Running Through the Words, 16

Sixteen.

With the fleshy side of his fist, Sebastian wipes steam from the bathroom mirror and stares at his reflection. It’s been a long time since his hair’s been this short, but he has to admit it’s growing back faster than expected. Already, the dark waves are long enough to appear haphazardly disheveled. He runs a hand through them and wonders how long it will be until Bert’s no longer bald. With another four months of treatment, it’s unlikely he’ll have hair before November, and the thought makes Bas shiver just imagining how cold that will feel.

This morning’s chemotherapy session had hit Bert hard. It’s normal for him to feel drained in the afternoon, wanting nothing more than to curl into a tight ball and sleep until Thursday, but today he’d been sick. Really sick. Bas had sat beside him in the bathroom, bringing ice chips and blankets and pillows and anything else that seemed logical. He’d mopped Bert’s brow with a damp cloth and wiped his mouth each time he vomited. He’d sat there for three hours, his spine pressed against the side of the tub, Bert’s head in his lap, both of them shivering despite the eighty-degree weather outside. And then Lucy, like a saint, had appeared in the doorway and told him she’d take over for a while. “Go home and get cleaned up,” she’d whispered into his ear as she eased herself onto the tiled floor. “Take a shower, take Rex for his driving lesson, and get something to eat. If you want to come back after that, you can, but I’m happy to stay the night if you’d rather sleep in your own bed.”

Sebastian has no intention of sleeping in his own bed.

He isn’t expecting to sleep at all, actually, but as he walks naked from the bathroom to the bedroom and takes note of the clock on the wall—four-thirty-three—he realizes there are a good eighty-seven minutes between now and the time he’s meant to meet Rex at the pottery shop. He allows himself one hour, setting an alarm on his cell before slipping under the covers and pulling Jem, fast asleep at the foot of the bed, tight against his chest. The furry fellow squirms for a moment, then settles into the new position and quickly begins to purr. His breaths match Sebastian’s with a two-to-one ratio, the soft snuffs a subtle complement to the almost undetectable whap-whap-whap of the overhead fan.

Sleep is reluctant to come.

Bas holds Jem for a long time, breathing in his fabric-softener scent and ignoring the tickle his long, grey hairs plant in his nostrils. After a time, with nineteen minutes until his alarm will sound, he slips into a light slumber that feels like little more than a blink.

He rubs his eyes and rolls onto his back when the singsongy doo-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-doos blare from his phone, the volume overly loud in the quiet room. “Jeremy Atticus,” he mumbles groggily, not really ready to get up but knowing he needs to. “I have to get dressed, bud. I’m sorry.”

A fat, white paw reaches up to press gently against his lips, silencing the outpouring of words. Sebastian can’t help but smile. “I know. I should just shut up, right?” He slides his arm out from under Jem and leaves the warm bundle curled on the pillow, still purring despite the uncalled for disruption. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” he asks, planting a kiss between the sleeping creature’s velvety ears. “I’m gonna stay with B tonight.”

It takes only a few moments to slip into a pair of tattered jeans, an old t-shirt, and some flip-flops. He throws a hoodie and a toothbrush into his bag, loops it over his shoulder, and grabs the key to his Jeep on the way out the door.

🍁

The pottery shop is located a few miles from the house, on the outskirts of town, where the sidewalk along Main Street literally comes to an end. A long time ago, the building had been Lake Caywood’s post office, but now it’s home to Simply Clay. The structure screams “Lucy!” Its vertical siding has been painted pale grey and its door sports a coat of bright aqua. The porch and trim, dark teal in color, complement it nicely.

A little flagstone path leads to the shop, shaded by a single magnolia tree and quite a few redbuds. In the spring, they appear to be aflame with blooms. Various pots, all thrown and glazed by the store’s owner, adorn the porch steps. They contain an assortment of shade-loving plants, ranging from salmon-hued impatiens to coleus with crinkled, splotched leaves. Hardy hostas, dimpled and somehow reminiscent of dinosaur skin, line the walkway.

Rex is crouched behind the counter securing money in the safe when Bas unlocks the shop door and steps inside. “Hey, bud. Everything checkin’ out okay? No problems counting down the register?”

“Nope. It wasn’t very busy today. I’m just about ready to go.”

Bas walks over to one of the floor-to-ceiling shelving units and straightens a pitcher. “I thought we could do some highway driving this evening. Are you up for that?”

“Sure.” Rex gets to his feet and moves from behind the register. “As long as you think I’m ready, I mean.”

“We’ll just run up and down route fifteen a little bit. I’m not talking about hopping on the beltway or anything.” Bas flashes him a comforting grin and fishes the Jeep’s key from his pocket, tossing it to the teen. They walk outside together. Rex waits while the older man locks up, then matches his stride as he leads the way to the car. They take their seats, fasten their safety belts, and are on the road in no time. Sebastian tunes the radio, settling on an oldies station and adjusting the volume so as to provide some soft background music. He’s not necessarily in the mood to talk, but after several moments of silence, it occurs to him that his driver is uncharacteristically quiet. “You doin’ alright, Rex?”

“Yeah. Just trying to keep it around sixty-five miles per hour.”

Bas leans over and checks the speedometer. The needle sits exactly where it should. “Yeah, no… that all looks great. I, uh… I was actually asking more about, you know, the whole divorce thing. I imagine that’s gotta be tough.”

The skin on the knuckles of Rex’s hands grows taut as he grips the steering wheel more tightly. “It is,” he says softly. “It sucks.”

“I’m sorry, bud. I’m sorry you’ve gotta deal with all that awkwardness between your parents.”

“Me too.” Rex tentatively takes a hand off the wheel and uses his index finger to wipe at the corner of his right eye. Sebastian pretends not to notice, but he isn’t oblivious to the fact that the boy is close to tears. Without looking in his direction, he points to the next exit and says, “Get off here and make a left at the light, okay?”

Rex does as he’s asked, assuming he’ll be instructed to loop around and return to the highway for another practice run, but Sebastian surprises him by telling him to pull into the parking lot of a diner called Moe’s. “Choose whichever spot you want. I’m not really in the mood for a driving lesson right now. My day’s been shit and what I want is a beer. How ‘bout I buy you dinner? This place makes a mean chicken cheesesteak.”

“Really?”

Bas Porter has known Rex since he was an infant, but only recently—right around the sixteen-year-old’s birthday—had he expressed interest in really gaining an insight to him. Lucy was the one who frequently visited the house for wine nights with Kathryn, and who would babysit both boys on occasion when they were younger, but Bas had rarely been around. The members of Flannel Lobster seemed always to be on tour, or in the studio, or even just hanging out in Finn’s basement for band practice. Rex had never felt that Sebastian disliked him, but he also never felt that he actually liked him either. He’d merely supposed the musician was indifferent to the young man’s existence. It had come as a shock when Bas offered to teach him how to drive.

Now, having just been invited to join Lake Caywood’s most notable celebrity for a meal in a public place, Rex finds himself a bit dumbfounded. He slowly guides the Jeep into an available spot far from the other cars in the lot, puts it into park, and slides the key out of the ignition. As he falls into step beside Bas, he asks shyly, “Why was your day shitty? Or, I mean… you don’t have to answer if you don’t—”

“No, it’s fine. I can talk about it. I just… hate seeing Bert as sick as he is. It’s hard to watch.” A metallic chime sounds as he opens the door and holds it for Rex. “Do you wanna sit at the bar or in a booth? Your choice.”

Rex, who has never sat at an actual bar before, is surprised to learn it’s an option. “Am I allowed?” he confirms, his brow furrowed questioningly. “To sit at the bar, I mean? I’m only sixteen.”

One side of Sebastian’s mouth quirks upward. “You can sit wherever you want to; you just can’t drink whatever you want to. Come on,” he adds, mussing the boy’s hair and steering him toward two empty stools. “I’ll get you a Cherry Coke or something.”

Bas orders his beer and Rex opts for a vanilla milkshake and a glass of water. They both go with the chicken cheesesteak, everything on it, fries on the side. And then, as they wait for their meals, the younger boy says, “I’m really sorry your best friend is sick.”

“Thanks. I’m really sorry your parents are splitting up.”

Rex slumps his shoulders and rests his hands on the bar, wrapping them around his frosted glass. “It was bound to happen, I think. My dad’s kind of a jerk. I’m pretty sure he’s cheated on my mom at least once before.”

“Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?”

“Well, he’s never home for starters. And he’s a CPA. Outside of tax season, why’s he rolling in late and going into work on the weekends? It doesn’t add up. I just… I don’t know. I don’t trust him, I guess. And, I mean, he’s mean to my mom.”

“How so?”

Rex stabs his milkshake with his straw, smooshing the ice cream against the walls of the glass. “He just isn’t very nice to her,” he mumbles vaguely, “and he says things that hurt her feelings. Like, about her weight and stuff.”

“Your dad makes fun of your mom’s weight?” Sebastian narrows his eyes and fixes Rex with a sideways look. Even for Will, this seems a low blow, because although Kathryn is curvy, she is by no means overweight. And she’s far from unattractive. Her hair is oftentimes out of control, sure, but her high cheekbones and flawless skin could easily rival Queen Latifah’s.

“He says nasty things about her hips and her ass,” Rex admits, his voice much smaller than it had been only moments ago. His eyes dart along the back wall of the diner, skimming over signs and avoiding Sebastian’s gaze, and then, after a prolonged span of silence, he feels compelled to share, “I don’t want to live with him—my dad, I mean—but I don’t know how to tell him that because I don’t wanna hurt his feelings.” He rolls his eyes, elaborating, “I kind of hate him… but at the same time, I don’t wanna hurt his feelings. It doesn’t even make any sense.”

“It makes sense,” Bas assures him. “Believe me. I get it.”

Almost reluctantly, the teenager turns to face him. “You do?”

“I love my dad, Rex—really, I do—but he… is not the most trustworthy guy when it comes to women. He cheated on my mama, he cheated on his fiancé, and I can only begin to imagine the number of girlfriends he cheated on in between. The man loves women, but he doesn’t seem capable of devoting himself to just one.”

“And you don’t hate him for that?”

Bas runs a hand through his uncharacteristically short hair, causing it to stand on end and appear as though a substantial gust of wind just whooshed through the diner, knocking it askew. “I don’t hate him, no. But my situation’s different than yours. My mama died when I was a kid. I wasn’t old enough to really witness the affairs my dad had with other women, and even though I was definitely pissed when I found out about what he’d done to fuck up his relationship with Martha, Nol’s mom… I don’t know. It was different. It is different. I love Martha—I still call her up and tell her about my life and she’s honestly probably the closest thing I’ve got to a mother of my own—but she’s not my mama. Whereas, I mean… Kathryn is your mom. And Will is your dad. And you really shouldn’t have to take sides.”

“But I have to choose a house,” Rex sighs. “And choosing a house is essentially choosing a side. And I want to live with my mom… but I don’t want to upset my dad. And I also don’t want to leave my house. Dad is staying in the house—you know this; you helped my mom move—and even though I don’t want to stay there with him… I don’t want to leave either. It’s the only house I’ve ever lived in, you know? And I like it.” He falls silent as the food arrives, pushing his milkshake aside and making room for the plate.

Sebastian converses with the waitress, assuring her that he’s fine with just the one beer but could they maybe get some extra napkins, and then he turns back to Rex and fixes him with those pale, all-seeing eyes. “I get what you’re saying about your home,” he says. “I mean, look at me: I bought the house I grew up in and am still living there. But, at the same time… I bounce around a lot, you know?”

Rex nods. “Lots of touring.”

“Lots of touring,” Bas agrees through a big bite of cheesesteak. He uses his thumb to wipe at the corner of his mouth, takes a hearty swig of beer, and continues, “And so ultimately, in a nutshell, I guess what I’ve learned is this: sometimes a house is just a house… but a home is never just a home, because a home is more than a place. A home is your people.”

“But my dad is my people,” Rex points out. “And so is my mom.”

“Right. I get that. But if your dad was living in a different house—a house that you hadn’t grown up in—would the decision to choose where to live be as difficult? Because I think that’s what you need to figure out.” Bas knocks an elbow against the boy’s arm, jabbing his bicep almost playfully. “Hey,” he says softly, waiting until Rex turns to face him. “Your dad, even with all of his faults, still loves you. And he will respect your decision.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. Because he has to, Rex. If he cares at all about you and your brother—and I really think he does—he will continue to love you and support you no matter who you decide to live with. And if he doesn’t, then—”

“He hasn’t even once offered to take me driving, Bas.”

Rex says it so quickly.

So suddenly.

And it’s so obvious that the words had been trying to escape him for quite some time.

Which is perhaps why Bas manages, without so much as a slipup in timing, to conclude, “—he’s an even bigger asshole than I’ve ever given him credit for. And, if I’m being completely honest, I’ve never liked the guy.”

Rex laughs so hard that vanilla milkshake shoots out his nose.

🍁

“I don’t mind staying,” Lucy whispers when Sebastian shows up at Bert’s apartment an hour later. She’s curled on the couch, a blanket tucked around her, sleepily scanning the pages of a book. She dogears a page and places the novel aside when her boyfriend steps into the living room. “He’s asleep right now. I got him cleaned up and put him to bed. He ate a bite or two of dry toast and drank a few sips of water. You should go home and sleep in your own bed though, Bas. Really. I’ve got this.”

He shakes his head and moves toward the sofa. Lucy moves her feet so he can sit down. “I wanna stay,” he insists. “I told him I’d be back, you know? And I don’t want to not be here when he wakes up later.”

She reaches over and rests a hand on his scruffy cheek, turning his face so she’s able to look into his exhausted eyes. “Then I’ll stay with you.”

“You don’t have to do that, goose.”

“I want to,” she insists. “That way we can tag-team it if we need to.”

Sebastian collapses into her, resting his head on her shoulder and melting under her embrace. His breaths come in sharp, quick inhales as if he’s fighting the urge to cry. “I’ve never seen him that sick before,” he says in a low, barely audible voice.

And maybe it isn’t, in fact, audible.

Maybe Lucy just hears his thoughts. She twirls her fingers through his soft hair and smooths his whiskery sideburn, tracing the line of his jaw all the way to his chin. “He’s doing better,” she assures him. “Tell me about your driving lesson with Rex. How is he?”

“Sad,” Sebastian answers simply. “Sad that his parents are getting divorced.”

Lucy says nothing, choosing to wait for additional information instead. Eventually, it comes.

“We did a little driving and a lot of talking. I took him to Moe’s.”

“For chicken cheesesteaks?”

“Yup.”

“And he opened up?”

“He did.”

Lucy runs a thumb over his lips, petting them softly. “You’re a good man, Bas.”

“Hmm…” A noncommittal acceptance of the praise.

“You are.”

He pulls away from her, easing himself into a more upright position and rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I’m gonna check on B,” he says flatly. “I just need to see him for myself. It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“I know.” She dons a sad smile and pulls her hands under the fleecy throw wrapped around her. “If he’s awake, let him know that I started Peace Like A River. He asked if I’d read it before and I admitted I hadn’t. He says it’s what you’re reading aloud to him during chemo because you finished Ordinary Grace last week.”

“We did, yeah.” Bas pushes himself to his feet and reaches back to massage the base of his neck. “I forgot that you’ve never read it. What d’you think?”

“I love Swede.”

“She’s a modern-day Scout,” he muses, forcing a half-smile. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

“Okay.”

The hallway to Bert’s bedroom is dim, lit only by a violet-hued nightlight, but Bas could navigate the route with his eyes shut. He pads softly down the narrow expanse, pushing open the door as quietly as possible and allowing his pupils a moment to shrink and accommodate the pitch dark. When the shadowy shape of the bed begins to materialize, he kicks off his flip-flops and walks barefoot across the room, climbing lithely onto the mattress. He says nothing, just rolls onto his side and rests his head on a pillow, facing Bert.

Five minutes pass. Maybe ten.

Then, a rustle of covers and a soft, “B?”

“Yep,” Sebastian murmurs. “I’m here.”

“I miss my mom, B,” Bert whispers in the quietest, most little-kid voice. “I miss her so much.”

“I know you do, B.”

“And I hate this. I hate being sick.”

“I hate it too, B. Do you need anything? Can I get something for you?”

There’s a pause, and then, “Can you hold me? Or is that too weird? I didn’t mean—”

“Shh…” Sebastian doesn’t say more than this. He just scoots closer, wraps Bert in his arms, and holds him tight.