beloved budget road trips. So far, it did not disappoint. And Sebastian hadn’t even appeared.
Dylan was far less enthused. He’d wanted to spend this holiday sleeping late, shirking homework, working on his drawings, and hanging out with his friends. He was currently slumped in one of the chairs, scrolling sullenly through his apps. His interest in pursuing a career in the field of healthcare hovered at a negative ten.
She’d spent the weekend putting Dylan first. Touring potential schools. Allowing him to choose where they ate. Helping him with his college applications. She’d pitched this hospital visit as something she’d sought out for his sake, but that was an outright lie.
This was the one thing on their itinerary that she’d arranged purely for herself. She wanted another chance to see Sebastian.
It felt divine to be here simply because she wanted to be—
The door swept open. She hadn’t seen Sebastian in weeks, and now, suddenly, here he was. Tall and broad. He wore a white T-shirt with green scrubs and retro-looking black-on-black Adidas. She met his eyes, then watched his vision flick down to her chin before tracing its way back up. As usual, his demeanor communicated observant intensity.
The awareness that existed between them rushed to life.
Distantly she thought, I haven’t finished reading everything on the corkboard. Which means I’ll have to come back one day. That’s the only tenable solution. Also, am I imagining the electricity between us? I can’t be so out of touch with reality that I’m the only one feeling this, can I?
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi.”
“Thanks for making time in your schedule for us.”
“Of course. I’m sorry that I kept you waiting. One of my colleagues asked for a consult on a case.”
“No problem. We’re not in a hurry.”
His attention slanted toward Dylan.
“Do you remember my brother, Dylan?” she asked.
“I do.”
She shot her sibling a don’t-forget-my-warning smile. She’d deemed it necessary to threaten him with a fate worse than death (the removal of his phone) if he didn’t exhibit politeness on this tour.
Dylan rose, his stoop-shouldered posture appalling, and shook Sebastian’s hand.
“Your sister tells me that she’s been introducing you to several different career fields.”
“Um, yeah.”
“Anything catch your interest so far?”
Dylan scratched his temple. “Just art.”
Behind Sebastian’s back Leah tilted her head in a way that said, Ask Sebastian questions.
“So.” Dylan pushed his hands into the pockets of his artfully ripped jeans. “You went to Misty River High School, too?”
“I did.”
“And what job do you have now?”
“I’m a pediatric cardiac surgeon.”
“And what . . . uh . . . what did you have to do after you graduated high school to get this job?”
Sebastian explained his schooling and training.
A wince pinched Dylan’s face more and more as Sebastian spoke. “So. Uh. I guess you’re not grossed out by the sight of blood?”
After all that Sebastian had said, that was the best question Dylan could muster?
Amusement creased Sebastian’s face. “Nope, I’m not grossed out by it. Are you?”
“Yeah. For sure.”
“In that case, we’ll avoid the sight of blood on this tour.”
“’Kay.”
They exited his office. Leah fell in step beside Sebastian, Dylan behind them.
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
“I’ve been well, thank you. Busy, adjusting to my new classes.”
“Have your students been treating you with the awe and respect you deserve?”
“Awe and respect are in short supply with teenagers.”
“They’re in short supply with non-verbal infants as well.”
“Kids these days.”
He was spending more time looking across at her than he was looking forward. His almost-black hair was in mild disarray. Tiredness edged his features, causing her to wonder what might have cost him sleep last night. An emergency here? A date with a new girlfriend?
He asked her questions about her students. She asked him questions about his surgeries.
They sailed through a set of automatic doors.
He showed them the areas of the surgical floor they were allowed to see and explained several different jobs to Dylan. Dylan feigned interest but his body language communicated that he cared about as much as he would about the hospital’s bylaws. Conversely, Leah—always hungry for deeper understanding of a topic—soaked in every word.
When Sebastian finished, Dylan responded with the sparkling verbal parry of “Huh.”
They visited the room where the doctors met each morning to view X-rays before rounds. Then they moved on to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.
“Do Dylan and I need a pass in order to enter?” she asked.
“Not if you’re with me. I gave one of the administrators a heads-up that you were coming.”
The PICU felt like a high-tech spaceship on red alert. A central desk served as the command center.
Again, Sebastian paused and talked through the many roles the PICU employees filled. “Do any of these jobs sound like something you’d want to do?” he asked Dylan.
“I mean . . . maybe.”
“Really?” Sebastian asked skeptically.
“No, to be honest. No offense. I mean, it seems like you’re doing okay, but . . .”
Leah’s mouth formed a horizontal line.
; “But I’m not into this. At all.” Dylan yawned gloomily.
“Well,” Sebastian said to Leah, “I guess we can cross health professions off Dylan’s list.”
“I guess so. Narrowing things down is helpful.”
Dylan wandered toward the nearest bathroom.
“Would it be possible to look in on a few of your patients?” Leah asked Sebastian.
“If you’d like to, yes.”
“I’d like to.”
She followed him into a room filled with machines and monitors. On the miniature bed lay a dark-skinned, black-haired infant.
“This is Levi. He’s beating the odds. Right after his birth he survived an emergency procedure with a mortality rate of ninety-five percent.”
“What was his diagnosis?”
“Hypoplastic left heart syndrome, but without an atrial septal defect. Usually, we close up holes in hearts. But in his case, his lack of a hole was causing blood to back up into his lungs. So my colleague ran a catheter to his heart and punched a hole in exactly the right spot.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Have you operated on him since?”
“Yes. The Norwood procedure, six days ago.”
“You had to build a new aorta.”
“You’re right. I also had to make his right ventricle pump blood to the body through the aorta and to the lungs through a new path to the pulmonary artery.”
“What are his prospects?”
“Good.”
It was one thing to read about congenital heart defects and the surgeries employed to repair them, quite another to observe one of the children who’d been impacted.
Levi seemed impossibly small and frail. And, of course, all kids radiated sweetness when they were sleeping. She knew this to be true because she’d been peeking in on Dylan while he was sleeping since he’d been this size.
From the start, Mom had delegated a sizable share of Dylan’s care to her. She’d done a great deal of babysitting, feeding, rocking to sleep, and bathing. Dylan had rewarded her efforts by turning into an adorable curly-haired toddler who’d hugged her, snuggled with her, held her hand, and climbed onto her lap.
He’d been just two years old when she’d left home for high school. Right away, she’d discovered that she missed him far more than any other person. If not for him, she wouldn’t have made the effort to return home on the weekends. By that point, Dad was gone. She and Mom weren’t close. She’d enjoyed a far greater sense of belonging at Clemmons than at the apartment Mom had moved them into for Leah’s final year of middle school.