Running Through the Words

One.

The tears are there. Behind his eyes, at the back of his throat… in the clench of his gut. But Sebastian Porter doesn’t shed a single saltwater droplet. He swallows the grief and the fear and the unfairness of it all. And then he dumps another hearty splash of cabernet into his glass and swallows that too.

He’s perched on his kitchen counter, feet on a barstool, a half-empty bottle of wine standing beside his left thigh. Outside, a robin hops along the deck’s railing, enjoying the sunshine as a gentle breeze ruffles its feathers. Outside, tulips poke red and yellow heads through damp dirt, smiling up at that brilliant orb in the sky. Outside, the world is fresh and new and young.

But Sebastian feels hollow inside.

And numb.

And alone.

He feels so very alone.

There was a day, nearly two decades ago, when Bas had been the cause of this type of pain. It hadn’t been his intention, of course, any more than it was Bert’s intention now. Bas hadn’t done anything wrong; it was an unfortunate accident that had knocked him off his feet and placed him in the hospital. But he’d been in a coma for several days and the people he’d loved most—Bert and Lucy and Doc and even Jack—had been left in a state of unrest, not sure he’d wake up.

Not sure he’d remember who he was before the accident.

Not sure he’d remember who they were.

With Bert, the situation is different… but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to accept. He sets his glass on the counter, rests his elbows on his knees, and cradles his head in his hands.

That’s when the tears come.

That’s when the grief racks his body and shakes his chest and leaves him in loud, ugly sobs.

🍁

He wakes hours later on the couch.

He has no memory of relocating to the living room. Bas has no memory of finishing the bottle of cabernet and kicking off his shoes and pulling a blanket over his shivering body. He only knows this is how Lucy finds him.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing a spray of long, dark curls from his forehead and tucking them behind his ear. Her voice contains the hint of a smile. “When did you get home? I thought you’d swing by the shop.”

He blinks, bringing her into focus, and reaches up with his right hand to rub sleep from his eyes. “What?” He runs a tongue over gritty teeth; his saliva is thick and nauseatingly sweet. “No,” Bas mumbles, pushing himself into a sitting position. “No, I just… I should’ve, I know, but I… I just really didn’t want to. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She perches beside him on the couch and focuses her worried gaze on his haggard face, studying the red-rimmed eyes and the bruised bags beneath them. “How long have you been here?”

Bas sighs. “I don’t know… a few hours, maybe? What time is it?”

“A little after five.”

More time has passed than he’d thought. “Bert’s appointment was at eleven; we got into town around ten, I guess.” He sighs, remembering the morning’s events and the attempt at normalcy that came afterward. “We grabbed lunch at the Tavern, but neither one of us had much of an appetite. It’s just…” Bas swallows hard, runs a hand across his scraggly beard, and then wraps an arm around Lucy, pulling her close. She melts into him, resting her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. “I haven’t showered since yesterday morning,” he apologizes. “I probably stink.”

Tilled earth, stale cigarette smoke, the sour odor of day-old perspiration, and that ever-present aroma of slightly burnt green beans. “You smell fine,” she assures him, filling her nostrils with his scent. Nearly two months have gone by since he last held her in his arms. Normally, the couple’s reunion would be a happy one: an impromptu visit to the pottery shop, followed by a lot of sex and a recap of the band’s most recent tour while wrapped in each other’s arms, naked limbs tangled together, between crisp cotton sheets.

Tonight, however, Lucy doesn’t ask about which venue was the most memorable. She doesn’t wonder if last night’s sold-out show in Boston was everything the boys had anticipated, or if any of their college friends had been in the audience.

Tonight, the single question Lucy voices is, “How bad is it?”

Sebastian bites his lip and wills the tears not to fall. After a shaky inhale, he leans his bristly cheek against the top of his girlfriend’s head and squeezes her tighter. “Stage two,” he whispers in the voice of a scared child. “Russo’s dad says—”

“Dr. Russo was there? But he isn’t an oncologist, is he?”

“No. He just met us for the appointment. Russo—Kenny, I mean—told him what’s going on and asked if he could be there. To explain stuff. To make everything… make sense, I guess. The oncologist—her name’s Dr. Nolan—she’s good. Motherly, you know?” Bas waits for Lucy to nod, acknowledging this tidbit of information, before continuing. “Anyway. Russo’s dad and Dr. Nolan say it doesn’t appear to’ve spread to the lymph nodes, so that’s a good thing… but they want to start him on chemo.”

“Aww, Bas…”

“Yeah.” The knowledge has sat with him since late this morning, but Lucy is hearing the truth for the first time. “I just… I… I can’t lose him, goose. I can’t. And… And I’m so scared I’m going to.” Now, despite his best efforts, the floodgates open and he’s crying again. A plethora of emotions choke him as he continues, “It should be me, you know? Not Bert. I’m the one with the support system. I’ve got you, my dad and Doc… Martha and Nol… Bert—” He cuts himself off, swallowing a sob. “Bert doesn’t even have his mom anymore. It’s not fair. It’s so not fair.”

Lucy leans back, wriggling out of Sebastian’s grasp so she can peer into his swimming eyes.

Her eyes, too, are glassy with tears.

She rests a hand lightly on his cheek and says softly, “Every single person you just listed? Me? Jack and Doc? Martha and Nol? Bert has them too, Bas. And he’s got the band. But most importantly? He has you.” She pulls him to her, rubbing his back as he sobs into her breast, and allows her own tears to drip into his dark, unruly curls.